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BEARN AND THE PYRENEES:
A Legendary Tour to the Country of Henri Quatre.
by
LOUISA STUART COSTELLO,
Author of "The Bocages and the Vines," "A Pilgrimage to Auvergne," Etc.
With numerous Illustrations.
In Two Volumes.
London:
Richard Bentley, New Burlington Street,
Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1844.
Printed by R. Clay, Bread Street Hill.
TO
MISS BURDETT COUTTS,
THESE VOLUMES
ARE DEDICATED WITH MUCH RESPECT AND AFFECTION
BY
HER SINCERELY OBLIGED
HUMBLE SERVANT,
LOUISA STUART COSTELLO.
LONDON,
MARCH 16, 1844.
INTRODUCTION.
When I first indulged the inclination, which I had long entertained, of
visiting the famous castle of Chinon, and the equally interesting abbey
of Fontevraud--the palace and tomb of our English kings--and paused on
my way in "the lovely vales of Vire," and gathered in romantic Brittany
some of her pathetic legends, I thought I should have satisfied my
longing to explore France; but I found that every step I look in that
teeming region opened to me new stores of interest; and, encouraged by
the pleasure my descriptions had given, I set out again, following
another route, to the regal city of Rheims, visiting the vine-covered
plains of Champagne and Burgundy, and all their curious historical
towns, till I reached the _dominion_ of Charles the Seventh at Bourges,
to become acquainted with whose gorgeous cathedral and antique palaces
is worth any fatigue. From thence I wandered on to the beautiful Monts
Dores, and the basaltic regions of unexplored Le Vellay; and, after
infinite gratification, I once more turned my steps homeward; but, like
Sindbad, I felt that there was much more yet to be explored; and I had
visions of the romantic and delightful realms, which extend where once
the haughty heiress of Aquitaine held her poetical courts of Love and
Chivalry. The battle-fields of our Black Prince were yet to be traced;
the sites of all the legends and adventures of the most entertaining of
chroniclers, Froissart, were yet to be discovered; and the land of
mountains and torrents, where the Great Bearnais passed his hardy
childhood, was yet unknown to me.
I therefore again assumed my "cockle hat and staff," and, re-entering
the Norman territory, commenced exploring, from the stone bed of the
Conqueror, at Falaise, to the tortoise-shell cradle of Henry of Navarre,
at Pau.
Not inferior to my two former pilgrimages, in interest, did this my
third ramble prove. How many "old romantic towns" I passed through; how
much of varied lore I heard and found amongst the still original and,
even now, unsophisticated peasantry; how numerous were the recollections
which places and things recalled, and how pleasant were the scenes I
met, I have endeavoured to tell the lovers of easy adventure--for any
traveller, with the slightest enterprise, could accomplish what I have
done without fatigue, and with the certainty of being repaid for the
exertion of seeking for amusement.
In succession, I paused at Le Mans, the scene of the great Vendeean
struggle, where the majestic cathedral challenges the admiration of all
travellers of taste; at Poitiers, full of antique wonders; in the region
of _the Serpent lady_, Melusine; at Protestant La Rochelle, with all its
battlements and turrets, and the most beautiful bathing-establishment in
Europe. At mysterious Saintes, and all its pagan temples and arches; at
Bordeaux, the magnificent; on the Garonne, and by its robbers'-castles;
at Agen, with its _barber troubadour_; in the haunts of Gaston de Foix
and Jeanne d'Albret and her son; in the gloomy valleys of the proscribed
Cagot; and where the mellifluous accents of the Basquaise enchant the
ear. All the impressions made by these scenes I have endeavoured to
convey to my readers, as I did before, inviting them to follow my
footsteps, and judge if I have told them true.
CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER I.
Honfleur--Dejazet--The Sailor Prince--Le Mari--Lisieux--La Croix
Blanche--Arrival at Falaise--Guibray--Castle of Falaise--The little
Recess--Arlette--The Father--The Infant Hero--The Uncle--Arlette's
Tears--Her Reception.
CHAPTER II.
Prince Arthur--Want of Gallantry Punished--The Recreant Sow--The Rocks
of Noron--La Grande Eperonniere--Le Camp-ferme--Antiquities of
Falaise--Alencon--Norman Caps--Geese--Le Mans--Tomb of
Berangere--Cathedral--Ancient Remains--Streets--The Veiled Figure.
CHAPTER III.
Tomb of Berangere--Wives of Coeur de Lion--Tombs--Abbey
Churches--Chateau of Le Mans--De Craon--The Spectre of Le Mans--The
Vendeeans--Madame de la Roche-Jaquelin--A Woman's Perils--Disasters of
the Vendeeans--Henri--Chouans.
CHAPTER IV.
The Museum of Le Mans--Venus--Mummy--Geoffrey-le-Bel--His
Costume--Matilda--Scarron--Helie de la Fleche--Rufus--The White Knight.
CHAPTER V.
Lude--Saumur Revisited--The Garden--La Petite Voisine--The Retired
Militaire--Les Pierres Couvertes--Les Petites Pierres--Loudun--Urbain
Grandier--Richelieu--The Nuns--The Victim--The Fly--The Malle
Poste--The Dislodged Serpents.
CHAPTER VI.
Poitiers--Battles--The Armies--King John of France--The Young
Warrior--Hotel des Vreux--Amphitheatre--Blossac--The Great Stone--The
Scholars--Museum--The Demon's Stone--Grande Gueule.
CHAPTER VII.
Notre Dame--The Keys--The Miracle--Procession--St. Radegonde--Tomb of
the Saint--Foot-print--Little Loubette--The Count Outwitted--The
Cordelier--Late Justice--The Templars.
CHAPTER VIII.
Chateau de la Fee--King Rene--The Miniatures--The Post-Office
Functionary--Originality--The English Bank-note--St. Porchaire--The Dead
Child--Montierneuf--Guillaume Guy Geoffroy--Thomas a Becket--Choir of
Angels--Relics--The Armed Hermit--A Saint--The Repudiated
Queen--Elionore--The Bold Priest--Lay.
CHAPTER IX.
Melusine--Lusignan--Trou de la Fee--The Legend--Male Curiosity--The
Discovery--The Fairy's Shrieks--The Chronicler--Geoffrey of the Great
Tooth--Jaques Coeur--Royal Gratitude--Enemies--Jean du
Village--Wedding--The Bride--The Tragedy of Mauprier--The Garden--The
Shepherdess--The Walnut-Gatherers--La Gatine--St. Maixant--Niort--Madame
de Maintenon--Enormous Caps--Chamois Leather--Duguesclin--The Dame de
Plainmartin--The Sea.
CHAPTER X.
La Rochelle--Les Trois Chandeliers--Oysters--Bathing
Establishment--Gaiety--Military Discipline--Curious Arcades--Story of
Auffredy.
CHAPTER XI.
Towers--Religion--Maria Belandelle--Storm--Protestant Retreat--Solemn
Dinners--"Half-and-half"--Go to sleep!--The Brewery--Gas
Establishment--Chateau of La Font--The Mystery explained--Triumph of
Scenery over Appetite--Slave Trade--Charles le Bien Servi--Liberality of
Louis-Philippe--Guiton--House of Le Maire Guiton--The Fleets--The
Fight--The Mayor and the Governor.
CHAPTER XII.
Rochefort--The Curious Bonne--Americanisms--Convicts--The
Charente--"Tulipes"--Taillebourg--Henry the Third--St. Louis--False
Security--Romegoux--Puytaille
CHAPTER XIII.
Saintes--Roman Arch of Triumph--Gothic Bridge--The Cours--Ruined
City--Cathedral--Coligny--Ruined Palace--St.
Eutrope--Amphitheatre--Legend of Ste. Eustelle--The Prince of
Babylon--Fete--The Coteau--Ste. Marie
CHAPTER XIV.
Frere Chretien--Utility of Custom-house Search--Bold
Voyager--Pauillac--Blaye--The Gironde--Talbot--Vines--The
Landes--Phantom of King Arthur--The Witch-finder--The Landes--Wreckers
CHAPTER XV.
Ports--Divona--Bordeaux--Quinconces--Allees--First
Impression--Chartrons--Bahutier--Bacalan--Quays--White Guide--Ste.
Croix--St. Michel--St. Andre--Pretty Figure--Pretty Women--Palais
Gallien--Black Prince's Son, Edward.
CHAPTER XVI.
The Garonne--The Lord of Langoyran--Miracle of the Mule--Castle of the
Four Sons of Aymon--The Aged Lover--Gavaches--The Franchimans--Count
Raymond--Flying Bridges--The Miller of Barbaste--The Troubadour
Count--The Count de la Marche--The Rochellaises--Eugenie and her Song.
CHAPTER XVII.
Agen--La Belle Esther--St. Caprais--The Little Cherubs--Zoe at the
Fountain--The Hill--Le Gravier--Jasmin, the Poet-Barber--The
Metaphor--Las Papillotas--Franconnette--Jasmin's Lines on the Old
Language--The Shepherd and the Gascon Poet--Return to Agen--Jasmin and
the King of France--Jasmin and the Queen of England.
BEARN AND THE PYRENEES. VOL. I.
CHAPTER I.
HONFLEUR--DEJAZET--THE SAILOR PRINCE--LE MARI--LISIEUX--LA CROIX
BLANCHE--ARRIVAL AT FALAISE--GUIBRAY--CASTLE OF FALAISE--THE LITTLE
RECESS--ARLETTE--THE FATHER--THE INFANT HERO--THE UNCLE--ARLETTE'S
TEARS--HER RECEPTION.
WITHIN ten leagues of the interesting town of Caen, where William of
Normandy and his queen lie buried, the traveller, who devotes a short
space of time to a search after the picturesque, may, without straying
too far a-field, find what he desires in the clean, bright, gay town of
Falaise, where the hero of the Conquest was born.
From Southampton to Havre it requires only twelve hours to cross, and,
as was the case with myself and my companions, when, at the end of
August 1842, we began a journey, whose end was "to be" the mountains
which divide France from Spain, if the city of parrots is already
familiar to the tourist, he has only to take the steam-packet, which in
four hours will land him at Caen, or enter the boat which crosses the
fine bold river to Honfleur. In an hour you arrive at Honfleur, after a
very pleasant voyage, which the inhabitants of Havre are extremely fond
of taking: a diligence starts from the quay, and proceeds through an
avenue of a league's length between beautiful hills, orchards, and
corn-fields, to the strange old town of Lisieux, to which we proceeded.
One of our fellow-travellers in the diligence was a smart, lively
looking young woman, whose resemblance to the celebrated actress
Dejazet, whom we had very lately seen in London, was so striking as to
be quite remarkable. Her tone of voice, her air and manner, as well as
her features, reminded us strongly of the _artiste_ whose warm reception
in England, where we are supposed to be correct even to fastidiousness,
has not a little amused the Parisians at our expense. Whatever may be
the objections to Dejazet's style, certain it is that her imitation of
the manners of the class of _grisettes_ and peasants is inimitable; not
a shade, not a tone, is forgotten, and the _truth_ of her
representations is proved at every step you take in France, either in
the provinces or in Paris.
Our little talkative companion had much to relate of herself and her
husband, whom she described as a piece of perfection; he had just
returned from a whaling expedition, after several years' absence, and
they were now on their way to Lisieux to visit her relations, and give
him a little shooting. He had brought back, according to her account, a
mine of wealth; and, as she had incurred no debts during his absence,
but had supported herself by opening a little _cafe_, which she assured
us had succeeded admirably, they were proceeding, with well-filled
purses, to see their only child who was in the keeping of its
grandmother. She told wondrous histories of his exploits amongst the
ice, of his encounters with the natives--"_les Indiens_," of the success
of all his voyages, and the virtues of his captain, who was an
Englishman and _never spoke to his crew_, but was the most just man in
the world, and ended by saying that when she met with English people she
felt _in Paradise_.
Although we listened to her continued chattering with amused attention,
it was far otherwise with some quiet, silent, women who sat beside us;
we soon gathered, by certain contemptuous glances which they exchanged,
that they did not give credit to half our little Dejazet was telling;
and when to crown the whole, she related a story of a beautiful maiden
of Lisieux, who had been distinguished by the notice of the Duke de
_Nemours_ when he visited that place on his way to join _his ship_ at
Havre, they could support their impatience no longer, and broadly
contradicted her on the ground that the Prince de Joinville and _not_
Nemours was the sailor.
Nothing daunted, our gay whaler's wife insisted on every part of her
history being true, asserting that she must know best, and if the young
prince had _left the navy_ since, it was not her affair.
As she approached Lisieux she became more and more animated, darting her
body half way out of the window every minute to look out for her _papa_
or her other relations;--at length, with a scream which would have
secured Dejazet three rounds of applause, she recognised her parent in a
peasant _en blouse_, trudging along the road carrying his bundle--on his
way, no doubt, as she assured us, to see her sister, who lived at a
village near. Tears and smiles alternately divided the expression of her
countenance, as she now feared her sister was ill, and now rejoiced at
seeing her father. All was however happily settled when the coach
stopped and she sprang out into the arms of her papa, who had followed
the diligence, and came up out of breath; and it was then that we became
aware that a remarkably ill-looking, dirty, elderly, Jewish featured
man, to whom she had occasionally spoken on the journey, was the
identical perfection of a _mari_, of whom she had been boasting all the
way. The incredulous listeners, whom she had so annoyed, now revenged
themselves by sundry depreciatory remarks on the appearance of this
phoenix, whom they pronounced to have the air of a tinker or old
clothesman, and by no means that of the hero he had been represented.
As it was raining violently on our arrival at Lisieux, the town
presented to us but an uncomfortable appearance; and as we had to search
for an hotel, and were at last obliged to be content with one far from
inviting, our first impression was by no means agreeable; nor does
Lisieux offer anything to warrant a change in the traveller's opinion
who considers it dreary, slovenly, and ruinous. There is much, however,
to admire in the once beautiful cathedral, and the church of St.
Jacques, both grand specimens of the massive architecture of the twelfth
century.
In this town lived and died the traitor Bishop of Bayeux, Pierre
Cauchon, who sold the heroic Jeanne d'Arc for English gold. An
expiatory chapel was erected by him in the cathedral, where it was
hoped the tears of the pious would help to wash his sins away; but no
one now remembers either him or his crime, for we asked in vain for the
spot; and when prayers are offered at the shrine of the Virgin in the
chapel dedicated to her, which we eventually discovered to be its site,
not one is given to the cruel bishop, whose ill-gotten money was
therefore expended in vain; for the centuries it must have required to
rescue his soul from purgatory cannot have expired by this time. The
churches are being restored, and building, as usual in all French towns,
is going on: when numerous ugly striped houses are removed, and their
places filled up, the principal square of Lisieux may deserve to be
admired, though whether it will ever merit the encomium of an old lady
who resides in it, and who assured us it would in a short time be
_superbe_, time will determine. The public promenades are good, and the
views round the town pretty, but we did not feel tempted to wait for
finer weather, and took our departure for Falaise with little delay.
The drive from Lisieux to Falaise is charming; and, although the
appearance of the hotels is not in their favour, there is nothing to
complain of in regard to cleanliness or attention: at least so we found
it at La Croix Blanche, where the singular beauty of our hostess added
to the romance of our position, perched, as we were, on a balcony
without awning, in a building which had evidently been part of an old
tower. It is true that we should have preferred something rather less
exposed when we found ourselves confined for a whole day, in consequence
of the pouring rain, and found that a stream of water had made its way
from our balcony into each of our rooms; whose bricked floors were
little improved by their visit. Our suggestion of covering the way, in
order that, in wet weather, both the dinner and its bearers might be
sheltered, appeared to excite surprise, though our attendants came in
constantly with their high caps wet through and their aprons soaked.
Our nearly exhausted patience, as we gazed hopelessly on the dull sky of
an _August_ day, was at length rewarded; and the sun, which had
obstinately concealed himself for several days, burst forth on the
second morning of our arrival, and changed by its power the whole face
of things at Falaise. We lost no time in taking advantage of the fine
day which invited us, and sallied forth, all expectation, into the
streets, which we found, as well as the walks, as dry as if no rain had
fallen for months; so fresh and bright is the atmosphere in this
beautiful place.
The town is clean and neat; most of the ruinous, striped houses, with
projecting stories, such as deform the streets of Lisieux, being
cleared away; leaving wide spaces and pure air, at least in the
centre-town, where the best habitations are situated. There are other
divisions, less airy and more picturesque, called the fauxbourgs of
Guibray and St. Laurent, and le Val d'Ante; where many antique houses
are still standing, fit to engage the pencil of the antiquarian artist.
The churches of Falaise are sadly defaced, but, from their remains, must
have been of great beauty. The Cathedral, or Eglise de St. Laurent, is
partly of the twelfth century; the exterior is adorned with carving, and
gargouilles, and flying-buttresses, of singular grace; but the whole
fabric is so built in with ugly little shops, that all fine effect is
destroyed. The galleries in the church of La Trinite are elaborately
ornamented, as are some of the chapels, whose roofs are studded with
pendants. Much of this adornment is due to the English, under Henry V.,
and a good deal is of the period of the _renaissance_.
The church of Guibray was founded by Duke William, as the Norman windows
and arches testify; but a great deal of bad taste has been expanded in
endeavouring to turn the venerable structure into a Grecian temple,
according to the approved method of the time of Louis XIV. A statue of
the wife of Coeur de Lion was once to be seen here, but has long
disappeared. That princess resided in this part of Falaise, at one
period of her widowhood, and contributed greatly to the embellishment of
the church.
There are many columns and capitals, and arches and ornaments of
interest in the church of St. Gervais, defaced and altered as it is; but
it is impossible to give all the attention they deserve to these
buildings, when the towers of the splendid old castle are wooing you to
delay no longer, but mount at once the steep ascent which leads to its
walls.
Rising suddenly from the banks of a brawling crystal stream, a huge mass
of grey rocks, thrown in wild confusion one on the other, sustains on
its summit the imposing remains of the castle, whose high white tower,
alone and in perfect preservation, commands an immense tract of smiling
country, and seems to have defied the attacks of ages, as it gleams in
the sun, the smooth surface of its walls apparently uninjured and
unstained. This mighty donjon is planted in a lower part of the height;
consequently, high as it appears, scarcely half of its real elevation is
visible. Its walls are of prodigious thickness, and seem to have proved
their power through centuries of attack and defence to which it has been
exposed; careless alike of the violence of man and the fury of the
elements. Adjoining the keep are ranges of ruined walls, pierced with
fine windows, whose circular arches, still quite entire, show their
early Norman construction. Close to the last of these, whose pillars,
with wreathed capitals, are as sharp as if just restored, is a low door,
leading to a small chamber in the thickness of the wall. There is a
little recess in one corner, and a narrow window, through whose minute
opening a fine prospect may be seen.
This small chamber, tradition says, was once adorned with "azure and
vermilion;" though it could scarcely have ever presented a very gay
appearance, even when used as the private retreat of the luxurious
master of the castle. However, such as it is, we are bound to look upon
this spot with veneration; for it is asserted, that here a child was
born in secrecy and mystery, and that here, by this imperfect light, his
beautiful mother gazed upon the features of the future hero of Normandy.
However unlike a bower fitted for beauty and love, it is said that here
Arlette, the skinner's daughter, was confined of William the Conqueror.
It is said, too, that from this height, the sharp-sighted Duke his
father, gazing from his towers, first beheld the lovely peasant girl
bathing in the fountain which still bears her name. In this retreat,
concealed from prying eyes, and where inquisitive ears found it
difficult to catch a sound, the shrill cry of the wondrous infant was
first uttered,--a sound often to be repeated by every echo of the land,
when changed to the war note which led to victory.
Little, perhaps, did his poor mother exult in his birth, for she was of
lowly lineage, and had never raised her eyes to the castle but with awe,
nor thought of its master but with fear; her pleasures were to dance, on
holidays, under the shade of trees with the simple villagers, her
companions; her duties, to wash her linen on the stones of the silver
stream, as her townswomen do still at the present day--that silver
stream which probably flowed past her father's cottage, as it still
flows, bathing the base of cottages as humble and as rudely built as his
could have been. There might, perchance, have been one, amongst the
youths who admired her beauty, whom she preferred to the rest; her
ambition might have been to become his bride, her dreams might have
imaged his asking her of her father, whose gracious consent made them
both happy: in her ears might have rung the pealing bells of St.
Gervais--the vision of maidens, in bridal costumes, strewing flowers in
her path, might have risen before her view--her lover with his soft
words and smiles--his cottage amongst the heath-covered rocks of
Noron--all this might have flitted across her mind, as she stood beside
the fountain, beneath the castle walls, unconscious that eyes were
gazing on her whose influence was to fix her destiny. A mail-clad
warrior, terrible and powerful, whose will may not be resisted, whose
gold glitters in her father's eyes, or whose chains clank in his ears,
has seen and coveted her for his own, and her simple dream must be
dispersed in air to make way for waking terrors. The unfortunate father
trembles while he feebly resists, he listens to the duke's proposal, he
has yet a few words of entreaty for his child: he dares not tell her
what her fate must be, he hopes that time and new adventures will efface
Arlette from the mind of her dangerous lover; but, again, he is urged,
heaps of gold shine before him, how shall he turn from their tempting
lustre? Is there not in yonder tower an _oubliette_ that yawns for the
disobedient vassal? He appeals to Arlette, she has no reply but tears;
men at arms appear in the night, they knock at the skinner's door and
demand his daughter, they promise fair in the name of their master; they
mount her on a steed before the gentlest of their band, his horse's
hoofs clatter along the rocky way--the father hears the sobs of his
child for a little space, and his heart sinks,--he hides his eyes with
his clenched hand, but suddenly he starts up--his floor is strewn with
glittering pieces--he stoops down and counts them, and Arlette's sorrows
are forgotten.
Arlette returns no more to her father's cottage. She remains in a turret
of the castle, but not as a handmaiden of the duchess; her existence is
not supposed to be known, though the childless wife of Duke Robert weeps
in secret, over her wrongs.
All this is pure fancy, and may have no foundation in reality.
"Look here upon this picture and on that."
Perhaps Arlette did not repine at her fate; she might have been
ambitious and worldly, vain and presuming, have possessed cunning and
resolve, and have used every artifice to secure her triumph. Some of the
stories extant of her would seem to prove this, and some to exculpate
her from blame, inasmuch as she believed herself to have fulfilled a
sacred duty in conforming to her master's will. When she told her lover
that she had dreamt "a tree sprang from her bosom which overshadowed all
Normandy," there was more evidence of policy than simplicity in the
communication which was so well calculated to raise the hopes of a great
man without an heir; and perhaps it was she herself who dictated the
saying of the _sage femme_ at her son's birth, who, having placed him
_on straw_ by her side, and observing that the robust infant grasped in
his tiny hands as much as he could hold, cried out--"_Par Dieu_! this
child begins early to grasp and make all his own!" At all events the
little hero was "honourably brought up," and treated as if legitimate.
Another version of the story of Arlette is given by an ancient
chronicler, (Benoit de St Maur,) which is certainly a sufficient
contrast to the view I ventured to take of the affair, probably with but
little correctness, considering the manners of the period.
It appears that the scruples of the fair daughter of _Vertpres_, the
skinner, for his name seems to be known, were dispersed by the advice
and injunction of her uncle, a holy personage, of _singular_ piety, who
dwelt in a hermitage in the wood of Gouffern. Convinced, by his
arguments, that Heaven had directed the affection of the duke towards
her, she no longer resisted her father's wish, and made preparations as
if for a bridal, providing herself with rich habiliments calculated to
enhance her beauty. When the messengers of the duke came to fetch her,
they requested that she would put on a cloak and cape, and conceal her
rich dress, for fear of the jeers of the common people, who would
perhaps insult her if she appeared publicly with them; but she replied
boldly and proudly, "Does the duke send for me after this manner, as if
I were not the daughter of an honourable man? Shall I go secretly, as if
I were but a disgraced woman? That which I do is in all honour and
respectability, not from wickedness or weakness, and I am not ashamed
that men should see me pass. If I am to be taken to the duke, it shall
not be on foot and hidden--fetch, therefore, your palfrey, and let me go
as it becomes me." Her dress is thus described:--"She had clothed her
gentle body in a fine shift, over which was a grey pelisse, wide and
without lacings, but setting close to her shape and her arms: over this
she wore a short mantle conformable and of good taste; her long hair was
slightly bound with a fillet of fine silver. It was in this guise,
beautiful to behold, that she mounted the courser which was brought for
her, and saluted her _father and mother_ as she rode away; but at _the
last moment she was seized with a trembling, and burst into weeping,
covering her fair bosom with her tears_."
When she arrived, "by a fine moon-light," at the castle gate, her
attendants made her alight, and opened a wicket for her to enter, but
she drew back, saying, "The duke has sent for me, and it would seem that
he esteems me little if his gates are not to be opened for my passage.
Let him order them to give me entrance, or send me back at once. _Beaux
amis, ouvrez-moi la porte_."
The messengers, awed by her dignity, hesitated not to obey her, and she
was presently conducted into the presence of Duke Robert, who awaited
her coming in a vaulted chamber, adorned with gilding, where "fine
images were represented in enamel and colours." There he received her
with great joy and honour, and from that time she possessed all his
love.
CHAPTER II.
PRINCE ARTHUR--WANT OF GALLANTRY PUNISHED--THE RECREANT SOW--THE
ROCKS OF NORON--LA GRANDE EPERONNIERE--LE CAMP-FERME--ANTIQUITIES
OF FALAISE--ALENCON--NORMAN CAPS--GEESE--LE MANS--TOMB OF
BERANGERE--CATHEDRAL--ANCIENT REMAINS--STREETS--THE VEILED FIGURE.
CLOSE to the natal chamber of Duke William may be seen another recess in
the thick walls, still smaller and more dismal, to which a ruined window
now gives more light than in the days when poor young Arthur of Brittany
looked sadly through its loop-holes over a wide extent of country, now
all cultivation and beauty, but probably then bristling with forts and
towers, all in the hands of his hard-hearted uncle John. After having
made his nephew prisoner in Anjou, John sent him to Falaise, and had him
placed in this dungeon in the custody of some severe but not cruel
knights, who treated him with all the respect they dared to show. An
order from their treacherous master soon arrived, directing that he
should be put to death; but they refused obedience, and indignantly
exclaimed, that the walls of the castle of Falaise should not be sullied
by such a crime. Arthur was therefore removed to Rouen, and there less
conscientious men were found to execute the tyrant's will, if tradition,
so varied on the point, speak true.
Stephen maintained himself in the castle of Falaise against the father
of Henry II., and these walls have probably echoed to the lays of
minstrels, whose harps were tuned in praise of the beautiful and haughty
heiress of Aquitaine. The fair wife of Coeur de Lion had this castle for
her dower, and, for some time, is said to have lived here. Philip
Augustus accorded some singular privileges to Falaise, two of which
deserve to be recorded.
If a woman were convicted of _being fond of scandal_, and known to
backbite her neighbours, they had the right of placing cords under her
arms and ducking her three times in the water: after this, if a man took
the liberty of reproaching her with the circumstance, he was compelled
to pay a fine of ten sous, or else he was plunged into the stream in a
similar manner.
If a man were so ungallant as to call a woman _ugly_, he was obliged to
pay a fine. This offence was indeed worthy of condign punishment, if the
women of Falaise were as pretty formerly as they are now: with their
neat petticoats, smart feet in sabots, high butterfly or mushroom caps,
as white as snow, scarlet handkerchiefs and bright-coloured aprons, with
their round healthy cheeks, lively eyes, and good-humoured expression
of countenance, the Falaisiennes are as agreeable a looking race as one
would wish to see, and more likely to elicit compliment than insult.
Many curious customs prevailed in the middle ages in this old town; and
one was formerly portrayed on the walls of a chapel in the church of the
Holy Trinity. It was the representation of an execution: the delinquent
had injured a child, by disfiguring its face and arms, and suffered in
consequence. The culprit was no other than a sow; and when the crime
committed was brought home to her, the learned judges assembled on the
occasion pronounced her as guilty of malice prepense; and in order to
hold her up as an example to all sows in time to come, her _face_ and
_fore legs_ were mutilated in a similar manner to those of her victim.
The spectacle of her punishment took place in a public square, amidst a
great concourse of spectators, the father of the child being brought as
a witness, and condemned to stand by during the infliction, as a due
reward for not having sufficiently watched his infant. The
"viscount-judge" of Falaise appeared on the solemn occasion "on
horseback, with a plume of feathers on his head, and _his hand on his
side_." The sow was dragged forth dressed in the costume of a citizen,
in a vest and breeches, and "_with gloves on_, wearing a mask
representing the face of a man."
What effect this wise judgment had is not related; probably it produced
as salutary a result as most of those exhibitions designed for the
amusement or instruction of an enlightened multitude.
The chain of the rocks of Noron, on part of which the castle is
situated, is singularly picturesque; and from those opposite, rising
from the side of Arlette's fountain, the fine ruins have a most majestic
effect; and the prospect for leagues round is extremely beautiful. A
soft turf, covered with wild thyme, heath, and fern, makes the
meandering walks amongst the huge blocks of moss-mantled stone, tempting
and delightful, in spite of their steepness; and the delicious perfume
of the fragrant herbs, growing in great luxuriance everywhere, is
refreshing in the extreme. The snowy tower of strength, rising from its
bed of piled up rock--the broad high walls, and their firm buttresses
and circular windows, through which the blue sky gleams--the nodding
foliage and garlands of ivy which adorn the huge towers--and, far
beyond, a rich and glowing country, altogether present a scene of
beauty, difficult to be equalled in any part of Normandy, rich as that
charming province is in animated landscape.
We spent many hours of a brilliant summer's day, climbing amongst the
rocks, and making sketches of the castle in its different phases, all of
which offer studies to an artist: here the majestic donjon forms a fine
object; there the ruined arsenal; and farther off the battered walls,
separated and hurled down by the cannon of Henri IV. when through this
breach his white plume was seen triumphantly waving as he cheered his
warriors on to the attack, changing the _six months_ proposed by Brissac
into _six days_, during which he took the fortress and the town.
An anecdote is related of a heroine of Falaise, whose exploits are
recorded with pride by her countrymen, by whom she is called _La Grande
Eperonniere_. She had headed a party of valiant citizens, who defended
one of their gates, and fought with such determination, as to keep her
position for a long time against the soldiers of Le Vert Galant.
The king, when the town was in his power, summoned her before him: she
came, and approaching with the same undaunted air, interrupted him, as
he was about to propose terms to her, and demanded at once the safety of
all the women and aged men of the town of Falaise. Henry was struck with
her courage, and desired her to shut herself up in a street with the
persons she wished to save, together with all their most precious
possessions, and gave her his word that no soldier should penetrate that
retreat. He, of course, kept his promise; and she assembled her friends,
took charge of most of the riches of the town, closed the two ends of
the street in which she lived, and, while all the rest of Falaise was
given up to pillage, no one ventured to enter the sacred precincts. The
street is still pointed out, and is called _Le Camp-fermant_, or
_Camp-ferme_, in memory of the event. The heroic Eperonniere was
fortunate in having a chief to deal with, who gladly took advantage of
every opportunity to exercise mercy.
The town of Falaise is well provided with water, and its fountains stand
in fine open squares: a pretty rivulet runs through the greatest part,
and turns several mills for corn, oil, cotton and tan; it is called the
Ante, and gives name to the valley it embellishes as it runs glittering
along amongst the rugged stones which impede its way with a gentle
murmur, making a chorus to the voices of the numerous Arlettes, who,
kneeling at their cottage doors, may be seen rubbing their linen against
the flat stones over which the stream flows, bending down their heads
which, except on grand occasions, are no longer adorned with the high
fly-caps which are so becoming to their faces, but are covered with a
somewhat unsightly cotton nightcap, a species of head-gear much in vogue
in this part of lower Normandy, and a manufacture for which Falaise is
celebrated, and has consequently obtained the name of _the city of
cotton nightcaps_. However, there is one advantage in this usage--the
women have better teeth than in most cider countries, owing perhaps to
their heads being kept warm, and, ugly as the cotton caps are, they
deserve admiration accordingly.
A house is shown in one of the streets, called the House of the
Conqueror, and a rudely sculptured bust is exhibited there, dignified
with his name. Some few tottering antique houses still contrive to keep
together in the oldest parts of the town, but none are by any means
worthy of note; one is singular, being covered with a sort of coat of
mail formed of little scales of wood lapping one over the other, and
preserving the remains of some carved pillars, apparently once of great
delicacy. One pretty tower is still to be seen at the corner of the Rue
du Camp-ferme, which seems to have formed part of a very elegant
building, to judge by its lightness and grace; it has sunk considerably
in the earth, but from its height a fine prospect may be obtained. There
is a public library at Falaise, that great resource of all French towns,
and several fine buildings dedicated to general utility; but the boys of
the college the most excite the envy of the stranger, for their abode is
on the broad ramparts, and their playground and promenades are along the
beautiful walks formed on the ancient defences of the castle.
Our way to Alencon, where we proposed to stop a day, lay through
Argentan on the Orne, a pretty town on a height commanding a fine view
of plain and forest; the country is little remarkable the whole way, but
cultivated and pretty. At Seez the fine, delicate, elevated spires of
the Cathedral mark the situation of the town long before and after it is
reached; but, besides that, it possesses no attractions sufficient to
detain the traveller.
Alencon, the capital of the department of Orne, is a clean, open,
well-built town, situated in a plain with woods in all directions, which
entirely bound its prospects. The public promenades are remarkably fine,
laid out with taste, and a great resource to the inhabitants, who
consider them equal to those of Paris, comparing them to the gardens of
the Luxembourg. The cathedral, once fine, is dreadfully defaced, and the
boasted altars and adornments of the chapels are in the usual bad taste
so remarkable at the present day.
A few fine round towers remain of the ancient chateau, now a prison,
which is the only vestige of antiquity remaining. There was an
exhibition of works of industry and art going on, which we went to see,
and were much struck with the extreme beauty of some specimens of the
lace called Point d'Alencon. The patterns and delicate execution of this
manufacture are exquisite, equalling ancient point lace and Brussels.
Some very fine stuffs in wool, transparent as gossamer and of the
softest colours, attracted us, but the severity of an official
prevented our examining them as closely as we wished, and as there was
no indication of the place where they could be beheld at liberty, we
were obliged to content ourselves with the supposition that they were
the produce of the workshops of Alencon. As the large gallery in which
the exhibition took place was principally filled with peasants in
blouses and women with children, perhaps the vigilance of the attendants
might not be useless; but whether their proceeding was judicious in
refusing information to strangers or persons who might be able to
purchase goods which pleased them, is questionable.
Amongst the customary Norman caps to be seen here, we remarked one which
we recognised at once as Breton. The girl who wore it was very pretty,
and in spite of the grave demeanour peculiar to her country and a
distinguishing trait, was pleased at my wishing to sketch her
singular-shaped head-dress, _en crete de coq_: she was from St. Malo, as
I had no difficulty in guessing.
Through alleys of crimson-apple trees our road continued, and we were
forcibly, and not very agreeably reminded, at almost every step, that
there is a large trade carried on in this part of the country in goose
down, for flocks of these unfortunate animals were scattered along the
road, their breasts entirely despoiled of their downy beauties, offering
a frightful spectacle; the immense numbers exceed belief, and all appear
of a fine species. At every cabaret we passed, notices were stuck up
informing those whom it might concern, that accommodation for four or
five hundred oxen was to be had within; but we met no private carriages,
nor, even in the neighbourhood of large towns, horsemen or pedestrians
above the rank of peasants. This is a circumstance so universal in every
part of France, that it becomes a mystery where the other classes of
society conceal themselves--on the promenades, in the streets and shops,
to see a well-dressed person is a prodigy, and the wonder is to whom the
goods are sold, which are certainly sparingly enough exhibited.
We had looked forward to much pleasure in a visit to the ancient town
of Le Mans, and its treasure, the tomb of Berangere, for the discovery
of which, although a benefit unacknowledged, France and the curious are
indebted to the zeal and perseverance of the late lamented Stothard, who
sought for and found one of the most beautiful statues of the time under
a heap of corn in an old church formerly belonging to the convent of
Epau, but converted into a granary in 1820, when, by his entreaties and
resolution, the lost beauty was restored to daylight and honour. Not a
word of all this is, however, named by any French chronicler, although
Berangere is now the heroine and the boast of Le Mans, the object of
interest to travellers, the gem of the cathedral, and the pride of Le
Maine.
Nothing can be more majestic, more imposing, or more magnificent than
the huge and massive building which towers above the town of Le Mans,
and now adorns one side of a wide handsome square, where convents,
churches, houses, and streets have been cleared away, without remorse,
to leave a free opening in front of this fine cathedral. The _place_ is
named _des Jacobins_, from one of the vanished monasteries, which a
beautiful theatre now replaces, one of the most elegant I ever saw in
France, and yet unopened, at the back of which spreads out a promenade
in terraces, the site of a Roman amphitheatre. All the houses round
this square are handsome, and a broad terrace before the arcades of the
theatre completes its good effect. Numerous flying buttresses and
galleries and figures combine to give lightness to the enormous bulk of
the cathedral, which, being without spires, would otherwise be heavy;
but the want of these graceful accessories is scarcely felt, so grand is
the general character given to it by the enormous square tower, which
appears to protect it, and the smaller ones, its satellites. Statues of
the countesses of Maine, of nuns, and queens, may still be seen in
niches at different heights of the tower, and the portals are enriched
with saints and bishops, angels and foliage astonishing the eye with
their elaborate grace and beauty. There are thirteen chapels projecting
from the main building, that which forms the termination towards the
square being the largest. One rose window is remarkable for the elegance
of its stone-work, and the form of all the windows is grand and
imposing.
This glorious fabric, equal to that of Beauvais, which it resembles, and
more extensive, is sufficient of itself to render Le Mans interesting,
but it is a town full of objects that delight and please. The streets
are all wide, clean, and well-paved; there are good squares and handsome
houses; and its position on the pretty, clear river Sarthe, from which
the banks rise gracefully, crowned with foliage and adorned with towers
and churches, makes the place really charming. There is a promenade,
called Du Greffier, formed evidently on the ramparts of an old castle,
part of whose massive walls may still be traced among the trees, which
are planted in terraces above the river, whose water is as bright and
glittering as those of the Loire itself: green meadows and pretty _aits_
adorn the stream, and the usual picturesque idleness of fishing is
carried on by its banks, while groups of wading washerwomen, in
high-coloured petticoats and white caps, enliven the little quays.
The weather was very propitious while we were at Le Mans, and all
appeared attractive and agreeable, and we enjoyed our unwearied walks,
both in the environs, and in the town, extremely. Although there is a
great deal that is entirely new in the principal quarter of the town,
where our Hotel du Dauphin, in the spacious Place aux Halles, was
situated, yet, to the antiquarian, there is no lack of interest in the
antique parts, where much of the original city remains even as it might
have been in the earliest times. Roman walls and towers extend in every
direction between the three bridges of Ysoir, St. Jean, and Napoleon;
and, in the old quartiers of Gourdaine and du Pre, arches, pillars, and
ruins, attest the antiquity of the spot. We hesitated not to enter these
singular old streets, where the lowest of the population reside, and,
as is almost invariable in France, we always found civility and a
cheerful readiness to afford us information. The inquisitive stranger is
generally, however, obliged, after going through several of the narrow
ways which excite his curiosity, to abandon his search after uncertain
antiquities, from the inodorous accompaniments which are sure to assail
him; and so it was with us when we had visited the Rue _Danse Renard_,
Rue _de la Truie qui File_, _Vert Galant_, the _Grande_ and _Petite
Poterne_, &c. We found ourselves wandering in circles, amongst dwellings
that looked as if they must be the same inhabited by the original
Gaulish inhabitants, and at length, anxious to pay our daily devotions
at the shrine of Berangere, we ventured on the ascent of an apparently
interminable flight of stone steps, between immensely high massive
walls, called _Les Pans de Gorron_.
We paused every now and then, on our ascent, to wonder at the appearance
of the town, of which, and the river, we caught glimpses at intervals,
and to gaze upwards at the strange old Roman walls above us, and the
high houses, some with five and six rows of windows in their shelving
roofs. At length, after considerable toil, we reached the platform where
once stood the chateau, and where still stands a curious building, all
towers and tourelles, some ugly, and some of graceful form, the latter
apparently of the period of Charles VI. Immediately before the steps in
the square above us rose the cathedral, which we came upon unawares;
and, exactly in front of us, in an angle, partly concealed by the broad
shadow, we perceived a figure so mysterious, so remarkable, that it was
impossible not to create in the mind of a beholder the most interesting
speculations. This extraordinary figure deserves particular description,
and I hope it may be viewed by some person more able than myself to
explain it, or one more fortunate than I was in obtaining information
respecting it. To all the questions I asked of the dwellers in Le Mans,
the answers were exclamations of surprise at a stranger having noticed
that which had never been remarked at all by any one of the passers by,
who classed it with the stones of the church or the posts of the square.
Yet surely the antiquarian will not be indifferent to the treasure
which, it appears to me, he should hail with as much delight as the
discovery of a Druidical monument or a Roman pavement.
Seated in an angle of the exterior walls of the cathedral, on a rude
stone, is a reddish looking block, which has all the appearance of a
veiled priest, covered with a large mantle, which conceals his hands and
face. The height of the figure is about eight feet as it sits; the feet,
huge unformed masses, covered with what seems drapery, are supported on
a square pedestal, which is again sustained by one larger, which
projects from the angle of the building. The veil, the ample mantle, and
two under-garments, all flowing in graceful folds, and defining the
shape, may be clearly distinguished. No features are visible, nor are
the limbs actually apparent, except through the uninterrupted waving
lines of the drapery, or what may be called so. A part of the side of
what seems the head has been sliced off, otherwise the block is entire.
It would scarcely appear to have been sculptured, but has the effect of
one of those sports of Nature in which she delights to offer
representations of forms which the fancy can shape into symmetry.
There is something singularly Egyptian about the form of this swathed
figure, or it is like those Indian idols, whose contours are scarcely
defined to the eye; it is so wrapped up in mystery, and is so surrounded
with oblivion, that the mind is lost in amazement in contemplating it.
Did it belong to a worship long since swept away?--was it a god of the
Gauls, or a veiled Jupiter?--how came it squeezed in between two walls
of the great church, close to the ground, yet supported by steps?--why
was it not removed on the introduction of a purer worship?--how came it
to escape destruction when saints and angels fell around?--who placed it
there, and for what purpose?--will no zealous antiquarian, on his way
from a visit to the wondrous circle of Carnac and the gigantic Dolmens
of Saumur, pause at Le Mans, at this obscure corner of the cathedral,
opposite the huge Pans de Gorron, and tell the world the meaning of this
figure with the stone veil?
* * * * *
Since I left Le Mans, a friend, who resided there some years, informs me
the tradition respecting this stone is, that an _English Giant_ brought
the block from the banks of the river, up the steep ascent of the Pans
de Gorron, and cast it from his shoulders against the wall of the
cathedral, where it now stands.
Imagination may easily, here in the country, where the sage bard, the
great Merlin, or Myrdhyn, lived, induce the belief that this mysterious
stone represents the Druid lover of the fatal Viviana;--may this not be
the very stone brought from Brociliande, within, or under, which he is
in durance; or rather is not this himself transformed to stone? Thus
runs the tradition:--
THE DRUID LOVER.
"Myrdhyn the Druid still sleeps under a stone in a forest in Brittany;
his Viviana is the cause; she wished to prove his power, and asked the
sage the fatal word which could enchain him; he, who knew all things,
was aware of the consequences, yet he could not resist her entreaties;
he told her the spell, and, to gratify her, condemned himself to eternal
oblivion."
I know to tell the fatal word
Is sorrow evermore--
I know that I that boon accord
Whole ages will deplore.
Though I be more than mortal wise,
And all is clear to gifted eyes;
And endless pain and worlds of woe
May from my heedless passion flow,
Yet thou hast power all else above,--
Sense, reason, wisdom, yield to love.
I look upon thine eyes of light,
And feel that all besides is night;
I press that snowy hand in mine,
And but contemn my art divine.
Oh Viviana! I am lost;
A life's renown thy smile hath cost.
A stone no ages can remove
Will be my monument of love;
A nation's wail shall mourn my fate,
My country will be desolate:
Heav'n has no pardon left for me,
Condemn'd--undone--destroy'd--by thee!
Thy tears subdue my soul, thy sighs
Efface all other memories.
I have no being but in thee;
My thirst for knowledge is forgot,
And life immortal would but be
A load of care, where thou wert not.
Wouldst thou but turn away those eyes
I might be saved--I might be wise.
I might recal my reason still
But for that tongue's melodious thrill!
Oh! wherefore was my soul replete
With wisdom, knowledge, sense, and power,
Thus to lie prostrate at thy feet,
And lose them all in one weak hour!
But no--I argue not--'tis past--
Thus to be thine, belov'd by thee,
I seek but this, even to the last,
For all besides is vain to me.
I gaze upon thy radiant brow,
And do not ask a future now.
Thou hast the secret! speak not yet!
Soon shall I gaze myself to stone,
Soon shall I all but thee forget,
And perish to be thine alone.
Ages on ages shall decline,
But Myrdhyn shall be ever thine!
CHAPTER III.
TOMB OF BERANGERE--WIVES OF COEUR DE LION--TOMBS--ABBEY
CHURCHES--CHATEAU OF LE MANS--DE CRAON--THE SPECTRE OF LE MANS--THE
VENDEEANS--MADAME DE LA ROCHE-JAQUELIN--A WOMAN'S PERILS--DISASTERS
OF THE VENDEEANS--HENRI--CHOUANS.
HOWEVER interesting the exterior of the Cathedral of St. Julien may be,
the interior entirely corresponds with it. The windows of painted glass
are of the very first order, and of surpassing beauty, nearly entire,
and attributed to Cimabue. The double range in the choir, seen through
the _grille_, or from the exterior aisle--for there are two on each
side--present a magnificent _coup d'oeil_. The architecture is of
different periods; specimens may be observed belonging to the 12th
century and reaching to the 17th; but some of the finest is that of the
Norman era; the zigzags of the portals, and the billets, rose
mouldings, &c., being of peculiar delicacy and boldness. There is a
great deal of ornament composed of those extravagant forms of animals
which, at a distance, are confounded with the foliage to which they are
attached, but which, viewed nearly, are mysteriously extraordinary. The
circular arch reigns throughout, but many in _ogive_ also occur in
different parts. The arcades and galleries of the choir are of the
utmost delicacy and elegance of form; but the chief attraction is the
tomb of the widow of Richard Coeur de Lion, placed in one of the wings
of the cross. The Lady Chapel is undergoing repair, and is being
restored in the very best style. The new screen is beautiful, and the
figures of the Virgin and Child in very good taste, as are all the
ornaments, which exactly follow the fine originals. The exterior repairs
are carried on with equal skill; and this precious monument will soon be
in perfect order.
As I looked at the pure, dignified, and commanding outline of the face
of Berangere, she appeared to me to have been a fitting wife for the
hero whose effigy had inspired me with so much admiration when I visited
it a few years since, at Fontevraud. Her nose is slightly aquiline, her
upper lip short and gracefully curved, her chin beautifully rounded, as
are her cheeks; her eyebrows are clearly marked, and her eye full though
not large; but, even in stone, it has a tender, soft expression,
extremely pleasing, and there is a sadness about the mouth which answers
well to the tenderness of the eye. The forehead is of just proportion,
and shaded by a frill which passes across, over which an ample veil is
drawn: the whole confined by a diadem, the only part of the statue
rather indistinct. Round her fine majestic throat is a band, to which a
large ornament is attached, which rests on her chest; her head reclines
on an embroidered pillow; her drapery falls over her figure and round
her clasped hands in graceful folds, and the dog and lion at her feet
complete the whole of this charming statue, which is of workmanship
equal to that of the exquisite _four_ in the little vault at
Fontevraud.[2]
Berangere was daughter of Sancho VI., king of Navarre--not, as some
historians say, a princess of Castile or Arragon. After Richard's death,
Philip-Augustus confirmed to her the dominion of Maine, in exchange for
part of Normandy, which had been settled on her as her dower. She lived
for more than twenty years in the town of Le Mans, where her memory was
long preserved as _La Bonne Reine Berangere_. She founded the monastery
of Epau, near Le Mans, where the mausoleum was erected which now adorns
the Cathedral of St. Julien.
[Footnote 2: See a description of the statues of Coeur de Lion, Henry
and Elionor, and Isabella of Angouleme, in "A Summer amongst the Bocages
and the Vines."]
Two houses are pointed out in the Grande Rue, said to have formed part
of her palace; and the singularity of the ornaments which can be traced
amidst their architecture, makes it probable that the tradition is not
incorrect.
The abbey of Epau formerly stood about half a league from Le Mans, on
the banks of the river Huisne, in the midst of a fertile plain; the
widow of Richard founded it, in 1230, for Bernardins of the order of
Citeaux.
The inhabitants of Le Mans destroyed the monastery, after the battle of
Poitiers, in 1365, fearing that the English would take possession of it
and render it a place of defence; and it was reconstructed early in the
fifteenth century. The church alone remains, which, after the
Revolution, was desecrated, as has been related, and the tomb of the
foundress treated so unceremoniously.
There seems a question, which has not yet been fully resolved, as to the
identity of the wives of Richard; by some authors a certain Rothilde,
otherwise called Berangere of Arragon, is described as his queen; who,
"owing to some misunderstanding, caused a part of the city of Limoges to
be destroyed, and salt strewn amongst the ruins; three days after which
she died, and was buried under the belfry of the abbey of St. Augustine,
in 1189 or 1190. Her mausoleum and statue were afterwards placed
there."
This could scarcely be _our_ Berangere of Navarre, since mention is made
of her in public acts as late as 1234. In the annals of Aquitaine, by
Bouchet, it is set forth, that, "in 1160, Henry, Duke of Aquitaine, and
Raimond, Count of Barcelona, being at Blaye, on the Gironde, made and
swore an alliance, by which Richard, surnamed Coeur de Lion, second son
of the said Henry, was to marry the daughter of the said Raimond, when
she should be old enough, and Henry promised to give, on the occasion of
the said marriage, the duchy of Aquitaine to his son. This Raimond was
rich and powerful, being Count of Barcelona in his own right, and King
of Arragon in right of his wife." The Princess Alix of France--about
whose detention from him, Richard afterwards quarrelled with his
father--never became his wife; but whether it is she who is meant by the
queen buried at Limoges, in 1190, does not appear.
That he married Berangere in 1191, in the island of Cyprus, seems an
ascertained fact; and that she died at Le Mans appears also certain; but
whether Richard really had two wedded wives it is difficult to
determine.
On the Monday of Pentecost, the Abbey of Epau was for centuries the
scene of a grand festival, in honour of the patron saint, and the
ceremony was continued, to a late period, of passing the day there in
gaiety and amusement. All the families of the neighbourhood sought the
spot on foot, and every kind of country entertainment was resorted to.
Although the object is now changed, an expedition to the remains of the
Abbey of Epau is still a favourite one with the inhabitants of Le Mans;
it is a kind of _Longchamps_, where all the fashion and gaiety of the
town is displayed.
The only tombs, besides that of Berangere, remaining in the cathedral of
Le Mans, are those in white marble, of Charles of Anjou, Count of Maine
and King of Jerusalem and Sicily, who died in 1472. Opposite this, is a
finely-sculptured tomb, worthy of the school of Jean Goujon, of Langey
du Bellay; the carving of the fruits and flowers which adorn it is
attributed to Germain Pilon. There is some good carving, also, in a
neighbouring chapel, by Labarre, done in 1610; but little else of this
kind remarkable in the church; all the other tombs of countesses, dukes,
and princes, having long since disappeared. However, Berangere, perhaps,
appears to the greater advantage, reigning, as she does, in solitary
grandeur in this magnificent retreat.
The abbey churches of La Couture and Du Pre, are fine specimens of early
architecture. In the chapel of the former, an inscription was once to be
found on the walls, to the memory of a certain innkeeper and postilion,
who, wishing that his name should be handed down to posterity, had set
forth the fact of his having conducted the carriages of four kings of
France, and after passing sixty-four years as a married man, died in
1509: he adds a prayer to this important record, that Heaven would
provide a second husband for his widow, whose age appears to have
reached not less than _sixteen lustres_. The subterranean church of La
Couture is very remarkable, and is, no doubt, of Roman construction; the
capitals of the pillars are extremely curious, and its height and
dryness are peculiar. The famous warrior, Helie de la Fleche, so often
named in the wars of the eleventh century, was here buried; and here, it
is said, was deposited the body of the blessed St. Bertrand. It is a
very grand and interesting church in all its parts, and preserves some
curious memorials of Roman and early Norman architecture.
The abbey church of Du Pre is equally curious, and its circular arches,
strange capitals, niches and ornaments, prove its extraordinary
antiquity.
There are a great many houses still existing in the oldest part of Le
Mans which retain part of their original sculpture, and are of great
antiquity, though it is not likely that they reach so far back as the
time of Berangere, or La Reine Blanche, as she is traditionally
called--a designation always given to the widowed queens of France.
The house in the Grande Rue--one of the most dilapidated streets in the
town--said to have formed part of her palace, is now divided into two
poulterers' shops; and when we visited it, the chamber called that of
the widow of Coeur de Lion, was occupied by seven women, not employed in
weaving tapestry or stringing pearls, but in plucking fowls. The
chimney-piece is curious, adorned with two fine medallions of male
heads, in high relief, very boldly executed. The outside of the house
has some curious carving of eagles with expanded wings, strange
monkey-shaped figures, lions _couchant_, crosslets and scrolls; but the
facade is so much destroyed, that it is difficult to connect any of
these ornaments. The crosslets were the arms of Jerusalem, of which the
counts of Anjou called themselves kings; but to what period all these
sculptures belong it is difficult to say.
The Grande Rue is full of these remains; in the Rue des Chanoines, some
circular-arched windows, ornamented with roses, stars, and _toothed_
carving, indicate that here once stood the church founded by St. Aldric,
in the ninth century; and some pieces of wall and brick still prove its
original Roman construction.
In the Place St. Michel, a stone house of ancient date is shown as
having been inhabited by Scarron; and in almost every street of the old
town, some curious bits, worthy of an artist's attention, may be found;
but the search after them is somewhat fatiguing, and involves a visit to
not the most agreeable part of the pretty city: all of which is
interesting, whether new or old.
Of the once famous Chateau of Le Mans, erected long before the time of
William the Conqueror, who destroyed it in part, nothing now remains but
the Pans de Gorron, and a few _tourelles_. Yet it was, in the turbulent
times when such fortresses were required, a place of enormous strength;
and its two forts, one called Mont Barbet, and one Motte Barbet, defied
many an attack.
It appears that the Manceaux were impatient of the yoke of the
_conquering hero_, who endeavoured to make all the territory his own
which approached his domains; and three times they gave him the trouble
of besieging their town; he, at length, having raised fortifications
sufficient to intimidate them, placed in command in the chateau a
female, whose warlike attainments had rendered her famous even in those
days of prowess. She was an English woman by birth, the widow of a
Norman knight, and called Orbrindelle. The fort in which she took up her
head quarters, and from whence she sent forth the terror of her power,
was called after her; but, by corruption, was afterwards named
Ribaudelle.
This castle was destroyed by royal order in 1617, and at its demolition
several Roman monuments and inscriptions were found on the walls and
beneath the foundations.
King John of France was born in the Chateau of Le Mans, and several
monarchs made it their temporary abode. The Black Prince sojourned
within its walls till Duguesclin, the great captain, disturbed his
repose. The unfortunate Charles VI., whom fate persecuted to the ruin of
France, was at Le Mans when that fearful event occurred to him, which
decided his future destiny. From the alleys of a great forest, now no
longer existing, issued forth that mysterious vision which no sage has
yet entirely explained. It is impossible to be at Le Mans, without
recollecting the curious story connected with the poor young king,
though the town is too light and cheerful-looking at the present day, to
allow of its being a fitting scene either for so gloomy a legend, or for
the sad events which modern days brought forth within its precincts.
The circumstances which caused the madness of the son of Charles the
Wise, may not, perhaps, be immediately present to the reader's mind:
they were as follows:--
Pierre de Craon, lord of Sable and Ferte Bernard, an intriguing man, who
held a high place in the consideration of Mary of Brittany, the regent
of Anjou and Maine in the absence of her husband, who was prosecuting
his designs against Naples and Sicily, had proved himself a faithless
treasurer of large sums of money confided to him by his mistress; which
sums had been wrung from the two provinces of Maine and Anjou. De Craon
had dissipated this money in extravagance, instead of supplying the
army of Prince Louis, who died in consequence of disappointed hope and
his unsuccessful struggles. The traitor made his appearance in Paris
without fear; for he was protected by the powerful duke of Orleans,
brother of the king.
Shortly afterwards, however, having had a dispute with the Constable,
Olivier de Clisson, he laid wait for him, accompanied by a set of
wretches in his pay, and fell upon the great captain unawares, wounding
him in the head, and leaving him for dead. After this cowardly exploit,
De Craon fled, and threw himself under the protection of the Duke of
Brittany, who, although not his accomplice, was weak enough to take his
part.
Pierre de Craon was condemned for contumacy; several of his people were
punished with death, in particular a poor curate of Chartres, who was
entirely innocent: his dwelling was razed to the ground, and its site
given to a neighbouring church for a cemetery: and the Duke of Brittany
was summoned by King Charles to deliver up the craven knight to justice.
This command, however, was treated with contempt, and the king
accordingly put himself at the head of his troops, and set forth to
attack the duke: it was at Le Mans that he arrived with his army.
Charles was greatly excited, and his nerves appear to have been agitated
at this time, owing to various causes. The weather was intensely hot,
and the sun struck full upon him as he rode in advance of his army,
surrounded by his guard of honour. He entered the Forest of Le Mans, and
was proceeding down one of its glades, when suddenly a gigantic black
figure, wild, haggard, and with hair floating in dishevelled masses over
his face, darted suddenly from a deep recess, and, seizing the bridle of
the king's horse, cried out, in a sepulchral voice, "Hold,
king!--whither ride you?--go no further!--you are betrayed!" and
instantly disappeared amidst the gloomy shades of the wood, before any
one had time to lay hands on him.
Charles did not turn back, but continued his way in silence; he emerged
from the forest on to a wide sandy plain, where the heat was almost
intolerable, and where there was nothing to shelter him from the burning
rays. A page was riding near him, who, overcome with fatigue, slept in
his saddle, and let the lance he held fall violently on the helmet of
one of his companions. The sharp sound this occasioned roused the king
from his gloomy reverie: he started in sudden terror; his brain was
confused and heated; he imagined that the accomplishment of the
spectre's denunciation was at hand, and, losing his senses altogether,
he drew his sword, and, with a wild cry, rushed forward, hewing down all
before him, and galloping distractedly across the plain, till,
exhausted by fatigue and excitement, he fell from his horse in a swoon.
He was instantly surrounded by his people, raised from the ground, and
conveyed with all care to Le Mans, where he remained till he was thought
sufficiently recovered to be removed to Paris.
The storm about to fall on the head of the Duke of Brittany was thus
turned aside, and the troops who had received orders to attack him were
withdrawn. Whether this was a scene got up by the Duke of Brittany, in
order to work on the diseased mind of the unfortunate monarch, or was
merely the effect of an accidental meeting with a maniac, or whether the
king's uncles, who disapproved of his just indignation at De Craon's
conduct, had arranged the whole, it is impossible to say: but poor
Charles was surrounded by traitors, foreign and domestic, and evidently
had no good physician at hand, whose timely skill might have saved years
of misery and bloodshed to France.
Throughout the deadly wars of the League, and the contentions between
Catholic and Protestant, which desolated France, Le Mans and the whole
of the department of Maine took a prominent part, and its streets,
houses, churches, and villages were burnt and destroyed over and over
again. The last stand of the unfortunate Vendeeans was at Le Mans. "Sad
and fearful is the story" of the fight there, as it is told by Madame
de la Roche-Jaquelin, whose pictures draw tears from every eye, and
whose narrative, read at Le Mans, is melancholy indeed.
After dreadful fatigues and varying fortune, during which the devoted
town was taken and retaken several times, the harassed Vendeeans, more
remarkable for their valour than their prudence, remained in possession
of the town on the night of the 10th of December, 1793, and gave
themselves up to the repose which they so much needed, but without
arranging any means of security, though a vigilant enemy was on the
watch to take advantage of their state. They abandoned themselves, with
characteristic superstition, to the care of Heaven alone; placing no
sentinels, no out-posts, no guard whatever: and, although the next day
the chiefs visited the town and its issues, no precaution was taken
against the possibility of an attack,--no measures to secure a retreat,
nor council held as to whither their course should be directed in case
of such a necessity. The time was consumed in disputes, as to whether
the wearied Vendeean army should pursue its transient success, and go on
to Paris, or yield to the desire of the generality of the soldiers, and
return to their beloved home, by crossing the Loire, which so many
regretted ever to have passed. It appears that there were from sixty to
seventy thousand persons in Le Mans, of the royalist party; including
women, children, and servants, with baggage and money to a large amount.
The republican army, commanded by Marceau and Westermann, surprised the
town at night. In spite of the active bravery of La Roche-Jaquelin, and
the energy he displayed when the danger was so apparent, a fearful
slaughter ensued. Street by street, and square by square, the Vendeeans
disputed every inch of ground, till the corpses of the slain lay in
heaps in the narrow ways; every house was a fortress,--every lane a pass
desperately defended. The intrepid young leader had two horses killed
under him, and was obliged to absent himself a moment to seek for
others. No sooner did his people lose sight of him than a panic took
possession of them; they thought all lost,--became confused and
disordered. Many of them, waked from sleep, or from a state of
inebriety, in which the Britons are too apt to indulge, horrified at the
shrieks of their women, stunned by the sound of the cannon, which roared
through the dark streets, and startled at the glare of artillery
suddenly blazing around them,--entirely lost all presence of mind, and
fled in every direction; killing and wounding friends and foes in their
precipitous retreat. Horses, waggons, and dead bodies impeded their
flight, and Le Mans was one scene of carnage and terror. Their leaders
stood their ground, and kept the great square of Le Mans for more than
four hours, performing prodigies of valour. But the republicans at last
were victors: and horribly did they pursue their advantage; sparing
neither age nor sex, and exulting in the most atrocious cruelties. The
peasants of Le Mans and its environs, taking part with the stronger
side, pursued the vanquished with disgraceful energy, and murdered the
unfortunate Vendeeans in the woods and fields, and in every retreat
where those devoted people sought shelter and safety.
The state of the unfortunate women, whose husbands, sons, and fathers
were being slaughtered with every volley which rung in their ears, is
horrible to imagine. Madame de la Roche-Jaquelin thus describes her own
position in moving language:
"From the beginning, we foresaw the result of the struggle. I was lodged
at the house of a lady who was very rich, very refined, but a great
republican. She had a large family, whom she tenderly loved, and whom
she carefully attended. I resolved to confide my daughter to her, as one
of her relations had already taken charge of little Jagault. I entreated
her to protect her,--to bring her up as a mere peasant only,--to instil
into her mind sentiments of honour and virtue. I said that, should she
be destined to resume the position in which she was born, I should
thank Heaven for its mercy; but I resigned myself to all, provided she
was virtuously brought up. She assured me that, if she took my child,
she would educate her with her own. I used all the arguments a mother
could in such circumstances, and was interrupted by the cry that
announced retreat. She quitted me instantly; and I, losing at once all
hope, but trusting at least to save my daughter's life, placed her
secretly in the bed of the mistress of the family, certain that she
could not have the cruelty to abandon the innocent little creature. I
then descended the stairs: I was placed on horseback; the gate was
opened; I saw the square filled with a flying, pressing crowd, and in an
instant I was separated from every one I knew. I perceived M. Stofflet,
who was carrying the colours: I took advantage of his presence to try to
find the road; I followed him across the square, which I supposed was
the way; I kept close to the houses; and at length reached the street
which led in the direction I sought, towards the road of Laval. But I
found it impossible to advance; the concourse was too great,--it was
stifling: carts, waggons, cannon, were overturned; bullocks lay
struggling on the ground, unable to rise, and striking out at all who
approached them. The cries of persons trodden underfoot echoed
everywhere. I was fainting with hunger and terror: I could scarcely see;
for daylight was nearly closed. At the corner of a street I perceived
two horses tied to a stake, and they completely barred my passage; the
crowd pressed them against me; and I was squeezed between them and the
wall: I screamed to the soldiers to take and ride off with them; but my
voice was not heard or attended to. A young man on horseback passed by
me, with a mild and sad countenance: I cried out to him, catching his
hand, 'Oh! sir, have pity on a poor woman, near her confinement, and
perishing with want and fatigue: I can go no further.' The stranger
burst into tears, and replied: 'I am a woman, too: we shall perish
together; for nothing can penetrate into yonder street.' We both
remained expecting our fate.
"In the meantime, the faithful Bontemps, servant of M. de Lescure, not
seeing my daughter, sought for her everywhere,--found her at length, and
carried her off in his arms. He followed me, perceived me in the crowd,
and called out, 'I have saved my master's child!' I hung down my head,
and resigned myself to the worst. In a moment after I saw another of my
servants: I called to him; he caught my horse by the bridle; and,
cutting his way with his sabre, we entered the street. With incredible
trouble, we reached a little bridge in the faubourg, on the road to
Laval: a cannon was overturned upon it, and stopped up the way: at
length we got by, and I found myself in the road; where I paused, with
many others. Some officers were there, trying to rally their soldiers;
but all their efforts were useless.
"The republicans, hearing a noise where we were, turned their cannon
upon us from the height of the houses. A bullet whizzed past my head: a
moment afterwards a fresh discharge startled me; and, involuntarily, I
bent myself low upon my horse. An officer near reproached me bitterly
for my cowardice. 'Alas!' replied I, 'it is excusable in a wretched
woman to crouch down when a whole army has taken to flight!' In fact,
the firing continued so violently that all of our people who had paused
recommenced flying for their lives. Had it been daylight, perhaps they
might have been recalled.
"A few leagues from Le Mans, I beheld the arrival of my father. He and
Henri had been for a long time vainly endeavouring to reanimate the
soldiers. Henri hurried towards me, exclaiming, 'You are saved!'--'I
thought you were lost," cried I, 'since we are beaten.' He wrung my
hand, saying, 'I would I were dead!'
"About twelve leagues from Le Mans, I stopped in a village: a great part
of the army had also halted there. There was scarcely any one in the
cottages: the road was covered with poor wretches, who, fainting with
fatigue, were sleeping in the mud, without heeding the pelting rain. The
rout of Le Mans cost the lives of fifteen thousand persons. The greatest
part were not killed in the battle; many were crushed to death in the
streets of Le Mans; others, wounded and sick, remained in the houses,
and were massacred. They died in the ditches and the fields: a great
number fled on the road to Alencon, were there taken, and conducted to
the scaffold.
* * * * *
"Such was the deplorable defeat of Le Mans, where the Vendeean army
received a mortal blow: it was an inevitable fatality. The day that they
quitted the left bank of the Loire, with a nation of women, children,
and old people, to seek an asylum in a country unknown, without being
aware what route they should take, at the beginning of winter, it was
easy to foretell that we should conclude by this terrible catastrophe.
The greatest glory that our generals and soldiers can claim is that they
retarded its accomplishment so long.
"The unfortunate and intrepid Henri did not abandon his cause till not a
hope was left; and even at the last he lingered at Le Mans, and fought
desperately in the Place de l'Eperon, establishing a battery of cannon
which long kept the enemy at bay. But all was unavailing, and he yielded
to necessity. He arrived at Laval at the close of day, spent and
exhausted, and entered a house where he entreated to be allowed to rest.
He was warned that he might run the risk of being surprised by
Westermann,--'My greatest want,' said he, 'is not to live, but to
sleep.'"
The Vendeeans had left behind them so much gold and merchandize, so much
furniture, and such precious possessions, that, far from these sad
events being a cause of ruin to the inhabitants of Le Mans, they were
the means of establishing prosperity in the town in many instances, and
its commercial influence increased very sensibly from that period. It is
at this moment a town which appears in a very flourishing state, and is
on the whole one of the most agreeable and interesting in this part of
France.
The misfortunes and troubles which the ill-fated army of royalists
experienced, did not prevent their renewal a few years after, when the
sad events of the wars of the Chouans brought back all the miseries
which the desolated country was but little able to contend with.
However high-sounding the supposed motives might be which re-illumed the
war, it is now generally acknowledged that only a few enthusiastic men
acted from a sense of honour and patriotism: the greatest part being
influenced by less worthy ideas. Had it not been so, the excesses
committed by the Chouans would never have disgraced the annals of
warfare: wretches without religion, morality, or feeling, mere brigands
and marauders, under the sacred banner of patriotism, ravaged the
country, burning, torturing, and destroying, pillaging, and committing
every crime, dignified meantime by the appellation of heroes, which one
or two amongst them might have deserved if they had fought in better
company, and been better directed. It is strange that any one,
particularly at the present day, can be found to magnify into heroism
the misguided efforts of a set of turbulent school-boys, who, again, at
a later period, were made the tools of villains for their own purposes
of plunder; yet, very recently, works have appeared in which the _petite
Chouannerie_ is exalted into a praiseworthy community. Pity for the
sacrificed children who were betrayed, and the bereaved mothers who wept
over the disobedience of their sons, is all that belongs to those
concerned in the useless revolt which caused ruin to so many.
"The intention of the Chouans in taking arms," says M. de Scepeaux, in
his letters on the Chouans of Bas-Maine, "was to _defend and preserve_,
not _to attack and destroy_; and, like the soldiers of Pelayo, who kept
the rocks of Asturias as a last stronghold against their besiegers, the
Chouans made their Bocages a last asylum for the French monarchy." This
is a fine _phrase_, but the facts are very far removed from this
assertion. The Chouans were a terror and a scourge to their
fellow-citizens: farms burnt, unoffending citizens robbed and murdered,
all their possessions seized on and appropriated, stabbing in the dark,
and cowardly cruelties of all kinds characterized these "honourable
men," who were _guerillas_ and nothing more. They took names such as in
former times distinguished the bands of brigands who were the terror of
the middle ages, and their acts rendered the similitude more striking.
Some of these chiefs signed themselves, Joli-coeur, Sans-peur,
Monte-a-l'assaut, Bataillon, &c.
It was a fearful time, and violence and cruelty reigned triumphant
whichever party took the field. The province of Le Maine suffered
severely in the struggle. Le Mans was again the scene of contention, and
the streets of the town the theatre of slaughter.
Who, to look at the quiet, tranquil town now, would think how much it
has suffered! and who but must feel indignant at the pretended patriot
who is not grateful to the existing government, under whose wise sway
the cities of France are recovering their beauty and importance after
long years of torture and desolation!
CHAPTER IV.
THE MUSEUM OF LE MANS--VENUS--MUMMY--GEOFFREY LE BEL--HIS
COSTUME--MATILDA--SCARRON--HELIE DE LA FLECHE--RUFUS--THE WHITE
KNIGHT.
THE Museum of Le Mans is in the Hotel de la Prefecture, and as we heard
that the famous enamel of Geoffrey Plantagenet, formerly on his tomb in
the cathedral, was preserved there, we hastened to behold so interesting
a remain of early art. A remarkably obtuse female was the exhibitor on
the occasion, and, on my asking her to point out the treasure, she took
me to a collection of Roman coins and medals, assuring me they were very
old and very curious. It was impossible not to agree with her, and to
regard these coins with interest, particularly as they were all found in
the immediate neighbourhood of Le Mans; however, as a glance at them was
sufficient, we proceeded to examine all the cases, hoping to discover
the object of our search.
We were arrested before a case filled with objects of art found
principally at the ruins of Alonnes, near Le Mans, which commune is a
perfect emporium of Roman curiosities, where no labourer directs his
plough across a field, or digs a foot deep in his garden, without
finding statues, pillars, baths, medals, &c., in heaps. All these things
are of fine workmanship, and thence, lately, two little wonders have
been rescued from oblivion, which are really gems. One is a small female
bust of white marble, perfect, and of singular grace; the other the
entire figure, having only one arm wanting, of a Venus twenty-one inches
high, and of exquisite proportion; she sits on the trunk of a tree; her
beauty is incomparable, and she must owe her birth to an artist of very
superior genius.
As if to prove how worthless is that beauty which attracts and rivets
the attention, even in stone, close by is one of the finest and most
perfectly-preserved female mummies I ever beheld,--hideous in its
uninjured state, grinning fearfully with its rows of fine ivory teeth a
little broken, glaring with its still prominent eyes, and appalling with
its blackened skin drawn over the high cheekbones. Why might not this
carefully-attended and richly-adorned queen be the beautiful and fatal
"serpent of old Nile"--the fascinating Cleopatra herself?
The features are fine and delicate in spite of the horrible hue of the
skin, and though it revolts the mind at first, one can even fancy that
mass of horror might, in life, have been beautiful. This valuable
specimen was brought from Egypt by M. Edouard de Montule, a zealous and
enterprising young traveller, too early snatched from science and the
world at the age of thirty-six.
A gentleman, drawing in the museum, who had arrived after us, hearing
our questions to our guide, very politely stepped forward and offered to
show us the objects of interest which he saw we might otherwise miss. He
led us at once to the enamel we so much desired to see, and we had ample
time to contemplate one of the most remarkable curiosities of art which
perhaps exists anywhere.
Geoffrey le Bel, surnamed Plantagenet, the second husband of the haughty
Empress Matilda, who considered her dignity compromised in being obliged
to marry a simple Count of Anjou, was, nevertheless, the handsomest man
of his day, and apparently one of the most distinguished _dandies_.
Jean, the monk of Marmontier, in his description of the fetes given by
the count at Rouen, speaks of the splendid habiliments of this
prince--of his _Spanish barb_, his helmet, his buckler, his lance of
_Poitou steel_, and his celebrated sword taken from the treasury of his
father, and renowned as the work of "the great _Galannus_, the most
expert of armourers." Even in this very guise does Geoffrey appear.
He holds the sword, considered as magical, unsheathed in his right hand;
his shield or target covers his shoulders, and descends in a point to
his feet. It is charged azure, with four rampant golden leopards; only
the half of the shield appears, consequently all its blazonry is not
visible. He wears a sort of Phrygian cap ornamented with a golden
leopard; he has a dalmatic robe, and a capacious mantle edged with
ermine, his scarf and waistband are of the same form, and all are of
rich colours--red, green, and purple--such as appear in stained glass.
It is painted with great detail, and the features are very distinct;
they convey very little idea of beauty, but have sufficient character to
indicate likeness. The copy, which Stothard made with great care, is
extremely correct, much more so than the drawing he gave of Berangere,
whose beauty he entirely failed to represent: none but an accomplished
artist, indeed, could do so, and the indefatigable antiquarian, who lost
his life in his zeal for his pursuit, was more accustomed to the quaint
forms exhibited on windows and brasses. The inscription formerly to be
read beneath the effigy of Geoffrey, on the tomb, was as follows:--
"Thy sword, oh! Prince, has delivered our country from the hordes of
brigands who infested it, and given to the Church entire security under
the shadow of peace."
There is something of melancholy and quiet about this portrait, which
accord with the character given of the prince by historians, who
represent him mild and good, generous, brave, and magnanimous; an
encourager of the arts and poetry, and a lover of order; but forced into
wars by the haughty temper of his wife, and obliged to distress his
subjects for supplies in consequence. His marriage with Matilda took
place in 1127, with great pomp, at Le Mans, in the palace of the Counts
of Anjou; and the solemnities attending it lasted for three weeks. All
the vassals of Henry I. of England, father of the bride, and of
Foulques, father of Geoffrey, were summoned to attend under pain of
being considered enemies of the public good. As Henry delayed putting
his son-in-law in possession of Normandy, as had been agreed on, Matilda
excited her husband to go to war with him, and a series of conflicts
ensued which entailed much misery on the country.
Geoffrey le Bel died in 1151, of pleurisy, in consequence of bathing
imprudently in the Loire. His body was brought to Le Mans and buried in
the cathedral, and his son, the illustrious Henry II. of England,
succeeded him; a prince superior to his time, but destined to continued
vexations from his family and his friends. The proud Matilda, too,--so
like the haughty heiress of Aquitaine,--need not have murmured at the
lot which made her mother and grandmother of such kings as Henry and
Coeur de Lion.
The pictures in the museum of Le Mans possess no sort of merit: there is
a series of paintings coarsely done from the "Roman Comique" of Scarron,
representing the principal scenes in his strange work; but they have no
other value than that of having been painted at the period when he was
popular, and being placed there in consequence of his having resided at
Le Mans, though I believe it was not the place of his birth. It was
here, at all events, that his imprudence caused his own misfortune; for
in the exuberance of his gaiety, he resolved, on occasion of a fete,
which annually takes place on the route of Pontlieue, to amuse himself
and the Manceaux, by a childish exhibition of himself _as a bird_. To
this end, he actually smeared himself with honey, and then having rolled
in feathers, and assumed as much as possible the plumed character he
wished to represent, he sallied forth and joined the procession
astonishing all beholders; but he had not reckoned on the effect his
appearance would produce on the boys of the parish, ever ready for
mischief. Delighted at such an opportunity, they pursued the unfortunate
wit without mercy, pelting and chasing him. His fear of being
recognised, and his anxiety to escape them, caused him to fly for
refuge, heated as he was with his extraordinary exertions, under an arch
of the old bridge, where he was exposed to a severe draught. The cold
struck to his limbs, and the consequence was that he became paralysed
for the rest of his life, an affliction which he names at the beginning
of his famous romance.
The commune of Alonnes, from whence so many antique treasures are
derived, is about a league from Le Mans, and is looked upon with much
superstitious veneration by the inhabitants of the neighbouring
villages. Not only are fine Roman remains discovered there, but, by the
rude pottery continually turned up, it appears to have been a
considerable city of the Gauls; for the singular forms exhibited on
their vases and stones are altogether different from those of a more
refined people. To neither of these nations, however, was Alonnes
supposed to belong, but to one more powerful and mysterious still: no
other than the fairies, who may, even now, on moon-light nights, be seen
hovering round their _Tour aux fees_, of which a few stones alone
remain. A subterranean way (aqueduct) is supposed to have communicated
with the ancient castle; and no doubt its recesses are the scene of many
a midnight revel carried on by those unseen visitants of ruins.
Numerous baths of Roman construction have been found, and more yet
remains to be discovered. About fifty years since, some workmen making
excavations observed the opening of a covered way which they followed
for some distance, expecting to find treasure. They had not gone far,
when they were surprised by suddenly entering vast chambers, covered
with the remains of columns, vases, and ornamental architecture: instead
of continuing their search, they were seized with a panic, and fled from
the spot without attempting to penetrate further. If more valorous
seekers were to prosecute the adventure, at the spot where they left it,
no doubt very interesting discoveries might be made, which would repay
the attempt.
One of the chief heroes of Le Mans and Maine, and he who is the most
continually spoken of in its history, is Helie de la Fleche. He was one
of the most generous and valiant knights of his time, and to him his
supine and cowardly cousin, Hugues, tired of the frequent struggles
which he found it necessary to sustain in order to keep in possession of
his rights, resigned the dominion of Maine, much to the delight of the
Manceaux, who received their young lord with open arms. Helie showed
himself a friend to his new people, and entered into an alliance with
Geoffrey IV. Count of Anjou. After which, being ready to set out for the
crusades, according to the fashion of the times, and finding that Robert
of Normandy had already departed, he went to Rouen, to William Rufus,
in the hope of obtaining his acknowledgment of his rights to the county
of Maine. He, however, failed in this expectation, and put himself in
array to contend with this formidable adversary, in whose alliance was a
very unpleasant and dangerous neighbour, the perfidious Count of Belesme
and Baron du Saosnois, Robert II., called Talvas, generally known as
_Robert le Diable_. This treacherous prince laid a snare for Helie, into
which he fell, and he delivered him up to William Rufus.
Kept prisoner at Rouen, and fearing that the Count of Anjou would enter
into an accommodation with William Rufus, which would compromise the
interests of his patrimony of La Fleche, which he knew had long been
coveted by those of Anjou, Helie made up his mind to treat for his
ransom, by which he consented to give up the province of Maine to the
King of England, and to do him homage for his lordship of La Fleche, as
his father had done before. He obtained his liberty at this price, and
was brought before William, who ordered the chains with which he was
bound to be removed, as Wace relates--
"Dunc le fist li Reis amener
Et des _buies_ le fist oster."
He then offered to attach himself to William, as one of his most
faithful officers; but this being declined, murmurs escaped him, which
roused the king's anger, as the old chronicler has recounted.
"Count Helie's steed he ordered forth,
With housings dight of regal worth;
'Mount straight, sir knight, and go,' he cried;
'Wherever it may list you ride,
But guard you well another tide.
My prison shall be deep and strong
If you again my thrall should be,
And trust me 'twill be late and long
Ere, once my captive, you are free.
In future, Count, I bid you know
I am your ever-ready foe;
Where'er you go, it shall not lack,
But William shall be on your back!'
I know not if Count Helie found
Words to reply. He turned him round,
And little he delayed, I ween,
To make their distance great between!"
As might be anticipated, Helie was not content to sit down patiently
with so bad a bargain as he had made. He had yielded his right in Le
Maine, and by resisting he placed himself in the position of a rebel to
his liege lord; nevertheless, scarcely had William returned to England,
thinking himself secure, than Helie began to make a struggle to recover
what he had lost. No sooner, however, did William hear of his proceeding
than he hurried back from England, and in an incredibly short space of
time was at Le Mans: he found his vassal more powerful than he expected,
and much violence ensued. Obliged to return to England, not long after
this his sudden death ensued. Helie, aided by the Count of Angers,
attacked and took possession of Le Mans, and besieged the castle: two
Norman officers in command had, in the meantime, received orders from
the new King of England to treat with Helie; and when he presented
himself before the walls, they requested him to clothe himself in his
white tunic, which had gained him the surname of the White Knight. With
this he complied; and on his re-appearance before them, they received
him with smiles, saying,--
"Sir White Knight, you may now rejoice to good purpose, for we have
reached the term so long desired by you; and if you have a good sum of
money for us, we will make a good bargain. If we chose to resist we have
still arms, provisions, and valour; but the truth is, we want a
legitimate master to whom we can dedicate our service. For which reason,
noble warrior, knowing your merit, we elect and constitute you
henceforth Count of Le Mans."
Helie, after this, took part against Robert and the Count of Mortain at
the battle of Tinchebray, where he commanded an army composed of Bretons
and Manceaux. He distinguished himself wherever he appeared in battle,
and died in 1110, and was buried in the abbey church of La Couture,
where his tomb was formerly seen. He was the hero of his age. Pious,
loyal, and valiant, his device expressed his qualities:--"No glory
without honour, and no honour without glory." He was active, vigilant,
and just, says one of his biographers, as great in his reverses as in
his successes; he added to the merit of a great captain the talents of a
sound politician, and the enlightened mind of a statesman; but his
highest praise is that he merited and obtained the affection of his
vassals.
His memory was long cherished in Le Mans, even till the events of the
great Revolution swept away all records but that of the crimes then
committed.
CHAPTER V.
LUDE--SAUMUR REVISITED--THE GARDEN--LA PETITE VOISINE--THE RETIRED
MILITAIRE--LES PIERRES COUVERTES--LES PETITES
PIERRES--LOUDUN--URBAIN GRANDIER--RICHELIEU--THE NUNS--THE
VICTIM--THE FLY--THE MALLE POSTE--THE DISLODGED SERPENTS.
LEAVING Le Mans, and all its recollections, we continued our way towards
the Loire, which we proposed crossing at Saumur, not only with a
pleasing memory of our former visit there, when the sight of Fontevraud
and its treasured tombs of our English kings first delighted us, but
because, with all my wish to leave nothing unnoticed in the interesting
towns of France, I had quitted Saumur without having made a _pilgrimage_
to some of its most singular and important monuments. It was only on
reading a passage in Michelet's History of France, when he alludes to
the "_prodigious Dolmen_" of Saumur, that I found there was still
something of interest which I had neglected. Doubtless this has often
been the case in my wanderings; and, probably, there is scarcely a town
where some new treasure may not be discovered by some fresh traveller,
where there is so much to excite attention.
I determined, therefore, to pause at Saumur, to enjoy its beauties once
more, and pass a day with its Druids.
Lude was in our way, where, on the banks of the Loire, stands a
magnificent castle; now a private residence, kept up in great style, and
surrounded with beautiful gardens, better attended to than any I ever
saw in France, where the name of _Jardin Anglais_ is, usually, another
term for a wilderness. Lude belonged to a Breton nobleman, M. de
Faltroeet, and now to his son, for the inhabitants were just deploring
his recent death, and, what is sufficiently unusual in France, naming a
man of rank with respect and affection. He appears to have been one of
the most amiable and considerate of men, and to be sincerely lamented.
The young woman from the inn, who was our guide there, spoke of his
death with great sorrow, and was eloquent in his commendation, as the
friend of the people and the poor.
The castle is very extensive and in high preservation: we could not see
the interior, which I am told is very interesting: rooms being named
after Francis I. and Henry IV., who are both said to have visited here;
and the furniture of their time is preserved or introduced. The exterior
walls are adorned with medallions of extraordinary size, in the style
peculiar to Francis I., and the huge round towers are similarly
decorated: much of the building between these towers is of more modern
date, but all is in good keeping and handsome. Several fine willows dip
their boughs into the river, which bathes one side--but what was the
moat on all the others, is now filled up with flowering trees and
shrubs, and the ramparts laid out in terraces, covered with a luxuriant
growth of every kind of rare and graceful plant. There is a charming
view from the gardens, and the abode altogether is delightful.
The country is rich and fertile, covered with fields of Indian corn,
flax, and hemp; here and there are large plantations of fir-trees; the
chestnut-trees we observed were very luxuriant, loaded with fruit; the
apples thickly clustered in the numerous orchards, and everything
abundant and smiling.
We rejoiced at once more beholding the Loire at the spot where, on our
former visit, we most admired it. Saumur is, however, greatly increased
and improved during the three years which had elapsed since we first
made its acquaintance. New houses are built, old ones pulled down, and
active measures taken to beautify and adorn the town. The same
slovenliness struck us as before on the promenade by the river, where
the idea of sweeping up fallen leaves, or cleaning steps, never seems to
have occurred, and the theatre walls look as desolate and
ill-conditioned as formerly. The baths, which attracted my admiration
before, seated on an islet amidst flowering shrubs, had lost the
brightness of their then newly-painted outside, and had rather a forlorn
effect; the old Hotel de Ville and its towers and turrets looked as
venerable as ever, and the Loire showed much less sand and more of its
crystal water. The magnificent Donjon towered majestically on its
height, and all the caves of the chain of rocks beneath showed their
mysterious openings as when they first excited my surprise.
We visited almost all our old friends--the venerable monuments of times
gone by--in the town, and discovered several towers which the removal of
houses have rendered evident. We were remarking a building of this kind,
whose turrets could have been erected only by Foulques Nera himself,
when we were invited into a garden opposite by the proprietors, who took
an interest in our curiosity. This garden, and the family that owned it,
were quite _unique_ in their way; the master was a retired _militaire_,
the mistress a smart, managing woman; and their delight and treasure a
little boy of about ten, and a tiny garden enclosed between two walls,
with a pavilion at each end, and filled with shrubs and flowers
exquisitely beautiful, and tended as garden never was tended since Eve
herself spent all her time in restraining the growth of her garlands.
Tea-scented roses, roses of all hues and perfumes, rare plants, seldom
seen but in hot-houses, all fresh and flourishing, occupied every nook
of this little retreat, the _delices_, as they assured us, of this
couple, whose content and satisfaction at the perfection of their
dwelling overflowed at every word. "You see," said the hostess, as she
led us through the little alleys, and made us pause at the minute
alcoves--"nothing can be more complete; we have a perfect little
paradise of flowers, and a little world of our own; we have no occasion
to go out to be amused, for, let us throw open our _jalousies_ in our
_salon_ at the corner of this tower, and we see all the world without
being seen; when we shut it we are in solitude, and what can we require
beyond? My little son," she continued, pointing to the other object of
her care, who was seated beside a pretty little girl, tuning a small
instrument, "occupies himself with his violin, and he can touch the
guitar prettily, also; he is now playing to a _petite voisine_ who often
comes to keep him company: he has considerable parts, and is well
advanced in his Latin. We let our large house to M. le Cure, and live in
the small one at the other end of our garden; it is large enough for us,
and nothing can be so convenient."
While she continued to converse, setting forth the advantages of her
position, the _bon garcon_ of a husband, who seemed second in command,
followed with assenting smiles. I asked if he smoked in his little
summer-house sometimes, but saw that my question was _mal-a-propos_, for
his wife replied quickly, that he had not that bad habit, and, indeed,
would not endure smoking any more than herself. He looked somewhat slily
as he remarked, that since he had left the army he had never _indulged_
in it.
We returned to our inn laden with bouquets, forced upon us by these
happy, hospitable people, whose content, and the beauty of their little
garden, so like numerous others in charming Saumur, confirmed our notion
of its being the most agreeable place in France to live at.
The evening was oppressively hot, and we walked on the fine bridge,
hoping to meet a breeze. The shallow river was like glass, so
transparent, that every pebble seemed clearly defined at the bottom.
Sunset made the sky one sheet of ruby colour, and the stars, rising in
great splendour, shone with dazzling brilliancy; the deep purple of the
glowing night which succeeded was like sapphire, every building, every
tower, every hill, was mirrored in the waters, and the spires of every
church threw their delicate lines along the still expanse. The gigantic
castle looked down from its height as if protecting all; and the few
white motionless sails at a distance, pausing near the willowy islands,
where not a leaf moved, made the whole like enchantment. I never beheld
a more exquisite night, nor saw a more beautiful scene.
The next day was brilliant; but the stillness of the air had given place
to a fresh wind, which made our long walk across the Roman arched
bridge, towards the famous _Pierres Couvertes_, less fatiguing. Though
the way to it is by nearly a league of hot dusty road, yet the surprise
and pleasure of the sight on arriving at this extraordinary monument
quite repays all toil.
In a woody dell, not far from the main road, stand these wonderful
stones, in all their mysterious concealment, puzzling the mind and
exciting the imagination with their rude forms and simple contrivances.
Before we left England we had made an excursion to Stonehenge, that most
gigantic of all Druidical remains, and had carried with us a perfect
recollection of all its proportions. The temple of Saumur is not a
quarter its height, but is _entirely covered_ in, and apparently of
_ruder_ construction, there being no art whatever used to keep the
stones together except that of placing them one over the other. We
measured the length and height in the best way we could, and found it to
be eighteen yards long, from the entrance to the back, which is closed
in by a broad flat stone, five yards and a-half in length within and
eight yards without. The height is not more than three yards from the
ground; but it has evidently sunk in the earth considerably. The sides
incline inwards, leaving the covering stones projecting like a cottage
roof, and the great stone at the back has also lost its perpendicular;
nevertheless, there are none displaced of this chamber. It appears, by
several broad slabs which lie scattered about, that there must have been
more compartments of the temple: an outer court existed, and a narrower
part at the entrance, the stones of which are still upright.
This treasure is preserved from injury by a palisade round the piece of
ground on which it stands, in its little grove, and a wooden door shuts
it in, which is in the custody of an old woman who keeps a school close
by and receives the offerings of the curious. Her pupils, of tender age,
pursue some of their studies in a small hall where she presides; but
their chief pursuit seems to be amusement, to judge by the laughter and
general hilarity which prevailed, as they ran gambolling amongst the
venerable shades, peeping slily at the strangers, whose contemplations
they were commanded not to interrupt.
From the _Grandes Pierres Couvertes_, we continued our way, through
vines and fields, to the top of a neighbouring hill, which commanded a
charming view of the town and castle, and fine country round. There, in
the midst of heath and wild thyme and nodding harebells, at the
extremity of a ploughed field, overhanging a deep rocky road, stands
another temple of the Gauls. It is called _Les Petites Pierres
Couvertes_, and is similar in construction to the large one, but not a
quarter its size. Its position is most picturesque, and the landscape
spread out before its rugged arch exquisite. It is covered in, and its
walls are firm and close; though, from its exposed situation, one would
expect that it must long ago have fallen. Remains of large stones lie
around, partly covered with vegetation, and many, no doubt, are embedded
in the earth. Perhaps the two temples communicated once on a time, and
covered the whole space between; where probably waved a gigantic forest.
The wind had risen violently as we sat, in the sun, beside the _Petites
Pierres_, and our walk back to Saumur promised us a great deal of dust,
for we saw it eddying in the valleys beneath, like wreaths of mist. We,
however, contrived to avoid the high road, and found our way, by a very
pleasant path, to the town, before the threatened storm arrived which
night brought.
By a fine star-light evening of the following day, which we had spent
amongst the hills and in visiting the fortifications of the castle, we
took our departure for Poitiers--the next great object of our interest.
We reached Loudun in the dark, consequently had no opportunity of
judging of its appearance; but, as far as we could observe, there seemed
little to please the eye. The place itself is no further interesting
than as having been the scene of that frightful tragedy which disgraced
the seventeenth century, and which, though a story often told, may not
be familiar to every reader; at least, its particulars may not
immediately recur to all who hear the name of Loudun. The revolution
which destroyed so much, has left scarcely any traces of the famous
convent of Ursulines, where the scenes took place which cast a
disgraceful celebrity on its community.
The cure and canon of St. Peter of Loudun, was a young man, named Urbain
Grandier, remarkable not only for his learning and accomplishments, but
for his great beauty, and the grace of his manners, together with a
certain air of the world, which was, perhaps, an unfortunate distinction
for one in his position. His gallantry and elegance would have graced a
Court, but his lot had cast him where such _agremens_ were not only
unnecessary, but misplaced. Urbain had, besides, been favoured by
fortune, in having obtained two benefices; a circumstance witnessed
with envy by several of the ecclesiastics, his contemporaries; who felt
themselves thrown constantly into the shade by his superiority in this
as in other respects. The priests, his companions, were not inclined to
be indulgent to any weakness shown by their young and admired rival; the
husbands of some of his fair parishioners looked on him with an evil
eye, while the ladies themselves could see nothing to blame in his
deportment, ever devoted and amiable as he was to them. All the learned
men of the country sought his society; all the well-meaning and generous
spirits of the neighbourhood found answering virtues in Urbain Grandier,
and he was not aware that he had an enemy in existence.
He had forgotten that he had once been so unfortunate as to offend a man
who never forgave, and who, from being merely the prior of Coussay, had
risen to a high rank in the church, and was now all-powerful, and able
to take revenge for any petty injury long past, but carefully treasured,
to be repaid with interest when occasion should serve.[3]
[Footnote 3: A wretched and pointless satire had appeared under the
title of _La Cordonniere de Loudun_, in which the Cardinal figured: Pere
Joseph insinuated that Grandier was the author, and the supposed insult
was readily credited.]
The Cardinal de Richelieu, from the height of his grandeur, suddenly
condescended to remember his old acquaintance, the cure Grandier, and
was only on the look-out for a moment at which to prove to him that
nothing of what had once passed between them had escaped his
recollection. A means was soon presented, and, without himself appearing
too prominently in the affair, the cardinal arrived at his desired end.
It happened that some young and giddy pupils of the Convent of
Ursulines, bent on a frolic, resolved to terrify the bigoted and
ignorant nuns of the community, by personating ghosts and goblins, and
they succeeded to their utmost wishes, having acted their parts to
admiration; but they were far from dreaming of the fatal consequences of
their success.
The disturbed nuns, worried and frightened from their propriety, went in
a body to a certain cure, named Mignon, one of the most spiteful and
envious of Grandier's rivals, and related to him the fact of their
convent being disturbed by ghostly visitants, who left them no peace or
rest. The thought instantly occurred to Mignon, that he might turn this
accident to account at the expense of the handsome young priest whom he
detested.
Instead of ghosts and spirits, he changed the mystery into witchcraft
and _possession by the devil_, and contrived so artfully, that he
induced many of the nuns to imagine themselves a prey to the evil one,
and to assume all the appearance of suffering from the influence of
some occult power. His pupils became quite expert in tricks of
demoniacal possession, falling into convulsions and trances, and going
through all the absurdities occasionally practised at the present day,
by the disciples of Mesmer. These foolish, rather than wicked, women,
were led to believe that, by acting thus, they were advancing the
interests of religion, and they allowed themselves to fall blindly into
the scheme, devised for the purpose of ruining the devoted cure. A
public exorcism took place, at which scenes of absurdity, difficult to
be credited, took place, and when the possessed persons were questioned
as to how they became a prey to the evil spirit, they declared that the
devil had entered into them by means of a bouquet of roses, the perfume
of which they had inhaled; when asked by whom these flowers had been
sent them, they replied that it was Urbain Grandier! This was enough to
seal his doom; on the 3d of December, 1633, the Councillor Laubardemont
arrived secretly at Loudun, caused the young cure to be arrested, as he
was preparing to go to church, and had him carried off to the castle of
Angers. The devils, supposed to possess the nuns, were severally
questioned, _and replied_, they were Astaroth, of the _order of_
Seraphins, the head and front of all, Easas, Celcus, Acaos, Cedon,
Asmodeus, _of the order_ of Thrones, Alez, Zabulon, Nephtalim, Cham,
Uriel, Achas, of the order of Principalities! In the following April he
was brought back to Loudun, and consigned to the prison there. The farce
of exorcism was now recommenced; but the fatigue of sustaining the parts
they had assumed, and perhaps a conviction of the fearful nature of the
deceptions they had practised, caused some of the actors in this drama
to rebel, and they actually made a public retractation of what they had
before advanced.
It was, however, now too late; no notice was taken of their denial of
their former charges against the victim whose fate was agreed upon, and
in August, 1634, a commission was duly appointed, at the head of which
were Laubardemont and his satellites, who pronounced Urbain Grandier
guilty, and convicted of the crime of magic. His sentence condemned him
to be burned alive, but, resolved to carry vengeance to the utmost
extent, he was made to undergo the torture, suffering pangs too horrible
to think of. He was then conveyed to Poitiers, where he suffered at the
stake, and by his unmerited fate left an indelible blot on the age in
which such monstrous cruelty could be perpetrated, or such ignorant
barbarity tolerated. He endured his torments with patience and
resignation. While he was suffering, a large fly was observed to hover
near his head. A monk, who was enjoying the spectacle of his execution,
and who had heard that Beelzebub, in Hebrew, signified _the God of the
Flies_, cried out, much to the edification of all present, "Behold
yonder, the devil, Beelzebub, flying round Grandier ready to carry off
his soul to hell!"[4]
[Footnote 4: A very excellent picture on this subject, by Jouy, is in
the Musee at Bordeaux: I did not see it, but it has been described to me
by a person on whose judgment I can depend, who considers it of very
high merit, and worthy of great commendation.]
The unpleasant recollections raised by the neighbourhood of Loudun were
dispelled as we hurried on to the next post, which was at Mirebeau,
where we were not a little entertained at the primitive manner in which
our _malle poste_ delivered and received its despatches. The coach
stopped in the middle of the night in the silent streets of Mirebeau,
and the conductor, stationing himself beneath the window of a dwelling,
called loudly to the sleepers within; no answer was returned, nor did he
repeat his summons; but waited, with a patience peculiar to
_conducteurs_, who do not care to hurry their horses, till a rattling on
the wall announced the approach of a basket let down by a string. Into
this he put the letters he had brought, and it re-ascended; after
waiting a reasonable time, the silent messenger returned, and from it a
precious packet was taken; nothing was said, the _conducteur_ resumed
his seat on the box, the horses were urged onwards, and we rattled
forward on our way to Poitiers.
Mirebeau, though now an insignificant bourg, was formerly a place of
some consequence. Its chateau was built by Foulques Nera, the redoubted
Count of Anjou; and here, in 1202, Elionor of Aquitaine sustained a
siege directed against her by the partisans of the Count of Bretagne,
her grandson. Close by is a village, the lord of which had an hereditary
privilege sufficiently ludicrous.
It appears that at Puy Taille there must have been a remarkable number
of serpents, who refused to listen to the voice of the charmer until the
lord of the castle, _wiser_ than any other exorciser, took them in hand.
He was accustomed, at a certain period, to set forth in state, and,
placing himself at a spot where he presumed he should be heard, raised
his voice, and, in an authoritative tone, commanded the refractory
animals to quit his estates. Not one dared to refuse; and great was the
rustling, and hissing, and sliding, and coiling as the serpentine nation
prepared to _demenager_, much against their inclination no doubt, but
forced, by a power they could not withstand, to obey. None of these
creatures interrupted our route, although there has long ceased to be a
lord at Puy Taille, and we arrived before day-break safely at the Hotel
de France, at Poitiers.
CHAPTER VI.
POITIERS--BATTLES--THE ARMIES--KING JOHN OF FRANCE--THE YOUNG
WARRIOR--HOTEL DU VREUX--AMPHITHEATRE--BLOSSAC--THE GREAT
STONE--THE SCHOLARS--MUSEUM--THE DEMON'S STONE--GRANDE GUEULE.
POITIERS is a city of the past: it is one of those towns in which the
last lingering characteristics of the middle ages still repose; although
they do so in the midst of an atmosphere of innovation. Modern
improvement, slowly as it shows itself, is making progress at Poitiers,
as at every town in France, and quietly sweeping away all the records of
generations whose very memory is wearing out. If new buildings and walks
and ornamental _alentours_ were as quickly erected and carried out as
they are conceived, it would be a matter of rejoicing that whole cities
of dirt and wretchedness should be made to disappear, and new ones to
rise shining in their place; but, unfortunately, this cannot be the
case. There are too many towns in France in the same position as
Poitiers, all requiring to be rebuilt from the very ground to make them
_presentable_ at the present day; blocks of stone strew every road,
brick and mortar fill every street; a great deal of money is expended,
but a great deal more is required; and, in the meantime, the new and the
old strive for mastery, the former growing dull and dirty by the side of
the latter, and, before the intended improvements are realized, becoming
as little sightly as their more venerable neighbours.
Much of _old_ Poitiers has been destroyed; and _new_ Poitiers is by no
means beautiful. It is better, therefore, except in a few instances, to
forget that modern hands have touched the sacred spot, and endeavour to
enjoy the reminiscences still left, of which there are a great number
full of interest and variety.
When we sallied forth into the streets of Poitiers, our first impression
was that of disappointment; but we had not long wandered amongst its
dilapidated houses and churches before the enthusiasm we expected to
feel there was awakened, and the spirit of the Black Prince was appeased
by our reverence for everything we met.
Poitiers belongs to so many ages--Gaul, Roman, Visigoth, Frank,
English--that it holds a place in every great event which has occurred
in France during the last nineteen centuries. Four important battles
were fought in its neighbourhood: those of Clovis, of Charles Martel, of
Edward of England, and of Henry III. of France; all these struggles
brought about results of the utmost consequence to the country. The
fields where these battles were fought are still pointed out, though the
site of each is violently contested by antiquarians.
That between Clovis and Alaric is now _said to be_ determined as having
occurred at Voulon, on the banks of the Clain, instead of Vouille, which
has long been looked upon as the scene. In the same manner, furious
disputes have prevailed as to where the defeat of Abderraman, by Charles
Martel, took place; but we are bound now to believe that it was neither
near Tours, Amboise, nor Loches, but at Moussais-la-Bataille, close to
Poitiers, in the _delta_ formed by the waters of the Vienne and the
Clain.
The fatal fight, in which King John and all his chivalry were defeated
by the Prince of Wales, is said, in like manner, to be between Beauvoir
and Nouaille, and not at Beaumont, as has been asserted. There no longer
exists a place called _Maupertuis_, which once indicated the spot; but
it is ascertained that the part called La Cardinerie was once so
designated, and, hard by, at a spot named _Champ-de-la-Bataille_, have
been found bones and arms; which circumstance seems to have set the
matter at rest. It matters little where these dreadful doings took
place; all round Poitiers there are wide plains where armies might have
encountered; but it would seem probable that the spot where the battle
so fatal to France was really fought, must have been situated so as to
have afforded the handful of English some signal advantage; or how was
it possible for a few hundred exhausted men to conquer as many
thousands! The English crossbows, which did such execution, were most
likely stationed at some pass in the rocky hills of which there are
many, and their sudden and unexpected onset must have sent forth the
panic which caused the subsequent destruction of the whole French army.
In fact, Froissart describes their position clearly enough. He names
Maupertuis as a place two leagues to the north of Poitiers, and the spot
chosen by the Black Prince as a hill full of bushes and vines,
impracticable to cavalry, and favourable to archers: he concealed the
latter in the thickets, connected the hedges, dug ditches, planted
pallisades, and made barricades of waggons; in fact, formed of his camp
a great redoubt, having but one narrow issue, guarded on each side by a
double hedge. At the extremity of this defile was the whole English
army, on foot, compact and sheltered on all sides; while, behind the
hill that separated the two armies, was placed an ambuscade of six
hundred knights and cross-bowmen.
The French army was divided into three parts, and disposed in an oblique
line. The left and foremost wing was commanded by the king's brother,
the Duke of Orleans, the centre by the king's sons, and the reserve by
the unfortunate monarch himself. Already the cry of battle was heard,
when two holy men rushed forward to mediate between the foes; but in
vain. The Prince of Wales,--that mighty conqueror,--knowing his
weakness, and feeling his responsibility, would have even consented to
give back the provinces he had taken--the captives of his valour--and
agreed to remain for seven years without drawing the sword. But King
John demanded that he should yield himself prisoner, with a hundred of
his knights; and, confident in his strength, he had no second proposal
to make.
Sixty thousand warriors, full of pride, hope, and exultation, had
spread themselves over the plains, confident of success, and looking
forward to annihilate at a blow the harassed enemy which had so long
annoyed them, but which were now hunted into the toils, and could be
made an easy prey. The redoubtable Black Prince would no longer terrify
France with his name: he knew his weakness, and had sent to offer terms
the most advantageous, provided he and his impoverished bands might be
permitted to go free; but, with victory in their hands, why should the
insulted knights of France agree to his dictation? it were better to
punish the haughty islanders as they deserved, and at once rid their
country of a nest of hornets which allowed her no peace.
The king, his four sons, all the princes and nobles of France were in
arms, and had not followed the English to listen to terms at the last
moment. King John,--the very flower of chivalry, the soul of honour and
valour,--rode through his glittering ranks, and surveyed his banners
with delight and pride. "At Paris, at Chartres, at Rouen, at Orleans,"
he exclaimed, "you defied these English; you desired to encounter them
hand to hand. Now they are before you: behold! I point them out to you.
Now you can, if you will, take vengeance for all the ills they have done
to France; for all the slaughter they have made. Now, if you will, you
may combat these fatal enemies."
The signal was given: the gorgeous troops rushed forth, their helmets
glittering with gold and steel, their swords bright, and their
adornments gay; their hearts full of resolve, and their spirits raised
for conquest. A short space of time sufficed to produce a strange
contrast: twenty thousand men, with the Dauphin of France at their head,
flying before six hundred tattered English! Chandos and the Black Prince
behold from a height the unexpected event: they follow up the advantage;
the hero of so many fights rouses himself, and becomes resistless as
Alexander:
"See how he puts to flight the gaudy Persians
With nothing but a rusty helmet on!"
Of all his hosts,--of all his friends, and guards, and warriors, and
nobles, what remains to the French king? He stands alone amidst a heap
of slain, with a child fighting by his side: their swords fall swiftly
and heavily on every one that dares approach them; their armour is
hacked and hewn; their plumes torn; the blood flows from their numerous
wounds; but they still stand firm, and dispute their lives to the last.
The boy performs prodigies of valour; he is worthy to be the son of
Edward himself; but he is at last struck down, while his frantic father
deals with his battle-axe blows which appal the stoutest heart. No one
dares to approach the lion at bay: they hem him in; they call to and
entreat him to lay down his arms; he is blinded with the blood which
flows from two deep wounds in his face; and, faint and staggering, he
gazes round on the slaughtered heaps at his feet, and gives his weapon
into the hands of an English knight.
Over and over again has the story of this defeat been told, yet is the
relation always stirring, always exciting, and the remainder full of
romance and glory to all parties concerned. The only blot upon the
_ermine_ is, that the valorous boy who so distinguished himself should,
a few years later, forget the lesson of honour and magnanimity he then
learnt, and, by his disgraceful breach of faith, expose the father he
defended to so much sorrow and humiliation.
The _Roman_ remains at Poitiers claim the first attention of the
traveller; and we, therefore, soon after our arrival, walked down the
rugged Rue de la Lamproie to an _auberge_ which has for its sign a board
on which is inscribed, "Aux _Vreux_-Antiquites Romaines." The meaning of
this mysterious word, which has puzzled many people, is this: Here
formerly existed a house which belonged to a bishop of Evreux; and was,
consequently, called Hotel d'Evreux. The last proprietor, imagining that
the word _Evreux_ meant _Roman Antiquities_, was seized with the happy
thought of changing it to _Vreux_, as simpler and more expressive; and
so it has remained.
The _Vreux_ are very curious, and give a stupendous idea of the size of
the amphitheatre which once existed on this spot. The whole of the court
and large gardens of this inn offer remains of the seats, steps,
temples, and vaults. One huge opening is fearful to look at, and
preserves its form entire: it appears to have been an entrance for the
beasts and cars and companies of gladiators, which figured in the arena.
Garlands of luxuriant vines, with white and black grapes in clusters,
now adorn the ruined walls; and fruit-trees and flowering shrubs grow on
the terraces. It requires some attention to trace the form of the
amphitheatre; as so many houses and walls are built in, and round about
its site.
The foundation is attributed to the Emperor Gallienus, and occurred
probably in the third century. Medals of many kinds of metal have been
frequently found in excavating, which prove the period; but the learned
have not been silent on so tempting a theme, and the history of the
Arenes de Poitiers has occupied the attention of all the antiquaries of
France. It appears that the size was greater than that of Nismes.
It is strange that so much of the ruins should still remain of the
amphitheatre in spite of so many centuries of destruction acting upon
it, and, notwithstanding its having been constantly resorted to as a
quarry, whenever materials were required for construction. In one of the
quarters of the town, the Rue des Arenes and the Bourg Cani, where the
poorest people live, almost all the houses are formed of the chambers
belonging to a Roman establishment. The roofs of almost all are Roman:
the cellars, the stables, and the granaries. No doubt Poitiers was a
place of the greatest importance under their sway, as these extensive
ruins indicate.
The park of Blossac is the most attractive promenade of Poitiers: it is
beautifully laid out, and well kept. An intendant of Poitou, M. de la
Bourdonnaye-Blossac, established it in 1752, with the benevolent intent
of giving employment, in a hard winter, to the poor. In constructing it,
a great many sepulchres of the Gauls, and funereal vases, were
discovered; some of which are preserved in the museum.
The view is charming from the terrace of Blossac above the Clain, and
one is naturally led to pursue the agreeable walks which invite the
steps at every turn. We found that, by following as they pointed, we
should arrive at most of the places we desired to see; and, as the
interior of the town has few attractions in itself, we resolved to skirt
it, and continue our way along the ramparts. They extend a long way, and
are extremely pleasant in their whole extent. Remnants of ancient towers
and rampart walls appear here and there, the river runs clear and
bright beneath, and beyond are gently undulating hills; while,
occasionally, heaps of grey rocks, of peculiar forms, some looking like
temples, others like towers, rise suddenly from their green base,
surprising the eye.
In the direction of the most remarkable of these, may be found a _pierre
levee_, said, by veracious chroniclers, to have been raised on the spot
by the great saint of Poitiers, Sainte Radegonde, who is reported to
have brought the great stone on her head, and the pillars which support
it in the pockets of her _muslin apron_: one of these pillars fell from
its frail hold to the ground, and the devil instantly caught it up and
carried it away, which satisfactorily accounts for the stone being
elevated only at one end. Unfortunately the same legend is so often
repeated respecting different saints, and in particular respecting
_Saint_ Magdalen, who has often been known to establish herself in wild
places, bringing her rugged stool with her, that it would seem some or
other of these holy people _plagiarised_ from the other.
Rabelais attributes this stone to Pantagruel, who, "seeing that the
scholars of Poitiers, having a great deal of leisure, did not know how
to spend their time, was moved with compassion, and, one day, took from
a great rock, which was called Passe-Lourdin, an immense block, twelve
toises square, and fourteen _pans_ thick, and placed it upon four
pillars in the midst of a field, _quite at its ease_, in order that the
said scholars, when they could think of nothing else to do, might pass
their time in mounting on the said stone, and there banqueting with
quantities of flagons, hams, and pasties; also in cutting their names on
it with a knife: this stone is now called La Pierre Levee. And in memory
of this, no one can be matriculated in the said University of Poitiers
who has not drunk at the cabalistic fountain of Croustelles, been to
Passe-Lourdin, and mounted on La Pierre Levee."
Bouchet's opinion is, that the stone was placed by Alienor d'Aquitaine,
about 1150, to be used at a fair which was held in the field where it
stands.
It is, no doubt, one of the Dolmen, whose strange and mysterious
appearance may well have puzzled both the learned and unlearned in every
age since they were first erected.
One of the most interesting monuments in Poitiers is the museum; for it
is a Roman structure--a temple or a tomb--almost entire, and less
injured than might have been expected, serving as a receptacle for all
the antiquities which have been collected together at different periods,
in order to form a _musee_. They are appropriately placed in this
building, and are seen with much more effect in its singular walls than
if looked at on the comfortable shelves of a boarded and white-washed
chamber.
As is usual in those cases, disputes run high respecting the original
founder and the destination of this building, unique in its kind. Some
insist that it is a tomb erected to Claudia Varenilla, by her husband,
Marcus Censor Pavius; others see in it a pagan temple, transformed into
a place of early Christian worship; others, the _first cathedral_ of
Poitiers.
It has undergone numerous changes of destination, at all events, having
been used as a church, as a bell-foundry, as a depot for _economical
soup_, and as a manufactory. The Society of Antiquaries have at length
gained possession of it, and it is to be hoped that it will know no
further vicissitudes.
In this temple may be seen numerous treasures of Gaulic and Roman and
Middle-age art of great interest: sepulchral stones inscribed with the
names of Claudia Varenilla, Sabinus, and Lepida; Roman altars, military
boundary-stones, amphorae, vases, capitals, and pottery, all found in the
neighbourhood of Poitiers: a good deal of beautiful carving from the
destroyed castle of Bonnivet, fine specimens of the Renaissance, and
numerous relics of ruined churches.
Among the treasures is a block of stone, said to be one on which the
Maid of Orleans rested her foot when she mounted her horse, in full
armour, to accompany Charles VII. on his coronation. A piece of stone
from the old church of St. Hilaire is exhibited, which, when struck,
emits so horrible an effluvia as to render it unapproachable. The church
is said to have been built of this stone; if so, the workmen must have
been considerably annoyed while constructing it, and deserved
_indulgences_ for their perseverance in continuing their labour. It
would appear that this is a calcareous[5] rock, which has been described
by several French naturalists who have met with it in the Pyrenees, at
the Breche de Roland, and on the height of Mont Perdu, and whose odour
of _sulphureous hydrogen_ is supposed to arise from the animal matter
enclosed in its recesses. Some marbles have the same exhalation, yet are
employed in furniture: as the smell does not appear to be offensive
unless the stone is struck with some force, it may, perhaps, be
unobserved; but I could scarcely regret that the church of St. Hilaire
was almost totally destroyed when I heard that such disagreeable
materials entered into its construction. No doubt the presence of the
arch-enemy was considered as the cause of this singular effluvia in
early times, and the monks turned it, as they did all accidents, to
good account.
[Footnote 5: Calcaire hepathique. The stone used for the casing of the
exterior of the Great Pyramid, and for the lining of the chambers and
passages, was obtained from the Gebel Mokattam, on the Arabian side of
the valley of the Nile. It appears to be similar to that named above, as
it is described as being "a compact limestone," called by geologists
"swine stone," or "stink-stone," from emitting, when struck, a fetid
odour.]
The Grand Gueule, a horrible beast, discovered in the caverns of the
abbey of Sainte Croix, who had eaten up several nuns, was probably found
out by the smell of sulphur which pervaded his den, and brought forth to
punishment by the holy men who were guided to his retreat by this
means,--their instrument being a criminal condemned to death, who
combated the beast, and killed him. The dragon was usually carried in
processions, following the precious relic of a piece of the true cross
which had vanquished him; and his effigy in wood, with the inscription,
_Gargot fecit_, 1677, exists still, though it has ceased to be used.
CHAPTER VII.
NOTRE DAME--THE KEYS--THE MIRACLE--PROCESSION--ST. RADEGONDE--TOMB
OF THE SAINT--FOOT-PRINT--LITTLE LOUBETTE--THE COUNT OUTWITTED--THE
CORDELIER--LATE JUSTICE--THE TEMPLARS.
POITIERS is one of the largest towns in France, but is very thinly
inhabited; immense gardens, orchards, and fields, extend between the
streets; the spaces are vast, but there is no beauty whatever in the
architecture or the disposition of the buildings. The squares are wide
and open, but surrounded by irregular, slovenly-looking houses, without
an approach to beauty or elegance; the pavement is rugged, and
cleanliness is not a characteristic of the place.
The churches are extremely curious, although, in general, so battered
and worn as to present the aspect of a heap of ruins at first sight.
This is particularly the case with Notre Dame, so revered by Richard
Coeur de Lion, in the great _place_, before which a market is held. I
never saw a church whose appearance was so striking, not from its beauty
or grace, but from the singularly devastated, ruined state in which it
towers above the buildings round, as if it belonged to another world.
Nothing about it has the least resemblance to anything else: its heaps
of encrusted figures, arches within arches, niches, turrets covered with
rugged scales, round towers with countless pillars, ornaments, saints,
canopies, and medallions, confuse the mind and the eye. All polish is
worn from the surface, and so crumbling does it look, that it would seem
impossible that the rough and disjointed mass of stones, piled one on
the other, could keep together; yet, when you examine it closely, you
find that all is solid and firm, and that it would require the joint
efforts of time and violence to throw it down, even now.
The peculiar colour of the stone of which it is built, assists the
strangeness of its effect; for it has an ancient, ivory hue, and all its
elaborate carving is not unlike that on some old ivory cabinet grown
yellow with age. A long series of scriptural histories, from the scene
in Eden, upwards, are represented on this wonderful facade; besides much
which has not yet been explained. Its original construction has been
attributed to Constantine, whose equestrian statue once figured above
one of the portals.
St. Hilaire, St. Martin, and all the saints in the calendar, still fill
their niches, more or less defaced; row after row, sitting and standing,
decorate the whole surface, in compartments; choirs of angels, troops of
cherubims, surround sacred figures of larger size; and when it is
recollected that all this was once covered with gilding and colours, it
is difficult to imagine anything more splendid and imposing than it must
have been.
The interior suffered dreadfully from the zeal of the Protestants, who
destroyed tombs and altars without mercy. One group--the Entombment of
Christ--common in most churches, is remarkable for the details of
costume it presents, and the excellence of its execution. It belonged
formerly to the abbey of the Trinity, and has been transferred to Notre
Dame. The date seems to be about the end of the fifteenth century; the
figures are of the natural size, and the original colouring still
remains; the anatomical developments are faithful to exaggeration, and
the finish of every part is admirable.
Some of the female heads are charming, with their costly ornaments,
hoods, and embroidered veils; and the male figures, with the strange
hats of the period, like that worn by Louis XI., have a singularly
battered and torn effect, in spite of the smart fringed handkerchiefs
bound round them, with ends hanging down and pieces of plate armour
depending from their sides.
Several of the adornments of the altars are those formerly belonging to
the church of the Carmelites, now the chapel of the _grand seminaire_.
Above the crucifix which surmounts the tabernacle, is attached to the
roof a bunch of keys: these are, according to tradition, the same
miraculous keys taken from the traitor who proposed to deliver them to
the English. The history of this transaction is as follows:--
In 1202, Poitou had risen against John Lackland, of England, Duke of
Aquitaine and Count of Poitou, taking the part of young Arthur, whom he
had just made prisoner at Mirebeau. The town of Poitiers had closed its
gates against John, warned by the example of Tours, which he had lately
sacked and burnt. The King had posted his troops in the towns of
Limousin and Perigord, with orders to his captains to endeavour to take
Poitiers by surprise.
The mayor of Poitiers had a secretary who was both cunning and
avaricious, who, bribed highly by the English, had consented to deliver
the town to them. Accordingly, on Easter eve, a party of the enemy,
under false colours, arrived at the Porte de la Tranchee; the secretary
repaired instantly to the chamber of the mayor, to which he had access,
expecting, as usual, that the keys would be found there; but, to his
surprise, they were removed, nor could he find them in any other
accustomed place. The traitor hastened to inform the English of the
fact, by throwing a paper to them from the ramparts, requesting that
they would wait till four o'clock in the morning, when he should be able
to execute his purpose. At this hour he re-entered the mayor's chamber,
and telling him that a gentleman wished to set out on a mission to the
king of France at that early hour, begged that the keys might be
delivered to him. The mayor sought for the keys, but they were nowhere
to be found: he suspected some treason; and without loss of time
assembled the inhabitants, and required that they should go at once to
the Porte de la Tranchee, in arms, to be ready in case of surprise.
The report soon spread that the English were at the Tranchee, and the
belfry sent forth its peals to summon all men to arms: in a very short
space the whole town was roused, and every one hurried to the gates,
where a strange spectacle met their view from the turrets. They beheld
upwards of fifteen hundred English, dead or prone on the ground, and
others killing them! The gates were thrown open, and the inhabitants
sallied forth, making the remainder an easy prey, and taking many
prisoners: the which declared to the mayor and the dignitaries of the
town all the treason which had been arranged; and further related, that
at the hour agreed on, they beheld before the gates a queen more richly
dressed than imagination can conceive, and with her a nun and a bishop,
followed by an immense army of soldiers, who immediately attacked them.
They instantly became aware that the personages they saw were no other
than the Blessed Virgin, St. Hilaire, and Ste. Radegonde, whose
bodies were in the town, and, seized with terror and despair, they fell
madly on each other and slaughtered their companions.
All the towns-people, on hearing this, offered thanks to God, and
returned to keep their fast with great devotion. As for the disloyal
secretary, his fate was not known, for he was never seen afterwards;
and, says the chronicler, "it is natural to suppose that by one of the
other gates he cast himself into the river, _or_ that the devil carried
him off bodily."
The miracle had not ended there; for while these things were going on at
the gates, the poor mayor, in great perturbation, had hurried to the
church of Notre Dame la Grande, and throwing himself before the altar,
recommended the town to the protection of God and the Mother of Mercy.
"While he was praying, all on a sudden _he felt the keys in his arms_;
at which he returned thanks to Heaven, as did many pious persons who
were with him."
Bouchet, who relates this _fact_, adds:--"In memory of this _fine
miracle_, the inhabitants of the said Poitiers have ever since made, and
continue, a grand and notable procession of all the colleges and
convents, every year, all round the walls of the said town, within, the
day before Easter: the which extends for more than a league and a half.
And in memory of the said miracle, _I have made these four lines of
rhythm_:--
"L'an mil deux cens deux comme on clame,
Batailla pour ceux de Poietiers,
Contre les Anglois nostre Dame,
Et les garda de leurs dangiers."
In commemoration of this event, statues of the three saviours of the
town were erected above the gate, and in a little chapel near: chapels
to the Virgin were placed in every possible nook, and a solemn
procession was instituted to take place every year, on Easter Monday,
when the mayor's lady had the privilege of presenting to the Virgin the
magnificent velvet robe, which she wore on the occasion. This ceremony
was continued as late as 1829, since when the _cortege_ no longer goes
round the town as formerly, but a service is performed in the church.
The belief of this miracle seems to form an article of faith; for the
story was told me by three persons of different classes, all of whom
spoke of it as a tradition in which they placed implicit credit.
Sainte Radegonde seems to hold, however, the highest rank of the three
defenders of Poitiers. "She is a great saint," said the exhibitor of the
Museum to me, "and performs miracles every day." "Ste. Radegonde,"
said the bibliothecaire--"is a great protectress of this town, and has
personally interfered to assist us in times of need--but, perhaps, you
are not Catholic."
"The great saint," said a votaress, who was selling _chapelets_ at her
tomb, "does not let a month escape without showing her power; only six
weeks ago a poor child, who was paralyzed, was brought here by its
mother, having been given up by the doctors; and the moment it touched
the marble where it was laid, all its limbs became as strong as ever,
and it walked out of the church."
We, of course, lost as little time as possible in paying our _devoirs_
to so wondrous a personage. The church is a very venerable structure,
surmounted by a spire covered with slate. The Saint was the wife of
Clotaire the First, and quitted her court to live a religious life,
having built a monastery in honour of the true cross, a piece of which
had been sent to her from Constantinople by the Emperor Justinian. She
erected a church in honour of the Virgin, which should serve for a
burial-place for her nuns; this was beyond the walls of her monastery,
and a college of priests was added to it to supply religious instruction
to her community. The church was finished, and its foundress died in
587. She was interred there by the celebrated Gregory of Tours. The
tomb, of the simplest construction of fine black marble, still exists in
a subterranean chapel, the object of religious pilgrimages without end;
and when, in the fourteenth century, it was opened by Jean, Duc de
Berry, Count of Poitou, brother of Charles the Wise, the body was found
in perfect preservation. In 1562 the Protestants took possession of the
church, and broke open the tomb, scattering and burning the bones; but
some of them were, nevertheless, gathered together and replaced in the
marble, which was joined by iron cramps, and does not exhibit much
injury.
This huge mass of black marble has a very disgusting appearance, from
being entirely covered (except at one little corner, kept clean to show
its texture) with the runnings of the countless candles perched upon it
by the pilgrims, who arrive in such crowds at some periods of the year,
that the vault becomes so hot and close as to be unsafe to remain in
long. These candles are kept constantly burning, and the devotion to the
Saint also burns as brightly as ever. St. Agnes and St. Disciolus repose
near their abbess. Pepin, King of Aquitaine, lies somewhere in their
neighbourhood; but the exact spot is not ascertained.
A miraculous foot-print is still shown, which it is recorded that Jesus
Christ left _when_ he visited the cell of the holy abbess: the stone,
carefully preserved, is called Le Pas de Dieu, and was formerly in the
convent of St. Croix.
We had some difficulty to escape from the earnest exhortations of
numerous devout sellers of rosaries, who insisted on our buying their
medals, _chapelets_, &c., assuring us that they were of extraordinary
virtue; and we could scarcely believe that we had not been transported
several centuries back, when we saw the extreme devotion and zeal they
showed, both towards the Saint, and the money she might bring from
devotees.
Close to Ste. Radegonde is the cathedral church of St. Pierre,
principally built by Henry II. of England, a very fine specimen of the
grandest style of art; vast and beautiful, but with its naves rather too
low. The principal portals are very much ornamented, and its towers have
much elegance: but the restorations it has undergone have been
injudicious, and the modern painted glass which replaces the old is
extremely bad; but many of the windows are of fine forms, and, on the
whole, there is a good deal to admire in St. Pierre.
But little vestige remains now of the once famous convent of St. Pierre
le Puellier, which owed its foundation to a miracle: it is one very
often told as having occurred on like occasions; but is apparently still
believed in Poitiers, where devotees of easy credence seem to abound.
Loubette was a young girl in the service of the Empress Helena, mother
of Constantine, and had been witness in Jerusalem of the discovery of
the true cross. She was a native of Brittany; and how she came to the
holy city does not appear; suffice it that she wished to return to her
own country. The empress, in dismissing her, made her a present of a
piece of the true cross, and a part of the crown of thorns. Loubette
placed the relics in her _little bag_, and set out on her journey _on
foot_. She was of very small stature, lame, and crooked, extremely weak,
and hardly able to move; however, such as she was, she took her way from
Jerusalem to Poitiers, where _having arrived_, and feeling fatigued, she
lay down before she entered the town under a willow, hanging her little
bag (_gibeciere_) on a branch, and went to sleep. When she awoke she
looked for her bag; but the branch she had hung it on--similar to the
steeple to which the horse of the Baron, of veracious memory, was
attached--had risen in the night to such a height, "that," says the
chronicler, "the said virgin could not reach her said _gibeciere_."
She immediately sought the Bishop of Poitiers, who, struck with the
miracle, recommended her to present herself to the Count of Poitou, and
solicit of his piety the means of raising a church, and supporting a
chapter of clerks and priests to do duty there. The Count of Poitou is
said to have been joyous and pleased when he heard her relation; but it
does not appear that his generosity equalled his delight, for he did not
seem disposed to grant anything to Loubette for the establishment of her
church; however, unable at last to resist her entreaties, he agreed to
give her as much ground as so lame and weak a creature could creep over
in a day: it appears that he was not aware of her expedition from the
Holy Land.
He soon had cause to repent of his jest, for scarcely had Loubette
commenced her walk, accompanied by the servants of the Count, than she
distanced them all, and got over so much ground that they were
terrified; for, wherever she stepped, the ground rose and marked what
was hers. The Count hurried after her in great alarm, and, stopping her
progress, entreated her to be content with what she had already gained,
as he began to think she would acquire all his domain.[6]
[Footnote 6: The same legend is told as having happened in England on
the domains of the family of Titchborne.]
On the banks of the Clain is still pointed out a mound of earth on the
spot where _Saint_ Loubette crossed the river without wetting her feet.
There is no end to the miracles wrought in this favoured city: one is
told so remarkable that it deserves to be recorded. It occurred in
favour of Gauthier de Bruges, bishop of Poitiers--a very virtuous and
learned man, who had from a simple _cordelier_ been placed on the
episcopal throne by Pope Nicholas III. A question of supremacy having
arisen between the archbishops of Bourges and Bordeaux, Gauthier
declared for the former, and was charged by him to execute some acts of
ecclesiastic jurisdiction against his rival. The archbishop of Bordeaux
afterwards became pope, under the name of Clement V., protected by
Philippe le Bel, and in memory of his opposition deposed Gauthier,
enjoining him to retire into his convent.
The bishop of Poitiers was obliged to submit to the authority of the
sovereign pontiff; but at the same time protested against the abuse of
power of which he was the victim; and he appealed against the sentence
of deposition _to God and the council to come_. He died shortly after,
and desired to be buried with his act of appeal in his hand.
When Clement V. came to Poitiers to treat with Philippe le Bel on
_important and secret_ affairs--nothing less than the suppression of the
order of the Templars--he lodged at the Cordelier convent, in the very
church where Gauthier was buried. Being informed of the act of appeal
which the unfortunate bishop would not part with at the time of his
death, he had a great desire to see it, and commanded that his tomb
should be opened. Accordingly, in the dead of night, by the light of
torches, his desire was fulfilled. One of the pope's archdeacons
descended into the vault, and in the dead hand of the bishop beheld the
scroll: he endeavoured to take possession of it, but found it impossible
to do so, so firmly was it grasped by the bony fingers. The pope ordered
the archdeacon to enjoin the dead man to give it up on pain of
punishment, which the other having done, and added, that he pledged
himself to restore the paper when the pope had read it, the hand relaxed
its grasp, and the act was released. The archdeacon handed it up to the
pope; but when he tried to leave the vault, he found that a secret power
prevented him from stirring from the place, and he was forced to remain
there as hostage till the scroll was read and replaced in the hand of
the bishop; he then found that his limbs had resumed their power, and he
was able to quit the spot. Clement V., anxious to repair his injustice,
afterwards paid extraordinary honours to the memory of Bishop Gauthier.
It was at this time, in 1306, the interview took place which decided
the fate of the Templars; the pope lodged with the Cordeliers, the King
with the Jacobins, and, in order that they might confer more readily, a
bridge was thrown across the street, forming a communication between the
two convents. For sixteen months Clement remained at Poitiers on this
important business; and here he had interviews with the master of the
Templars, summoned from Cyprus for the occasion: here, most of the
plans, destined to overthrow their dangerous power, were concocted, with
less reference to justice than expediency.
The ancient palace of the Counts of Poitou is now the Palais de Justice.
A fine Grecian portico which we had passed several times in our search
for what we expected would be a Gothic entrance, leads to the only part
which remains of the ancient building: namely, a magnificent hall of
very large dimensions, surrounded by circular arches and delicate
pillars, and having a good deal of fine carving, and an antique roof of
chestnut wood. The exterior, which is adorned with figures of the
sovereigns of Poitou, we could not get a glimpse of, as the palace is so
hemmed in by buildings that it is only from the gardens and windows of
some private houses that any view of it can be obtained. Elionore of
Aquitaine, her husband and sons, often inhabited this abode; and it was
in the great hall that Charles VII. was proclaimed King of France. One
can but regret that so little remains of the original structure, and
that the buildings which modern taste and necessity have added, should
so ill accord with the old model; for nothing can be more misplaced than
the _classic temple_ which conducts to a Norman hall.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHATEAU DE LA FEE--KING RENE--THE MINIATURES--THE POST-OFFICE
FUNCTIONARY--ORIGINALITY--THE ENGLISH BANK-NOTE--ST. PORCHAIRE--THE
DEAD CHILD--MONTIERNEUF--GUILLAUME GUY GEOFFROY--THOMAS A
BECKET--CHOIR OF ANGELS--RELICS--THE ARMED HERMIT--A SAINT--THE
REPUDIATED QUEEN--ELIONORE--THE BOLD PRIEST--LAY.
ONE of the most remarkable houses in Poitiers, of which not many ancient
remain, is one now used as a school by the Christian Brothers. It is in
the Rue de la Prevote, close to the Place de la Pilori, and has been a
prison. The door and windows are finely ornamented, as is the whole
facade, with curiously-carved figures and foliage. Melusine, with her
serpent's or fish's tail, and her glass and comb, appears amongst
them--that inexplicable figure so frequently recurring in almost every
part of France, and even yet requiring her riddle to be solved. As we
knew that this part of the world was her head-quarters, we resolved to
visit her at her own castle of Lusignan, which would be in our way when
we left Poitiers. In this we were confirmed when we went to the
Bibliotheque, for the gentleman to whom we were indebted for much
attention in showing us the chief treasures there contained, recommended
us not to pass by without seeing the ruins of the _chateau de la Fee_.
The university of Poitiers formerly held a very high rank, and was
frequented by scholars from every part of the world. France, England,
Scotland, Ireland, and Germany, sent their students: it was founded by
Charles VII., and Pope Eugene IV., and was in great esteem in spite of
the jests of Rabelais and others at its expense. One old author speaks
somewhat irreverently of the learned town; calling its students "the
flute-players and professors of the _jeu de paume_ of Poitiers."
Corneille makes his Menteur a pupil of the college of Poitiers; but
Menot, a preacher of the period of the League, has a passage in one of
his sermons which is sufficiently complimentary: in relating the
Judgment of Solomon, he makes him say to one of the women, "Hold your
tongue, for I see that you have never studied at Angers or Poitiers,
and know not how to plead." It is now the head of an academy which
comprises the four departments of Vienne, Deux-Sevres, La Vendee, and
Charente Inferieure.
The public library is very extensive, and possesses many valuable
volumes. The first library named in French history is that of William
the Ninth, Count of Poitiers and Duke of Aquitaine, which was preserved
in his palace at Poitiers. At the revolution, all that ages had
accumulated was dispersed, but much has since been recollected, and
amongst the twenty-five thousand volumes there are many very precious.
There are more than fifteen hundred works relative to the history of
Poitou, and it has, within a few years, been enriched by a present from
the British government of a fine collection of historical and legal
documents connected with this part of the country.
That which, however, interested me most, was a beautiful manuscript,
said to have been executed by no other hand than the royal one of the
good King Rene. I have no doubt it was done by a very skilful artist
whom his munificence protected; but if, as is probable, he painted the
work on chivalry now in the King's library at Paris, he did _not_ paint
the beautiful leaves of the Psalter which is attributed to him; there is
too much knowledge of art in the latter to permit one to imagine that
the same person could do both; for though the work on chivalry has
great merit, it is of an inferior kind to this. The birds, the flowers,
the foliage, and the miniatures, are in perfection, and betray an
Italian touch; true it is that the celebrated partridges, which King
Rene loved so well to paint, are frequently repeated, and the legend is
told while the manuscript is being looked at, of his occupation in
depicting his favourite bird, when he was informed of the loss of his
kingdom, and so interested was he in his work that he never laid down
his pencil, but proceeded to finish it off as if nothing had happened.
Still, I think, whoever painted this book was the royal amateur's master
in the art; it appears certain that the beautiful volume was presented
by him to Jeanne de Laval, his wife: it is decorated with the arms of
Anjou, Sicily, and Laval, and the gold and azure are brilliant beyond
description, the doves and other birds are of glittering plumage, and
the flowers charming. Another psalter, of still more exquisite
execution, is of later date, 1510; and though the gold is far less
dazzling than that which adorns Rene's book, nothing can exceed the
beauty of the birds and flowers introduced on the margins. One leaf,
_all owls_, has a peculiarly _feathered_ appearance; the solemn birds
sit on wreaths in the most elegant attitudes, and at the top of the page
one _Grand Duke_, larger and more dignified than the rest, seems to look
down on his people with satisfaction. The lupins, monkshood,
marguerites, and other simple flowers, so often introduced in
illuminated borders, are done with infinite skill, and _strewn_ about
the gold ground as if scattered there by chance: some with their stalks
upwards and in disorder, evidently showing that they were painted from
nature, probably from the artist's own garden in his convent.
We found in Poitiers amongst the people, very little pride of their
town; they seem in fact to be inspired with a spirit of depreciation,
which surprised me; and I have seldom found in any French town so much
difficulty in discovering old houses and sites. "Ah, ca ne vaut pas la
peine, ma foi! c'est bien vieux!" was the general answer given to any
inquiry.
I had occasion to go to the post-office for letters from England, having
sent the _commissionnaire_ of the inn in vain. I knew that several were
waiting for me, but being positively told that there were none, was
going away, much disappointed, when a man ran after me across the great
square, begging that I would return, as the director wished to speak to
me. I did so immediately, when I was accosted by a person I had not
before seen, who, instead of producing my letters, began a conversation
on the subject of Poitiers, and my journey to it; having informed
himself where I came from, with all the minuteness of an American
questioner, he proceeded to say there were letters for a person of my
name; but as he required my passport, which I found to my vexation I had
left at the inn, I was tantalized with a view of the handwriting of my
friends through a grating. The functionary, however, detained me still
to entreat that I would satisfy his curiosity as to what we could
possibly have been admiring the evening before on the ramparts near the
Porte du Pont Joubert, on the banks of the Clain. "I observed you,
ladies," said he, "pointing to the opposite hills, which are nothing but
blocks of grey rocks, ordinary enough, and leaning over the walls
watching the course of the river, which is but a poor stream; and
remarking the trees on the promenades, which, after all, are but trees;
in fact, it puzzled me to think what strangers could find at Poitiers to
like."
Much amused at his originality, and the singular way in which he showed
it, I replied that we found much to admire in the walks, the scenery,
and the churches, and were surprised that he thought so little of his
native town. He seemed, as well as several of his assistant clerks, and
a person who patiently waited for his letters till the interview was
concluded, to think me much the most original of the two; and, having no
more to say, handed me my letters with the remark that I need not fetch
my passport, as he had no doubt they were really destined for me. It was
then evident to my mind that he had laid this plan to detain the
inquisitive travellers who had excited his curiosity, till he could
catechise them himself, and to that end had lured us _in person_ to the
post-office, and detained us and our letters till his pleasure was
secured. We were not sorry that nothing more was likely to arrive at
Poitiers for us, as we were to pay so much for the delivery. It appears
that strangers rarely remain more than a few hours here, which may
account for so much interest being excited in the solitary town by our
strolling.
We had delayed changing some English money, and thinking it best to do
so in case of necessity, inquired the way to a banker's. We were
directed to several; but, apparently, business was not very urgent with
them, for at most of the houses we found the head person gone into the
country, and no delegate left. At last, we met with one at home; but he
appeared utterly at a loss when he looked at the unlucky English
bank-note which we presented to be changed, never, as he assured us,
having seen such a _bit of paper_ before; but kindly offering, if we
would leave it a few hours, to have it seen and commented on, and then,
if approved, and we liked to pay a somewhat unreasonable number of
francs, the sum should be delivered to us. We thought the whole
transaction so _bizarre_ that we declined his offer, resolving
rather to trust to chance till we reached La Rochelle,--our next
destination--than put ourselves to the charges he recommended. He
returned our note with a mortified air, saying, "Very well; as you
please; but there are people in Poitiers who would not give two sous for
your bit of paper." The house in which he lived had a very antique
appearance, and we had mounted a curious tower with winding-staircase to
reach his bureau; I therefore asked him if there was anything remarkable
attached to its history; but he seemed never to have thought about it,
and merely remarked that it was "bien vieille; mais rien de plus." He
looked after us with pity, as we took our leave, and probably
entertained himself afterwards at our expense with his townsman of the
post-office: "Ces Anglais! sont-ils originaux! par exemple!"
Nothing daunted, we proceeded to visit the curious old church of St.
Porchaire, once a monastery dependent on the chapter of St. Hilaire le
Grand. The church of the priory is that part which remains. The interior
is quite without beauty; but what is worthy of note is its fine Roman
tower, and a portal of great singularity. The latter is ornamented with
medallions of the rudest workmanship; one capital represents Daniel and
the prophet Habakkuk, with lions of a strange shape; but, in order that
no mistake may arise as to their identity, besides the inscription which
surrounds the medallion, _Hic Daniel Domino vincit coetum leonum_, the
artist has engraved, in conspicuous letters, between the animals, the
word _Leones_.
The church of St. Hilaire--a great saint in Poitiers--has been so much
altered as to leave little very interesting of its original
construction. This saint was much distinguished for the miracles he
performed; the memory of one is still preserved by a pyramid, with
mutilated bas-reliefs, recording the facts thus related by the annalist
of Aquitaine:--
"When St. Hilaire visited the churches of the city, as he went through
the streets he was followed by so many people that he could hardly be
seen, for he was on foot. A woman, who lived in a house now situated
before the _Grands Escolles_, knowing that he was passing her dwelling,
while she was bathing her infant, seized with an ardent desire to behold
the saint, left it in the bath, and ran out; when she returned she found
her child drowned. Whereupon she called out, 'Oh, my God! shall I lose
my child for having done that which was praiseworthy!' and in a rage of
grief took her little dead child in her arms, covered with a piece of
linen, and carried it to St. Hilaire, to whom she declared the case and
the accident, praying him, in great faith and hope, to entreat of God
that her child might be restored to life.
"St. Hilaire, seeing the grief of the poor mother, who had but this
only child, and also her great reliance, and considering that the infant
had died in consequence of the mother's great desire to see him, set
himself to pray, prostrating himself on the earth with great humility
and tears, where he remained a long time. And he, who was of a great
age, would not rise from that posture till God had, at his request,
resuscitated the child. He then, taking it in his arms, presented it to
the mother, who gave it nourishment before all the people, who, full of
wonder, gave thanks to God and St. Hilaire."
The church of Montierneuf is one of the most ancient in Poitiers. It
contains the tomb of its founder, Guillaume Guy Geoffroy, Count of
Poitiers and Aquitaine; who, having led a very irregular life, thought
to atone for all, by erecting a magnificent monastery for Cluniac monks.
Except this tomb, there is little remaining of interest; but the effigy
of Guillaume is well executed and curious, as he lies with his long
curled hair and his crown, his _aumoniere_, and his singularly-shaped
shoes. He was one of the most daring of those wild Williams who
distinguished themselves for profligacy; but this pious act of his seems
entirely to have redeemed his memory.
It is recounted that, while the abbey was in progress, the King of
France, Philippe I., came to Poitiers, hoping to induce William to
assist him against the Duke of Normandy. The monarch, struck with the
grandeur of the new constructions, exclaimed that they were "worthy of a
king;" to which the Count replied, haughtily, "Am I not, then, a king?"
Philippe did not see fit to make any further rejoinder on so delicate a
subject.
The tomb of this redoubted prince was opened in 1822, and the body found
quite perfect; as this circumstance, which is by no means unusual, was
in former times always considered as a proof of the sanctity of the
person interred, it is to be hoped all the stories of Count William's
vagaries are mere scandals, invented by evil-disposed persons; and that
the history of his having established a convent, all the nuns of which
were persons of more than suspected propriety, and having placed a
female favourite of his own at their head, had no foundation in truth.
Something similar is told of several powerful princes, so it may well be
a fable altogether.
The botanical garden of Poitiers now occupies the place where the abbey
of St. Cyprian stood, with all its dependencies; we sat on some reversed
capitals, which now form seats in a flowery nook, and climbed a stair of
a tower where seeds are dried,--the only morsel of the great convent now
existing. Bouchet tells one of his strange stories of a monk of this
monastery, which is curious, as it relates to that dangerous and
powerful subject of the harassed King of England, Henry II., who must
have had enough to do to circumvent the art and cunning of the wily
archbishop who was always working for his ruin and the exaltation of the
Church. The annalist relates that--
"At this period, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, in England, was a
fugitive from his country, because the English princes desired to kill
_and_ put him to death: for that he would not agree to certain
constitutions, statutes, and ordinances, that Henry II. and the princes
of England had made against the liberties and privileges of the Church,
and the holy canons thereof. For they wished to confer dignities and
other benefices and take the fruits, thereby profaning the sanctuary of
God. And the said archbishop was seven years, or thereabouts, in France,
which land is the refuge of popes and holy personages; and he had great
communication and familiarity with the said Pope Alexander, he being in
the town of Sens, where he chiefly staid while in France. And the
archbishop was sometimes at the abbey of Pontigny, and sometimes at the
monastery of St. Columbe. Now, I read what follows in an ancient
_pancarte_ of the abbey of St. Cyprian of Poitiers, brought there by a
monk of the said, called Babilonius, who, for some grudge owed him by
his abbot, was driven from his abbey, and went to complain of his wrong
to Pope Alexander at Sens, while the Archbishop Thomas sojourned there;
from whom this monk received a holy vial to place in the church of St.
Gregory, where reposes the body of the blessed Saint Loubette. I have
translated the said writing from Latin into the vulgar tongue, seeing
that it contains some curious things. It begins, 'Quando ego Thomas
Archiepiscopus,' &c.
"When I, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, exiled from England, took
refuge with Pope Alexander, who was also fugitive, in the town of Sens,
and there represented to him the bad habits and abuses that the King of
England had introduced into the Church; one night as I was in the church
of Sainte Colombe, engaged in prayer, supplicating the Queen of Virgins
that she would vouchsafe grace to the King of England and his
successors, that they might have power and will to be obedient to the
Church as her children, and that our Lord Jesus Christ would cause them
more fully to love the said Church, suddenly appeared to me the Blessed
Virgin Mary, having on her breast a drop of water, glittering like fine
gold, and holding in her hand a little vial (_ampoule_) of stone. And
after she had taken from her breast the drop of water and put it in the
vial, she spoke to me these words: 'This is the unction with which the
kings of England shall be anointed; _not those who reign now, but those
who are to reign_; for those who reign now are wicked, and so will be
their successors, and, for their iniquity shall lose many things.
However, kings of England shall come, and shall be anointed with this
unction, and shall be benign and obedient to the Church, and shall not
possess their lands or lordships until they are so anointed. The first
of these shall recover, without violence, the countries of Normandy and
Aquitaine, which their predecessors had lost. This king shall be great
amongst kings, and it will be he who shall re-edify many churches in the
Holy Land, and drive all the pagans from Babylon, where he shall erect
rich monasteries, and put all the enemies of religion to flight. And
when he wears about his neck this drop of golden water, he shall be
victorious and augment his kingdom. _As for thee, thou shall die a
martyr for sustaining the rights of the Church._' I then prayed the holy
and sacred Lady to tell me in what sanctuary I should place this sacred
deposit; and she replied, that there was in this city a monk of the
monastery of St. Cyprian of Poitiers, named Babilonius, who had been
unjustly driven forth by his abbot, where he desired to be reinstated by
apostolic authority; to him I was ordered to give this vial, in order
that he might carry it to the city of Poitiers, and place it in the
church of St. Gregory, which is near the church of St. Hilaire, and put
it at the extremity of the said church, towards the east, under a great
stone, _where it would be found_ when the proper hour arrived to anoint
the kings of England, and _that the chief of the Pagans should be the
cause of the discovery of the said golden drop_. Accordingly I enclosed
this treasure in a leaden vessel, and gave it to the said monk,
Babilonius, to bear to the church of St. Gregory, as it was commanded."
What object _Saint_ Thomas of Canterbury had in thus mystifying the
monks of Poitiers, or to what _prince_ or _pagan_ he pointed at, remains
a secret: whether the holy vial ever was found cannot now be known; or,
if any discovery of such was made in that period of discoveries, the
great Revolution, it was probably consigned to destruction with numerous
other equally authentic relics. The most remarkable sentence in this
_pancarte_ is, perhaps, the prophecy of his own death by the martyr,
always admitting that the whole was not composed and arranged after the
event had happened.
Bouchet, glad of the opportunity of dwelling on wonders, finishes his
tale by relating the circumstances of Becket's murder, and how at his
burial a choir of angels led the anthem, which the monks followed: also
how the cruel homicides by the judgment of God were suddenly punished;
for some of them _ate their own fingers_, others became mad and
demoniacs, and others lost the use of all their limbs.
The relics in the churches of Poitiers were of the most extraordinary
value; each vied with the other in wonders of the kind, until all the
bones of all the saints in the calendar seemed gathered together in this
favoured city. Whenever a prince had offended the Church, he made his
peace by presenting some precious offering which was beyond price; as,
for instance, in 1109, the Duke of Aquitaine, father of Elionore, after
having been pardoned for one of his numerous offences, caused to be
enclosed in a magnificent shrine of gold, _two bones_ and _part of the
beard_ of the blessed Saint Peter, prince of apostles, which St. Hilaire
himself had brought to his church. Soon after, to prove his repentance
of some new peccadillo, Guillaume gave certain _dismes_ to the monks and
priests of St. Hilaire, with the use of the forest of Mouliere.
St. Bernard himself was obliged on one occasion to come to Poitiers to
admonish the refractory duke, who chose to have an opinion of his own in
acknowledging the pope, and many miracles were performed during his
stay. Once St. Bernard severely reprimanded the duke at the altar, in
the cathedral, who was for the moment terrified at his denunciations;
but no sooner had he left the church than he ordered the altar at which
the saint had stood to be demolished; and a priest to proclaim and
command the adherence of all persons to whatever pope their duke had
adopted; but this impiety was signally visited, for the priest fell down
dead at the altar as he was uttering the words. Also the dean, under
whose auspices St. Bernard's altar had been destroyed, _fell sick_
immediately, and died mad and in despair, for he cut his throat in his
bed: besides which, one of the refractory bishops--he of Limoges--fell
from his mule to the ground, and striking his head against a stone, was
killed on the spot; and for these _reasons_ and _evident signs_, Duke
William acknowledged his error, and replaced the Bishop of Poitiers,
whom he had deposed, in his chair.
This is the William, known by his romantic adventures as "The Armed
Hermit," who, no doubt, disgusted with the tyranny of the Church, whose
members at that time never ceased to interfere with the monarchs of
Europe, resolved to abandon his kingdom, and embrace a life of quiet, as
he supposed, "in some _horrible desert_." He was encouraged in the idea
by interested persons, and _feigning to die_, left a will, by which his
young daughter, Elionore, became the heiress of Aquitaine; he then
secretly quitted the court, directing his steps to the shrine of St.
James, in Galicia, where he joined a holy hermit, and put himself under
his tuition. By _diabolic temptation_ it seems, however, that he could
never be content in any of the deserts; where, still clothed in armour,
_cap-a-pie_, he endeavoured in vain to forget his belligerent
propensities, for, every now and then, when he heard of a siege toward,
he would suddenly sally forth, and having assisted in the skirmish,
again seized with a fit of repentant devotion, would hurry back to some
desolate retreat, and endeavour, by penitence and fasts, to obliterate
the sin he had committed.
His death was attended by so many miracles that it became necessary to
canonize him; and orders of hermit monks rose up in every quarter,
bearing his name of Guillemins, the chief of which were the Blanc
Manteaux of Paris. The example of sanctity he had set in the latter part
of his life seemed to have been lost on the turbulent and coquettish
Queen of the Court of Love, his daughter, Elionore, and to have been
also sufficiently disregarded by his grandsons. Not that Elionore
neglected to build and endow churches and monasteries in every part of
her dominions, particularly at Poitiers; and, probably, she considered
all offences wiped out by so doing: not excepting her criminal project,
recorded by Bouchet, of quitting her husband, Louis of France, and
"_espousing the Sultan Saladin_, with whose image and portraiture she
had fallen in love."
Whatever motives Louis le Jeune had in getting rid of his powerful wife,
policy could not be one; for never was a more foolish business; he did
not, perhaps, contemplate, in his shortsightedness, that she would marry
his rival, and carry all her possessions to the crown of England; but he
was sure that by dissolving his marriage he was injuring France. The
account of the state of the great heiress, insulted and injured in so
vital a point, is piteous enough, and not unlike, in position, to the
case of Queen Catherine when repudiated by Henry VIII.
"This dissolution and separation was signified to Queen Elionore by the
bishops, who undertook the task with great regret, for they knew it
would be very displeasing to the poor lady, who, as soon as the decision
was announced to her, fell in a swoon from the chair on which she sat,
and was for more than two hours without speaking, or weeping, or
unclosing her clenched teeth. And when she was a little come to herself,
she began, with her clear and blue (_vers_) eyes, to look around on
those who brought her the news, and said, 'Ha! my lords, what have I
done to the king that he should quit me? in what have I offended him?
what defect finds he in my person? I am not barren, I am not
illegitimate, nor come of a low race. I am wealthy as he is by my means.
I have always obeyed him; and if we speak of lineage, I spring from the
Emperor Otho the First and King Lothaire; descended in direct line from
Charlemagne; besides which we are relations both by father and mother if
he requires to be informed of it.'"
"Madam," said the Archbishop of Limoges, "you speak truth indeed. You
are relations; but of that the king was ignorant, and it is for that
very cause that he finds you are not in fact his wife, and the children
you have borne him are not lawful; therefore is this separation
necessary, much to the king's discomfort; he laments it as much or more
than you can do; but he finds that for the safety of your souls this
thing must be done."
The poor queen could only reply that the pope had the power to grant a
dispensation; but she had no longer any relations to support her, and
still less had she friends; and was obliged to submit. She was then
about six-and-twenty, and the most beautiful woman in France. Henry of
Normandy lost no time in making his proposals to her, which she at first
rejected, being, as she said, resolved never to trust another man; but
his eloquence, and other qualities, and the policy of placing herself in
a powerful position as his queen, heir as he was of England, caused her
to alter her mind; and Henry gained the richest wife in Europe and lost
his happiness for ever.
There is a frequently-repeated story told of one of the most celebrated
counts of Poitiers, though attributed sometimes to William VIII. and
sometimes to William IX. The series of _Williams_ all appear to have
been more or less _de rudes seigneurs_, who were divided between the
vices and virtues of their period. There is William _Tete d'Etoupes_,
William _Fier-a-bras_, William _the Great_, and William _the
Troubadour_; the latter--now pious, now profane--was at one time
fighting foremost in the christian ranks against the Paynim; at another,
"playing on pipes of straw and versing love" to fair ladies, to whom he
had no right to make himself captivating. He is said to have repudiated
his wife, Phillippa, or Mahaud, and espoused Malberge, the wife of the
Viscount de Chatelleraud, in the life-time of her husband. For this
offence the Bishop of Poitiers resolved to punish him, and, accordingly,
on occasion of a grand public solemnity, in the face of the assembled
multitude, he began the formula of excommunication against the offending
count, regardless of consequences. When William heard, as he sat with
his bold and beautiful lady-love, the first words of the anathema, he
started from his seat, in a transport of surprise and rage, and, drawing
his sword, rushed upon the unflinching churchman, who entreated him to
allow him a short delay. The count paused, and, taking advantage of the
circumstance, the bishop raised his voice, and finished the form of
excommunication in which he had been interrupted. "Now," said he, "you
may strike; I have done my duty and am ready." William was abashed and
humbled, and, returning his sword to its scabbard, exclaimed, "No,
priest, I do not love you well enough to send you straight to Paradise."
He had not, however, the grace to pardon the intrepid priest, for he
banished him to Chauvigny, where he shortly afterwards died, in 1115.
The following is one of the lays of this famous Troubadour, whose songs
are the earliest extant:
Anew I tune my lute to love,
Ere storms disturb the tranquil hour,
For her who strives my truth to prove,
My only pride, and beauty's flower;
But who will ne'er my pain remove,
Who knows and triumphs in her power.
I am, alas! her willing thrall;
She may record me as her own:
Nor my devotion weakness call,
That her I prize, and her alone:
Without her can I live at all,
A captive so accustom'd grown?
What hope have I?--Oh lady dear!
Do I then sigh in vain for thee;
And wilt thou, ever thus severe,
Be as a cloistered nun to me?
Methinks this heart but ill can bear
An unrewarded slave to be!
Why banish love and joy thy bowers--
Why thus my passion disapprove?
When, lady, all the world were ours
If thou couldst learn, like me, to love.
CHAPTER IX.
MELUSINE--LUSIGNAN--TROU DE LA FEE--THE LEGEND--MALE CURIOSITY--THE
DISCOVERY--THE FAIRY'S SHRIEKS--THE CHRONICLER--GEOFFROY OF THE
GREAT TOOTH--JACQUES COEUR--ROYAL GRATITUDE--ENEMIES--JEAN DU
VILLAGE--WEDDING--THE BRIDE--THE TRAGEDY OF MAUPRIER--THE
GARDEN--THE SHEPHERDESS--THE WALNUT GATHERERS--LA GATINE--ST.
MAIXANT--NIORT--MADAME DE MAINTENON--ENORMOUS CAPS--CHAMOIS
LEATHER--DUGUESCLIN--THE DAME DE PLAINMARTIN--THE SEA.
FULL of anxiety to visit the famous Chateau of Lusignan--the very centre
of romance and mystery--we left Poitiers in the afternoon, and, in two
hours, reached the prettily-situated bourg on the banks of the river
Vanne. We looked out constantly for the towers of the castle of
Melusine, but none appeared. At last I descried a building on an
eminence, which I converted at once into the object desired; but, as
the rain had come on violently and the atmosphere was somewhat dull, I
was not surprised that I did not obtain a better view of the turrets and
donjon, which no doubt frowned over the plain beneath.
Our vehicle stopped in the middle of a very unpromising stony street,
before a house which presented no appearance of an inn. Here, however,
we were told that we were to alight; and, having done so in a somewhat
disconsolate mood, for the storm had increased in violence, our baggage
was to be disengaged from the huge pile on the top of the diligence,
while we stood by to recognise it. The whole town, meantime, seemed to
have arrived in this, the principal street; and a host of men in blouses
paused round us, all looking with wonder on our arrival, apparently
amazed at our absurdity in stopping at Lusignan; in which reflection we
began to share, as they took possession of our trunks, and examined them
without ceremony, while the conducteur searched his papers, in a sort of
frenzy, to find our names inscribed, and convince himself that we were
the persons named there as his passengers. As we had only been "set
down" as "Dames Anglaises," he seemed inclined to dispute our identity;
and he, and a man who acted as post-master, conned over the paper
together, while all the inhabitants who could get near endeavoured to
catch a peep, not only at the scroll, but the suspected persons. At
length, as we protested against lingering in the rain any longer,
further enquiries were abandoned; the conducteur mounted his box; the
post-master called porters; and the crowd made way for us, while we
followed half-a-dozen guides, who made as much of their packages as they
could; and we at last found shelter. The aspect of affairs now changed:
a very neat landlady, and a smart waiting-maid, ushered us into a
pretty, clean, decorated, raftered room,--the best in the Lion d'Or,--up
a flight of tower stairs; our porters disappeared; the street was
cleared; curiosity seemed amply gratified; and we were left to a good
dinner, and in comfortable quarters. The sun broke forth, and all looked
promising; but where were the towers of the castle?
This question we repeated frequently, and the answers assured us that
_la haut_ we should see the castle and the "_Trou Meluisin_." We slept
well in our snow-white beds; occasionally hearing, during the night, the
cracked, hollow, unearthly sound of the great church bell of the
Lusignans, to which an equally ghost-like voice on the stair replied. At
day-break the noise of hilarity roused us, and we found that a rural
meeting was taking place below, in the _grand salon_. Our friends of the
day before seemed all met previous to setting out to begin the walnut
gathering; and they uttered strange jocund sounds, more wolfish than
human, without a word which could be, by possibility, construed into the
French language.
We hurried up the rugged way which was to lead us to the castle; but,
having reached the height, I rubbed my eyes, for I thought the fairy had
been busy during the night, and, by a stroke of her wand, had swept away
every vestige of the castle. Certain it was that not a stone was
left,--not a solitary piece of wall or tower, to satisfy our curiosity!
A pretty little girl of fifteen, who had hurried after us, now
approached, and offered to be our _guide_. We accepted her civility, as
we hoped something would ensue: she led us to a heap of bushes, and,
stooping down and pulling them aside, proclaimed to us, as she pointed
to a dark chasm beneath, that we stood at the entrance of the "Trou de
la Fee." "This," said she, "is the hole which she used to enter, and it
has a way which leads to the wood yonder: she could there rise up at her
fountain, where she bathed; and from thence there is another way leading
as far as Poitiers itself." We asked her if the fairy ever appeared now;
but she laughed, and said, contemptuously, "Oh! no, that is all fable:
it was a great while ago." She had a tragical story of a soldier who
descended, resolving to attempt the adventure; but he was never seen
afterwards, as might easily be expected. She, however, accounted for
his fate without attributing it to supernatural causes: the superstition
of Melusine has disappeared with the turrets of her castle.
The church is curious, though very much defaced: in the sacristy is a
circular-arched door, elaborately sculptured with the signs of the
Zodiac; but the formerly-existing stones on which the effigy of the
fairy appeared have been entirely swept away.
The castle of Lusignan was once one of the most beautiful and powerful
_chateaux forts_ in France; so strong and so singular in its
construction that it was attributed to an architect of a world of
spirits,--the famous witch, or fairy, Melusine; about whom so much has
been written and sung for ages, and who still occupies the attention of
the curious antiquary. Her story may be thus briefly told:
She was married to the Sire Raymondin, of Poitiers; who, struck with her
surpassing beauty, and aware of her great wealth and possessions, had
won her from a host of suitors. He was, however, ignorant that her
nature was different from that of others; and, when she informed him
that, if she consented to be his wife, he must agree that she should,
once a week, absent herself from him, and must promise never to attempt
to penetrate the retreat to which she retired, he gave an unconditional
assent. They had been married some time, and their happiness was
complete; but at length Raymondin's mind began to be disturbed with
uneasy thoughts, and the demon of curiosity took possession of him. His
wife disappeared every week for a single day--some say Saturday--and he
had no idea where she went, or what she occupied herself about. Was it
possible, thought he, that she had some other attachment? Could she be
capable of deceiving his affection? Every time she returned to him she
looked more lovely than ever; and there was a satisfaction in her aspect
that was far from pleasing him. She never alluded to the circumstance of
her retreat; but redoubled her tenderness and kindness to him; and, but
for the growing and increasing anxiety he felt to know the truth, he
might have been the happiest of men.
Melusine had, according to her wont, taken leave of him on the
accustomed night of her retirement; and he found himself alone in his
chamber. He mused, long and painfully, till he could endure his thoughts
no longer; and, catching up his sword, he rushed to the tower, at the
door of which he had parted with his mysterious lady. The door was of
bronze, elaborately ornamented with strange carvings: it was thick and
strong; but, in his frenzy of impatience, he did not hesitate to strike
it violently with his sharp sword; and, in an instant, a wide cleft
appeared, disclosing to him a sight for which he paid dear.
In the centre of the chamber he beheld a marble basin, filled with
crystal water; and there, disporting and plunging, was a female form
with the features of his wife. Her golden hair, in undulating waves,
fell over her white bosom and shoulders, and rested on the edge of the
basin, and on the surface of the water; her hands held a comb and a
mirror; and in the latter she occasionally gazed intently as a series of
figures passed across it. Down to her waist it was Melusine; but below
it was no longer the body of a woman, but a scaly marine monster, who
wreathed a glittering tail in a thousand folds; dashing and casting the
silver waves in every direction, and throwing a veil of shining drops
over the beautiful head above, till the walls and ceiling shone with the
sparkling dew, on which an unearthly light played in all directions!
Raymondin stood petrified, without power to speak or move. An instant
sufficed to disclose to him this unnatural vision; and an instant was
enough to show the fairy that her secret was discovered. She turned her
large lustrous eyes upon him, uttered a loud, piercing shriek, which
shook the castle to its foundation, and all became darkness and silence.
The lord of the chateau passed the rest of his life in penitence and
prayer; but the lady was never afterwards seen by him.
She had not, however, abandoned her abode; and, always, from that time
till within a few years, she returned whenever any misfortune threatened
the family of Lusignan, screaming round the walls, and rustling with her
serpent folds along the passages, announcing the event. In 1575 the
castle was razed, by order of the Duke de Moutpensier, and for several
nights previous to its demolition, Melusine startled the country round
with her piercing cries. It is even said that certain ancient women in
Lusignan hear her occasionally; but we were not so fortunate as to meet
with any who had been so favoured.
Bouchet, in his chronicle, acknowledges himself greatly puzzled to
account for the legend of Melusine; for, though he does not hesitate to
believe anything advanced by the Church, he does not feel bound to put
entire faith in a book of romance. "As for me," he says, "I think and
conjecture, that the sons of Melluzine performed many fine feats of
arms; but not in the manner related in the romance; for it must be
recollected that at the period of 1200 were begun to be made many books,
in gross and rude language, and in rhythm of all measure and style,
merely for the pastime of princes, and sometimes for flattery, to vaunt
beyond all reason the feats of certain knights, in order to give courage
to young men to do the like and become brave; such are the said Romance
of Melluzine, those of Little Arthur of Brittany, Lancelot du Lac,
Tristan the Adventurous, Ogier the Dane, and others in ancient verse,
which I have seen in notable libraries: the which have since been put
into prose, in tolerably good language, according to the time at which
they were written, in which are things _impossible to believe, but at
the same time delectable to read_. But, in truth, all that romance of
Melluzine is a dream, and cannot be supported by reason. You may see, in
the said romance, that the children of Melluzine, Geoffrey la
grande-dent, and Guion, and Raimondin, her husband, a native of Forez,
were Christians, and that they fought against, and conquered, the Turks,
and that the said Raimondin was nephew to a Count of Poictou, named
Aymery, who had a son called Bertrand, who was count after him, and a
daughter, Blanche. Now I have not been able to find in any history,
letter, nor _pancarte_, _though I have carefully searched_, that, since
the passion of our Lord, there has been a duke or count in Poictou,
called either Bertrand or Aymery; nor that there have been any such but
what I have enumerated. And as for those events having happened before,
it could not be; for there were then no Christians living, our Lord and
Redeemer not being then on earth."
The confused chronicler then proceeds to tell the whole serpent-story,
hinting his suspicions that the lady was discovered by her husband to
be unfaithful, and giving an etymology to her name, similar to one we
heard on the spot, namely, that she was lady of _Melle_, a castle near.
Our village archaeologist added, however, that this castle was called
Uzine, and as both belonged to her, she was so called, Melle-Uzine.
In the fourteenth century, the estates of Lusignan passed into royal
possession. Hugues le Brun left in his will great part of the estates to
the King of France, Phillippe le Bel. His brother, Guy, irritated at
this disposition of the property, cast his will into the fire; on which
the king had him accused of treason, and took possession of the county
of Lusignan, which became confiscated to the crown. It was on this sad
occasion that, for twelve successive nights, the spirit of Melusine
appeared on the platform of the castle, wailing and lamenting in a
pitiable manner, and making the woods and groves re-echo with her
sorrows.
There is another account, that the castle was greatly added to by a
powerful lord, called _Geoffrey of the Great Tooth_, son of Melusine,
whose effigy might once be seen over the principal entrance of the
donjon-tower; but his existence is as great a problem as that of the
fairy herself.
Henry II. of England took the castle, and came here in triumph with his
warriors. Louis XII. when Duke of Orleans, passed several sad years in
these walls as a prisoner. It was taken by Admiral de Coligny, in 1569;
but it was lost soon after, and again and again retaken, partially
destroyed, and rebuilt, and at length swept away altogether, leaving
nothing but recollections, a piece of old tower, and Le Trou de
Melusine.
It once had three circles of defence, bastions, esplanades, moats, and
walls; embattled gates, one called the Gate of Geoffrey of the Great
Tooth, one the Gate of the Tour Poitevine, and the gigantic Tour de
Melusine in the centre of all; its subterranean ways, strange legends,
mysterious passages, and enormous strength, made it a marvel in all
times, and a subject for romance from the earliest ages.
M. Francisque Michel is the last who has endeavoured to collect its
curious records, and throw some light on its strange history.
In this castle was imprisoned, during his iniquitous trial, which is an
eternal blot on the name of his ungrateful _friend_, Charles VII. of
France, the rich and noble merchant of Bourges, Jacques Coeur, whose
purse had been opened to the destitute king in his emergencies, and who
had devoted all the energies of his mind to save his country from the
ruin which the idle favourites who surrounded the throne were assisting
as much as possible. His princely liberality, his foresight, and
promptitude, had rescued Charles from perils which seemed
insurmountable. He had come forward with a sum of great magnitude, at
the moment when his royal master was so distressed that he could not
undertake the conquest of Normandy, then possessed by the English. He
paid and supported an army, and Normandy was restored to France. He
rescued the country from poverty and misery, placed its finances in a
flourishing condition, drove marauders from the desolated land, and saw
the little King of Bourges the powerful monarch of regenerated France.
Then came his reward. His inveterate "adversary and enemy, the wicked
Haman," who had been for years watching to accomplish his downfal,
because his evil was not good in the sight of the right-minded and
true-hearted friend of his country,--the detestable Antoine de
Chabannes, Count of Dammartin, rightly judging that Charles would be
glad to rid himself of so enormous a burthen of gratitude as he owed to
Jacques Coeur, concerted with other spirits as wicked as himself, and
succeeded but too well.
The first step was to shake the public faith in those at the head of the
financial department; but they feared to attack the friend of Charles,
and the acknowledged benefactor of France, _at first_. Money they were
resolved to have, at any rate, without delay, and their first victim was
Jean de Xaincoings, receiver-general. A series of charges were got up
against him, which he was unable to overcome; he was convicted,
sentenced, imprisoned, and his property confiscated. Great was the
exultation of the dissolute lords of the Court, when, in the scramble,
each got a share of the spoil. Dunois--_Le Gentil Dunois_!--the hero of
so many fights--was one of the first to profit by the downfal of this
rich man: his magnificent hotel at Tours was bestowed on the warrior,
who did not blush to receive it.
Encouraged by this success, and becoming more greedy as they saw how
easy it was to work on the king, when money was in view, the foes of
Jacques Coeur set about accomplishing a similar work, with his colossal
fortune in view as their prize.
At first, there seemed danger in proposing to the weak monarch to
despoil his friend, and to annihilate a friendship of years, and
obligations of such serious moment; but, to their surprise and delight,
they found his ears open to any tales they chose to bring; and having,
in a lucky hour, fixed on an accusation likely to startle such a mind,
they found all ready to their hands.
Dammartin brought forward a woman, base enough to swear that the fair
and frail Agnes Sorel had been poisoned by his treasurer. The infamous
Jeanne de Vendome, wife of the Lord of Mortagne sur Gironde, was the
instrument of Chabannes, and her accusation was believed and acted upon.
A host of enemies, like a pack of wolves eager for prey, came howling
on, and the great merchant was dragged from his high seat and hunted to
the death.
In this very castle of Lusignan, where the fairy Melusine might well
lament over the disgrace of France, in a dungeon, removed from every
hope, languished the man who had, till now, held in his hand the
destinies of Europe; whose galleys filled every port, whose merchandise
crowded every city, who divided with Cosmo de Medici the commerce of the
world. Here did Jacques Coeur reflect, with bitter disappointment, on
all the selfishness, cruelty, meanness, and ingratitude, of the man he
had mainly assisted to regain the throne of his ancestors. It was here
he was told that the falsehood of the charge against him had been
proved; but when he quitted this, the first prison which the gratitude
of the king had supplied him with, it was but to inhabit others; while a
crowd of new accusations were examined, one of which was enough to crush
him. The game was in the hands of his foes; his gold glittered too near
their eyes; their clutches were upon his bags; their daggers were ready
to force his chests; they were led on by one whose avarice was only
equalled by his profligate profusion, and he was a prisoner kept from
his own defence.
The wealth of Jacques Coeur was poured into the laps of _Charles_ and
his harpy courtiers, and the victim was consigned to oblivion. Of all he
had saved and supported, one man alone was grateful--_Jean du Village_,
_his clerk_, devoted himself to his master's interests, and his life,
and part of his property abroad, were saved.
The fate of the great merchant is still a mystery. His mock trial was
decided by the commission appointed to examine him at the castle of
Lusignan, in May, 1453, and judgment was pronounced by Guillaume
Jouvenel des Ursins, chancellor of France, after the king _had taken
cognisance of and approved it_![7]
[Footnote 7: For account of Jacques Coeur and his dwelling at Bourges,
see "Pilgrimage to Auvergne."]
A wedding was going on while we were wandering between the castle and
the church, and we met the party on our way, preceded by the usual
violin accompaniment. Our young guide was greatly interested in the
proceedings, and told us the names and station of the parties concerned.
"What an odd thing it is," said she, "to be married. For two or three
days everybody runs out of their houses to stare at the bride and
bridegroom, as if they were a king and queen, though one has seen them a
thousand times before, and, after that, they may pass in the street and
nobody thinks of looking at them."
Marie Poitiers and Rene Blanc were the happy pair on this occasion; the
name of the bridegroom amused me, as I was reminded of the perfumer and
poisoner of Queen Catherine, Rene Bianco, who had lately furnished me
with a _hero_ for a romance. This Rene was, however, a very
harmless-looking personage, a daily labourer, but "bien riche," as was
his bride, who also worked in the fields, but had a very good property
near Lusignan. "All the family are very well off; but, they work like
other people. Only you see," said our guide, "that the bride's sister,
who is so pretty, dresses in silk like a _grande dame_, and does not
wear the peasant's cap like the rest." The cap of the bride was worthy
of attention, as were those of most of the party. As they were amongst
the first of the kind we had seen, they attracted us extremely, though
we afterwards got quite familiar with their strange appearance. In this
part of the country, the peasants wear a cap, large, square, and high,
of a most inconvenient size, and remarkably ugly shape: they get larger
and squarer as you approach La Rochelle, and cease before you arrive at
Bordeaux. The bride's was of thin embroidered muslin, edged with lace,
placed in folds over a high, square quilted frame, which supported it as
it spread itself out, broad and flaunting, making her head look of a
most disproportionate size. Silver ribbon bows and orange flowers were
not omitted, and she wore a white satin sash tied behind, which floated
over her bright gown and apron. A large silver cross hung on her breast,
her handkerchief was richly embroidered, and her stockings very white
and smart, though her feet and legs were somewhat ponderous, and did not
seem accustomed to their adornment of the day, _sabots_ of course being
her ordinary wear. She was led by her father, whom I mistook for the
mayor, he was so decorated with coloured ribbons, and strode along with
so dignified an air, his large black hat shading his happy, florid face.
The bridegroom closed a very long procession, as he led the bride's
mother along: they were going to the Mairie, where, after signing,
Made. Blanc would take her husband's arm, and walk back again through
the town to hear mass, when _ses bagues_ would be presented to her by
her lord. Great excitement seemed to prevail in Lusignan, in consequence
of this event, and smiles and gaiety were the order of the day.
Our hostess proposed accompanying us to a chateau not far distant, in
order that we might see the country, and as it was fine and not very
damp we set out with her, having stopped in the town at a little
chandler's shop for her sister who wished to be of the party.
Their mother--a dignified old lady, who looked as if she had been a
housekeeper at some chateau--welcomed us into her shop, and set chairs
while her daughter was getting ready, when she resumed her knitting, and
conversed on the subject of their metropolis, Poitiers, with which she
appeared partially acquainted. She detailed to us several of the
miracles of Ste. Radegonde, for whom she had an especial respect, and
assured us there was no saint in the country who had so distinguished
herself. I was surprised, after this, that she treated the story of
Melusine as a fable, though she believed in the existence of the
subterranean way, and told us of the riches supposed still to exist
beneath the castle and in the ruins. One man, lately, in taking away
stones to build a house, stumbled on a heap of money which had evidently
been placed for concealment beneath the walls, and coins of more or less
value, and of various dates, are found, from time to time, as the large
stones are removed for building, any one being at liberty to demolish
whatever ancient wall they find in the neighbourhood.
Our walk was an extremely pleasant one, for the country round is very
pretty and rural; it terminated at the Chateau de Mauprier, a private
residence, which appears to have been formerly a fortified manor-house,
to judge by its moat and the square and round towers which still remain.
The "park" leading to it is a series of beautiful alleys, some of the
trees of which are allowed to grow naturally, others are cut into form,
with fine grassy walks between, covered with rich purple heath here and
there in nooks. The walks branch off from space to space in stars,
leaving open glades of emerald turf between.
As we approached the lodge through the slovenly gate half off its
hinges, the sound of wailing reached us from within, and, entering the
room whence it proceeded, we became witnesses of a sad scene of
desolation. There was no fire on the hearth, all looked dismal and
wretched; a great girl of twelve stood sobbing near the table, a younger
one sat at the door, and, with her feet on the damp earthen floor,
rocking herself backwards and forwards on a low chair, sat a small, thin
woman, moaning piteously, and wringing her hands.
Of course we thought she was bewailing some severe domestic bereavement,
and our companions, who were full of friendly commiseration, began to
question her, but could obtain no answer but tears and cries. At length,
by dint of coaxing and remonstrance, we discovered that the tragedy
which had happened was as follows:
The gardener-porter was entrusted by his master with the care of the
live stock of the farm; his wife had sent a child of about eight years
of age into the woods with a flock of turkeys; the young guardian had
been seduced by fruit or flowers to wander away, forgetting her charge,
and they followed her example, and dispersed themselves in all
directions. The consequence was, that an ill-disposed fox, who was lying
in wait, took the opportunity of way-laying them, and no less than seven
had become his victims: the little girl had returned to tell her loss,
was beaten and turned out of doors; the husband's rage had been fearful,
and, though a night and day had elapsed, and the second evening was
coming on, the disconsolate wife had not risen from her chair, nor
ceased her lamentations. The turkeys must be replaced; the little girl
was not her own, but an _enfant trouvee_, whom she had nursed and loved
as her own--and how was she to be received after her crime! the husband
was irate, the children were miserable, neither cookery nor fire were to
be seen, and despair reigned triumphant. A small present, and a good
deal of reasoning, brought her a little to herself; and we persuaded the
eldest girl to light the fire, and give her mother something to revive
her; the father was sent for; but the poor woman fainted, and we lifted
her into bed; where we at length left her now repentant husband
attending her, and promising to reproach no one any more about the fox
and the turkeys.
Nothing could possibly do less credit to the gardener than the
appearance of the grounds, where liberty reigned triumphant; every
thing, from enormous gourds of surprising size to grapevines in
festoons, being allowed to grow as it listed; yet the original laying
out was pretty, and if half-a-dozen men were employed, as would be the
case in England, the gardens might be made very agreeable. The
proprietor is, however, an old man who spends a great deal of his time
in Poitiers; and, as all French people do when at their country places,
merely conceals himself for a few months, and cares little about
appearances, provided his fruit and vegetables are produced in the
required quantity. We heard that he was a most excellent and indulgent
man, very liberal to the poor, and generous to his people; and our
hostess assured us, that if he knew of the wretchedness the loss of his
turkeys had caused in his gardener's family, it would give him real
pain, and he would at once forgive them their debt to him. Perhaps the
knowledge of his kindness might be one reason of his servant's vexation;
but though that feeling was honourable to him, we could not forgive him
for his severity to his poor, silly terrified little wife.
As we returned by another, and a very pretty way, we met a young girl,
to whom our guides, who were zealous in the cause, told the story of her
neighbour's illness; she promised to go to her and offer her aid as soon
as she could, and expressed her disgust at the cruelty of the husband,
whose character, she said, was brutal in the extreme. While they were
talking, I remarked the appearance of the shepherdess, who was certainly
one of the most charming specimens of a country Phillis I ever beheld.
Her age might be about eighteen; she was tall, and well made, with a
healthy, clear complexion, a good deal bronzed with the sun; teeth as
white as pearls, and as even as possible; rather a wide, but very
prettily shaped mouth; fine nose; cheeks oval and richly tinted; fine
black eyes filbert shaped, and delicately-pencilled eyebrows, perfectly
Circassian; a small white forehead, and shining black hair in braids:
the expression of her smile was the most simple and innocent
imaginable, and the total absence of anything like thought or intellect,
made her face a perfect reflection of that of one of her own lambs. Her
costume was extremely picturesque; and her head-dress explained at once
the mystery of the cap of Anne Boleyn, of which it was a model, no doubt
an unchanged fashion from the time of, and probably long before,
Marguerite de Valois. It was of white, thick, stiff muslin, pinched into
the three-cornered shape so becoming to a lovely face, precisely like
the Holbein head, but that the living creature was much prettier than
the great master usually depicted his princesses. Her petticoat was dark
blue, her apron white, and so was her handkerchief, and round her
handsome throat was a small hair chain, or ribbon, with a little gold
cross attached. Her feet were in _sabots_; and she held a whip in her
hand, with which to chastise her stray sheep; on her arm hung a flat
basket, in which were probably her provisions for the day, or she might
have filled it with walnuts which were being gathered close by. I never
saw a sweeter figure altogether, and her merry, ringing laugh, and
curious _patois_ sounded quite in character; she was just the sort of
girl Florian must have seen to describe his Annette from; but I did not
meet with any peasant swain in the neighbourhood worthy to have been her
Lubin. Her beauty was, however, rare, for we were not struck with any of
the peasants besides, as more than ordinarily good-looking; but, seen
anywhere, this girl must have attracted attention.
We soon, on entering a long avenue, came upon a party of
walnut-gatherers, to whom the tragedy of the fox was again detailed,
while groups came round us to hear and comment on the event, which
appeared to be formed to enliven the monotony of a country existence as
much as a piece of scandal in a town.
Seated on the ground, quietly eating walnuts, in the midst of a ring of
other children, sat the little delinquent of the tale, as unmoved and
unconscious as if she had not caused a perfect hurricane of talk and
anxiety in the commune; she turned her large gypsy black eyes on me with
an expression almost of contempt, as I asked her a few questions, and
recommended her caution in future. As one of the reports we had gathered
on our way was, that the child, after being beaten, had run away into
the woods and had not since re-appeared, we were not sorry to find her
here; but as she looked saucy and careless, and able to bear a good deal
of severity, and was besides several years older than had been
represented, our sympathy was little excited in her favour. "She has
acted in this way often before," said a bystander, "and cannot be made
to work or to do anything she is told." She had strangely the appearance
of a Bohemian, and her fondness for the _dolce far niente_ increased my
suspicions of her parentage. The tenderness of her foster-mother for her
was, however, not to be changed by her ill-conduct, for she was said to
prefer her to her own children, in spite of her faults: so capricious is
affection.
The road from Lusignan to Niort is through a very pleasing country,
sometimes _bocage_, and sometimes _gatine_: the latter term being
generally applied to a country of rocks, where the soil does not allow
of much cultivation. This is, however, not always the case, for on
several occasions I have heard, as at Chartres, a little wood called _la
gatine_; and once at Hastings was surprised, on inquiring my way in the
fields, to be directed to pass the _gattin_ hard by; namely a small
copse. The word is said to be Celtic, and may be derived either from
_geat_, which means a plot of ground, or _geas_, a thick branch.
We were much struck with the town of St. Maixant; which is approached by
beautiful boulevards, and the environs are very rich and fine; the road
does not lead within the walls, but outside; and there was no reason to
regret this, as the streets are narrow and ill-built, while the
promenades round are charming. The Sevre Niortaise bathes the foot of
the hill on which St. Maixant stands, and beyond rises the forest of
Hermitaine, once part of the celebrated Vauclair, where some famous
hermits took up their abode, and made the spot holy. Clovis assisted the
recluses who had chosen this retreat as their abode, and granted them
land and wood; a monastery was soon formed and the town grew round it.
There is a fine cascade near La Ceuille, of which, or rather of the
stream which flowed from it, we caught a glimpse on approaching St.
Maixant; it falls from the _coteau_ called Puy d'Enfer, and it is one of
the wonders of the neighbourhood. The old walls of the town now appear
to enclose gardens, and all looks smiling and gay; but they have
sustained many a rude siege at different periods, and suffered much
during the wars of La Vendee.
At mid-day we reached Niort, a fine, clean, good-looking new town, with
scarcely any antiquity left, though of ancient renown: a Celtic city
with a Celtic name; a castle whose date cannot be ascertained; a palace
inhabited by the great heroine of the country, Elionor; and convents and
monasteries of infinite wealth and celebrity. That singular and famous
community established by the Troubadour Count of Poitou, Guillaume IX.,
was at Niort, and was replaced by the holy Capuchin brothers, who must
have been sufficiently scandalized at the conduct of the fair devotees
who preceded them in their cells.
The Duchess Elionor was married to Henry II. at Niort, and lived here
frequently. We hoped to see some remains of her palace, but found only
a large square building which might have formed a part of it; though its
form, which is an isolated tower, makes it difficult to imagine how it
could be in any way connected with the rest of the palace; this tower is
now used as the Hotel de Ville; its lozenge and circle ornaments appear
not to be of older date than Francis I.; and we could scarcely persuade
ourselves, however ready to believe in antiquities, that the
all-powerful lady of Aquitaine, or her warrior husband, ever sat within
these walls.
A curious privilege was granted by the pope, in 1461, to the mayor,
aldermen, sheriffs, councillors, peers, and citizens of Niort, to be
buried in the habit, and with the cord round their waists, of the
Cordeliers: it is not recorded that the ladies of the town petitioned to
be dressed as well in their coffins as the nuns whose beauty delighted
William the Ninth, or they might have gone to their last fete in--
"A charming chintz and Brussels lace."
The most remarkable recollection connected with Niort, is that, in the
prison of the town, called La Conciergerie, where her father was
confined for the crime of forgery, was born Francoise D'Aubigne,
afterwards the wife of Scarron, and by the favour of Louis XIV.,
Marquise de Maintenon, in whom the triumph of hypocrisy was complete.
One of the streets is called by her name; but it is not recorded that
she ever did anything for her native town; probably she was not anxious
to perpetuate the memory of any part of her early life, not seeing fit
to be quite so communicative on the subject as her brother, whose tongue
she had so much difficulty in keeping quiet.
Niort is a very pleasant, lively-looking town--that is, for a French
town, where the nearest approach to gaiety is the crowd which a weekly
market brings, or the groups of laughing, talking women, which the
ceaseless occupation of washing collects on the banks of the river. We
were much amused here with the latter, and stood some time on the bridge
below the frowning round towers, of strange construction, which serve as
a prison, to observe the manoeuvres of the washerwomen, who, in their
enormous, misshapen, towering, square caps, were beating and scrubbing
away at their linen. Nothing can appear so inconvenient as this
head-dress when its wearer is engaged in domestic duties; yet the women
are constantly to be seen with it; rarely, as in Normandy, contenting
themselves with the under frame alone, and placing the huge mass of
linen or muslin over it when their work is done. On one occasion we
travelled with a _bourgeoise_ whose cap was so enormous, that she could
scarcely get into the coach, and when once in had to stoop her head the
whole time to avoid crushing the transparent superstructure of lace and
muslin, which it is the pleasure of the belles of Poitou to deform
themselves with. We were, however, assured that this costume was
becoming, and that many a girl passed for pretty who wore it, who would
be but ordinary in a plain, round, every-day cap. Sometimes this
monstrosity is ornamented with gold pins, or buttons, all up the front,
and the variety of arrangement of the muslin folds, both before and
behind, is curious enough. It has occasionally frilled drapery depending
from its height, hanging about half way down behind, or crossed over and
sticking out at the sides, making it as wide as possible; I have seen
some that could not be less than a foot and a half wide, and about a
foot high; but some are even larger than this, extravagant as the
description appears. The pyramidal Cauchoise caps are as high, it is
true, or even higher, but there is an approach to grace in them, while
those of Poitou are hideous as to form, even when the materials are
light; those of the commonest sort are of coarse linen or cotton, and
reach the very acme of ugliness.
One of the great articles of commerce here is the preparation of chamois
leather, which is said to be brought to great perfection; but, perhaps,
like the cutlery so celebrated in so many towns, and boasted of as
_equal to the English_, this famous production might be looked upon by
an English tradesman as mere "leather and prunella."
There is an attempt at a _passage_ here--the great ambition of country
towns which think to rival Paris; but, as usual, it appears to be a
failure, the shops looking common-place and shabby, and the place
deserted and dismal. The public library is good, and there are several
handsome public buildings; the churches are without interest, except one
portal of Notre Dame, where we observed some mutilated, but very
beautiful, twisted columns, whose wreaths were continued round a pointed
arch in a manner I never recollect to have seen before, and which seems
to indicate that the church must once have been extremely elaborate in
its ornament.
Niort was a great object of contention during the wars of the Black
Prince. The famous Duguesclin is said to have taken the town by
stratagem from the English.
At the siege of Chisey, where Duguesclin had been successful, he had
killed all the English garrison; and, taking their tunics, had clothed
his own people in them, over their armour: so that, when those of Niort
saw his party approaching, and heard them cry, "St. George!" they
thought their friends were returning victors, and readily opened their
gates; when they were fatally undeceived; being all taken or put to the
sword.
Here Duguesclin, and his fortunate band, remained for four days;
reposing and refreshing themselves. After which they rode forth to
Lusignan: where they found the castle empty; all the garrison having
abandoned it as soon as the news of the taking of Chisey reached them.
The French, therefore, without trouble, took possession of "this fine
and strong castle," and then continued their way to that of
Chatel-Acart, held by the Dame de Plainmartin, for her husband Guichart
d'Angle, who was prisoner in Spain.
When the lady found, says Froissart, that the constable Duguesclin was
come to make war upon her, she sent a herald to him, desiring to be
allowed a safe conduct, that she might speak with him in his tent. He
granted her request; and the lady accordingly came to where he was
encamped in the field. Then she entreated him to give her permission
that she might go safely to Poitiers, and have audience of the Duke de
Berry. Duguesclin would not deny her, for the love of her husband,
Guichart; and, giving her assurance that her lands and castle should be
respected during her absence, she departed, and he directed his troops
to march on Mortemer.
Such good speed did the lady of Plainmartin make, that she soon arrived
in Poitiers; where she found the Duke de Berry. He received her very
graciously, and spoke very courteously to her, as was his wont. The lady
would fain have cast herself on her knees before him; but he prevented
her. She then said: "My lord, you know that I am a lone woman, without
power or defence, and the widow of a living husband, if it so pleases
God; for my lord Guichart is prisoner in Spain, and in the danger of the
king of that country. I therefore supplicate you, that, during the
enforced absence of my husband, you will grant that my castle, lands,
myself, my possessions, and my people, shall be left at peace; we
engaging to make no war on any, if they do not make war on us."
The Duke de Berry made no hesitation in granting the prayer of the lady;
for, although Messire Guichart d'Angle, her husband, was a good and
true Englishman, yet was he by no means hated by the French. He,
therefore, delivered letters to her, with guarantee of surety; with
which she was fully satisfied and much comforted. She then hastened back
to her castle, and sent the orders to the constable, who received them
with much willingness and joy. He was then before the castle of
Mortemer; the lady of which at once yielded it to him, out of dread, and
placed herself in obedience to the king of France, together with all her
lands and the castle of Dienne.
We left Niort at day-break and continued our way through a very
cultivated and rich country, admirably laid out, neatly enclosed, and
with a great extent of very carefully-pruned vines, which had here lost
the grace which distinguishes them in the neighbourhood of the Loire,
where they are allowed to hang in festoons, and grow to a reasonable
height. Here they are kept low, and seem attended to with care. The road
is level, but the scenes pleasing and the air fine; though, as you
advance in the ancient Aunis, towards the sea, low grounds, which have
been marshes, extend to a considerable distance. As we approached La
Rochelle this was very apparent; but still all looked rich and
agreeable, and the idea of soon feeling the sea-breeze was so comforting
that our spirits were greatly raised; and when on a sudden a broad
glare, at a distance, of bright sunshine on an expanse of water broke
on our view, we were quite in ecstasies. We could distinguish white
sails, and towers, and spires, on the shore; and all the memories of the
Protestant town came crowding on our minds, as we turned every windmill
we saw into an ancient tower formerly defended by a brave Huguenot
against a host of besiegers. There are no want of these defences round
La Rochelle; and every windmill has a most warlike aspect, as they are
all built in the form of round towers, of considerable strength;
probably owing to the necessity of making them strong enough to resist
the gales which frequently prevail.
CHAPTER X.
LA ROCHELLE--LES TROIS CHANDELIERS--OYSTERS--BATHING
ESTABLISHMENT--GAIETY--MILITARY DISCIPLINE--CURIOUS ARCADES--STORY
OF AUFFREDY.
ON arriving at La Rochelle, early in a bright morning at the beginning
of September, we found the town so full that we had immediately to
institute a search for an hotel, as that at which we stopped had no
accommodation. We judged so before we alighted from the _coupe_, by the
air of indifference visible on the face of every waiter and
chambermaid, to whom our arrival seemed a matter of pity, rather than
congratulation. After seeking through the greatest part of the town, we
were conducted to a curious-looking street, from the roofs of almost
every house in which projected grinning _gargouilles_, whose grotesque
faces peeped inquisitively forth from the exalted position which they
had maintained for several centuries; and, glaring in inviting grandeur,
swung aloft a board on which was depicted three golden candlesticks. At
Les Trois Chandeliers, accordingly, we applied, and found admission; the
slovenly, but good-humoured landlady bestirring herself instantly to get
ready the only room she had vacant. She was assisted in her various
arrangements, or rather attended, by a sulky-looking girl with a hideous
square cap; who stood by while her mistress heaped mattress upon
mattress, and bustled about with zealous noise and clatter. She gave us
to understand that certain of her neighbours were apt to give themselves
airs, and accept or refuse visitors as their caprice dictated; but, for
her part, she had no pride, and never acted in so unkind a manner: she
always attended to everything herself; so that every one was satisfied
in her house, and the Trois Chandeliers maintained its reputation of a
century, during which time it had always been kept by one of the family.
Considering these facts, the state of the entrance and kitchen, through
which, as is usual in France, visitors must pass to arrive at the
_salon_, somewhat surprised us. The wide, yawning, black gulf, down
which we had dived from the street, reminded us strongly of the entrance
of the Arenes, at Poitiers, which gave passage to the beasts about to
combat: it was a low, vaulted passage, encumbered with waggons and
diligences and wheelbarrows, with no light but what it gained from the
street and a murky court beyond; it was paved with uneven stones,
between which were spaces filled with mud; dogs and ducks sported along
the gutter in the centre, following which, you arrived at some dirty
steps leading to the kitchen, or, if you preferred a longer stroll
amidst the shades, you might arrive at a low door which led through
another court to the dining-room, which was a handsome apartment adorned
with statues and crimson-and-white draperies, with a flower-garden
opening from it. This room we were not sorry to enter, lured by the
promise of some of the finest oysters in Europe. We had heard their
eulogium before from a very talkative artist of Poitiers, who described
them as of enormous, nay incredible, size, but delicate as _natives_: we
were, therefore, surprised to see perfect miniatures, not larger than a
shilling, very well-flavoured, but _unfed_. They form the _delices_ of
all this part of the world, at this season, and are eagerly sought for
from hence to the furthest navigable point of the Garonne.
We were particularly fortunate in the weather, which was bright, warm,
and inspiriting; and when we reached the walk which leads to the baths,
we were in raptures with the whole scene which presented itself. The
fine broad sea, smooth and green, lay shining in the sun, without a
ripple to disturb its serenity; and for about a quarter of a mile along
its margin extended one of the most beautiful promenades I ever beheld.
The first part of it is planted with small young trees, on each side of
a good road, which extends between verdant plains where _glacis_ are
thrown up. This leads to the great walk; a thick grove of magnificent
trees, shading a very wide alley of turf of _English_ richness. Here and
there are placed seats, and all is kept with the greatest neatness. The
establishment of the baths is ornamental, and pretty, and very
extensive. About half way up this promenade, next the sea, grounds laid
out with taste, and affording shade and pastime in their compartments,
surround the building. A Chinese pagoda, a Grecian temple, numerous
arbours and seats are there for strollers; and swings and see-saws for
the exercise of youthful bathers after their dips. Altogether, it is the
most charming place of the kind I ever saw: the warm baths are as good
as possible, and the arrangement of those in the sea are much better
than at Dieppe, Havre, or Granville. There is a row of little pavilions
on the edge of the sea, where bathers undress; and a paved way leads
them to an enclosed space where are numerous poles fixed, with ropes
reaching from one to the other at different depths. The bathers hold by
these ropes: and a large company can thus assemble in the water
together, and take as much of the sea as they please, unaccompanied by
guides; but, if they are timid, there are _men_ ready to attend and
protect them. The costume is a tunic and trowsers of cloth or stuff,
with a large handkerchief over the head. Hour after hour will the
adventurous bathers continue in the water; dancing, singing, and
talking, while the advancing waters dash, splash, and foam all round
them, exciting peals of laughter and screams of delight.
Separated by a high partition, and at a little distance, overlooked,
however, by the strollers in the gardens above, is the gentlemen's
compartment. These bathers usually run along a high platform,
considerably raised, and leap into the sea beneath them; diving down,
and re-appearing, much to the amusement of each other; while a guide
sits on a floating platform near, ready to lend assistance, or give
instruction in natation, if required.
The season, we understood, had been particularly brilliant this year,
and was scarcely yet over; though the ball-room and reading-rooms were
less crowded than a few weeks before, when we were told that all that
was gay and splendid in France _et l'Etranger_ was to be seen beneath
the striped canopies of the sea-baths of La Rochelle. Certainly a more
enjoyable place cannot be found anywhere; and I was not surprised that
anything so rare and really comfortable and agreeable should meet with
success. With any of the brilliant _toilettes_ which were described to
me I did not, however, meet; as all the bathers I saw were in cloaks and
slouch bonnets, and the company we met appeared by no means
distinguished; peasants forming a great proportion. However, the season
was nearly over, and one could not expect to see the _elegans_ so late;
but I have always observed that the accounts I have heard of the
brilliancy of French fashionable meetings are by no means borne out by
the reality. At Neris, at the Monts Dores, and other places, I have been
equally disappointed on seeing the manner of French living at
watering-places; but it always appears to me that, except in Paris,
there is no attempt at out-of-door style or gaiety anywhere. A solitary
equipage, filled with children, met us every day in our walks, and a
hired barouche, for the use of the baths, toiled backwards and forwards,
hour after hour; but, except these, we saw no carriages at all, and the
walkers were principally tradespeople in smart caps and shawls. One
morning, indeed, we were surprised by the sound of musical strains and
the appearance of an officer or two on horseback, followed by a
regiment, on their way to exercise; every man of one company was singing
at the top of his voice, joined by the officer who marched in front, and
who kept beating time, a very merry song and chorus, which we stopped to
listen to, _only a moment_, as the words were not quite so much to be
admired as the air. This seemed to us a strange, and not very decorous
scene, and was so little in accordance with our ideas of propriety or
good taste that we turned away in disgust. However, since it is the
custom for officers and men in France to sit together in _cafes_,
playing at dominos, drinking wine and beer, and putting no restraint
upon their conversation, or acknowledging any superiority, there was
nothing extraordinary in the familiarity I had witnessed. How this sort
of association can be relished by officers of gentle breeding I cannot
conceive; and many of them must be so, though a great part are men who,
having risen from the ranks, have not been accustomed to more refined
companionship. If it be true that
"Strict restraint, once broken, ever balks
Conquest and fame,"
and that it is dangerous for those under command to
"----Swerve
From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve,"
it is difficult to comprehend how the French army is regulated.
The next company which followed the vocal party, came hurrying along,
helter-skelter, as if no drilling had ever been thought necessary in
their military education; but, while we were remarking the "admired
disorder" of their march, we heard their commanding officer's voice loud
in reprobation; we could scarcely help comparing the whole scene to that
which a militia regiment might present in some country town in England:
"What are you all about?" cried the commander; "Eh, mon Dieu! One would
say it was a flock of sheep instead of a party of soldiers!" This
admonition brought them into some order, and they advanced a little less
irregularly, but still in as slovenly a manner as could well be
conceived. If the French were not known to be good soldiers, one would
think this laxity of discipline little likely to make them so; but they
are, like French servants, good enough in their way, though careless in
the extreme, and too tenacious to be spoken to.
La Rochelle is a more remarkable town, from the characteristic features
it exhibits, than any we had met with since we set out on our tour.
Although there is a great deal new in the streets and outskirts, yet
much that originally existed remains. For instance, almost the whole
centre of the town is built in the same manner: namely, in arcades.
These arcades project from the ground-floors, are more or less high and
broad, and more or less well paved; but they run along uninterruptedly,
forming a shelter from sun or rain, as it may happen, and extending
along the whole length of the streets on each side. They are generally
of stone, with heavy pillars and circular arches, quite without grace or
beauty, but peculiar, and giving an Oriental character to the place. In
some streets arcades, higher and wider, have been newly erected, which
are tolerably ornamental; but the more antique they are, the lower,
narrower, and closer. The Rochellois are very proud of their arcades,
boasting that they are, by their means, never kept prisoners or annoyed
by either rain or sun; they forget that these heavy conveniences
completely exclude the light in winter from the lower part of their
houses, and, confining the air, must make the town damp and unwholesome.
When we first walked along beneath these awnings we found it extremely
difficult to distinguish one street from another, and were continually
losing ourselves, as they branch off in all directions, with no change
of aspect to distinguish them:
"Each alley has a brother,
And half the _covered way_ reflects the other,"
but we got used to them by degrees. There is a sort of _Palais Royal_
effect in the pretty shops under the neatest piazzas; and from the
beautiful wooded square, the Place d'Armes, the range which forms one
side looks remarkably well. This Place is peculiarly fine and
agreeable; it was formed on the sites of the ancient chateau, demolished
in 1590, of the chapel of St. Anne and its cemetery, of the grand
Protestant temple, and the old Hotel des Monnaies; it, therefore,
occupies a large space, and is planted on two sides with fine trees,
called the _Bois d' Amourettes_, and closed on the fourth by the
cathedral; part of the ramparts of the town, open towards the sea, are
behind, and thus a good air is introduced into the square. On moon-light
nights it is a charming promenade; for the effects of the sky here are
admirable: a range of handsome _cafes_ extends along one part, whose
lights, gleaming between the trees, have a lively appearance, and the
groups of lounging citizens seated under the shades give a life to the
scene which the rest of the town does not possess. La Rochelle is,
however, infinitely less dull than the generality of French towns; and
the quays and shipping, and the constantly-changing sea, prevent it from
wearing the sad aspect which distinguishes France in her country places.
Notwithstanding all that travellers are in the habit of saying about the
liveliness of France, I never can cease to think that it is a dull
country; for, except Paris in its season, there is no movement, no
activity, no bustle, in its towns, save, now and then, the confusion of
market-days. Why England is considered _triste_, either in town or
country, I cannot imagine: the brilliancy of its shops alone, compared
to the little dark, dingy cells always met with abroad, even in the most
fashionable quarters, might rescue our much-maligned country from the
reproach which does not belong to it.
The cathedral of La Rochelle is a modern building; still unfinished, and
possessing no interest: it is very vast, for it stands where once stood
the antique church--older than the town itself--of Notre Dame de
Cougnes. Here and there, outside, a projecting buttress and part of an
arch, built up, betrays its venerable origin; but, besides this, nothing
remains of the original foundation.
At the back of the cathedral we remarked, as we passed through the
street, a very large building, with a great many windows, above the
portal of which were inscribed the words, _Hopital M. Auffredy_. We were
puzzled to make out what this could mean, as the hospital was so large
and important that it scarcely would appear to be the institution of a
private person. Our inquiries gained us no information, and we continued
to pass and repass still wondering who this _Monsieur Auffredy_ could be
whose name was so conspicuous. When, at length, I found how much
interest attached to this place I reproached myself that I should have
gone near it without reverence, or have carelessly named its institutor;
whose romantic story is as follows, as near as I have been able to
gather it:
STORY OF ALEXANDER AUFFREDY.
At the time when the beautiful and wealthy, the admired and
accomplished, heiress of Aquitaine, presided over her courts of Love,
now in one city of her extensive dominions, now in another, delighting
and astonishing the whole troubadour world with her liberality, her
taste, her learning, grace, and gaiety, lived, in the city of La
Rochelle, a rich merchant, named Alexander Auffredy, young, handsome,
esteemed and envied. His generosity and wealth, added to his personal
attractions, made him an object of observation and remark, and it was
not long before his name reached the ears of Queen Elionore, who, always
desirous to surround herself with all that was gay, brilliant, and
distinguished, sent an invitation, or rather a command, to the young
merchant to appear at her Court at Poitiers.
Auffredy went; and but a short time elapsed before he became the
favourite of that brilliant circle where beauty and genius reigned
triumphant; for it was discovered that his talent for music was of the
highest order; his voice, in singing, of rare perfection; his verses
full of grace and fire, his manners equal to those of the most finished
courtier; and his judgment in the weighty decisions of the courts of
Love, sound and good. Even the poets and musicians, who saw him
distinguished for the time above themselves, felt little envy towards
him, since they shared his profuse liberality, and were encouraged by
his generous admiration, loudly expressed. He was passionately attached
to literature, and had so correct a taste that whatever he admired was
the best in its kind, and his criticisms were so judicious that not a
doubt could remain on the minds of any who listened to his opinion; yet
he was never harsh, and, wherever it was possible, showed indulgence; it
was only to the presuming and superficial that he was severe; and
amongst that class he was by no means beloved; for, after his expressed
contempt and censure had laid open to view the faults of many
compositions, whose false glare had attracted praise, their authors sunk
at once into the obscurity which they deserved.
His chief friends were Bernard de Ventadour, whose lays, mysteriously
addressed to _Bel Viser_ and _Conort_, had gained him so much fame;
Rudel, the enthusiast, who devoted his life to an imaginary passion;
Adhemar and Rambaud d'Aurenge, whose songs were some of the sweetest of
their time; and Pierre Rogiers, who sighed his soul away for "Tort
n'avetz;" and, amongst them all, his poems were held in the greatest
esteem. The beautiful and coquettish mistress of the revels was not
insensible to his qualities, and was anxious to appropriate him to
herself; greedy of praise, and ever desirous of admiration, she used
every art to enthral him, and to render the passion real, which it was
the fashion at her Court to feign, towards herself; but, though
flattered and delighted at the preference shown him by her whom all were
trying to please, it was not towards the Queen that Auffredy turned the
aspirations of his soul. There was at Court a young and beautiful girl,
the orphan of a knight who had fallen in the holy wars, and who was
under the guardianship of her uncle, the Baron de Montlucon; she was as
amiable in disposition as lovely in person. Auffredy soon found that his
liberty was gone while he gazed upon her, but his modesty prevented his
attempting to declare his passion, though in his lays he took occasion
to express all the feelings he experienced, and he saw with delight, not
only that the charming Beatrix listened with pleased attention when he
sung, but was even moved to tears when he uttered the lamentations of an
unhappy lover.
Upon one occasion he sang a lay which Queen Elionore imagined was
inspired by herself; but which, in reality, he intended should convey to
Beatrix his timid passion; it was as follows--in the style of the
Eastern poets, then so much imitated and admired:--
LAY.
"I only beg a smile from thee
For all this world of tenderness;
I let no eye my weakness see,
To none my hopes or fears express;
I never speak thy praises now,
My tongue is mute, and cold my brow.
"Even like that fabled bird am I
Who loves the radiant orb of night,
Sings on in hopeless melody
And feeds upon her beams of light;
But never does the planet deign
To pity his unceasing pain."
As he sung he would observe the eyes of Beatrix fixed on him with a
tender expression; but their meaning was still obscure; for her thoughts
appeared pre-occupied, and it might be more the sentiment than the
author which attracted her.
Just at this time he was suddenly astounded by the information, that the
uncle of her he loved had announced his intention of marrying her to a
man of noble lineage and great wealth, and Auffredy woke from his dream
of happiness at once. His strains were now all gloom and sadness, and
Elionore heard, with something like astonishment, the melancholy and
despairing lays, to which alone he tuned the harp that all delighted to
hear. Beatrix, too, whose wishes had not been consulted on a subject so
important to herself, appeared quite changed from the tune the tidings
first reached her; and her pale cheek and starting tears proved too
plainly her aversion to the proposed union. Still did she linger near
when Auffredy sung; and when, in a passion of sorrow, he poured forth
the lay here given, Beatrix betrayed an emotion for which he feared to
account.
LAY.
"Like that fair tree whose tender boughs
Wave in the sunshine green and bright,
Nor bird nor insect e'er allows
To seek its shelter morn or night,
My heart was young, and fresh, and free,
And near it came nor care nor pain;
But now, like that same tender tree,
When once rude hands its fruit profane,
Ill-omen'd birds and shapes of ill
Troop to its branches, crowding still,--
And sorrows never known till now
Have cast their shadows on my brow:
A ruin is my heart become
Where brooding sadness finds a home;
See--those bright leaves fall, one by one,
And I--my latest hopes are gone!"
This was the last time he had ever an opportunity of pouring forth his
feelings in the presence of Beatrix; for she disappeared suddenly from
Court, and, to the amazement of all, it was announced by her uncle, that
her vocation for a religious life had been so decidedly manifested, that
he had yielded to her entreaties, and permitted her to enter a convent.
This news made a strange impression on the mind of Auffredy,--could it
be possible, after all, that she loved him? yet, he argued, even if it
were so, it was evident that her pride of birth had overcome her
preference, and she had sacrificed the feelings of her heart rather
than descend to be the bride of a merchant, who, though wealthy beyond
all the nobles of the land, was yet no match for one born in her exalted
rank. From that time the troubadour sang no more; and as the Queen found
he had no longer incense to lay on her shrine, her preference for him
waned away, and he found that the permission he asked, to absent himself
from her Court was not withheld. "Poor Auffredy," said Elionore,
somewhat contemptuously, as he departed; "he has seen a wolf and has
lost the use of speech; let him go, we have many a young poet who can
well replace him."
The admired favourite of a capricious beauty accordingly returned to La
Rochelle, changed in heart and depressed in spirits. "And this, then,"
he mused, "is the reward which the world offers to genius, taste, truth,
and feeling! and this is all the value set on qualities which excite
admiration, enthusiasm, rapture!--a brief season suffices to weary the
most zealous and devoted--a few months, and that which was deemed wit
and talent, and wisdom and grace, is looked upon as flat, tame, and
unworthy attention. As long as vanity is pleased, and novelty excites
new ideas, the poet is welcomed and followed; but, let sadness or sorrow
overtake him, of all his admirers not one friend remains! How childish
is the thirst for such trivial fame as that a poet gains! It is like the
pursuit of the gossamer, which the least breath sweeps away. I will
sing no more. I will forget the brilliant scenes that have bewildered me
too long; but to what do I now return? Alas! I have no longer a relish
for that which interested me before--to what end do I seek to gain
wealth? for whom should I hoard treasure? I shall in future take no
interest in my successes; all appears a blank to me, and my existence a
cold, monotonous state of being. These heaps of gold that fill my
coffers are worthless in my eyes; these crowding sails that return to
harbour, bringing me ceaseless wealth, are fraught only with care. Why
was I born rich, since I must live alone and unblest!"
Still he could not help, in spite of his professions of indifference,
being flattered by the manner in which his return to his native town was
celebrated. The bells of the churches sounded to welcome him, the young
girls of the villages round, came out, in their holiday costumes, to
greet him on his way, they strewed flowers in his path and sang verses
in his praise: the people of La Rochelle even went so far as to offer
prayers at the shrine of the Virgin, to thank Heaven for restoring to
them so honoured and beloved a citizen. Full of gratitude for all this
kindness and affection, Auffredy bestowed liberal presents upon all: he
presented dowers to several of the young maidens who were foremost in
doing him honour: he gave large sums to the town, to be laid out in
charities and in erecting new buildings, and he sent donations to the
churches and convents. His mind was calmed, and his heart touched when
he saw in what esteem he was held. "It is something yet," said he, "to
gain the good-will of one's fellow-men, and to witness their attachment.
Wealth is certainly a blessing, since it enables one to show gratitude."
About this period great preparations were being made for an expedition
to the Holy Land, which was to be led by young Prince Henry, the heir of
Aquitaine, Normandy, and England; and all the lords and knights of the
three countries vied with each other in splendid equipments. They
borrowed money in all directions, and, amongst those who were capable of
lending, it was not likely that the rich merchant of La Rochelle would
be forgotten. On the contrary, from numerous quarters came applications
for assistance; even Queen Elionore condescended to request that he
would contribute to the splendour of those who should accompany her son,
and the generous and ever ready hand of Auffredy was employed from
morning till night, in lending and giving to those whose means did not
keep pace with their desires. Still, therefore, did he repeat to himself
that wealth had its advantages, as he cheerfully dispensed his benefits
on all sides. At length he was fairly obliged to desist, for his
liberality had brought him to the end of his stores, and he could not
but smile, as he remarked to a friend that, if he did not expect in a
few weeks the return of all his vessels which were trading in the East,
and regularly brought back increased wealth at every voyage, he should
be a poor man. "I have nothing left now," said he, "but my plate and
jewels, and the furniture of my house; and, should my fleet delay, I
will sell all rather than a single knight should be kept from joining
the glorious expedition."
As if he had foreseen the event, it so happened: although there were no
storms to prevent it, the return of the expected vessels was indeed
delayed, and, fresh and pressing applications pouring in upon him,
Auffredy found himself actually under the necessity of disposing of his
personal possessions, in order to advance the ready-money required.
He was now in a novel position, without money altogether, and he had
sold all he possessed of land and houses. "It matters not," said he to
the friend at whose house he was staying, at his earnest and
affectionate entreaty; "in a day or two I shall have more than I ever
yet could call my own; for my last advices, brought by a pilgrim from
the country of Manchou Khan, tell me, that all my ventures have been
successful, and that this time my faithful agent, Herbert de Burgh, has
excelled himself in ability."
"And even should it not be so," said his friend, "think you that the
grateful town of La Rochelle would not be proud to support for years,
nay, for ever, if need were, the benefactor to whom every citizen is
more or less indebted?"
"I doubt it not," returned the merchant, "and it would be even a
gratification to me to be reduced to poverty, which such generous
friends would relieve."
But a great and most unexpected change was about to take place in the
fortunes of Auffredy: a change which neither he nor his friends had ever
contemplated, and which put quite a different face upon everything. The
fleet from the East did not arrive. Day after day, week after week,
month after month, the first, the second, year had passed, and the chain
at the harbour of La Rochelle was not loosened to give passage to his
vessels. Hope had slowly faded, expectation declined, and, at length,
expired,--and the powerful, wealthy, and beloved Auffredy was a beggar.
Where was he at the expiration of the second year? What friend's mansion
did he still honour with his presence, and which of his admirers was
made happy by seeing him partake of his hospitality? Who, of all those
he had rescued from poverty, danger, and affliction, was so blest as to
show how strong the tide of gratitude swelled in their hearts? Auffredy
was heard of no more! His native town had forgotten his name: to speak
of him was interdicted; he was a reproach to La Rochelle, a disgrace to
the city whom his misfortune left without a merchant able to assist
monarchs and fit out armies. Every individual felt injured, every one
resented his affront. Not a door but was closed against the bankrupt
spendthrift--the deceiver who spoke of wealth which was but a vision,
who encouraged hopes which had no foundation. Vessel after vessel
arrived from different quarters, but none had met with Herbert de Burgh
or his charge; it was doubtful if he had ever even sailed: it was
possible, nay probable, indeed it soon was received as a certainty, that
the fleet which was talked of had no existence but in the crazed
imagination of a profuse dreamer, who fancied argosies and made the
world believe he possessed them. It was enough that the drama was ended,
and no one cared now, after so long a time, to ask what was become of
the principal actor.
One bright summer morning, when the sun shone with dazzling lustre on
the dancing waves outside the harbour of La Rochelle, and, inside, the
water was as calm as glass, a little fishing-boat came gliding along,
her red sail gleaming in the light. She was guided by a single sailor--a
young man whose remarkably handsome face and figure was little set off
by his rough habiliments, which were of the meanest kind; indeed, his
boat and all belonging to it indicated little wealth, and seemed to
have seen, like himself, much service; but there was a cheerful sparkle
in his speaking eye which spoke of content and happiness; and, as he
leaped on shore and prepared to unload his little cargo of fish, his
animated manner and quick and ready movements showed that, if he were
poor, he gained enough by his industry to support himself, and cared for
nothing but the present moment, without concerning himself for the
future. He had arrived but a few minutes when a slight woman, wrapped in
a long black cloak, with the peaked hood tightly drawn over her head and
quite concealing her face, emerged from a neighbouring street, and,
bounding forward, stood by the side of the young man, who, with a joyful
exclamation, caught her in his arms, and embraced her tenderly. Together
they collected the fish, which filled his boat, into baskets, and placed
them on the edge of the path where frequenters of the markets must pass,
and before long their little stock was sold, and they were in possession
of a small sum of money, which the young fisherman put into his purse
with an air of satisfaction, as, fastening his boat to the shore, and
gathering up his baskets, he gave his arm to the girl, who apparently
was his wife, and they left the quay. Just as they were entering the
small narrow Rue de la Vache, they observed, standing under an archway,
a man, of ragged and miserable appearance, who, approaching, offered to
be the bearer of their baskets to their home; he spoke in a low, hollow
voice, and said, "Employ me: it will be a charity; I have not tasted
bread these two days." Although the young couple, linked arm in arm,
close together, and looking in each other's eyes, were talking in gay,
cheerful accents, and, apparently, exclusively occupied with each other,
yet there was something so sad, so desolate, in the tone of the poor
man's voice who addressed them, that they both stopped and turned
towards him. "Good friend," said the young man, "you seem in great
straits; the blessed Virgin knows I am little able to help you; but take
the baskets my wife is carrying, though you look but ill able to bear
them. We live hard by, and we have a morsel of bread to give you, if you
will." The man made no reply, but took the burthen from the young woman
and followed the merry pair, who resumed their talk and their cheerful
laugh as they went on. "I need not go out again for at least three
days," said the husband, "since this venture has been so lucky; you see
how well we can live, and how happy one can be, after all, on nothing."
"Yes," answered the wife; "but, at least, while the weather is so fine,
I see no reason why I should be left at home. I could be so useful in
the boat, and it would make me so happy. I know when it blows hard, it
is useless to ask you, but now"--"Well, you shall go, dearest, next
time, if this lasts," was the answer; "what a good sailor you will
make, as well as a housekeeper!" They both laughed, and at this moment
they reached the door of a very humble dwelling, with only just
furniture enough to prevent its being called empty; but they stepped
into it, and, the porter placing the baskets on the floor, they sat down
and invited him to do the same, while they shared with him a cake and
some water, which was already placed on a table.
The poor man, after eating a morsel, appeared suddenly faint, and,
uttering a deep sigh, fell on the ground motionless: they raised him up,
and, with the utmost kindness, endeavoured to restore him: his worn and
haggard countenance told of long and hard suffering; his white hair,
that hung in matted locks on his shoulders, seemed blanched by misery,
not age; for he appeared a young man, and his emaciated hands were white
and more delicate than is usual in his station. After some time he
recovered a little, and, thanking them for their help, attempted to rise
and leave the house; but both, moved with compassion, insisted on his
lying down on their only bed and taking some repose. "You are ill," said
the husband, "and have been too long without food--rest quiet--we will
get you some more suitable nourishment, and when you are better, we will
hear of your leaving us."
From that day the sick man remained a guest with these poor people,
till, his illness increasing, he begged they would procure him
admittance into some hospital, if possible, that he might cease to be a
burthen on their benevolence: finding their means running very short,
owing to the uncertain success of the fisherman's trade, they consented
to attempt getting him admitted to the hospital established by the monks
of St. Julien, who kindly received the unfortunate man: but, not content
with doing this, it was agreed between the young couple that, during the
husband's absence, the wife should be his nurse, and attend to him while
in the asylum which was afforded him. For several weeks he lay,
apparently, at the point of death; but after that time began to recover,
and, though weak and emaciated, appeared to have escaped danger. As soon
as he was sufficiently recovered to attempt it, he resumed the
occupation of porter on the quay, which his sickness had interrupted,
and, as he grew daily in strength and health, he was able to gain a
little, which he insisted on adding to the small stock of the charitable
persons who had saved his life by their kindness. Sometimes he
accompanied the husband on his expeditions, and was serviceable to him
in his perilous ventures, for his nautical knowledge seemed great, and
his skill and readiness made themselves apparent. Though full of
gratitude in all his actions, he never expressed in words the feelings
their conduct naturally inspired: he was silent and thoughtful, and
seemed labouring under some overwhelming grief which no consolations
could soften: he never spoke of any person in the town, nor seemed to
know anything belonging to it, by which they judged he was a stranger;
but, as he evidently did not desire to be communicative, they never
urged him with questions, nor required to be informed of his former
life. It sufficed to them that he was unfortunate, and that they had
ameliorated his condition, and all three lived together, happy and
content, without knowing any circumstances of each other's previous
condition.
Several months passed in this manner, winters and summers fled away, and
the returning seasons found them still poor, still labouring, and still
content. The porter improved, not only in strength, but in spirits; for
he felt that he was able to be of service to those who had befriended
him, and the gloom which chained his tongue and clouded his brow, wore,
in a great degree, away. They had no friends in the town, nor sought for
acquaintances; the young woman always concealed her face when she went
out, which she never did, but to meet her husband, or to buy necessaries
for their simple household. His boat had been replaced by one larger and
more commodious, and his gains were greater; by degrees their
circumstances improved, and, as they sat by their fireside, they were
accustomed to say that they were rich enough, and desired nothing more.
Although the fisherman and his now constant companion had been out in
all weathers, they had never yet encountered any dangerous storms, and
the wife was now quite tranquil, from the constant habit of seeing them
return safely, and complaining little. One day, in early spring, they
had set out with a clear sky and fair wind, and had had one of the most
fortunate voyages of any they had yet made on the Breton coast, when,
just as they were within sight of the Point de Ray, which raises its
bare and jagged head three hundred feet above the noisy waves which
brawl at its base, an ominous cloud suddenly overspread the heavens, and
the symptoms of a coming storm were but too apparent. With silent awe
the solitary mariners beheld, sailing heavily along the darkening sky,
two birds, of sable plumage, whose flight seemed directed towards the
fatal Baie des Trepasses, so often the grave of the adventurous seaman.
"Alas!" said the young husband, as he marked their flight, "those birds
bode no good: they are the souls of King Grallon and his daughter, who
appear always before a storm; if we escape the perils of the Isle de
Sein, we shall be indeed fortunate."
"Is this coast, then, indeed, so dangerous?" asked the porter.
"It is the abode of spirits," answered the young man; "and was the
cradle of Merdynn the Bard; the city where he lived, is engulphed below
those black rocks yonder, whose spires, like those of churches, are
only visible when destruction threatens those who are found on the
coast. We have, hitherto, been fortunate in all our undertakings; but
there must come an evil day, which generally arrives when one is least
prepared."
"It is too true," said his companion; "for me, I thought all my
misfortunes were past, and death alone could be the ill left to reach
me. I have, of late, felt it _would_ be an ill since I have lived again
in you and yours--before that time, I prayed for it in vain."
A furious gust of wind at this instant swept past them, their frail
vessel shook in every timber, and, mounting on a sweeping wave that came
howling along, was sent forward with frightful impetuosity to a great
distance; when, as if the angry billow disdained its weight, it was
precipitated into a gulf of foam which dashed above the sunken rocks
whose points received it. "Oh, Beatrix!" exclaimed the young fisherman;
"it is all over; we shall meet no more; our fate has overtaken us at
last! My friend," he added, grasping the arm of his companion; "if you
survive, promise to protect her. We have suffered much, and borne our
fortune as we could. I have brought this wretchedness upon her by my
love; but neither she nor I have ever repented the lot we chose. She
will tell you our story, and you will continue to comfort and support
her when I am no more."
"Be not cast down," answered his friend; as, buffeted by the storm, they
clung together to the creaking mast; "I know your story already, and
have known it from the first. You are the troubadour, Anselm, once the
ornament of the Court of Elionore, and Beatrix de Montlucon is your
devoted wife. She was said to have died in the convent of St. Blaise,
and you to have perished in the Holy Land."
The shrieking of the wind, and the roaring of the awakened thunder,
drowned the reply of the young man: a crash, a shock, and their boat was
split into several parts; they each clung to a piece of wreck, and used
every effort to overcome the fury of the elements. Anselm's hold,
however, was suddenly loosened by the falling of the mast upon his arm,
and his friend saw him no more for several instants; he re-appeared,
however, and a returning wave dashed him on a rock, which the porter
reaching by a spring, he caught him by the hand and dragged him to the
summit. There they stood clasping each other, and expecting every moment
to be washed off by the boiling surge. For some time they, nevertheless,
kept their stand, and, though not a vestige of their boat was to be
seen, they still lived and still hoped, for their hopes rose with the
danger, and, as they offered up their fervent prayers to the Mother of
mercy, they felt not altogether abandoned. All night were they in this
perilous position, hearing the waters around them howling, and climbing
to reach the spot where, almost by miracle, they were placed. Day broke,
and with morning came a brightened prospect; by degrees the sea sank,
the winds subsided, and all trace of the storm was gone. But their
situation seemed still little better than before; must they not perish
on this barren rock, without food or shelter, if not washed off by the
next tide, which might bring back the sleeping vengeance of the enraged
elements? While they hung exhausted on the perilous edge of the peak,
something in the distance caught their view. It grew more distinct; it
came nearer; and they were aware that a sail was passing: not one,
however, but many; like the glittering of the wings of a flight of
sea-birds, sail after sail hove in sight, and a gallant fleet came full
in view almost as soon as they had descried the first.
Loud and long were their cries; hope gave them fresh force, and their
voices were sent over the now quiet waves, echoing till they reached the
ears of those in the foremost vessel.
The mariners, directed by the continued sound of distress, were able to
steer towards them; and having at length discovered in the specks at a
distance, amidst the waves, the unfortunate friends, a boat was sent
through the sea to the rock, and at once received the rescued pair. They
were taken on board and tended carefully; and, the wind being fair, the
vessels continued their course, which they declared was to La Rochelle,
much to the delight of those they had delivered from death.
The port so much desired was almost reached; and the high towers of the
Chateau de Vauclair, of the cathedral, and the Grosse Tour de la Chaine,
shone boldly forth against the clear blue sky. The captain walked the
deck, and gazed long and anxiously forth; every now and then tears
started into his eyes, which he brushed away; at length his feelings
appeared to overcome him, and, burying his face in his hands, he sobbed
aloud. The two grateful friends whom he had saved were standing by; he
raised his head and addressed them; "You who are of La Rochelle," said
he, "can you not, perchance, tell me if one whom I left ten years ago in
that town still lives and is well? Fears and forebodings oppress me as I
approach the shore, for it is long since I have heard tidings of him,
and much does it import me to know that he exists, and that my enforced
absence has not caused him misfortune. Is the great merchant, Alexander
Auffredy, still, as he once was, the ornament and benefactor of his
native town?"
"Alas!" replied the youngest of the shipwrecked men, "you ask after one
long since forgotten in La Rochelle. It is now ten years since he was a
ruined man, and, having nothing more to give to his ungrateful
fellow-citizens, was abandoned to his fate, and has been no more heard
of."
"Unhappy destiny!" cried the captain, turning pale and clasping his
hands; "but he was rich, and his stores were immense; not twice ten
years' absence of his fleets could have caused him to become bankrupt."
"But he gave all he had to the knights bound for the Holy Wars; his
agent, Herbert de Burgh, was either faithless, or the fleets entrusted
to him were lost; he never returned from his last voyage to the East,
and the unfortunate merchant, reduced to penury and driven to despair,
is said to have destroyed himself." As Anselm uttered these words the
captain became convulsed with agony; his face was livid, his eyes
rolled, his teeth were clenched. "Wretch that I am!" cried he; "who am
the cause of all! I wrote to my dear master and told him of my intention
to attempt a new discovery in a new world filled with riches unheard of
before; but I waited not his permission; I set out without his leave,
and, not content with what I had already gained for him, I resolved to
seek more wealth; to what end have I gained it--to what end have I
returned with riches enough to purchase Europe; all of which these
vessels bear, if he, the generous, trusting, kind, indulgent, and
deceived owner is no more? Where shall I hide my head?--where lose my
shame?--and how survive his loss!"
They entered the harbour of La Rochelle; and as the gallant train of
ships swept proudly along, the whole population of the town came forth
until they lined the shores in every direction. It was soon known, by
the ensigns they bore, that they were the long-lost vessels of Auffredy;
and many a conscious cheek turned pale, and many an eye glared with
amazement as the gorgeous galleys covered the waters.
But the captain was lying prone on the deck; his face was haggard, his
look wild, and he tore his hair in distraction. "My master, my poor
master!" cried he; "I have murdered thee by my mercenary wickedness; oh,
holy Virgin! forgive me, for I am a sinner!" "Look up, Herbert de
Burgh," said a voice beside him; "the Mother of mercy is never appealed
to in vain; she can restore the dead to life; she can, though late,
re-illume joy in the heart; she can revive long-abandoned hope. Look up
and say if in this wretched, wasted, meagre form you can recognise one
whom you loved; one who loved and trusted you with reason; who never
doubted your integrity, and who mourned you lost more than all his
wealth, which you restore!"
Herbert de Burgh looked up and beheld, leaning over him, the form of
Alexander Auffredy.
A few words sufficed of explanation: joy took the place of despair,
exultation of tears, and the minstrel, Anselm, heard, with feelings of
emotion difficult to describe, that the wretched man whom he had saved
from starvation was the rich merchant of La Rochelle.
Loud and joyous were the notes of triumph which sounded from every
vessel as the news became known; the clarions and trumpets rent the air;
wild exclamation of happiness and congratulation rose above the pealing
music which ushered in the fleet to its haven; and strange was the
revulsion of feeling on shore when the despised porter stepped from his
boat, attended by Herbert de Burgh, who proclaimed him as his master.
Those who had shunned and injured the now wealthy merchant were
astounded; and who were there, amongst the whole population, who had
befriended him, or who deserved aught but contempt and hatred at his
hands? There was _but one_, and she is clasped in her husband's arms,
and sees, in the man she had protected, her lover, whose songs she had
so often sung to her husband!
Auffredy kept their secret, and to none but himself was it ever known
that the rich man who afterwards became governor of La Rochelle, and his
beautiful wife, supposed to be a native of some foreign land, were the
troubadour, Anselm, and Beatrix of Montlucon.
All the revenge Auffredy took upon his townsmen was to reject their
offers of friendship, to refuse to take his place amongst them, and to
avoid appearing in their sight. The bulk of his great wealth was
dedicated to the foundation of a hospital for naval and military
patients, and the rest of his days he passed in attendance on the sick.
This is the story of Auffredy, the great merchant, the Jacques Coeur of
the thirteenth century; and this is the history of the magnificent
Hospital of La Rochelle, which he founded, and which is to be seen at
the present hour, the most conspicuous object in the town.
CHAPTER XI.
TOWERS--RELIGION--MARIA BELANDELLE--STORM--PROTESTANT
RETREAT--SOLEMN DINNERS--"HALF-AND-HALF"--GO TO SLEEP!--THE
BREWERY--GAS ESTABLISHMENT--CHATEAU OF LA FONT--THE MYSTERY
EXPLAINED--TRIUMPH OF SCENERY OVER APPETITE--SLAVE TRADE--CHARLES
LE BIEN SERVI--LIBERALITY OF LOUIS PHILIPPE--GUITON--HOUSE OP LE
MAIRE GUITON--THE FLEETS--THE FIGHT--THE MAYOR AND THE GOVERNOR.
IT appears that, from the position of the town of La Rochelle, it was
not difficult for the vessels of an enemy to reach its walls, and even
to penetrate its harbour; the latter was formed outside the town, and
the access to it was by numerous gates. The entrance, nevertheless, was
defended by two towers, which still exist, if not in all their original
strength, yet exhibiting an aspect of defiance, and recalling
recollections of times long past, such as few towns in France can now
do. These towers, which stand, like Sir Bevis and Sir Ascapart, bold and
menacing, and forbidding the entrance to any but a friend, are called La
Tour de la Chaine and La Tour de St. Nicolas.
The first is a rugged, round tower of great height and bulk, apparently
of Roman construction; it was formerly called La Petite Tour de la
Chaine, because it assisted its opposite sister, La Grosse Tour, to
sustain the enormous chain which still, on occasion, closes the mouth of
the harbour. The latter is now called St. Nicolas, and presents a most
extraordinary and _old world_ appearance: higher than the first, its
form is so irregular, that it would be difficult to decide what shape it
could be called: round on one side, square on another, with little
round, square, and octagon turrets rising out of it, the whole mass has
the strangest effect imaginable. Within it is just as mysterious, having
chambers built up and down, and communicating with each other in the
most unexpected manner, so that the whole interior is a perfect
labyrinth of galleries, cells, hiding-places, and rooms on different
stages. This is just the sort of tower which seemed fitted for that
inscrutable tyrant, Louis XI.; who wrote upon one of the windows, with a
diamond, these words: "_O la grande Folie_!" alluding, it was believed,
to what he considered his weakness, in having abandoned Guienne to his
brother.
The fortifications of La Rochelle were very extensive formerly, the
gates numerous. La Porte Malvaut or Mauleon, La Porte Rambaud, du Petit
Comte, de St. Nicolas, de Verite, des Canards, de Mauclair, de la
Vieille Poterie, de la Grande Rue du Port, de la Petit Rue du Port, de
Perot and du Pont-Vert, tell their age by their antique names. There
are but few vestiges of any of these gates, except that of Cougnes, of
the ancient Porte Neuve, and la Porte Maubec: but, besides all these,
there are seven still existing. To complete the defences, there were
formerly, _without_ the gates, two forts of great strength, one called
St. Louis and Des Deux Moulins, the ruins of which still exist near the
fine pyramidal Tour de la Lanterne, the most conspicuous of all, now
used as a prison, which raises its head far above every tower and spire
of La Rochelle, and which must show its _pharos_ at a great distance at
sea. The architecture of this tower is remarkable, and its ornaments
very beautiful: the spire that sustains its lantern is like that of a
church adorned with graceful foliage to the top: it dates from 1445, and
has been repaired at different periods. Medals were struck at the time
of the siege, in 1628, which represent this tower, having the following
motto round:--_Lucerna impiorum extinguetur_ (the light of the impious
shall be extinguished). It was at this time that Cardinal Richelieu
caused the great _digue_, as it is called, to be made to the south-west
of the town, with enormous labour and expense, in order to prevent
supplies reaching the Rochellois who held out against him. At low water
this _digue_ is visible, and remains a memorial of the cruelty and
harshness of the tyrant priest who ruled France.
One of the numerous towers which formerly protected the town is called
the Demi-bastion _des Dames_, so named from its having been defended by
the ladies of La Rochelle, whose heroic devotion at the time of the
siege by the duke of Anjou, in 1573, has rendered them famous in
history. They were not less active half a century later, when, for
thirteen months, La Rochelle withstood the united forces of Catholic
France bent on its destruction. The scenes which took place at these
periods have made this interesting town classic ground: there is not a
wall, a tower, or a street, which has not some tale of heroism attached
to it, and some noble trait may be recounted as having occurred in every
quarter.[8]
[Footnote 8: In the Romance of the Queen Mother, I have given a detailed
account, from the most correct chroniclers, of the siege of La Rochelle,
and its defence, in 1573.]
There are no interesting churches in La Rochelle, the wars of religion
having destroyed all the antique buildings of worship, both Catholic and
Protestant. Nothing now remains of the extensive possessions of the
Templars, or the Knights of Malta, who both had _commanderies_ here.
The reformed religion, of which La Rochelle afterwards became the
stronghold, is said to have been first introduced by a young girl of
humble station, Maria Belandelle, into this part of the country. Strong
in her conviction, and anxious to spread the truth, this person, more
zealous than prudent, ventured to come forward, in 1534, as antagonist
to, and disputant against, a Franciscan friar. However good her
arguments might be, the result of the controversy had of course been
previously decided on by the strongest party. She was convicted of
heresy and impiety, and condemned to the stake; which _righteous_
judgment was carried into effect, and poor Marie was publicly burnt in
the great square, to the refreshment and edification of her _soi-disant_
fellow-Christians!
Calvinism, however, gained ground in spite of this example of its
dangers, and many were the secret meetings held in concealed places;
sometimes under-ground, like the early Christians; till in 1558 a
minister, previously a priest of the diocese of Agen, named David,
preached in the church of St. Barthelemi (ominous name!) the new
doctrines, in the presence of the King and Queen of Navarre, parents of
Henry IV. A few years later, under these powerful auspices, other
ministers ventured to emerge from their hiding-places, and proclaim the
"glad tidings" to their brethren. With more or less danger and
indulgence, the Protestants pursued their reform for some time--now
persecuted, now permitted--till, by the edict of pacification of 1570,
it was agreed that persons of both religions should in future _live
together in good intelligence_. The immortal horrors of St. Bartholomew,
however, changed the face of things, and a long straggle ensued; during
which, at different times, the Rochellois showed themselves undaunted
defenders of the faith. Always opposed and persecuted, the Protestants
were never publicly allowed, by the State, to follow the exercise of
their religion, till the great revolution swept away all barriers; and,
from that time alone, those who professed that faith could do so openly.
Several houses are shown in the town where the Calvinists were
accustomed to meet secretly, and to one of them an accident introduced
us.
Every morning before breakfast we were accustomed to go down to the
baths of the beautiful _Mail_, and as the walk through the town, under
the interminable arcades, was both hot and tedious, we always chose a
longer, but very agreeable, way, by the boulevards of the ancient
ramparts; which are extremely pleasant, varied, and delightful, offering
here and there fine views of the country beneath, and affording thick
shade under their magnificent trees; some of the best houses open at the
back on these ramparts, from whence their fine gardens, full of flowers
and vine-trellices, can be occasionally seen. We had been a week at La
Rochelle; every morning enjoying our walk, for the weather was
perfection, a warm, bright sun and fresh sea-breeze inspiriting us to
take so very long a promenade twice a day, in order that we might lose
nothing of the splendour of the sea. One day the sun deceived us; we set
out as usual; but had not got half to the end of the ramparts, when a
series of dark clouds came creeping over the blue sky; a hollow wind
began to sigh amongst the leaves, and the light became fitful and lurid,
till, on a sudden, a loud crack in the sky was heard, and in an instant
down rushed the rain in a perfect deluge. We had reached the most
exposed part of the boulevard; all the trees here were young; indeed, as
we observed the quick flashes of lightning, we were scarcely sorry to be
at a distance from the larger ones. We stood close to the old wall, and
covering ourselves with our parasols as well as we could, paused, hoping
the fury of the storm would soon subside. We were wet through instantly;
for it seemed as if the Spirits of the shower took a pleasure in
drenching us without mercy; such a roaring, and creaking, and flashing
echoed around us, that it was impossible not to fancy they were enjoying
our distress. Finding that there was no chance of the storm abating, we
determined to continue our way, and, by getting into the streets, escape
the danger of the lightning; accordingly, at the first opening, which
was near the Ecluse de la Verdiere, we hurried down; but here the
storm-fiend became so furious, the wind so terrific, and the rain so
persevering, that, seeing an open door, we darted into it, and in an
instant found ourselves under shelter. When we could breathe we looked
round, and could not help laughing to see where we had been so lucky as
to place ourselves. It was a huge dark cavern, where coals and other
fuel were heaped in all directions; long aisles seemed to diverge from
it with low arches leading further into the building, and apparently
descending. A small, pointed window at the back just gave light enough
to show its retreats, and we became convinced that this was one of the
very places where of old our Protestant brethren were accustomed to meet
to exercise their religion. It answered precisely to a description I had
read of one of them, situate beneath the ramparts, and it was a great
comfort in our emergency to think that we had thus discovered a secret
haunt which must otherwise have escaped us.
The owner of the shed, or a workman, soon arrived, and seemed somewhat
amused, as well as astonished, to see how we had taken possession of his
grot; we had not Imogen's excuse--
"Before I entered here I called;"
but he gave us welcome, nevertheless, till the storm disappearing, as
suddenly as it had arrived, we were able to pick our way home to Les
Trois Chandeliers.
One of the least agreeable things which we encountered in our inn, was
the manner in which our dinners were conducted; we were not allowed the
privilege, which we generally claimed, of dining in our own apartments;
but were given to understand that at the _table d'Hote_ we should meet
with the best attendance and entertainment. Accordingly, we became
guests in the fine _salon_ I have before described, where a party were
assembled in solemn silence, as if a serious meeting, instead of one
somewhat lively, was on the _tapis_. The cross-looking, silent damsel of
the huge square cap slowly placed the dishes on the table, and every one
sat down; but not a single individual, male or female, attempted to help
his neighbour to anything; not a word was spoken, except in whispers;
and very soon she of the square cap began to remove several of the
untouched viands; as the soup, for which we had ventured to ask, was
particularly bad, we did not interfere to prevent this proceeding. The
next course appeared; but still, except a solitary individual, who made
a desperate move, and cut up a fowl which he handed round, no one put
out a finger; as we were quite at the lower end of the table, and saw
with consternation that our appetites, sharpened with the fine air of
the sea, were not likely to be satisfied, and not relishing this
Governor Sancho's fare, we beckoned to a mute female, who had entered
with the second course, and stood by as if a spectator of the solemnity,
and remonstrated on the absurdity, entreating to have something brought
us; she answered gravely, that _in our turn_ we should be attended to;
and in the end we were fortunate enough to procure a little cream, of
which we took possession; and then, wearied out with the tedium of the
proceeding, rose and made a retreat, leaving the rest of the taciturn
company to wait for and contemplate their dessert. It was not so much
the supineness of the attendants as the apathy of the guests that amazed
us; having generally observed in France, that _mauvaise honte_ by no
means stood in the way of hungry persons, and that a French appetite is
with difficulty appeased, even after partaking of every dish on the
table: a fact of which we had lately been reminded at Poitiers, where a
set of men, who ate in a most prodigious manner, after the last
condiment had disappeared exclaimed, one to the other, "_Eh, mon Dieu!
on ne fait que commencer, il me semble._"
Our desertion being reported to the lady of the Three Candlesticks, she
came to apologise; fearing that her enforced absence had caused
something to go wrong at the dinner. She told us that she was obliged to
attend to the domestic arrangements of her hotel, and to superintend
fifteen workmen who were busied in some necessary duties; but, _as she
always saw to everything herself_, we should have no cause to complain
another day. We had meditated finding out another place to dine at, but
this disarmed us; and, day after day, we were obliged to submit to
something very similar, being forced to make a perfect struggle for our
dinner, and submit to the studiedly tedious movements of the Breton
girl, whose frowns and scowls accompanied every action. We found, one
day, a champion in an old gentleman, who, a stranger and traveller, like
ourselves, endeavoured to create a reform; but was only partially
successful. This person had been to England, and preserved pleased
recollections of London "_half-and-half_" which he seemed to consider
little short of nectar, and was astonished at my ignorance when,
appealed to, I was obliged to plead guilty of not being acquainted with
its virtues. He was the first Frenchman I ever heard refute the
calumnies against our climate; for, though he agreed that we had fogs in
London occasionally somewhat denser than in Paris, he had not fallen
into the error,--which it is thought heresy to dispute,--that, at
Brighton, Richmond, or Windsor, the blue sky is never seen. A very
supercilious man who sat near him, annoyed at his praises of England,
and his raptures at the Tunnel,--that great object of foreign
admiration,--endeavoured to silence him by pronouncing that London had
no monuments, and was not half as big as Paris; for, though he lived in
Poitou, he had seen the capital. The comic look which our champion gave
us when this oracle was pronounced was irresistible.
We had inquired for the fountain and castle of La Font, famous in the
annals of the Liege; and our hostess, finding that we were bent on
seeing all the sights that La Rochelle could furnish, when she met us
one morning at her door, where we had been greeted by her husband, who
officiated as cook in the dark retreat which we had to cross on our
exit, with the salutation of "_Go to sleep_;"--which English phrase he
considered as expressive as any other,--proposed to show us the way to
the village of La Font, and its chateau--a short walk from La Rochelle.
We accepted her offer; and, accompanied by her little girl--a forward,
clever child of about seven years old, and two friends,--in one of whom
we recognised one of the solemn officials of the dinner-table, who, it
seems, was playing only an amateur part on that occasion,--we set out.
The ideas of all French people, in every part of France, it appears to
me, are the same respecting sights and views: to take a walk means, with
them, to put on your best gown and cap, take your umbrella, and proceed,
at a sauntering pace, talking all the way, down some hot, dusty road,
where the _monde_ is expected to be met with. The end of the journey is
usually at some shabby cottage, or _cabaret_, where seats are set out in
the sun, and refreshments are to be had. I think lanes and meadow-paths
do not exist in France; or, if they do, they are carefully avoided by
all but shepherds and shepherdesses, who are obliged to take them
occasionally; but who much prefer, as do their charges, the sheep and
cows, the high road, all dust and bustle.
The first place we stopped at, we were assured, was very interesting:
the permission to see it had been graciously granted to our hostess, for
us, by the proprietor, who usually dined at the _table d'hote_,--one of
our silent _companions_, no doubt;--and we could, consequently, do no
less than appear grateful for the favour. Our patience was, however, put
to the test when what we hoped, by its ruinous appearance, would turn
out an antique church or tower was announced to be an infant _brewery_,
in a very early stage of its existence. We stood by while our companions
talked to a very pretty, indolent-looking woman, surrounded by
black-eyed children, whose ages and habits were dilated on, and all of
whom were scattered about the premises--sitting or lying on tubs and
heaps of wood; while the husband and father sauntered through something
like work, which was to bring the erection, in the course of time, to a
close. He seemed glad of an opportunity of leaving off what he was
supposed to be doing, to show us the garden of the establishment,--a
wilderness full of mignionette, and cabbages, and vines, and pumpkins.
As an excuse for the failure of this sight, we were told that the
principal works could not be shown, which, had we seen, would have
amazed us not a little; but, to make up for the disappointment, we
should be introduced to another _fabrique_, which should well repay us.
When near the Porte Dauphine, we found this treat was no other than a
gas establishment; and, terrified at the odour which spread from it far
and wide, which, added to the heat of a very sunny day, warned us to
forego the temptation of becoming acquainted with the method of meting
out gas to the town of La Rochelle, we protested against being forced to
enter; contenting ourselves with admiring the tall pillar, which, being
new, is an object of great exultation to the inhabitants. The air, in
this part, was quite poisoned with the effluvia from the gas; and we
were not surprised to hear that the soldiers, in the barracks close
beneath, suffered continually from sickness since the period when the
gas-works had been established. Unpleasant smells, however, seldom seem
to distress French organs; and our disgust only amused our companions,
who seemed now, for the first time, to perceive that it was not as
agreeable as the mignionette beds we had left.
We were not sorry to reach the beautiful promenade of the Champ de Mars
and the Fontaine de la Marechale; a fine walk planted with numerous
trees, with alleys diverging towards the village of La Font. Gardens,
with high walls, extend for half a league in this direction; for here
all the rich merchants of the town have their country-houses, and here
they usually spend the summer months. Being enclosed, however, the
perfume of the flowers alone, and an occasional opening, betray their
existence; and the walk is hot and dusty, without any view of sea, or
landscape, to repay the toil. At length we found ourselves at the end of
the longest village I ever was in; all composed of good square houses,
the backs only of which were visible.
We turned aside, along an avenue planted with young trees, to the
chateau of La Font; but what was our vexation to find at its extremity a
range of little huts, and a black, soapy pool, at which numbers of
washerwomen were busy at their ceaseless occupation. "_Voila_!"
exclaimed our hostess, in exultation, and with an air which said, You
must be gratified now; "_Voila_! this is the famous fountain _where all
the linen of La Rochelle is washed_! and there is the chateau where my
washerwoman lives,--a very respectable mother of a family;--and there
are her turkeys and her farm-yard; and there is her market-garden! Oh!
it is a sweet spot!"
Beyond the group of _blanchisseuses_--to whom she stopped to talk about
her household arrangements,--we saw a ruined tenement flanked with round
towers, very much dilapidated, and preserving but little of their
ancient character, owing to having been pierced with modern windows;
certainly sufficiently ruinous, if that was to be an object of
attraction, but not otherwise worthy of note. Girls and women, in wooden
shoes, were sitting about in a slovenly yard before it, and we were
welcomed as guests by one who got chairs and placed them in sight of the
farm-yard wonders for our accommodation: after which she disappeared
with our hostess to show the washing establishment, which we declined
visiting, in spite of repeated invitations, given with all the
_bonhommie_ in the world, as if there had really been anything to see
but dirty water and soap-suds. We comprehended, afterwards, as we sat
musing in the farm-yard, watching the vagaries of some angry turkeys,
whose combs became perfectly white with passion, as they contended with
their fellows, that the reason of so much pride and admiration on the
part of our hostess and the mistress of the _Chateau_ de La Font was,
that the washing here was carried on _under cover_; whereas, that
operation usually takes place by the side of rivers and brooks, in the
open face of nature, without hot water or tubs. No wonder that our
apathy annoyed the parties, who had so just a reason to "be vaunty" of
so expensive an establishment!
This, then, is all that remains of the castle of La Font, once a place
so contended for during the numerous sieges, and which the Duke of
Anjou, afterwards Henry III., took possession of, when he ordered his
soldiers to destroy all the fountains which supplied the besieged town
of La Rochelle with water. On this spot, where Protestants and Catholics
fought deadly battles, and disputed every inch of ground, the battle of
a couple of turkeys, and the splashing and thumping of a group of
washerwomen, were all that existed to interest the beholder.
We walked round the towers and into the field at the back, but scarcely
a bit of old wall repaid our trouble; and finding that the subject of
washing became all engrossing to our hostess, who seemed to have
forgotten that the hotel of the Three Candlesticks and its dinner-hour
had existence, we rose and left the party, directing our way back to the
town.
We had managed to make our escape quietly, but our defection once
perceived, consternation ensued, and the departure of La Noue from the
Protestant camp could scarcely have created more sensation. We were
pursued, and accompanied home to the hotel, with repeated apologies for
having been allowed to remain alone until we became _ennuyees_; and so
persecuted were we with politeness, that we were not sorry to take
refuge in the solemn _salle-a-manger_, where, though nearly two hours
past dinner-time, we found no preparations yet on foot for our relief.
It was impossible, considering the well-meant intention of our hostess,
to be angry at anything; but, without exception, the whole arrangement
at this most unique of all inns, was the least comfortable that any
unfortunate traveller ever had to put up with. Every day we meditated
leaving, and every day her good-humour, and a bath and walk at the
delicious sea-side, made us abandon our resolve, and--
"Tempered us to bear;
It was but for a day."
Indeed, it was impossible to be otherwise than content, to find oneself
seated in one of the pretty alcoves of the Bath gardens, with a
magnificent expanse of sparkling sea before the eye, a gentle murmur of
waters at the feet, a hundred gleaming sails, white and red, gliding
along the surface of the glittering wave, the towers of the distant town
shining out from the mass of buildings which surround them, the full
harbour, the green alleys, the superb trees, the pretty shrubs, the
distant island shores, everything, in fact, smiling and gay and
beautiful around. To forget Les Trois Chandeliers, and to grudge the
time necessary for finding a new domicile, was a natural consequence;
and the want of _materiel_ to satisfy the sea-side appetite--sure to be
gained after a whole day's sojourn on the beach--became an after
consideration, our domestic privations were therefore constantly
neglected, bewailed, and forgotten again next day while eating grapes
and bread in the beloved alcove.
There appears to be much ease in the circumstances of the inhabitants of
La Rochelle: we understood that there were not many persons of very
large fortune, but few positively poor. The commerce is inferior now to
what it has been; as, for instance, in the _glorious_ time of the _slave
trade_; but there appears still to be a good deal of bustle on the
quays: however, to an English eye, all French trade seems dull when
compared to the movement in our own ports. There is always building
going on here, as in every other town in France, where one might imagine
everything had been at a stand-still for a century, and had suddenly
been endowed with new life and activity. The cities of France seem--like
the enchanted domains of the marble prince of the Arabian Nights--to
have been doomed to a long inaction, and restored to existence by an
invisible power. The magic which changed the blue and red fishes into
men, was less potent than the wise rule of the present sovereign of the
kingdom, under whom his country flourishes; not a town or village being
forgotten in his endeavours to rescue them from the long night of
wretchedness into which war and misrule had cast them. Everywhere his
donations and encouragement cause ruins and filth to disappear, and
splendour and neatness to take their place: yet, in spite of all this,
and obvious as the benefit is to a traveller who hears of his
benefactions wherever he passes, few of the subjects of this
considerate and liberal monarch seem sufficiently grateful for his
patriotic endeavours to exalt their position. "He has not done _much_
for _us_," is the general remark; a rather startling one, when one
recollects the hundreds of towns, villages, and bourgs which his care
has reached.
The French are certainly neither grateful nor just; for they seldom
remember or acknowledge obligation either to individuals or kings. They
seem, also, wilfully blind to the blessings of the peace, which Louis
Philippe so offends their warlike propensities by insisting on: even
while they are restoring all their battered towns and erecting new
edifices, of which they are proud enough, they would willingly leave
them half done to draw the sword against some windmill giant, and buckle
on their armour to encounter some puppet-show termagant.
The public buildings of La Rochelle are fine, but the narrowness of most
of the streets in which they are placed, prevents their showing to
advantage. If the Palais de Justice stood in the fine square opposite
the cathedral, for instance, it would have a very imposing effect; but,
as it is, one passes under its arcades, and under the arcades opposite,
half-a-dozen times before its beauties become apparent. It is a modern
building of great taste and delicacy, in the style of the Renaissance;
the friezes and entablatures being executed with extreme skill and
grace. The Bourse is also a beautiful building, having a gallery
supported by a colonnade, which connects two of its wings, and which
separates the court from a pretty plantation of ornamental trees, which
agreeably adorns the edifice. But the ancient building of the Hotel de
Ville is that which most attracts, both for its beauty and its
recollections. The taste of Francis I. and Henry II. is evident in its
architecture. Henry IV.'s additions are also obvious, and more modern
_improvements_ have considerably altered its original appearance.
The entrance is comparatively modern and ugly; which is the more to be
regretted, since, from this spot the Maire Guiton--the great hero of La
Rochelle, spoke to the people when obliged to consent to the
capitulation of the town. However, the site itself cannot but be
interesting; and all that surrounds it remains as it must have been at
his time. The singular gallery, and its ornamented roof in compartments,
with a thousand interlaced letters and devices, as mysterious as those
at the house of Jacques Coeur, at Bourges, the facade, and statues, and
foliage, and ornamental mouldings, the curious windows, the ancient
screen, the outer walls, and _tourelles_ of the thirteenth, and
battlements and door-ways of the fifteenth century, all are singular and
attractive.
It was, probably, in this palace that the accident happened to Charles
the Seventh, _Le Bien Servi_, told with so much characteristic
simplicity by Mezeray.
When the news of the death of his father, the unfortunate Charles the
Sixth, was brought to the Dauphin, says the Chronicler, "he was then at
Espally, in Auvergne, a castle belonging to the Bishop of Le Puy. He
wore mourning only one day; and the next morning changed this sad colour
to scarlet. In this habit he went to hear mass in the chapel of the
castle; as soon as it was over he ordered the banner of France to be
displayed, at the sight of which all present cried out, _Vive le Roy_!
And from that time he was recognised and called king by all good
Frenchmen. But as he had neither Paris nor Rheims in his possession, he
repaired to Poitiers to be crowned, where his parliament then was, and
there received the oaths and homage of all who acknowledged him as
sovereign. From Poitiers he took his way to La Rochelle, on a warning
which was given him that the Duke of Brittany had secret designs, and
that he was making warlike and powerful preparations to take possession
of this province."
"There he nearly lost his life by a strange invention--the machination
of some of his enemies; for, as he was holding his council in a great
hall, the beams having been sawn asunder, the ceiling gave way and fell,
burying every one beneath the ruins. Jacques de Bourbon, Seigneur de
Preaux, died in consequence, several others were grievously wounded,
but the king, by a good fortune, almost miraculous, escaped. This was a
certain presage, that, after great danger, Divine Providence, in the
end, would save him, and draw him forth from the ruins of his empire
against all human expectation."
Thus was saved the most ungrateful of all monarchs; one who suffered his
friends to exert every nerve in his favour, while he sat carelessly by
and saw them betrayed and slaughtered for his sake, of him Lahire said,
"On ne pouvait perdre son royaume plus gaiement."
He was urged to action only, at last, by superstition; and when all was
gained for him, had nothing with which to reward his devoted friends but
banishment and confiscation, as in the case of Jacques Coeur, his
ill-used friend, whose money had gained him back his kingdom. Yet, at
last, his death was as wretched as if he had perished in the hall at La
Rochelle, for he died of famine, to avoid being poisoned by his
unnatural son.
We entered the great hall at the top of the flight of steps in the
centre of the building, and followed a party who were visiting the
interior, by which means, although the hall was otherwise closed, we
were able to see the great picture recently _given by the king_, with
his usual liberality, to the town of La Rochelle.
In this _salle_ is still seen the marble table, and the chair of the
Maire Guiton; a mark across the marble is shown as that made by his
sword when, in his agony, he struck the table, as he rose, indignant at
the proposals of surrender made to him. There is nothing else in the
hall which is not modern, even its form, which has been changed for the
convenience of the meetings which take place here.
The picture is one of very exciting interest, and is very well executed;
it is the work of M. Omer Chartel--a native, I believe, of La
Rochelle--and is a most appropriate present to the town in which the
circumstances it depicts took place.
Jean Guiton was mayor of La Rochelle at the time when, in 1628, Louis
XIII., or rather the Cardinal de Richelieu, besieged the Protestants in
the town. His mysterious disappearance, the uncertainty attached to his
fate, the suspicions of his motives,--notwithstanding the grandeur of
his character, and the determination of his resistance,--altogether
invest him with singular interest, and every particular of his history
which can be collected must be eagerly sought for.
He was appointed to the office of chief-magistrate at a moment of great
danger; and on the occasion made this celebrated speech:
"Fellow-citizens, I accept the honour you design me, on this condition
only, that I shall have a right to pierce with this sword the heart of
him who shall be base enough to speak the words of peace, or who shall
dare to talk of submission. Should I be cowardly enough to do so, let my
blood expiate my crime, and let the meanest citizen be my executioner:
the sacred love of his country will exculpate him for the act. Meantime
let this poniard remain upon the council-table, an object of terror to
the craven and betrayer."
The siege went on, and the unfortunate Rochellois were reduced to the
last extremity; famine and misery brought them to the lowest ebb of
human suffering; and, in spite of their valour and high resolves, it was
evident that nothing but submission could save them from the most
horrible fate. Their implacable enemy had wound his coils around their
town, the fatal _digue_, thrown up with labour, incredible and
impossible to all but hate, prevented any succours reaching them; there
it lay, circling their port like a huge constrictor waiting patiently
for its exhausted prey,--there was no remedy, and the chief persons of
the town repaired in a body to Guiton to represent the state of the
inhabitants and to propose a surrender. They bade him look around on the
famishing wretches who lay about the streets; they bade him look on his
perishing wife and dying child; they described the hopeless state of
things, the cruel perseverance of their foes, and they besought him to
give consent that they should treat with the besiegers.
"Is it even so?" said Guiton; "you all desire it? Take, then, this
poniard; you know the condition on which I accepted office, you know I
swore to stab to the heart the first man who should speak of surrender;
let me be the victim; but never hope that I will participate in the
infamy which you propose to me."
These words produced their effect; those most resolved on submission
were turned from their project, and all retired from his presence
abashed, and determined to suffer still. But the famine continued,
increased, no succour arrived, and human fortitude could endure no more;
the Rochellois opened their gates, and Richelieu was triumphant. But
where was Jean Guiton?--that question remains to be answered to this
day.
He was never seen more; some have thought that he was assassinated by
those who feared his resentment or his opposition; or by those who
considered him still formidable, though fallen; others imagined that the
king, to whom his talents as a seaman were known, and who admired the
firmness of his character, had seduced him, by offers of great
advantage, to abandon his party and enter his service. There is a
tradition that he distinguished himself in the armies of Louis, under an
assumed name, and became a terror to the enemies of France. Again, he is
said to have been condemned to perpetual imprisonment; and again, to
have spent his days in exile from his native land, having fled from the
town at the time of its reduction.
Whatever his fate may have been, it is unknown; and conjecture alone
fills up the blank. It is difficult to imagine that a man such as he
could listen to offers of advantage, or would have betrayed the cause
for which he was ready to sacrifice his life: that he died in exile,
unable to endure to see the destruction of his hopes, is more probable.
The painter has chosen the moment when the citizens are making their
last appeal, and he has succeeded in conveying the feeling and interest
of the scene in an eminent degree; it is impossible to look at the
picture without tears, which certainly must speak a great deal in its
favour; criticism may come afterwards, and a few defects may make
themselves observed; but the first impression is, that of pity and
commiseration for the actors in the sad drama represented.
The Mayor of La Rochelle, with a mournful countenance, is listening to
the words of Etienne Gentils, who was deputed as spokesman on the sad
occasion: the commandant, Perrot, and his son stand by, and by their
gestures confirm his statements. The Marquis de Feuquieres--a Catholic
prisoner, who had become a friend of the Rochellois, and anxiously
strove to obtain for them favourable terms--is a prominent person. Paul
Yvon, sire de Laden, the former mayor, adds his entreaties--Madame de
Maisonneuve, his daughter, has cast herself at the feet of Guiton, with
her two children, and points to the pale and fainting wife of the
inflexible citizen, who lies prostrate on the ground with his dying
child in her arms. The scene is fearful, and the struggle terrible; he
holds the dagger in his hand, and his look, though full of sorrow,
speaks of no indecision. You feel that it must have been impossible to
gain over such a man to the opposite party; and you cannot but thank the
artist for rescuing his memory from the reproach endeavoured to be cast
upon it.
Altogether, the picture is most appropriate and interesting, and we
rejoiced that we were so fortunate as to arrive at La Rochelle just at
the moment that it was being placed in the Grande Salle.
With infinitely more interest than before, we now walked down to the
Marche Neuf, where several elegant _tourelles_, at the corners of a
street of arcades, had previously attracted our attention, for we found
that the street was called Rue Guiton, and the tourelles formed part of
a beautifully-ornamented house, whose facade runs along one side of the
market-place. This was the mansion of the unfortunate mayor, and
magnificent it must have been; it is built in the style of the
Renaissance, and in the same taste as parts of the Hotel de Ville; but
the carved ornaments are more delicate. It is to be regretted that the
whole house could not be preserved as a memorial; but still the little
that remains must be hailed with pleasure, though built into shops, and
serving as receptacles for different wares. One _tourelle_ is
particularly sharp and fine, and does not seem to have sustained the
slightest injury from time. No doubt the house was very extensive;
probably the gardens occupied the space where now the market is kept. In
the centre of the square is one of the numerous fountains, for which the
town is famous: this is called La Fontaine des Petits Bancs, and no
doubt formerly one on the same spot adorned the gardens of the
mayoralty.
No sooner had Louis XIII. gained possession of the Protestant city, than
he began the work of _Reformation_. He had his monks ready in the camp,
"like greyhounds on the slip," and three Minimes from Touraine, who had
been sent as almoners, immediately commenced the building of a convent,
which took the place of the Huguenot temples, under the name of Notre
Dame de la Victoire. Where it stood, now stands a fort and a lazaretto.
Another convent was established at La Font, not a vestige of which
remains.
The cathedral was once more restored to the old worship, and on the
great Fontaine du Chateau, in the square in front of it, the enemies of
the Protestant party placed _brass_ tablets, full of insult to those
who had so nobly defended their town, and who, from a generous foe,
would have commanded respect. These injurious inscriptions were,
however, removed one night; nor was it ever known by whom; and the
authorities did not think it advisable to replace them: the marks of
their existence still remain.
Another mayor of La Rochelle obtained celebrity in much earlier times,
for conduct not quite so heroic as that of Guiton.
Amongst the many scenes of war which have taken place before La
Rochelle, not the least curious is one related by Froissart, which
occurred at the time when France was making a desperate struggle to
recover her towns from the power of England.
The Earl of Pembroke had been sent by his father, King Edward, with the
famous Captain Messire Guichart d'Angle, to Poitou, with vessels and
money; they set forth, commending themselves to the grace of God and St.
George, and, wind and weather favouring them, the gallant fleet soon
reached the coast of Poitou, with every prospect of success in their
adventure. But the King of France, Charles the Wise, who always managed
to get information of everything done by his enemies--whether by means
of the prescience of his astrologers or his spies is not known,--having
heard that Guichart had visited England with a view of getting supplies
and a new commander, had secretly prepared a hostile fleet ready to
way-lay the English. Forty large ships and thirteen barges, well manned
and provided, were furnished by the King of Castile, and were commanded
by four men whose names were a terror at the period. These were,
Ambrosio de Bocca Negra the Grand Admiral of Spain, Cabeza de Vaca,
Ferrant de Pion, and Radigole Roux, or Riu Diaz de Rojas.
These valiant captains had moored their fleet opposite the harbour of La
Rochelle, awaiting the expected arrival of the English and their allies,
for whose sails they looked anxiously forth. It was on the Vigil of St.
John the Baptist's Day, 1372, that the Spaniards espied the English
approaching in gallant array, and _they_ discovered that the entrance to
the town of La Rochelle was stopped, and that a contest must ensue.
The English were greatly inferior in ships and numbers; but there was no
want of spirit amongst them. The Earl of Pembroke made several knights
on the occasion, and every nerve was strained to support the character
of British valour. They had fearful odds to sustain, and terrible was
the battle which was fought, in which such deeds of arms were done, that
Palmerin of England, and Amadis de Gaul, seemed leading on the
combatants. But it soon became too evident that the brave handful of
English, and the small vessels, were no match for the opposing power.
This, the inhabitants of La Rochelle were aware of, but they were
ill-disposed to interfere or to assist the English.
When Messire Jean de Harpedane, the seneschal of La Rochelle, heard the
_estrif_ and _riote_ which took place without, and found in what straits
his friends were placed, he implored the mayor and people of La Rochelle
to arm and go to the relief of the English; he entreated them to send
out the numerous vessels which crowded their quays, to aid and comfort
those who were so valiantly fighting against odds. But his animated
harangue was met with silence and coldness, and he found, to his great
vexation, that there was no sympathy for King Edward's people.
Harpedane had been supported in his generous desire by three brave and
bold knights, the Lord of Tonnay-Boutonne, Jacques de Surgieres, and
Maubrun de Linieres; and when they found that no one would listen to
their representations, they resolved to embark, together with all their
people, and go to the succour of the English. At day-break they sailed
forth, and, with some difficulty, reached the fleet, where they were
joyfully welcomed, notwithstanding that they brought bad news, and
confirmed the doubts of the English that no succour awaited them. They,
however, resolved to fight to the last, and remained prepared for the
attack of the Spaniards, who, favoured by the wind, came down upon them,
and casting out irons, grappled with their ships and held them close.
Then ensued a terrible contest, in which the greatest part of the
English were killed, the treasure-vessels sunk, and all the others
destroyed; and the day closed by the capture of the Earl of Pembroke,
Guichart d'Angle, and all the brave knights of their company. The
Spaniards then made great rejoicings, and sailed away with all their
prisoners; but, meeting with adverse winds, they were obliged to put
into the port of Santander in Biscay, where they carried them to a
fortress and cast them into a deep dungeon, loading them with chains:
"No other courtesy had these Spaniards to offer them!"
After this the Rochellois threw off their obedience to the English, and
declared themselves friends and subjects of France: the manner in which
this event occurred is thus related:--
The mayor of the town, Jean Coudourier, or Chaudrier, was secretly
friendly to the French, and had agreed with the famous Captain Ivan, of
Wales, who was before La Rochelle, to deliver the town to him. The
stratagem he used was characteristic, for the governor of the Castle,
Phillippot, though a brave and good knight, was in the case of William
of Deloraine,--
"Of letter or line knew he never a one;"
and by this neglect in his education was he betrayed.
The artful Chaudrier, who appeared to be his intimate friend, invited
the governor to dine with him one day, with some of the citizens of the
town, and took occasion, before dinner, to say that he had just received
news from England which concerned him. The governor desiring to know
them, he replied, "Of course you shall hear; I will fetch the letter,
and it shall be read to you." He then went to a coffer and took out an
open letter, sealed, indeed, with the great seal of Edward of England,
but which, in fact, related to quite other matters; the governor
recognised the seal, and was satisfied that it was an official
communication; but, as for the writing, "he was ignorance itself" in
that. A clerk, in the plot, was ordered to enlighten him as to its
contents, and read that the King desired the mayor to send him an exact
account of all the forces in La Rochelle and the castle, by the bearer
of that letter, as he desired to know, and hoped soon to visit the town
himself.
Thereupon the mayor begged that on the day following a muster should be
made, in the grand square, of all these men-at-arms, and he offered to
lend money to the governor, being so directed by the King, to pay his
troops. All this was done as was projected, and the muster took place,
every man-at-arms leaving the chateau, and only a few servants
remaining there. Meantime the cunning mayor had provided an ambush of
four hundred men, who concealed themselves in _old houses uninhabited
which were in the square_, and, when all the troops were assembled,
these issued out, and intercepting the return, took possession of the
castle, and became masters of the citadel.
Resistance was now in vain: the governor was completely tricked, and the
artful traitor had gained his end. La Rochelle became French, and the
first step that was taken for the security of the town, in case of its
again falling into the hands of the English, was to raze the castle to
the ground, and destroy that means of defence.
CHAPTER XII.
ROCHEFORT--THE CURIOUS BONNE--AMERICANISMS--CONVICTS--THE
CHARENTE--"TULIPES"--TAILLEBOURG--HENRY THE THIRD--ST.
LOUIS--FALSE SECURITY--ROMEGOUX--PUYTAILLE.
OUR good fortune in respect to the weather, which we so much enjoyed at
La Rochelle, seemed to have taken leave of us when we quitted that
charming town and took our way southward. It rained in torrents when we
got into the diligence for Rochefort, and continued to do so throughout
our journey. The country is very flat for several leagues, and possesses
no remarkable beauties; occasionally a turn of the road brought us close
to the sea-shore; and its fine waves, dashing against the shingles, made
music to our ears, and we regretted leaving it behind us. The sea seems
always to me like a friend; it offers, besides, a means of escape; it
appears to tell one that a vessel is ready to take the tired wanderer
back to England: there is something like _home_ in its vicinity, and I
can well imagine with what sensations an exile might "come to the
beach," and sigh forth his soul towards his native land. But that I had
interests still greater awaiting me at Bordeaux, I should have been even
more sorry to have quitted this coast; and every time we caught another
glimpse of the waves, we hailed them with pleasure.
We arrived at Rochefort, as we had frequently done at other towns in
France--where the climate is supposed to be better than our own--in
pouring rain; but, this time, with a little difference, inasmuch as the
diligence stopped in the midst of a large square outside the town,
planted with trees, with hotels in different directions, and the bureau
within twenty yards: nevertheless, the conducteur's pleasure was to stop
his horses exactly midway between us and shelter: all the doors were
thrown open, the horses were taken off, and the passengers were free to
get out and paddle to the nearest inn as best they might. Calling and
exclaiming were of no use; no one attended to our remonstrances; and,
scrambling out _over the wheel_--for the coupe has not the advantage of
a step--while a deluge of rain and a hurricane were striving against us,
we managed to reach the wet ground; but, being required, peremptorily,
to show ourselves at the bureau, we were not permitted to wade to an
opposite hotel, and, therefore, took our station, with other
discontented individuals, under a shed where building was going on, and
where our wet feet stuck in the lime and mortar which covered the floor.
While we waited till our conducteur had ceased to rave at his horses
and assistants, a sudden cry warned us to remove, for the diligence,
pushed in by several men, was coming upon us to discharge its baggage.
Having escaped this danger by flying into a neighbouring passage, we
obeyed the summons of our tyrant; and having discharged his demands, a
latent pity seemed to take possession of his bosom, for he allowed us to
depart, having bestirred himself to send our baggage before us to the
nearest hotel. There we found the hour of the _table d'hote_ dinner had
arrived, and much entreaty was necessary to induce the hostess to permit
us to dine alone, the absurdity of the wish seeming to strike her as
extraordinary:--"It would be so much more gay down stairs," she
observed. Wet and tired, we had no mind for the festivity which might
reign in her halls, and at length gained our point: having served us, a
pretty young country maid, in a large cap, who had looked at us with
wonder from the first, seemed resolved to fill up the little leisure
left her, by contemplating closer the extraordinary animals that chance
had brought to her mistress's hotel. She put her hands on her sides,
and, opening her black eyes wide, gave us a long stare, exclaiming, "Eh,
mon Dieu! est-ce donc possible!"
We asked her if many English came to Rochefort; to which she replied, as
we expected, that she had never _seen one_ before. We wished her good
night; she was some time in taking our hint, but, as she was
good-humoured, her determined delay did not annoy us, as a similar
intrusion had done at La Rochelle, when the cross _bonne_, on the
evening of our arrival, took her seat at the window, and looked out into
the street to amuse herself; and, on our intimating that she might
retire, turned round fiercely, and remarked, "You can't be going to bed
yet." These _Americanisms_ are common enough in this most polite of
nations; but are simply amusing from such unsophisticated beings as the
attendant at Rochefort.
Rochefort is a handsome, clean, open, well-built town, quite without
antiquities; but, as our next destination was Saintes--one of the oldest
towns in France--we were content with its more modern appearance, though
not with its pavement, which is particularly bad and rugged. It is
surrounded with very handsome ramparts, or boulevards, planted with fine
trees, and the principal streets have avenues, in one of which the
large market is held, which has a picturesque effect--the high poplars
and spreading acacias throwing their flickering shadows on groups of
peasants in lively-coloured costumes, giving a brilliancy and life to
the scene, which is not found in the other parts of the remarkably dull
town of Louis XIV. Rochefort is the third important port in France; but
as nothing can be so uninteresting to me, who do not understand these
details, as to look on fortifications, and the bustle of a port when
there is no sea to repay one--and Rochefort is only on the Charente,
four leagues from the sea--I did not attempt to visit the quays; the
hospitals are said to be fine; also, the school of artillery, and
several commercial establishments of great consequence; but the trade of
Rochefort does not appear very flourishing, to judge by the desolate
appearance of the streets and squares.
The only place we visited, was the Jardin des Plantes, which is
charmingly laid out in alleys and parterres; but a circumstance occurred
which entirely destroyed the pleasure of our walk, and brought thoughts
of woe and crime into the midst of beautiful nature and elegant art. As
we hung over the parapet of a wall, we observed a party of men passing
beneath, dressed in a singular costume: they were singing rather
vociferously, and it struck me that, as they moved, a clanking sound
accompanied their steps, for which I feared to account. As I turned
away from these, my eye was attracted by a group of gardeners, in an
alley near, who wore the same dress of dull yellowish red. One of them
was a tall, fine, handsome man, who seemed busy in his occupation; the
others were indolently using their spades and brooms; and as they moved,
I saw that all had irons round their legs. A shudder came over me, and a
sort of fear, which I could not shake off, as I looked round to see that
we did not share these groves alone with such companions, of whom we
were not long in taking our leave;--not that there was anything hostile
or alarming in their appearance; but, though one may every day jostle a
robber or a murderer, ignorantly, in the streets, yet to be "innocent of
the knowledge" of his character, is much more agreeable to one's nerves,
than the certainty of his being a culprit.
Although we had taken every precaution, by warning all the servants of
our intention of departing by the steam-boat for Saintes,--had paid our
bill, and been ready an hour before the time, yet the _garcon_ who was
to accompany us to the quay was nowhere to be found when we required his
aid. When a diligence is to start, it is the custom, as we well knew,
always to announce its time of departure an hour, or sometimes two,
before it goes, as the _monde_ is supposed to be never in time; but,
even in France, time must be kept when tide is in question; and we,
therefore, were very much afraid that our dilatory waiter would cause us
to lose our passage. It would seem that the French can do nothing
without being frightened into action; and that they enjoy putting
themselves into frights and fevers; for our porter, when he did appear,
had to hurry, with his great barrow, through numerous streets, calling
all the way, and begging that the boat would stop for _des dames_, till
he was almost exhausted. The captain, who must have been used to these
scenes, took compassion on him, I suppose, and we stept at length into
the steamer, amidst the congratulations of the crowd, and a whole host
of porters, who brought every article of baggage singly on board, in
order to make the most of their zeal.
Henry IV., who liked to pay compliments to his people, and gain
"Golden opinions from all sorts of men,"
was accustomed, it is said, to call the river Charente "the prettiest
stream in his kingdom;" and it certainly deserves much admiration, for
the borders are rich, varied, and graceful; and the voyage along its
verdant banks is extremely agreeable on a calm, fine day: such as we
were fortunate enough to choose. There is no want of variety; for
heights, crowned with towers and turrets and woods and meadows, succeed
each other rapidly, offering pleasing points of view, and reviving
recollections of ancient story; and though the Charente by no means
deserves to be compared to the Loire, ambitious as the natives of the
department are that it should be considered equal in beauty and interest
to that famous river; yet there is quite enough charm belonging to it to
please the traveller who seeks for new scenes.
In few parts of France do the English travel so little as in this
direction; and I believe the pretty river Charente has been rarely
visited. A summer at La Rochelle could, nevertheless, be pleasantly
spent, and the facilities of steam-boats in so many directions, is a
great advantage, as there is much worth seeing in this agreeable
country.
We were much struck with the extremely beautiful effect produced by the
fairy-like, delicate appearance of a sort of crocus--of a pale, clear,
lilac colour--which entirely covered the meadows, the light as it shone
through their fragile stems making them look aerial. All along the
banks, for leagues, these pretty flowers[9] spread themselves over the
ground, in a perfect cloud of blossoms, reaching to the very wave, and,
shaking their gossamer heads to the breeze, gleaming their golden
centres through the transparent petals, like a light in an alabaster
vase. As we admired them, a young woman near us, in the boat, shook her
head, and exclaimed that we were not, perhaps, aware that those pretty
'_tulipes_' were deadly poison, and that very lately, a man of a village
near this, had employed their bulbous roots as onions, and given the
soup made with them to his wife and a neighbour, to whom he bore a
spite: that they both died, and he was found to be the murderer, and
suffered accordingly. My thoughts recurred, as she spoke, to the
convicts in the garden of Rochefort, and with no very pleasant
sensations. I was sorry she had spoilt the pleasure I had taken in
looking at these beautiful flowers, which she seemed to regard with
horror.
[Footnote 9: The _Iris zippium_.]
There are several fine suspension-bridges over the river; this part of
the country is celebrated for them; that of Charente is considered very
remarkable of its kind, and it is a usual excursion from La Rochelle to
visit it.
At St. Savinien is a venerable church and tower, which make an imposing
appearance, on a height, and the ruins of the once redoubtable castle of
Taillebourg frown majestically from the rocky hills they cover. All this
coast was the scene of the contentions of our early kings; and Coeur de
Lion and his father were actors in several of the dramas here performed.
The great hero, but disobedient son, Richard, after being forced by
Henry II. to quit Saintes where he had entrenched himself, fled to this
very fortress of Taillebourg, and there defied attack. Henry III. of
England, more than half a century later, made this part of the river the
theatre of his contentions with St. Louis, as Joinville relates. Henry
had disembarked at Royan--now a fashionable bathing-place, at the mouth
of the Charente--and resolved, if possible, to gain back all that John
Lackland had lost, led his army from town to town, taking possession of
all in his way, till the sudden arrival of St. Louis stopped his career.
The King of France laid siege to Tonnay-Boutonne, of which strong place
scarcely anything now remains, took it, and reconquered several other
fortresses. At length Louis sat down before Taillebourg, then held by
Geoffrey de Rancon for the King of England. It was here, in these
crocus-covered meadows, opposite the blackened walls of this crumbling
ruin, that the great monarch pitched his tents and placed his camp,
intending from thence to attack his enemy at Saintes.
Henry, meantime, felt secure that the Lord of Taillebourg would stand
his friend, and that his strong castle would be a powerful protection to
the English army, and he should be able materially to molest the French;
but the grim Baron de Rancon was in his heart a foe to the English, and
had embraced their cause upon compulsion: he waited but a favourable
moment to betray them; and when, from his towers, he saw the French army
encamped in the meadows beneath them, he threw open his gates and
sallied forth, followed by a numerous band of warriors, visited King
Louis in his tent, and offered him his castle to abide in. His
invitation was accepted, and Louis and his knights returned with him to
his castle.
Henry, hearing of this arrangement, took counsel with his general,
Hugues de Lusignan, and removed his head-quarters immediately to the
neighbourhood of De Rancon's fortress, placing his troops in the meadows
immediately opposite those occupied by the soldiers of Louis; the river
only separated them, and across it was a long bridge, part of the ruins
of which, evidently of Roman construction, may still be seen far away in
the flat meadows. Henry's force was much inferior to that of his
opponent, and he declined coming at once to battle, as Louis desired: he
drew off his soldiers, leaving a strong defence on the bridge; by this
movement wishing to indicate that he did not intend engaging; but the
French could not be restrained, and Louis, giving way to their
impetuosity, charged the defenders of the bridge at the head of five
hundred knights. Immediately the river was covered with soldiers, who
leaped into boats, and, hastening across the river, fell upon the
English with great fury. The shock was well sustained; Duke Richard,
brother to Henry, Lusignan, De Montford, and others, brought up their
troops to the conflict. St. Louis ran great risks that day; for
Joinville says, that for every man with him the English had a hundred:
as he was in the thick of the fray, his life was in great peril; but he
was successful, and remained in possession of the bridge, and the left
bank of the Charente. Had he pursued his advantage, the English might
have been entirely routed; but, reflecting that the next day was Sunday,
and should be devoted to prayer, he consented to the truce proposed by
Duke Richard, and ordered his men to re-cross the bridge.
Richard cunningly took advantage of this circumstance, and hurrying back
to his brother's tent, exclaimed, "Quick, quick! not a moment is to be
lost; let us fly or we are defeated!" As rapidly as possible the tents
were struck, the baggage prepared, and every man in readiness; and, in
the darkness of night, King Henry mounted his good steed, and never
slackened rein till he reached the walls of Saintes, followed by his
soldiers, who, harassed and fatigued, were not sorry to find themselves
once more in security.
The astonishment of Louis was great, when, at break of day, he looked
from his castle windows, and saw no vestige of the great army which had
covered the country on the preceding night: he very quietly ordered his
troops to cross the bridge, and they took possession of the spot just
left by the English. The next day he prepared to march on Saintes, and
sent couriers forward to reconnoitre the country: a shepherd, who had
observed these movements, hastened to warn the Count de la Marche, who,
with his two sons, and his vassals, were in the Faubourg de St. Eutrope.
Hugues de Lusignan marched forth immediately to meet the French
_avant-garde_, without naming his intention to the King of England who
was lodged in the town.
Count Alfonse de Boulogne coming up at the moment with his party, joined
the _avant-garde_, and a furious combat took place: the first who fell
was the chatelain of Saintes, who held the banner of the Count de la
Marche. On both sides resounded the terrible war-cries of "Aux armes!
Aux armes!" and "Royaux! Royaux!" and "Mont-joie! Mont-joie!" according
to the usage of both nations.
These cries, the neighing of horses, and the clash of arms, were heard
to a great distance, and reached the ears of the King of England, who
demanded the cause: he was told that the Count de la Marche, resolved to
repair his honour, which he considered that their late retreat had
sullied, had attacked the French. At this news Henry called for his
armour, assembled his warriors, and hastened to the succour of his
father-in-law. At this juncture arrived King Louis. Mortified to be
forestalled by an enemy, who he considered had basely quitted the field,
he gave the signal, and the soldiers of France fell pell-mell on the
Anglo-Aquitainians, who received them firmly.
A general melee then took place beneath the walls of Saintes; and in the
midst of the vines, amongst the groves, in the fields, on the high
roads, a frightful carnage ensued.
The French fought with fury, increased by the resistance they met with;
the English ranks began to thin; overpowered by numbers, their
battalions became broken, the men turned their backs, and fled in
disorder to the gates of the town, to which the French pursued them with
fearful slaughter. In vain Henry and Hugues de Lusignan endeavoured to
rally the dispersed troops; their expostulations were drowned in the
noise and confusion, and they were themselves carried away by the stream
of fugitives. Many of the French, in the ardour of the combat, entered
the town with the enemy, and were made prisoners. Louis then sounded a
retreat, and fixed his camp a short distance from the walls.
The following days were employed in secret negotiations between the
Count de la Marche and St. Louis, which ended in their reconciliation,
and the Count's abandonment of the English monarch. Meantime Henry, with
his usual carelessness, after the first trouble was over, blindly
deceived himself into security, and resolved to spend the heats of the
month of August in quiet and enjoyment, forgetting that he was little
better than a prisoner in Saintes, and taking no heed of the treachery
of his friends without. Four days he allowed to pass as if no enemy were
at his gates; he even made parties of pleasure, and seemed resolved to
think no more of the war, when he was suddenly roused from his false
security by his brother, Richard, who had been warned of the dangers
which threatened them by a French knight, whose life he had saved in
Palestine.
By this means the self-deceiving monarch learnt that preparations were
being made by Louis to invest the town with all his forces, and that the
next day at day-break the siege was to commence. When this intelligence
reached Henry he was just about to sit down to table; at the same time
he learnt that the citizens of Saintes proposed to treat with his foes;
and he had not an instant to lose. He promptly gave orders that the
houses of the _bourgeois_ should _be set on fire_, and, mounting his
horse, set out, hungry and fatigued as he was after a day's excursion of
amusement, towards Blaye, as fast as speed could take him. His captains
were soon informed of his flight; they left their half-cooked viands, as
did all the army, who were still fasting, and the confusion of departure
exceeded belief; all hurried towards Blaye, where they sought refuge,
exhausted and worn, and but for a few berries which they gathered to
satisfy the cravings of their hunger, they had nearly all perished on
the way.
The following day the citizens and clergy of Saintes, in solemn
procession, repaired to the camp of St. Louis, bringing with them the
keys of the town, and swearing oaths of fealty. The King of France
entered in triumph, occupied all the evacuated posts, and placed a
garrison in the old citadel of the capital. His next care was to subdue
all the lords of the neighbouring castles, which, having done, he
commenced building a new line of walls to replace the dilapidated
Anglo-Roman line, which was falling in ruins. After this, says the
chronicler, St. Louis returned to his dominion of France, leaving
garrisons in all the strong places of Saintonge and Aunis.
The ruins of the castle of Taillebourg serve, like most fortresses in
France now-a-days, as promenades to the town to which they belong; all
along the top of the massive walls, which extend to some distance, is a
line of open balustrades, which has, from the river, a very ornamental
and somewhat Italian effect. Spreading trees rise above this, which
appear to form part of a plantation within, and placed, as the castle
is, on a very great elevation, at a turn of the river, which it must
have commanded, it has a peculiarly imposing and picturesque effect. The
town by no means answers to the beauty of its promenades; but that is
very frequently the case, and need not be a matter of surprise. A series
of rugged rocks, continued for some distance along the shore, add much
to the beauty of the scenery. The next castle is that of Bussac, which
retains a part of its old walls and towers, though a modern building
fills up the vacancies between. It stands well, and must have been a
fitting neighbour to Taillebourg; beyond this is a magnificent wood, Le
Bois de Sainte Marie, which covers the hills for nearly a league, and
has a very grand appearance.
During the wars of religion the river Charente, from the first fortress
we passed of Tonnay Charente, the site of which and a few stones alone
remain, to the town of Saintes, was a continued theatre of contention
and violence. One scene is curious; its hero was another of the
redoubtable barons of Taillebourg named Romegoux, whose singular
expedition is thus recounted:
The town of Saintes, having changed masters several times, was in the
hands of the Huguenot party, and the governor was the lord of Bussac
when Charles IX. sent the Duke of Anjou into that part of the country;
and, under his orders, the Sieur de la Riviere-Puytaille made several
attempts on the town; but Bussac's vigilance foiled him continually. As
he was returning to his fortress of Tonnay-Charente, there to wait for
another occasion of molesting the enemy, in passing the castle of
Taillebourg he was attacked by the Huguenot garrison. After a brisk
skirmish the latter returned to his stronghold, growling like a
disturbed bear, and longing for an opportunity to vent his rage.
Meantime, Puytaille was again summoned to the walls of Saintes, for the
citizens had risen; and fearing that an army would besiege them if they
held for the Protestants, they resolved to turn out those who were
within their walls, and give themselves up to the king's officer. Bussac
was obliged therefore to yield, and was allowed to march out of one
gate as Puytaille marched in at the other.
When the Baron de Romegoux heard this he was greatly enraged, and
resolved to make an effort to regain the place; he accordingly invited
five or six hundred men, whom he thought as zealous as himself, to a
rendezvous, but only twenty-five attended his summons. This handful
showing themselves little disposed to attempt so perilous an adventure,
Romegoux was almost distracted with vexation; he wept, tore his hair,
and used every entreaty he could think of to induce them to join him,
for he was certain of success. At length he succeeded in inspiring them
with his own ardour, and they consented to accompany him wherever he
should lead them.
Armed with axes, and furnished with ladders, they set out, in the middle
of the night, for Saintes. They fixed their ladder near the Porte
Aiguieres; as they were mounting, Romegoux heard a patrol passing; as
soon as it was gone he and his companions lost no time in hurrying into
the town; he divided his party into two, placing them at a small
distance from the rampart, to protect his retreat in case of surprise;
then, followed by the most determined of his band, he marched straight
to the lodging of Combaudiere, who had been left by Puytaille in his
place to command in his absence.
Romegoux broke open the door, surprised the governor in his bed, forced
him to rise, and, without giving him time to dress himself, obliged him
to march before them; but so paralysed was he with terror, that he had
scarcely the power to move. One of the Huguenots, therefore, placed him
on his shoulders, and carried him rapidly off towards the Porte
Aiguieres, intending to descend by the ladders which had given them
entrance: but their companions had, in the meantime, broken the bar of
the gate, and lowered the drawbridge. Romegoux and his people made their
exit in good order through this door, to the sound of the tocsin, the
drums and the cries of alarm of the garrison and citizens, who, awaked
from their slumbers, were hurrying hither and thither in the utmost
confusion. The victorious party paused only at the end of the faubourg,
to allow the governor to dress himself, and then went off with their
prize.
Romegoux, however, though he gained great reputation by this daring
adventure, was unable to carry his design further, owing to want of
means, and he was so disappointed and annoyed at being forced to stop in
mid-career, that he was nearly dying with vexation.
In this castle of Taillebourg was afterwards established a Protestant
chapel, and _there_ were buried, after the fatal battle _des Arenes_, at
Saintes, the _four brothers_ Coligny, of whom d'Aubigne says, "They were
similar in countenance, but still more in probity, prudence, and
valour."
After a very agreeable voyage, we, at length, saw the towers and spires
of the old town of Saintes rising from the waters, and landed, for the
first time, _from a steam-boat_, without much confusion: we resigned
ourselves at once to the care of a very little boy, who bustled about
with great importance, and conducted us in triumph to the Hotel de La
Couronne, by a long and beautiful boulevard of majestic trees, which
gave a very imposing impression of the town.
CHAPTER XIII.
SAINTES--ROMAN ARCH OF TRIUMPH--GOTHIC BRIDGE--THE COURS--RUINED
CITY--CATHEDRAL--COLIGNY--RUINED PALACE--ST.
EUTROPE--AMPHITHEATRE--LEGEND OF STE. EUSTELLE--THE PRINCE OF
BABYLON--FETE--THE COTEAU--STE. MARIE.
OF course the earliest object which one hastens to see in Saintes, is
the famous Roman arch. We beheld it first by moon-light, when its large,
spectre-like proportions, as it stood in shadow, at the extremity of the
bridge, gave a solemn character to the scene suitable to its antiquity:
the uncertain light softened all the inequalities of its surface, and it
seemed a monument of the magnificence of the days of old, which time and
tempest had spared; but it was far otherwise in the morning, when we
paid it our second visit, and a broad glare of sun-light brought out
all its age and _infirmities_: then became apparent the rents and
ravages which had entirely deprived it of the original polish of its
surface; and it seems to totter, as if the first gale would hurl its
ruins into the waters beneath. Not a stone looks in its place; they
appear as if confusedly heaped one on the other, after having been
destroyed and built up again: it is, therefore, with infinite surprise
that you find, on approaching nearer and nearer, that its solidity is
still so great--that the melted lead inserted between the stones, which
binds it so firmly, is as strong as ever, and that parts of the interior
of the arch are even and smooth; much, however, of this has been
restored. After looking at this magnificent arch a little while, you
begin to imagine it, in the glare of day, as perfect as it appeared when
the moon-beams played above, and showed it in such perfection; and all
the modern buildings round, look like houses built of dominos compared
to its gigantic form. It is as if an old Roman were standing at the
entrance of the town, silent, stern, and proud, and gazing with contempt
on the ephemeral creatures of an age he knew nothing of, and who were
unworthy to pass him by.
Everything about this singular monument is mysterious: it seems
difficult to determine how it came in its present position, for the
bridge on which it stands is of considerably later date than itself,
although that is of Gothic construction. It would appear that, at the
time it was built, the waters of the Charente did not run in that
direction, and having changed their course, the bridge was built from
necessity, and joined the arch which existed long before: but then it
must always have stood as high above the bed of the river as it does
now, which puzzles one again. It is true that traces are still to be
found of the ancient bed of a river, and, in a house in the Faubourg des
Dames, an arch, called by tradition _Le Pont-Amillon_, has been
discovered.
The date of the monument is given as the year 774 of Rome, and 21 A.D.
It has two circular arches, supported by Corinthian pillars, and a broad
entablature; on which the curious can read an inscription, some of the
letters of which, with difficulty, we could decipher. Above the cornice,
is a double range of battlements, which have a most singular appearance,
as they do not, by any means, amalgamate with the rest of the building:
they are, nevertheless, very boldly constructed, and appear to form part
of the original design. There is, however, no doubt that they are the
work of a Gothic hand, and may, probably, date with the bridge. The
stones of which it is composed, are masses of four and five French feet
long, and two and a half thick, placed at equal distances, without
cement, and rendered solid by the introduction of melted lead and iron
hooks, some of which may still be seen in the intervals between the
stones. The stone is from the neighbourhood of Saintes, and is full of
shells and fossils: its height is twenty metres, French measurement: and
it is three metres thick, and fifteen wide.
Great precautions were taken, in 1666, to preserve this precious
monument, at the expense of M. de Bassompierre, Bishop of Saintes; but
so disjointed are some of its parts, that, except the utmost care is
continued, it can scarcely be expected to survive the demolition of the
ancient bridge, on which it stands, and which is doomed to destruction.
I heard with consternation that such was about to be the case, and that
a suspension-bridge is to replace it. What they will do with _the old
Roman_ it is difficult to say, or how they are to preserve it, standing,
as it does, almost in the centre of the river, or what effect it will
produce in so isolated a position, if permitted to stand, are questions
which naturally occur. It is to be hoped that the inhabitants will delay
its fate as long as possible, and, considering how very much must be
done in Saintes before, by any possibility, it can be made to approach
to anything like a habitable town, it seems a pity that one of its most
interesting and famous possessions should be torn from it. When its Arch
of Triumph falls, much of the glory of Saintes will fall with it; but it
will probably one day become a commercial town; the steam-boats, which
now stop below the venerable old bridge, will sweep over the spot where
it stood for ages, and the old Roman arch will be considered in the way,
and will be _removed_!
The inscriptions on the _attic_, which is divided into three parts, I
give from a work on the subject, as it may interest _archaeological
readers_:--
INSCRIPTION ON THE ATTIC, NEXT THE TOWN.
"To Germanicus Caesar, son of Tiberius Augustus, grandson of the
divine Augustus, great grandson of the divine Julius, augur, priest
of Augustus, consul for the second time, emperor for the second
time.
"To Tiberius Caesar, son of the divine Augustus, grand pontiff,
consul for the fourth time, emperor for the eighth time the year of
his tribunitian power.
"To Drusus Caesar, son of Tiberius Augustus, grandson of the divine
Augustus, great grandson of the divine Julius, pontiff, augur."
* * * * *
INSCRIPTION ON THE FRIEZE, NEXT THE TOWN.
"Caius Julius Rufus, son of Caius Julius Ottuaneunus, grandson of
Caius Julius Gededmon, great grandson of Epotsorovidus, priest,
consecrated to the worship of Rome and Augustus in the temple,
which is at the confluence, in his quality of intendant of works,
has made the dedication of this monument."
The inscription on the frieze, at the side of the Faubourg, is the same
repeated.
There seems, however, to be much uncertainty as to who the monument was
dedicated to, and the subject is a constant source of dispute with the
learned: the inscription can hardly be said to exist at present, so much
obliterated are the letters; but enough seems to remain to revive
inquiry and puzzle conjecture. The arch is more massive, but scarcely so
beautiful as the arches at Autun, with which we were so much delighted:
it is much more conspicuous and higher: both of those being on low
ground. There is no occasion to seek for this of Saintes; for it stands,
like a huge baron of old, guarding the river: we saw a company of
soldiers pass beneath it, as we lingered at a distance, and we felt
astonished to think how, in the midst of the centuries of violence it
had seen, in all the stormings and batterings and besiegings, it could
possibly have escaped, and be still there, a monument of the power of
the most redoubtable warriors of all.
Saintes is one of the most extraordinary towns I ever saw: it somewhat
reminded me of Autun, of Provins, of Chateau Thierry; yet it is very
different from either, and in fact
"None but itself can be its parallel."
It is separated into three towns, quite distinct one from the other, yet
joined, like a trefoil. As you stand on the broad boulevard leading
above the first town, the other two spread out beneath on either hand.
The churches of Notre Dame, of St. Eutrope, and the cathedral of St.
Pierre, each claim a part.
Descending the _Cours_, the aspect of that division which claims the
stupendous church of St. Eutrope[10] is wondrously imposing. I never
beheld anything more so, and we stood some time on the high-raised road
which commanded the view, rapt in astonishment at the ruined grandeur
before us. The enormous tower of St. Eutrope rises from a mass of
buildings which appear Lilliputian beside it; gardens and vines and
orchards slope down from it, and low in the meadows a long series of
arches betray the celebrated amphitheatre--another of the wonders of
this remarkable place. What convents and churches and castles and towers
have been cleared away to form the _Cours_ which extend from town to
town, I cannot say; but it appears as if not a quarter of the original
site can now be occupied; indeed, one is perfectly bewildered at every
step with the piles of ruin and rubbish scattered about, the remains of
old buildings destroyed to make room for new, which, begun and left
unfinished, or completed and then abandoned, have added a series of
modern ruins to those which are antique. There is not a single street,
or place, or road in Saintes, which can be called finished: materials
for building are scattered in all directions, and, in many parts, moss
and weeds have grown up amidst the piles of stone destined to construct
some new house or temple: in the meantime the streets are without
pavement, or as bad, hollow, damp, dirty, and dreary; the houses are
unpainted, slovenly, neglected, and ugly: the churches are dilapidated,
or but half restored; grass grows in the newly-projected squares, and
all is in a state of confusion and litter. It seems as if the task of
regenerating Saintes, rebuilding it from the ground, in fact, had been
undertaken in a moment of desperation, and the project had been
abandoned as suddenly as conceived.
[Footnote 10: Since this was written, I grieve to observe, by the French
newspapers, that the tower and part of the church of St. Eutrope, have
been destroyed by lightning.]
All attention seems now directed to the river side. The erection of a
new quay absorbs every mind; and all the workmen that can be procured
are busy hurrying to and fro, amidst the mud and water of the spot where
passengers land from the steam-boat. One would wonder why any body
should think of coming to Saintes at all, except from curiosity, as we
did; but that it is the direct route to the Gironde; where, from
Mortagne, another steam-boat, in communication with the Charente,
conveys passengers to Bordeaux. Since the establishment of these boats a
great change has been operated in Saintes, and probably its condition
will now improve.
Notwithstanding this _too true_ description of the once important
capital of Saintonge, it possesses an interest which may well attract
the antiquarian visitor to its walls. The ruins of the Arch and those of
the Amphitheatre alone would be attraction enough for many; and as the
hotels are remarkably good, clean, and comfortable, a sojourn of a few
days in Saintes will quite repay the traveller who comes, as we did, out
of his way to visit its battered walls. We were not fortunate, as at La
Rochelle, in the weather, for most of our excursions were performed in
the midst of showers. I cannot but think, from the experience of several
years' travelling, that there is even more uncertainty in the weather in
France than in England; and I was particularly struck with the fact,
that the nearer we approached the south, the colder, damper, and less
genial it became. It is a mere absurdity to talk of the difference of
our climate and that of France, in any part: it is assuredly _warmer_ in
England, and not a whit more changeable.
We took advantage of the first gleams, after a wet night, to explore the
strange old town, once said to contain a hundred thousand inhabitants,
and, both in the time of the Gauls and the Romans, to have been of the
utmost importance.
The cathedral is a monument of the violence of religious fanaticism; it
was almost torn to pieces by the Huguenots; in the sixteenth century,
all its fine architecture was defaced, its saints dragged from their
niches, and its ornaments destroyed. The principal entrance must,
originally, have been very grand; but is so much injured that little but
its form remains. The most remarkable part of the building is the
enormous tower, which rises to a gigantic height above all the edifices
of the town on the side next the river, vying with that of St. Eutrope
in the opposite quarter. This tower is supported by flying buttresses,
of great strength and beauty: the Calvinists had resolved on its
destruction, and had already begun its demolition, when it was
represented to Admiral Coligny that the fall of so gigantic a mass would
probably occasion serious accidents; and that if it were fortified it
might be turned to great advantage for the defence of the town.
Fortunately, this advice was taken, and the fine tower remains in all
its stupendous grandeur, with its flying buttresses, crocketed pyramids
and arches, unique in their form; it is said to be one of the largest in
Europe, and one of the finest specimens of the decorated style of Gothic
architecture.
The interior of the church is so much altered as to have little of the
original left; however, a few bits show how fine it must once have been:
the mean buildings which formerly hemmed it in are removed, and an open
space is left, which allows it to be seen to some advantage.
On the spot where once stood the capitol, the civil hospital now crowns
the height, and a fine view of the country and the river may be had from
that point, though the road to it is sufficiently difficult to deter one
from approaching it. A fine military hospital is placed in an elevated
position answering to the other. The college, founded by Henry IV., is
said to be good, and the prison very admirable in its way. The rest of
the public buildings are no more to be admired than the private ones.
We remarked a very handsome house, forming one side of a neglected
square, whose grand terraces and fine wings spoke it something of
consequence. We found it was once the bishop's palace, but had been long
left to go to ruin; and a part of it was now used by some Sisters of
Charity for a school. It was but of a piece with the rest of Saintes,
desolate and degraded, and "fallen from its high estate."
St. Eutrope lay in our way to the ruins of the great amphitheatre, and
we paused as we passed it at an open door, which was too tempting a
circumstance to be neglected on a rainy morning, when there might be
some trouble in finding the sacristan, and we rightly judged this would
lead to the famous crypt, the object of admiration and surprise to
antiquarians. Down a steep inclination we pursued our way towards a dark
nook, and there, through an iron grating, we discovered before us the
subterranean church, of immense size, and in perfect preservation; its
massive pillars and sharpcut capitals, its high-curved roof and circular
arches, all perfect, and its floor and walls undergoing restoration. We
resolved to see it more in detail hereafter, and, in the meantime, went
on to a lower part of the dim passage, where, turning aside, we found
ourselves close to a huge well of fearful depth, all round which were
ranged stone coffins, of primitive forms, one, in particular, still
preserving its cover, and of a most mysterious shape, which must have
belonged to some early inhabitant of this holy pile.
While we were speculating on the subject, a voice at a distance reached
our ears, requesting to know how long we intended to remain in that
retreat: we returned, and found, stationed at the door by which we had
entered, a young woman with pails of water by her side: she laughed
good-humouredly, and remarked--"I would not disturb you as I saw you
looking through the bars of the old church as I came back from drawing
water; but you staid so long that I began to think it time to call out,
as I must lock the door and go home now." We accordingly accompanied her
out, resolving to resume our visit on our return from the Arenes, to
which she directed us.
We followed a very steep path; and, keeping a range of ruined arches in
view, threaded the mazes of a long lane, till we arrived at the
irregular space where once stood the famous Roman amphitheatre. The
diameter of this building is the same as that of Nimes, and it,
apparently, could have held about five thousand spectators: the ruins
are scattered over a very large extent in confused heaps; but there are
a great many vaulted arches, small and great, still standing, some
covered with weeds and grass, and overhung with wild vines and flowering
shrubs. There appears little doubt that here was a Naumachia, from
different discoveries that have been made of vaults which must have
conducted the waters to this spot. The meadows and little hills all
around are covered with remains of this once important place of
amusement; and the labourer is for ever turning up, with his spade or
plough, coins and capitals and broken pillars and pavement, belonging to
the period of its existence.
There still exists in the centre of what was the Naumachia, a well,
called La Fontaine de Sainte-Eustelle, to which miraculous virtues are
even now attributed, and to which the following legend belongs:
Eustelle was the daughter of an officer high in command in Saintonge: a
man of great power and severity, and a pagan: he had a particular horror
of the sect called Christians, who had begun to spread themselves over
the country, and were slowly, but surely, making their way. It was far
different with his beautiful daughter, whose nurse having imbibed the
principles of the true faith, had communicated her knowledge to her
foster-child, who listened with delight to her lessons, and, from year
to year, as she grew up, more than ever abhorred the superstitious
observances of her father and her friends. In the huge hollow stones
worshipped as gods, she saw only profanation; and, while compelled to
offer sacrifice to an imaginary deity, she in her heart addressed
prayers to a superior Being, that he would condescend to enlighten
those who were led astray, and assist her in her secret faith.
It was at this period that her father resolved to bestow her in marriage
on the son of Xerxes, King of Babylon; and as the prince was shortly
expected to arrive in Saintonge, he bade her prepare to receive her
intended husband. Eustelle heard these tidings with despair, secretly
resolving never to become the wife of a heathen, such as she was certain
the Prince of Babylon must be: her tears and entreaties, however, had no
effect on her father, who began to suspect her change of faith, and
resolved to secure the alliance at once. Preparations on a magnificent
scale were being made, and in a few days the bridegroom elect was
expected to arrive, when news was suddenly brought that the prince had
disappeared from his father's court, and was nowhere to be found. The
father of Eustelle hastened to her chamber to prepare her for the
disappointment, when, to his surprise, he found her not; and on the
couch where she usually slept a golden cross was laid; but no one could
give any account of her. The country was searched in all directions in
vain; and it was at length supposed that Eustelle had destroyed herself.
It was, however, far otherwise, for, in a cavern by the side of a
fountain, on the spot where now stand the ruins of the Roman
amphitheatre, Eustelle had concealed herself, having been guided thither
by a shining light, which flitted before her to the spot, and rested at
the mouth of the cavern: there she was miraculously supported, drinking
only of the waters of the fountain, which not only served her for
nourishment, but so increased her beauty, that she was a marvel to
behold. One morning, as she came forth from her cavern to perform her
usual devotions at the side of the fountain, she was surprised to see a
young man kneeling on the ground in devout prayer, so absorbed that he
did not perceive her approach; but as he raised his eyes, her figure
becoming suddenly visible to him, he exclaimed, "Oh, blessed Heaven! my
prayers are then heard--the Holy Virgin is herself before me!" Eustelle
started, and amazed at his words, demanded who he was, and whether he
was indeed a Christian, like herself, as his exclamation made it appear.
"Beautiful lady," replied he, "since you are not, as I supposed, a
heavenly visitant, know that I am Eutrope, the son of the King of
Babylon, fled from a marriage which I detested with a pagan of this
country. I am, indeed, a Christian and a priest, and obliged to conceal
my faith from the persecutors of those who hate us. The time will come
when we can declare ourselves, for already we increase in numbers as in
faith."
Eustelle, as she looked upon his features and heard the soft tones of
his voice, felt a momentary regret that he had been so precipitate in
rejecting the supposed pagan wife offered him; but considering such
feelings a crime, she replied: "Holy father, you see before you one who
has also fled from persecution, and sought a solitude where she can
worship the only true God in safety. I am she who was destined to be
your wife, had not a better fate been prepared for us both. In future,
we can serve and pray, and our spirits will together praise Him, who has
directed us thus to meet."
What passed in the mind of Eutrope, when he heard these words, it is
difficult to say; but he resigned himself at once to the lot which was
appointed for him. He built himself a hut at a small distance from the
cavern, and, devoting himself to prayer and thanksgiving, he permitted
his mind only to regard Eustelle in the light of a holy sister, while
she on her part held him as a saint sent to confirm her in her belief.
By the side of the miraculous fountain, many a time did the holy pair
sit in pious converse, mutually instructing each other, while angels
hovered above them, and joined in the chorus of praise which they sang.
St. Eutrope afterwards became the first bishop of Saintes, and St.
Eustelle lived a recluse in her cavern, where miracles were long
afterwards performed by her, and where she expired at the same moment
that her holy companion suffered the martyrdom which secured him a crown
of glory to all eternity.
The fete of the two saints is kept together on the 30th of April, and,
for eight days after, the otherwise quiet town of Saintes is a scene of
gaiety and rejoicing: a fair is held, and minstrels, jugglers, and
merchants of all kinds add to the liveliness of the scene. Why such
demonstrations should be made in honour of two persons whose lives were
spent in solitude and self-denial, it is somewhat difficult to
understand; and how the dull, dreary, desolate, and ruined town can ever
be made to wear a brilliant aspect, is equally difficult of
comprehension; but such _is said_ to be the case. On the morning of the
fete, great honours were paid, formerly, to St. Eustelle, which are not
even yet altogether discontinued. An image of the holy Virgin is
suspended in the grotto near the miraculous well, and there the water is
dispensed to believers in its efficacy "for a consideration."
It is principally visited by young girls, who are anxious to secure a
happy issue to an existing attachment, or to obtain, through the medium
of the indulgent saint, a lover before the end of the year. The way to
obtain this is to throw a pin into the fountain, and to drink a little
of the water. It is not impossible, after this, that a prince of Babylon
will make his appearance. Every year, however, this superstition is
wearing out, and probably will soon be forgotten altogether.
The sun shone, and, the day being mild, we lingered for some time
amongst these extensive ruins, climbing and exploring and looking down
caverns and ravines in the rocks, beneath one of which rolls a dark
stream, doubtless the source of those waters which were formerly
directed into the arena to serve the Naumachia. There is something
fearful in knowing that beneath your feet, as you wander in these ruined
places, exist gulphs of darkness, into which a false step amongst
treacherous bushes and weeds might precipitate the unwary. We were
driven from both the beauties and dangers of the spot by the beginning
of a shower, and determined on making a retreat to St. Eutrope, whose
enormous tower beckoned us from the hill above. We had not, however,
gone many steps when the storm came down with all the impatient fury of
_French rain_, and we were glad to take shelter in a wood-shed, at a
house which we should have endeavoured to visit had no accident
introduced us to its premises.
This house, now entirely modern, belongs to a farmer, and is called _The
Coteau_; in the garden is an _oyster bank_ of some extent, which is
looked upon as one of several proofs that the sea once bathed the walls
of Saintes; and beneath the building is a subterranean range, formerly
communicating with the amphitheatre, which is distant the length of
several fields from the house. As accidents might occur in consequence
of the great extent and ruined state of the galleries and arches of this
singular building, the proprietor has lately closed up the entrance, and
there is now no possibility of exploring; but the wonders of this place
have been described by different writers who have occupied themselves
with the antiquities of Saintes, of which there is so much to be said
and seen that it is almost a dangerous subject to touch upon. Certainly
it is a town which presents a wide field of enquiry and interest to
archaeologists, and as it now lies in the highway to Bordeaux, the
curious may be attracted to its walls, and will be rewarded by their
visit.
Then, perchance, may be fitly described by a Gally Knight, the
Camp _de Cesar_, the _Terrier de Toulon_, the _Tour de Pyrelonge_,
the Aqueduct of _Font-Giraud_, the Cavern of _Ouaye-a-Metau_, the
_Grand-Font-du-Douhet_, the _Font-Morillon_, the _Plantes des
Neuf-puits_, all works of the Gauls and Romans, of which, wells
and arches, and baths and subterranean temples, still excite the
astonishment, not only of the peasants who are constantly stumbling on
their remains, but of the antiquary who ventures into the long galleries
and ruined chambers which speak to him of the glories of a people who
once swayed the country they rendered powerful and beautiful by their
architecture, the traces of which time itself cannot entirely sweep
away.
We found, on visiting St. Eutrope on our return, that little interest
attaches to the church itself, scarcely any part of its interior having
been spared by the numerous hostilities which it has had to undergo;
some parts of the exterior are, however, beautiful, and the crypt lost
none of its interest on a second view. It is, after that of Chartres,
the most perfect and the most extraordinary in France, and formerly
extended as far again as at present. The fine bold circular arches, of
different sizes and heights; the massive cylindrical pillars, the rich
sharp capitals, and _still fresh_ gothic character of the cornices,
astonish the beholder; it is undergoing restoration in parts, which
appears sufficiently judicious. So solemn and silent was the sacristan
who conducted us over this subterranean church, that we imagined for
some time he was dumb, till we were undeceived on his expressing his
pleasure at the small donation we bestowed on him for his trouble; as it
is somewhat difficult, at the present day, in France, to meet the
exalted expectations of the numerous guides who exhibit to English
travellers the lions of their towns, we were amused at the satisfaction
betrayed by our silent cicerone.
The once beautiful church of Notre Dame, or Ste. Marie, serves now as
the stables of the garrison, and all its fine remains are hidden from
public view; parts of its exterior still attract the eye, and make one
regret that it has fallen into such utter decay. It was once covered
with statues of great beauty, some of which remain; but that of Geoffrey
Martel, its founder, is destroyed, with a host of others, once its
pride; enough, however, is to be seen which is well worthy of attention;
but, from its present occupation, we did not do more than attempt to
find it out in its degradation. The cells of the nuns are now occupied
by dragoons.
CHAPTER XIV.
FRERE CHRETIEN--UTILITY OF CUSTOM-HOUSE SEARCH--BOLD
VOYAGER--PAUILLAC--BLAYE--THE GIRONDE--TALBOT--VINES--THE
LANDES--PHANTOM OF KING ARTHUR--THE WITCH-FINDER--THE
LANDES--WRECKERS.
OUR destination was now the Gironde, and we found our only plan was to
set out in the middle of the night for Mortagne, where the steam-boat to
Bordeaux from Royan touched for passengers. We accordingly secured our
places in the _coupe_, and, having been quite punctual to the hour of
twelve, we expected to begin our journey. At the appointed time,
however, neither horses nor _conducteur_ were to be found, and the
diligence remained for a full hour beneath the trees of the _cours_,
filled with its impatient passengers, without any appearance of moving.
The pause was enlivened by a violent altercation between a passenger on
the roof and the proprietor, which caused a great encounter of tongues,
so furious that we dreaded that blows must ensue, when we heard the
vociferous individual who had usurped somebody's place, favoured by the
darkness, kicking and resisting as he was dragged from his exalted
station. However, as is almost always the case in France, the moment the
culprit--who was loud in his threats of vengeance when too far off to
execute them--descended to earth, and had an opportunity of making them
good, he became mute and humble, and made his escape at once, amidst the
jeers of those who had also threatened to annihilate him as soon as he
was within their reach. This scene, taking place at midnight, beneath
the high trees of the great avenue in the gloomy ruined town of Saintes,
was sufficiently unpleasant, as there seemed less and less chance of our
ever stirring from the spot, and a great probability of our arriving, at
any rate, too late for the steamer at Mortagne; but a priest, who was
our companion, and who seemed to have previously filled up the lonely
hours of evening by potations, seemed greatly to enjoy the bustle, till
a remark of mine, on the unsuitableness of the scene to one of his
order, acted like magic on him, and he ceased the _swearing_ and
encouraging exclamations in which he had before indulged, and became as
meek and demure as he probably passed for, being amongst those whose
eyes he knew to be on him. He was of the order of Christian Brothers: a
community by no means remarkable for the edification of their manners
and demeanour.
It is customary with _conducteurs_, when very much behind their time,
to regain it by furious driving; and this being the case in our
instance, we got to the inn at Mortagne in time, the boat being, as it
happened, later than usual. In the midst of the rain we were obliged to
obey the custom-house summons to produce our keys, in order that our
trunks might be inspected, and if _bales of cotton_ should be found
amongst our caps and gowns, we might suffer according to our offence
against the laws. After much uncording and dashing and knocking about of
baggage, the person who officiated proceeded to drag open the suspected
packages rather unceremoniously. An exclamation, which one of our party
made in English, seemed to put an end, however, to the search, for,
looking up and bowing, he said, "Oh, English ladies,--that's enough!"
Having escaped this _necessary_ ceremony, we had to walk about half a
mile in the mud and rain to the pier, though there was no sort of reason
why the coach should not have taken us all with our goods to the shore;
except, indeed, that by so convenient an arrangement, the demands of a
whole host of porters would have been evaded.
We were huddled into a clumsy boat, some standing and some sitting on
the wet seats, and paddled off to the steamer which stood off; our
baggage strewn on the pier, to be transported hereafter, if the captain
chose to wait. And in this unpleasing state of uncertainty, at six
o'clock in the morning, in a pouring rain, we were put on board the
vessel which was to transport us to Bordeaux.
In spite, however, of the wondrous confusion which made it probable that
accidents of all kinds would ensue, nothing tragical happened, and
nothing was lost. One little stout man, in a long cloak, attached
himself to our side, not so much with a view of affording us _his_
protection, as to obtain it at our hands. He looked very pale and cold;
and as he trudged along in the mud, addressed me frequently, in
tremulous tones, requesting to know my opinion as to the state of _the
ocean_; whether I did not fear that it would be very rough and very
dangerous, confessing that he felt pretty sure such would be the case,
though he had never seen the sea before, and hoping I would not be
alarmed. I assured him I had no fears on that head, as, in the first
place, wide as the expanse before us appeared, it was not the _sea_, but
the _river_, several leagues from its _embouchure_; next, that it was as
calm as a mill-pond, without a breath of wind to ruffle its thick yellow
waters. "Helas!" said he, "you do not seem to care; but perhaps you have
no baggage as I have, otherwise you would feel great uneasiness."
I found him afterwards on board almost crying after his _effets_, which
consisted of a hat-box, carpet-bag, and little bundle, all of which
were safely produced. When we had proceeded about an hour, he came
strutting up to us, and, with a patronizing air, exclaimed, "There, you
see, there is no reason to be alarmed; I told you so." I gratified him
exceedingly by agreeing that he was perfectly right.
The Gironde is, indeed, at this part, like the sea: the opposite shores
cannot be distinguished, so broad and fine is the expanse; and the
exceedingly ugly colour of the water is, at first, forgotten in the
magnitude of the space which surrounds the voyager.
But that we had resolved to make ourselves acquainted with the Roman
city of Saintes, we should have followed the usual course, and, on
leaving Rochefort, proceeded across the country to Royan, once an
insignificant village, now a rather important bathing-place. By this
means the whole of the banks of the Gironde may be seen; and it is a
charming voyage.
The first object of interest is the famous Tour de Corduan, built on a
bank of rocks, and placed at the entrance of the river, with its
revolving light to warn mariners of their position. It was originally
constructed in 1548, by the celebrated engineer, Louis de Foix, whose
works at Bayonne have rendered his name illustrious. Pauillac is the
_chef-lieu_ of the last canton of Haut-Medoc, and its port being good,
many vessels, which cannot reach so high as Bordeaux, stop here, and
discharge their cargo. Here grow the wines, called Chateau Lafitte, and
Chateau Latour. There is nothing very remarkable in the appearance of
the town but a long pier, of which many of our passengers took advantage
to land, and our steward to go to market, returning with a store of
eatables, for which every one seemed quite ready. The weather had now
cleared, and the aspect of things was, consequently, much brightened;
and, as we approached Blaye, the skies were fine, and the air fresh and
agreeable.
A group of islands, called _Les Isles de Cazau_, rises from the waters;
and on one of them appears the singularly-shaped tower of Blaye, so like
a _pate de Perigord_, that it is impossible, on looking at it, not to
think of Charlemagne, or his nephew, the famous paladin, Rolando, who
should be the presiding genii of the scene.
All along the left bank of the river extend, in this direction, the
far-famed plains of Medoc--once the haunt of wolves and wild boars, now
covered with the vines renowned throughout Europe.
The first place, after Mortagne--where once stood the castle of that
Jeanne de Vendome who falsely accused Jacques Coeur--is Pauillac, a town
of some commercial importance; and near is an island, called Patiras,
formerly the abode of a pirate, called Monstri, whose depredations were
so extensive that the parliament of Bordeaux was obliged to send a
considerable naval force to put him down. But Monstri was not the only
depredator who found the Gironde a fitting theatre for his piracy.
Amongst all that _coquinaille_,--as Mezeray designates the notorious
Free Companies who, after their services were no longer required to
drive the English from the recovered realm of Charles VII., exercised
their cruelties and indulged their robber-propensities on the people of
France, wherever they came,--was a knight and a noble, who may serve as
a type of those of his time, Roderigue de Villandras, known as _Le
Mechant Roderigue_; together with Antoine de Chabannes, Lord of
Dammartin, the Batard de Bourbon, and others; Villandras led a troop of
those terrible men, who boasted of the name of _Ecorcheurs_. It was true
that, in the lawless period when the destitute _Roi de Bourges_ had
neither money nor power, they had done great service to his cause--as a
troop of trained wolves might have done--ravaging and destroying all
they came near; but the end once accomplished, the great desire of all
lovers of order was to get rid of the scourge which necessity had
obliged the king to endure so long. To such a pitch of insolence had
these leaders arrived, that, not content with despoiling every person
they met, Villandras had, at last, the effrontery to attack and pillage
the baggage of the king himself, and to maltreat his people. Enraged at
finding the vexations of which his suffering subjects had so long
bitterly complained, come home to himself, personally, Charles resolved
on vigorous measures, and gave instant command that these companies
should be pursued and hunted from society: that every town and village
should take up arms against them, and, as for Chabannes, Roderigue,
&c., they were banished from the kingdom. Roderigue, however, retired,
with a chosen band, to the Garonne, and there, entrenching himself in
one of the islands, carried on the trade of a pirate, destroying the
country on each side of the river, and murdering the inhabitants without
mercy.
This state of things lasted for some time: the labouring people and
proprietors, unable to resist these incursions, left their land in
despair, and fled for protection into the towns: the consequence of
which was, that plague and famine ensued, and their miserable country
became a prey to a new species of wretchedness.
In less than six weeks, fifty thousand people died in Paris alone, until
the city became so emptied of inhabitants that not more than three
persons were left to each street. It is recorded that famished wolves
came down upon the great capital, and prowled about the streets as if
they had been in a forest, devouring the bodies scattered about
unburied, and attacking the few living creatures in this great desert.
Meantime, the revolt of the disaffected lords, who composed what was
called the Praguerie, gave new employment to all the _mauvais sujets_ of
the kingdom, and Chabannes and Villandras did not neglect so fine an
opportunity of committing additional outrages; and, for a time, they
carried their terrors throughout Poitou and Champagne. Being taken in
arms, the fearful Batard de Bourbon met his deserved fate by being sewn
in a sack and thrown into the river; but Villandras escaped the justice
of the king, in consideration of services required of him and his band
of robbers; and De Chabannes was reinstated in the favour of Charles,
being too powerful and dangerous to offend.
One is not surprised to be told that the fortress of Blaye is called _Le
Pate_: it is, doubtless, of great strength and importance, but not
imposing, in consequence of its want of height, and its flat, crushed
appearance on a marshy island. The exterior walls appear very ancient,
but all the centre of the tower is fitted up with modern buildings,
having common-looking roofs, quite destroying all picturesque effect.
The steamer made the entire tour of the island; so that we saw the fort
on every side, and presently came in full view of the town and citadel
of Blaye, partly on a height and partly on a level with the river. No
part of it offers any beauty; nor does it possess features of majesty
and grandeur, though its recollections cannot fail to excite interest.
The Duchess of Berry must have found her sojourn in this desolate castle
dismal enough: it is an excellent place for a prison; and was, formerly,
no doubt of the utmost importance to Charlemagne, as it probably
continues to be to this day to the ruling powers. The body of Rolando,
after the fatal day when
"Charlemagne and all his peerage fell
At Fontarabia,"
was brought here; and, several centuries afterwards, his tomb was
removed to the church of St. Seurin, at Bordeaux. King Cherebert,
grandson of Clovis, has also his tomb on this rock; but no remains of
it, I believe, are now shown. Our troops, in 1814, could tell of the
obstinate resistance of the citadel, and were well able to measure its
strength.
The banks of the river are, from hence, covered with vines, and are
higher and more rocky. Numerous dwellings cut in the rocky face of the
hills remind one of the same appearance on the borders of the Loire; but
in no other respect can the clay-coloured river claim resemblance with
that crystal though sand-encumbered stream. Several bold rocks diversify
the prospect here,--one called the Roque-de-Tau, and another the
Pain-de-Sucre.
The space where the two rivers, Dordogne and Garonne, meet, and falling
together into one, form the Gironde, is called _L'Entre-Deux-Mers_; and
the shore the Bec d'Ambez. This part is sometimes dangerous; and, I dare
say, our timid fellow-voyager felt a little nervous; but nothing
happened to our boat, as we fell quietly into the Garonne, leaving the
sister river, and its boasted Pont de Cubzac,--the object sought by the
spy-glasses of all on board,--in the distance.
We were now passing along between the shores of the famous river
Garonne--always the scene of contentions, from its importance, and
particularly so during the long wars between France and England in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Although but few of the castles
whose turrets once frowned along the hills above the waters now remain,
even in ruins, yet, in those days, they were nearly as numerous as the
trees which have now taken their place. Many a time has the banner of
the Black Prince been displayed on the waves of this river, and been
saluted or attacked according as he was victor or besieger. Every inch
of land and water, from the Tour de Corduan to the walls of Bordeaux,
and, indeed, to Agen, has been disputed by struggling thousands, from
the time of Elionore of Guienne to the Duke of Wellington! But it was at
the time when the star of France emerged from its dark clouds, and shone
above the head of Charles VII., that the French shook off the foreign
yoke which had so long kept from them this--one of the finest rivers in
their realms.
Charles VII., after having despoiled his friends and reduced his
enemies, was endeavouring to shut out from his memory the visions of the
betrayed heroine of Orleans and the persecuted merchant of Bourges, the
lost Agnes Sorel and the turbulent and revolted Dauphin; and had retired
to his castle of pleasure at Mehun-sur-Yevre, where he could best
conceal from prying eyes the idle occupations and degrading enjoyments
which filled the time of the hero _of other's swords_. He had just
concluded a peace with Savoy, and had rejected, as vexatious, the
petitions of his subjects of Gascony, who were writhing under the
exactions of his ministers. He felt that all was now at his feet; and he
would not permit his loved ease and quiet to be disturbed by appeals to
his justice and humanity. The people of Guienne, therefore, saw that it
was in vain that they had submitted, and had consented to give up the
English rule, to which they had been so long accustomed, and under which
they had flourished. Several of the higher families allied with that
country, had endured the alienation with uneasiness. Amongst others,
Pierre de Montferrant, who bore the singular title of Souldich de
l'Estrade, or de la Trau, had married a natural daughter of the Duke of
Bedford: he had been forced to capitulate when taken prisoner at Blaye;
but he preserved his ancient attachment to England; and, taking
advantage of the discontent which prevailed, he sent messages to Talbot,
Earl of Shrewsbury, recommending him to attempt the re-conquest of the
Bordelais, which promised to be an easy prize.
The lords of Candale and l'Esparre confirmed his statements, in an
interview with the earl, in London, where they had remained after the
treaty. They assured him that, if the English landed a small force at
Bordeaux, they would certainly be joined by the disaffected, and had
little to contend with; for Charles had withdrawn most of his troops, to
send them against Savoy, and, it was thought, against the Dauphin
himself. This was followed by the announcement that the powerful lords
of Rosan, Gaillard de Durfort, Jean de la Linde, and the Sire de
Langlade, with many other gentlemen of the country, had proclaimed their
intention of rising as soon as the English flag should be displayed on
the Garonne. The Archbishop of Bordeaux and the Bishop of Oleron had
entered into the plot; for there is proof that they had solicited new
favours from Henry VI. before the return of the English to Guienne.
A favourable turn in the affairs of Henry seemed to render the moment
propitious; and Marguerite d'Anjou seized the occasion of success
against her opponents, to despatch Talbot, as the lieutenant of the king
in Aquitaine, with an army of between seven and eight thousand men, with
ample powers to pardon all offences committed against England. The aged
chief, favoured by the wind and weather, arrived at Bordeaux, and was
introduced into the city, by the citizens, before the soldiers of
Charles VII. had even dreamed of his approach. The seneschal, the
under-mayor, and almost all the French garrison, were instantly
surprised and taken prisoners.
Talbot, delighted at his prompt success, roused all his old energy, and,
in an incredibly short space of time, had retaken all the places which
had been lost to the English, in the preceding year, in the Bordelais,
the Agenois, and the Bazadois. Eighty vessels arrived with provisions
from England, and all went well with the conquerors. The French who held
out were obliged to retire to their ancient frontiers, and do their
utmost to defend the remainder of Guienne against the fortunate
invaders.
Meantime, the King of France was dreaming away his life, as he had
formerly done, while the English were lords of his kingdom; but the news
of their return woke him from his slumbers, and, hurrying to Lusignan,
and assembling his forces in haste, he set forth in his character of
warrior, and paused not till he had reached the Dordogne. The two famous
brothers Bureau brought up their sappers and miners, and their
tremendous artillery; nobles and knights flocked to his standard, and
Talbot found that the foe he held in utter contempt, presented an aspect
of resolve worthy of his attention. The old general was about to hear
mass when it was falsely announced to him that a party of his people had
routed the French, who had abandoned their park of artillery, before
Chatillon en Perigord. He started up, and exclaimed, as he interrupted
the ceremony, "I swear that I will never hear mass again till I have
swept away the French from before me." So saying, he rushed to arms,
called out his troops, and marched forth with impetuosity, uttering his
war-cry, "Talbot! Saint George!"
Fatal was his haste, and fatal was the misrepresentation made to him; in
the battle that ensued the gallant veteran and his son were slain, with
upwards of four thousand men; the French were too much harassed to
pursue their victory; but, finding the body of Talbot amongst the heaps
of dead, it was proclaimed to France that their most dreaded enemy was
no more.
"Talbot is slain!--the Frenchman's only scourge;
Their kingdom's terror, and black Nemesis!"
"Whose life was England's glory--Gallia's wonder."
The face of things was now essentially changed; all the influences were
turned to the advantage of 'Charles the Victorious.' One after another
the towns and fortresses on the Garonne, Blancafort, Saint Macaire,
Langon, Villandras, Cadillac, were forced to surrender. And all the
country "_between the two seas_" was in the hands of the French. The
Gironde was filled with vessels sent to the aid of France by Castile,
Burgundy, Bretagne, and all the province of Poitou. On the other hand,
the fleet of England and the Bourdelaise were at anchor half a league
below Bordeaux, and formidable did both appear.
The men of Bordeaux beginning to fear that all was lost, had already
proposed a surrender, on condition of free pardon; but the answer of
Charles had not been favourable; he consented to receive all of English
birth to ransom, but those of his own subjects he insisted should be
left to his mercy. While they paused, reflecting upon the amount of
mercy they might expect, the English, careful only of their own weal,
decided for them, and agreed to the terms, leaving the unfortunate
Gascons, their companions in arms, to their fate.
Charles began by putting to death Gaillardet, the brave commander of
Cadillac; whom he condemned as a rebel, although he had merely done his
duty in obeying the head of a house which his ancestors had been
accustomed to serve for three centuries.
The fevers of Autumn had now begun to appear; several of the generals of
the French king had fallen victims to it; and as Bordeaux still held out
and refused to surrender without certain concessions, dictated by Le
Camus, who refused to sacrifice the Gascons under his command, Charles
was obliged to listen to his representations. He agreed to pardon the
citizens and their adherents, reserving twenty of the most guilty, whose
estates were confiscated, and they banished for ever from the kingdom.
It was on the 19th of October, 1453, that the City of Bordeaux opened
its gates to Charles _the Well-Served_, and the discomfited English
sailed mournfully away from its walls, never to return as its masters.
All the vines along the shores of the Garonne are famous. Cantemerle,
Sauves, Cantenac, and the mighty monarch, Chateau Margaux; Ludon,
Parampuire, and Blanquefort; St. Louis de Montferrant, and Bassens.
These renowned vineyards cover the country with riches; but fever reigns
here triumphant throughout the year, and the coast denies its advantages
to any but vine-growers.
M. de Peyronnet, the ex-minister, has a chateau in a pretty situation on
the river; but whether this particular site is unhealthy we did not
hear.
From the Tour de Cordouan to the Port of Bordeaux, extending far over
the wide and marshy country, which spreads out its sandy and unhealthy
plains towards Bayonne, superstition formerly held her head-quarters;
and though, within a few years, belief in the supernatural has lost its
force, the dreams and fancies of the dark ages are not quite effaced.
There is hardly any extravagance credited by the inhabitants of
Brittany, which has not been held as an article of faith in the Landes,
and cast its influence over the departments bordering on the Pyrenees.
There is an idea, not altogether worn out, that certain families are
under a spell, and subject to strange visitations; they are supposed to
be recognized by their heavy, sullen air, and their aversion to society
in general: these are called _Accus_, and are as much avoided as
possible, as they are suspected of witchcraft and other mal-practices;
they are said to have too much experience in the nocturnal amusements
of those mysterious beings called Loups-garoux, so generally known and
dreaded throughout France and Germany.
That the evil one delights in this part of the country is not to be
questioned; and there may be some risk in passing along the river
towards nightfall, because the fiend and his company are apt to haunt
those meadows closest to the waters, and there they may be occasionally
seen dancing in circles, where their hoofs spoil the grass, which
refuses to grow again where once their steps have been. Perhaps the
rapidity of the steam-boat may now prevent their being so often
perceived; or, indeed, its introduction may have offended, and chased
away, the _mesnie_ of the fiend altogether.
Between the Dordogne and the Garonne, l'Entre-deux-Mers, it is generally
believed that a male child who has never known his father, as well as a
_fifth_ son, have the power to cure certain maladies by the touch. And
it is in these parts that the once famous Dragon of Bordeaux used
principally to sojourn, much to the terror of the surrounding
neighbourhood. There is scarcely any malignant spirit, from a
_loup-garou_ to _an ague_, which cannot be found in the deserts of
Aquitaine.
Often do the peasants of Medoc hear in the air, sometimes in mid-day,
sometimes in the clear nights of summer, the horns and cries of the
phantom hunter, Arthur and his men. If he is, indeed, the same King
Arthur, whose fame is enshrined in the legends of Wales and Brittany,
he must have been a prince with even a more extended domain than that of
Henry, the husband of Queen Elionore, for he carries on his chace on the
banks of the Gave of Pau, and still further into the Pyrenees. He was a
very excellent and pious prince, valiant and courteous; but he had one
great fault, an inordinate love of hunting, which in the end proved his
bane. For once, on the occasion of some solemn fete, while he was in the
church assisting at the mass, some mischievous friend brought him word,
that a fine wild boar had just appeared at a very short distance from
the holy precincts. In a moment, his respect for religion, his reverence
for the sacred ceremony in which he was engaged, all were put to flight;
he uttered a joyous shout, seized his spear, and rushed forth to the
sport. He enjoyed a most animated hunt, but--
"So comes the reck'ning when the banquet's o'er,--
A dreadful reck'ning--and men smile no more!"
From that day he _hunted eternally_ and _in vain_!--for ever is he
traversing the vast field of air, urging on his steed, hallowing to his
hounds, sounding his horn, and madly rushing over mountain and plain,
reflected in the sky; but he has never yet, nor ever will attain the
object of his pursuit!
There are certain spots in the Landes where trees of strange appearance
grow, which may be recognised as those under which the evil one
distributes poison to his human friends, to dispense to those who have
fallen under their displeasure: the districts where these meetings take
place are fortunately known and avoided, but to such a height had grown
the daring of the friends of Satan at one time, that the King of
France,--no other than Henry the Fourth (!)--under the ministry of Sully
(!) sent persons into these climes to root out the evil. The famous
_witch-finder_, Pierre de Lancre, has recorded his successes in this
particular.
"The King," says he, "being informed that his country of Labourt was
greatly infested with sorcerers, gave commission to a president and a
counsellor of the court of parliament of Bordeaux, to seek out the crime
of sorcery in the said country, about the year 1609.
"This commission was entrusted to the Sieur Despagnet and I: we
dedicated four months to the search, during which happened an infinity
of _unknown things, strange, and out of all belief_, of which books
written on the subject have never spoken: such for instance, as _that
the devil came and held his meetings at the gates of Bordeaux, and in
the quarter of the Palais Gallien_, which _fact_ was declared at his
execution by Isaac Dugueyran, a notable sorcerer, _who was put to death_
in 1609. It appears to me that it will be extremely useful, nay
necessary, to France and the whole of Christendom, to have this account
in writing for many reasons.
"All this must convince the most obstinate, stupid, blind, and
_ignorant_, that there is no longer a doubt that sorcery exists, and
that the devil can transport sorcerers really and corporally to his
sabbath: and that there is no longer any excuse for disputing on the
subject, for all nations are agreed concerning the truth, aided by
_ocular_ demonstration, permitted to an impartial judge and good
Christian. _Too much mildness is shown in France towards sorcerers:_ all
good judges should in future resolve to punish with death all such as
have been convicted of attending the devil's assemblies, even if no harm
has immediately resulted therefrom: for to such an extent has witchcraft
spread that it has passed the frontier and reached the city of Bayonne,
which is cruelly afflicted in consequence. Satan having made great
advances and spread his sabbaths over an infinity of places in our
deserts and Landes of Bordeaux."[11]
[Footnote 11: This part of the world seemed always to be looked upon as
the head quarters of sorcery; for in the Chronicles of Bordeaux we find,
in the year 1435, the following notice:--"Les environs de Bordeaux sont
_fort travaillez_ par les sorciers et empoisonneurs, dont aucuns furent
executes a mort et brule tous vifs."]
In consequence of the representations of this righteous judge, _eight
hundred victims_ were condemned to the flames for this pretended crime:
and this, incredible as it may appear, by command of Le Bon Henri and
his Protestant minister, Sully! At the very period, too, permission was
refused to the unfortunate Moors, then driven by bigotry from Spain, to
establish themselves in the Landes, where their industry and
perseverance would soon have converted the barren waste into a fertile
and smiling country, instead of remaining for centuries an unwholesome
marsh.
Neglected and uncultivated as this extended country has long been--only
_now_, in fact, assuming an aspect of improvement--it is not surprising
that superstition has lingered longer amongst its uneducated people than
with their more fortunate neighbours. Within ten years new roads have
been made, new buildings erected, and a rail-road is projected across
the Landes from Bordeaux to Bayonne: it may, therefore, be now expected
that the last vestige of idle belief in witches and demons will shortly
disappear; but, in the meantime, much of such weakness is lingering
still. For instance, the Landais believe that in certain maladies the
physician has no power, and that recourse must be had, for relief, to
certain gifted persons, who will propitiate the evil spirit who caused
the ill. They attribute great virtue to what they call _les Veyrines_,
namely, narrow openings in the thickness of the pillars of a church:
persons affected with rheumatic diseases, have only to pass through
these narrow spaces, repeating at the time certain prayers, having
previously made the circuit of the pillar nine times. His head is first
inserted, and the rest of his body is pushed through by his friends.
These practices are, in spite of the exertions of the clergy, said to be
still carried on in secret.
In the month of May they strew the street before their houses with
reeds, on fete days, and there they frequently pass their evenings,
sitting in groups, and telling to each other superstitious stories,
which are eagerly listened to, and thus handed down from father to son.
The _orfraie_ and the screech-owl are looked upon with terror in the
Landes: their approach to any dwelling bodes evil in all forms: the dead
quit their tombs at night and flit about in the fens, and covered with
their white shrouds come wandering into the villages, nor will they quit
them till the prayers and alms of their friends have calmed their
perturbed spirits.
The various tribes of the Landes, form, as it were, in the midst of
France, a separate people, from their habits and customs: they are
called, according to their locality, Bouges, Parants, Mazansins,
Couziots, or Lanusquets: they are generally a meagre race, and subject
to nervous affections; taking little nourishment, and living a life of
privation and fatigue. Obliged to labour for their support, like most
people in the departments of the Pyrenees, and to dispose of the
products of their industry, they have usually fixed places of repose;
each peasant drives his cart drawn by two oxen, and carries with him the
food for those patient animals, who are the very picture of endurance.
His own food is generally coarse, ill-leavened bread, very hardly baked,
and made of coarse maize, or rye-flour, which he sometimes relishes
with _sardines_ of Galicia. He gives his oxen a preparation of dried
linseed from which the oil has been extracted, and which he has made
into flour, and he then lets them loose on the Landes for a time, while
he snatches a hasty sleep, soon interrupted to resume his journey. The
dwellings of these people are sufficiently wretched: low, damp, and
exposed to both the heat and cold by the rude manner in which they are
constructed; a fire is kept in the centre of the principal room, from
which small closets open: they sleep in general under two _feather
beds_, in a close, unwholesome air, many in the same room. Still their
domestic arrangements seem a degree better than those of the Bretons,
and their dirt does not appear so great, bad as it must necessarily be.
The dress of the men is a large, heavy, brown stuff cloak, or a long
jacket of sheepskin, with the fur outwards; to which, when gaiters of
the same are added, there is little difference between them and the
animals they tend: a very small _berret_, the cap of the country, covers
merely the top of their heads, and is but of little use in sheltering
them in rainy weather. The women wear large round hats with great wings,
adorned with black ribbon, and sometimes with a herb, which they call
Immortelle de Mer;[12] the young girls frequently, however, prefer a
small linen cap, the wings of which are crossed over the top of the
head.
[Footnote 12: See for these particulars, Athanasie Maritime.--_Du
Mege_.]
Shepherds are almost always clothed in sheepskins, and in winter they
wear over this a white woollen cloak with a very pointed hood. These are
the people who make their appearance on stilts, called _Xicanques_, and
traverse the Landes with their flocks, crossing streams of several feet
deep, and striding along like flying giants. They have always a long
pole, with a seat affixed, and a gun slung at their backs, to defend
them from the attack of wolves. Monotonous enough must be the lives of
these poor people, for months together, alone, in a solitary waste,
where not a tree can grow, with nothing but a wide extent of marshy land
around, and only their sheep and dogs as companions; but they are
accustomed to it from infancy, and probably are comparatively insensible
to their hardships, at least it is so to be hoped. Seated on his
elevated seat, the shepherd of the Landes occupies himself in knitting
or spinning, having a contrivance for the latter peculiar to this part
of the country. Their appearance, thus occupied, is most singular and
startling.
A dignitary of Bordeaux is said once to have prepared a fete to an
Infanta of Spain, the destined bride of a French prince, in the Landes;
in which he engaged a party of these mounted shepherds, dressed in
skins, and covered with their white mantles and hoods, to figure,
accompanied by a band of music, and passing under triumphal arches
formed of garlands of flowers: a strange scene in such a desert, but
scarcely so imposing to a stranger as the unexpected apparition of these
beings in the midst of their native desolation.
The Landais seldom live to an advanced age: they marry early, are very
jealous, and are said to enjoy but little of the domestic happiness
attributed to the poor as a possession; they are accused of being
indifferent to their families, and of taking more care of their flocks
and herds than of their relations: they are docile and obedient to
authority; honest, and neither revengeful nor deceitful.
Whether from affection or habit, they show great sensibility on the
death of neighbours or friends. The women cover their heads, in the
funeral procession, with black veils or aprons, and the men with the
pointed hood and cloak. During the whole year, after the decease of a
father or mother, all the kitchen utensils _are covered with a veil_,
and _placed in an opposite direction to that in which they stood
before_; so that every time anything is wanted the memory of the dead is
revived.
The Landais, on the sea-coast, are, like the Cornish people, reproached,
perhaps falsely, with being _wreckers_; and their cry of "Avarech!
Avarech!" is said to be the signal of inhumanity and plunder.
Their marriages are attended with somewhat singular ceremonies, and
their method of making love is equally strange: after church, on a fete
day, a number of young people, of both sexes, dance together to a
monotouous tune, while others sit round in a circle on their heels,
watching them. After dancing a little time, a pair will detach
themselves from the rest, squeeze each other's hand, give a few glances,
and then whisper together, striking each other at the same time; after
which they go to their relations, and say they _are agreed_, and wish to
marry: the priest and notary are called for, the parents consent, and
the day is at once fixed.
On the appointed day, the _Nobi_ (future husband) collects his friends,
and goes to the bride's house, where he knocks; the father, or some near
relation, opens to him, holding by the hand an _old woman_, whom he
presents: she is rejected by the bridegroom, who demands her who was
promised. She then comes forward with a modest air, and gives her lover
a flower; who, in exchange, presents her with a belt, which he puts on
himself. This is very like the customs in Brittany, where scenes of the
kind always precede weddings.
When the bride comes to her husband's house, she finds at the door a
broom; or, if he takes possession of her's, a ploughshare is placed
there: both allegorical of their duties. The distaff of the bride is
carried by an old woman throughout the ceremonies.
The Landais, altogether, both as to habits, manners, and general
appearance, form a singular feature in the aspect of this part of
France.
CHAPTER XV.
PORTS--DIVONA--BORDEAUX--QUINCONCES--ALLEES--FIRST
IMPRESSION--CHARTRONS--BAHUTIER--BACALAN--QUAYS--WHITE
GUIDE--S^{TE} CROIX--ST. MICHEL--ST. ANDRE--PRETTY FIGURE--PRETTY
WOMEN--PALAIS GALLIEN--BLACK PRINCE'S SON EDWARD.
TAVERNIER has said, in speaking of the most celebrated ports, "three
only can enter into comparison, one with the other, for their beauty of
situation and their _form of a rainbow_, viz., Constantinople, Goa, and
Bordeaux." The poet, Chapelle, thus names this celebrated city:--
Nous vimes au milieu des eaux
Devant nous paraitre Bordeaux,
Dont le port en croissant resserre
Plus de barques et de vaisseaux
Qu'aucun autre port de la terre.
The commendatory address to his native city, by the poet, Ausonius, is
often quoted; and has been finely rendered by M. Jouannet, whom I
venture to translate.
I was to blame; my silence far too long
Has done thy fame, my noble country, wrong:
Thou, Bacchus-loved, whose gifts are great and high,
Thy gen'rous sons, thy senate, and thy sky,
Thy genius and thy grace shall Mem'ry well
Above all cities, to thy glory, tell.
And shall I coldly from thy arms remove,
Blush for my birth-place, and disown my love?
As tho' thy son, in Scythian climes forlorn,
Beneath the Bear with all its snows was born.
No, thy Ausonius, Bordeaux! hails thee yet;
Nor, as his cradle, can thy claims forget.
Dear to the gods thou art, who freely gave
Their blessings to thy meads, thy clime, thy wave:
Gave thee thy flow'rs that bloom the whole year through,
Thy hills of shade, thy prospects ever new,
Thy verdant fields, where Winter shuns to be,
And thy swift river, rival of the sea.
Shall I describe thy mighty walls revered,--
Thy ramparts, by the god of battle feared,--
Thy gates,--thy towers, whose frowning crests assay
Amidst the clouds towards Heaven to force a way?
How well I love thy beauties to behold,
Thy noble monuments, thy mansions bold,
Thy simple porticos, thy perfect plan,
Thy squares symmetrical: their space, their span.
And that proud port which Neptune's lib'ral hand
Bade from thy startled walls its arms expand,
And show the way to Fortune! Twice each day
Bringing his floods all crown'd with glittering spray,
And foaming from the oar, while, gleaming white,
A host of vessels gaily sweep in sight.
It would appear by this description, that Bordeaux was, under its Roman
masters, a very magnificent city; the famous _Divona_, the beneficent
fountain, so celebrated by Ausonius, has left no trace of its existence,
and has employed the learned long to account for its disappearance.
Probably it was from some plan of Roman Bordeaux, that the present new
town was built; for the above lines might almost describe it as it now
stands: certainly, except the gigantic towers, the old city has no claim
to praise for wide streets, fine houses, porticos, or symmetrical
squares; probably, the architects of the Middle Ages destroyed its
_perfect plan_, and swept away most of the beauties and grandeur which
inspired the muse of the classic minstrel.
Like most pompous descriptions, this was, perhaps, overdrawn at the time
as much as, it appeared to me, the accounts of modern travellers have
exaggerated the effect of a first arrival by water at Bordeaux.
As Bordeaux is approached, the banks on one side become more
picturesque, and at Lormont, where was once an extensive monastery, the
scenery is fine: its promise is, however, forgotten by degrees, and I
was surprised not to see any fine houses on the banks, as I had
understood was the case. The few that are seen have a slovenly,
neglected appearance, by no means announcing the splendours and riches
of the great mercantile city we had now nearly reached. Paltry
wine-houses, with shabby gardens, border the river, and flat meadows and
reclaimed marshes give a meagre effect to the whole scene.
Mast after mast now, however, began to appear, and in a short time we
were steaming along between a forest of vessels of all nations, the
reading of whose names not a little amused us as we hurried by them.
English, Russian, Dutch, French, succeeded each other; the _coup d'oeil_
was extremely imposing, and the long wide quays, which seemed to know no
end, announced a city of great importance. The small steamer continued
its way, more fortunate than that which arrives from England, which,
from its size, cannot go far up the shallow river, and stops half a
league from the town at a faubourg called Barcalan; but we were enabled,
from our comparative insignificance, to reach to the very finest point
of Bordeaux, and land at the foot of the grand promenade _Des
Quinconces_--the glory of the Garonne.
The extreme flatness of the town, built as it is on marshes, takes from
its effect; and I was surprised that it struck me as so little deserving
its great reputation, compared, as it has been, to Genoa, Venice, and
Constantinople, and imagining, as I did, that I should see its buildings
rising in a superb amphitheatre from the waves, and crowning heights,
like those we had passed, with towers and spires. The quays, also, had
been so much vaunted to me that I expected much finer mansions on their
sides; whereas they are principally warehouses, and those not very
neatly kept: there was little of the bustle and stir of business which
one, accustomed to London, may picture: all seemed sufficiently quiet
and still, except the clamour of the commissioners, who contended for
the possession of the passengers in our vessel, whose arrival in this
commercial port made much more stir than seemed reasonable in so great a
city.
The _immense_ space of the Quinconces passed, we crossed an _immense_
street to an _immense_ irregular square, from whence lead _immensely_
wide _cours_ in various directions; and we stood before one of the
largest theatres in one of the widest spaces I ever saw in a town: here,
after much contention with our vociferous attendants, we resolved to
pause, choosing the hotel the nearest to this magnificent building, and
which promised to be most airy and quiet; the river running at the
bottom of the long street in which it was situated, the theatre before
it, and the great square left at its side, with all its rattle of carts
and wheelbarrows, and screaming commissioners. In the handsome, clean
Hotel de Nantes we were accordingly deposited, and had reason to
congratulate ourselves on our choice while we staid at Bordeaux.
It appears almost heresy to every one in France to find fault with
Bordeaux, which it is the custom to consider all that is grand,
magnificent, and beautiful; yet, if I were to be silent as to my
impressions, I should feel that I was scarcely honest. We stayed nearly
a fortnight at Bordeaux, and, in the course of that time, had a variety
of weather, good and bad; so that I think we could not be influenced by
the gloom which at first, unexpectedly, damp, chill and uncongenial
skies spread around. A few days were very brilliant, but still the
waters of the Garonne kept their thick orange hue, without brilliancy or
life, and this circumstance alone suffices to prevent the great city
from deserving to be called attractive. The quays on its banks are
extremely wide; but, except for a short space on each side the
Quinconces, the houses which border them are no finer nor cleaner than
in any other town in France; the pavement is very bad near them, and
there are no _trottoirs_ in this part: incumbrances of all sorts cover
the quays in every direction, so that free walking is impossible; and
the irregularity of the pavement next the river is so great that it is
constantly necessary to resume the rugged path on the stones, among the
bullock-carts and market-people, who frequent this part in swarms at all
times of the day. The bridge is extraordinarily long, over the
clay-coloured river, but appears too narrow for its great length, and
the entrances to it struck me as poor and mean. From the centre is the
best view of the town; but, though very _singular_, from the strange
shapes of its towers and spires, the mass of dark irregular buildings it
presents cannot be called fine. The hills on the opposite side relieve
the extreme flatness; but there is no remarkable effect of the
picturesque amongst them.
The boast of Bordeaux is its wide _allees_, which are avenues of trees,
bordered with uniform houses of great size; its enormous square next the
river surrounded with a grove of trees; its theatre, certainly
magnificent, and its wide _spaces_, not to be called _squares_. The new
town is _all space_; and if in space consists grandeur, it cannot be
denied that there is a great deal of it; but, to me, these wide,
rambling places appeared ungraceful and slovenly, wet and exposed in
winter, and glaring and dusty in summer. The splendid theatre stands in
one corner of a great space, from which several wide streets diverge:
some old and dark, some new. The best street, the Rue du Chapeau Rouge,
which is of great width, runs along on one side; it is short, but
continued, with another name, across the Place, and leads from one end
of this part of the town to the other. There is a good deal of
foot-pavement in this street, and here are the smartest shops; but,
compared with Paris or London, or any great English town, they are
contemptible.
The fine Allees de Tourny traverse the town in the form of a star, and
the rays meet in a great square,--the Place Dauphine--which, if cleaner
and less neglected, would be extremely magnificent. The Place Tourny and
the Place Richelieu are also fine openings; and there are said to be no
less than forty public squares altogether, which must give a good
circulation to the air in most parts.
The old town is, however, close, dirty, damp and dingy, beyond all
others that I have ever seen, and, in common with all the _new_ part of
Bordeaux, the worst paved, perhaps, of any in France. Here it is crowded
enough, and forms a singular contrast with the deserted appearance of
the gigantic squares in the sister town.
Nevertheless, although I am by no means able to agree in attributing
extraordinary beauty to Bordeaux, there is no denying that there is much
to be astonished at in its magnitude, and to congratulate its
inhabitants upon, in the facilities afforded them of enjoying the air in
streets which would be shady, from the trees on each side, if they were
not so wide; in alleys and walks apparently interminable, where the
whole population can promenade, if they please, without appearing
crowded; in squares where they may lose themselves; and the most
magnificent theatre in Europe, which they generally neglect for several
smaller in other parts of the town.
Still it appears to me impossible to forget that Bordeaux is built on a
marsh, and is surrounded by immense marshes, for leagues; and that, go
out of it which way you will, there is no fine country nor any agreeable
views. All its alleys and gardens are flat and formal, and all in the
midst of the town itself, surrounded by colossal houses, and only
bounded by a thick clayey river, which it is unpleasing for the eye to
rest upon.
The sight of several of the most admired and important towns in France,
has reconciled me, in a singular degree, with that of Tours, whose fame
appeared to me, when I first saw it, to be undeserved. I judged, as one
accustomed to English splendour, and English neatness, and I scarcely
gave Tours all the credit it deserved. When I compare the clear, rapid,
sparkling Loire--shallow though it be--with the ugly waters of the
sluggish Garonne, I feel that it is indeed superior to most other French
rivers; and when I recollect the long, broad, extensive street which
divides Tours into two parts, is paved throughout, and connects it with
a bridge of noble proportions and most splendid approach, I am not
surprised that Tours is so much the object of a Frenchman's pride; and I
confess, that, if I had seen it after the boasted city of Bordeaux, its
river, and its bridge, I should have found little to find fault with;
for though it lies in a plain, it is not a marsh; and though it is
glaring and flat, it is dry and sandy, and not damp and unwholesome.
Bordeaux is--notwithstanding that it failed to impress me with a sense
of admiration of its _beauty_--full of interest in every way, and worthy
of the most minute inspection and examination. We scarcely neglected a
single street, of all its mazes, and scarcely left unvisited a single
monument. As in all other French towns, building is actively going on,
and new public works are in progress: some on a very grand scale. The
antique buildings, so curious from their history, have, in spite of
repeated wars and the efforts of time, preserved a great deal of their
original appearance, and some of them are as fine as any to be found in
France. Amongst these, is the Portal of St. Seurin, and the facade of
St. Michel and St. Andre.
Bordeaux is a city which seems to belong to two periods, totally unlike
each other. The old town, full of old houses--one of which, called _Le
Bahutier_, is a specimen of others--is an historical monument of the
Middle Ages, while the new is an epitome of La Jeune France, with all
its ambitious aspirations, its grand conceptions, and its failures.
There is no attempt, in the restoration of French towns in general, to
bring the new style as near the old as possible; on the contrary, it
would seem that modern architects were only glad of the vicinity of
antique fabrics, in order that they might show how superior was their
own skill, and how far they could deviate from the original model. In
Bordeaux, this is very striking. It appears as if the new city ought to
have been built by itself on another site, leaving the gloomy recesses
of the ancient city to themselves, for all that now surrounds it is
incongruous and inharmonious.
Taken by itself, modern Bordeaux is to be admired; but, backed and
flanked as it is by a dense mass of blackened buildings belonging to
another age, it is singularly out of keeping.
All the way from the great square of the Quinconces, with its Rostral
pillars, to the port of Bacalan, a series of wide quays border the broad
river; the Quai des Chartrons is considered one of the finest in France,
and, for commercial purposes, no doubt is so. Some parts of these quays
are bordered with trees, and, from the river, have a good effect. The
whole of this faubourg is on a grand scale. The appellation of
Chartrons, is said to be derived from Chartreux, a convent of that order
having existed here. The inhabitants of this quarter call themselves
_Chartronnais_, and a remarkable difference is supposed to exist between
them, both in countenance and manners, and those of the other
Bordelais. It is a common expression to say, _on va Chartronner_, when a
person takes a walk along the quay. We had occasion to do so several
times, as we were expecting friends from England, who were to arrive by
the packet, not long established between Southampton and Bordeaux, and,
on one occasion, on reaching the village of Bacalan, we hoped to be able
to while away the time of waiting, by a walk into fields, or by some
path near the river; but our hopes were in vain; there seem never to be
any walks or paths in fields, lanes, or by rivers, in France, except in
Normandy; no one cares, or is expected to care, for anything but the
high road, or the public promenade. The fields are generally marshy, and
the borders of the streams impracticable; except, therefore, one has a
taste for rough pavement, or can admire long ranges of warehouses, of
great size, the best way is to remain stationary, as we did, if
necessity calls one to Bacalau, seated on felled trees, under the shade
of others growing by the river, careless of inodorous vicinity or dust.
We were surprised to find that the expected arrival of the packet from
England created no sort of interest in any one's mind in Bordeaux; but
this fact was explained, when we heard that it was a private undertaking
of English merchants, which, as it interfered with the vessels to
Havre, was by no means popular, and was little likely, in the end, to
answer. The same thing has been several times attempted in Bordeaux, but
has always been abandoned, not meeting with encouragement, although it
would seem to be a great convenience to persons visiting the South of
France. It was not thought that the steam-boat we were expecting would
make many more voyages, and, to judge by the small number of passengers
who arrived by it, there was little reason to expect that it could be
made to answer.
In order to become well acquainted with the quays of Bordeaux, we made a
pilgrimage along their whole extent, by following the line, on the other
side of the Quinconces, as far as the old church of Sainte Croix--one of
the most ancient, as well as most curious, in Bordeaux. Our remarks, and
frequent pauses, on our way, as we passed the ends of different streets
which we destined for future explorings, attracted the attention of a
person whom, as he had an intelligent face, we addressed, begging him to
direct us in our way to Sainte Croix, as we began to think it could not
be so very far from the point where we, started, and we feared we might
have to retrace our steps over the uneasy pavement. Our new acquaintance
assured us, however, we were in the right road, and with great zeal
began to describe to us how many more ends of streets we must pass
before we should reach the desired spot. His costume was somewhat
singular, and we might have taken him for a character in the
Carnival,--if it had been the proper season--or one _voue au blanc_, for
he was entirely dressed in white, cap and all, following, we presume,
the calling of a baker or a mason. He expressed his pleasure that we
thought it worth while to go and see _his_ poor old church of Sainte
Croix, for he came from that _quartier_, and had a fondness for it: "It
is past contradiction," said he, "the most ancient and beautiful in
Bordeaux, though I say it, and deserves every attention, though it has
been dreadfully battered about at different times. People have tried to
run it down, and have asserted that the sculpture on its facade,
represented _des betises_; but all that has now disappeared. It was
built in the time of the Pagans, when the Protestant religion--to
which," he continued, bowing, "no doubt you belong--was unknown, and
when they were ignorant, and did many improper things. But, I assure
you, now, you will find the old arches very interesting; the church has
been restored, and is in very good condition. But that I have pressing
business another way, I should have made it a duty and a pleasure to
have been your guide, and pointed out the beauties of the old place to
you; but, as I cannot do so, I recommend you to the politeness of any
one, on your route, for all will consider themselves honoured in
indicating to you the exact position of the church, which is still at
some distance."
So saying, our white spirit, pulling off his nightcap again, and, with
many bows, disappeared down a dark alley, carrying his refinement to the
doors of his customers. He must have been a good specimen of the
urbanity and good manners of his class in Bordeaux, and certainly no
finished cavalier could have expressed himself better. We had not gone
far before he re-appeared, to beg us not to forget, on our return, to
visit the church of St. Michel. We promised to neglect nothing, and
parted.
Sainte Croix does indeed deserve a visit from the curious, though the
lovers of neatness would be somewhat shocked at the extraordinary state
of filth and slovenliness in which the area of ruin where it stands is
left. To look on either side of the path which leads to the facade would
cause feelings of disgust almost fatal to even antiquarian zeal, and the
wretched dilapidation of the space formerly occupied by the immense
convent once flourishing here cannot be described. The Saracens, it
seems, destroyed great part of the church and convent, which dates from
the seventh century, or earlier, and one would imagine it had remained
in the same state of ruin ever since; though it has probably been
rebuilt and re-destroyed fifty tunes.
Much still remains, in spite of all the efforts of time and force, to
make Sainte Croix an object of singular interest; some of the circular
arches are quite perfect, with their zig-zag ornaments, as freshly cut
and sharp as possible; many of the pillars of the interior remain in
their original state--huge blocks out of which the columns have not yet
been carved, in the same manner as those at St. Alban's Abbey, in
Hertfordshire. Some of the string-courses are interrupted, being adorned
with foliage and other ornaments to a certain distance, and then
stopping suddenly, as if an incursion of new barbarians had frightened
the workmen from their labours. The space of the church is extremely
fine, the roof lofty, and the whole imposing; what is left of the
exterior of the principal entrance is very beautiful; but the carved
figures round the door-way are scarcely distinguishable; many of them
were, it is said, removed not long since, having been considered
objectionable, and not calculated to inspire piety in the beholders.
All the tombs and relics of this famous abbey have disappeared, and no
one can now read the epitaph on St. Maumolin, Abbe of Fleury, by whose
zeal the bones of St. Benedict were brought to Sainte Croix, and who was
of singular piety; here he was buried, says his chronicler, at the age
of _three hundred and seventy years_.
From Sainte Croix we directed our steps towards St. Michel, whose giant
tower had attracted us on our way, but, deterred by the extraordinary
filthiness and closeness of the nearest streets leading to it, we chose
a very circuitous route, outside the former enclosure of the town; and,
by this means, came unexpectedly on a large building of very imposing
appearance, which we found was the Abattoir: we did not care to linger
long near this place, but escaped, as soon as we could, from the droves
of bullocks which we met patiently plodding their way to their doom. For
a considerable distance we followed the walls, which had all the
appearance of being of Roman construction; and, dirty as our walk was,
we could not but prefer the free air in this part to the interior; we
had frequently occasion to ask our way, and invariably met with marked
civility; every one leaving their work to run forward, and point out to
us the nearest point we wished to reach. It appeared as if we should
never gain the entrance to this immense town again, so many streets and
alleys and gates did we pass; at length we came to one which was to lead
us down to St. Michel. Long boulevards did we traverse in this
direction, handsome and open; and in one part we were followed for some
time by a regiment going out to exercise with one of the finest bands I
ever heard, which, echoing along the extended parade, had a very
splendid effect.
We reached at length the church of St. Michel, the caverns of the tower
of which are remarkable for their power of preserving the bodies buried
in them from putrefaction; ranges of skeletons, still covered with the
dried flesh, hideous and fearful, scowl on the intruder from their
niches, and present a most awful spectacle. The belfry has often served,
in times of civil war, as a beacon-tower, dominating, as it does, the
whole country and town; it is of the most marvellously-gigantic
construction, and appears to have been originally highly ornamented. It
stands isolated from the church itself, whose facades present the most
exquisite beauties; and are singularly preserved at every entrance. The
principal facade, however, is the most perfect as well as the most
beautiful; its rose window, its ranges of saints, its pinnacles, and
wreathed arches, are as much to be admired as any in France, and rivet
the attention by the delicacy and minuteness of their details. Its date
is of the twelfth century, and the utmost taste and cost were bestowed
on its construction; although, on the side of the tower there is a space
filled with trees, and unencumbered, yet it is to be regretted that, on
the side next the chief entrance, the church is blocked up with the
houses of a dark, narrow, and filthy street, so that its beauties are
sadly hid. Surely it would have been worth while to have cleared away
the encumbrances which surround this fine building, so as to show it
well, instead of much that has been done in the way of addition in the
new town.
The only comparatively modern church in Bordeaux, which is much vaunted,
is Notre Dame, erected in 1701; it is lofty, and large, and of Grecian
architecture; but did not impress me with any feelings of admiration;
and it stands at the end of a narrow street in a corner, shown to little
more advantage than the neglected St. Michel itself.
Before the cathedral of St. Andre, which we next visited, a space has
been cleared away; and at St. Seurin, also, where a grove of trees has
been planted, which adds greatly to the venerable appearance of the
building.
St. Andre is of the thirteenth century, and is wonderfully magnificent
and curious. Its tower, called De Payberland, stands alone, like that of
St. Michel; and is only less stupendous than that wonder of
architecture. The size and height of the aisles and choir are amazing,
and the nave of the choir is bold and grand in the extreme. The two
spires of the southern portal are of great beauty, and the whole fabric
is full of interest, though scarcely a tomb remains. There are, however,
several exquisitely-carved canopies where tombs have been, and, standing
close to one of the large pillars behind the choir, is a group which
excited my utmost interest; it seems to represent the Virgin and St.
Anne, but might have another meaning. A figure in a nun's habit stands
close against a pillar in a niche, and by her side is a little girl of
about eleven years of age, in the full costume of the thirteenth
century, one of whose hands touches her robe, and who appears under her
protection. This charming little figure represents what might well be a
young princess in flowing robes; the upper one is gathered up, and its
folds held under one arm: her waist is encircled by a sash, the ends of
which are confined by tassels. A necklace of beads is round her neck;
the body of her gown is cut square. Her hair hangs in long thick tresses
down her back, and over her shoulder, and is wreathed with jewels. A
small cap, _delicately plaited_, covers the fore-part of her head, and a
rich wide band of pearls and gems surmounts it. The features are very
youthful, but with a grave majesty in their expression; the attitude is
queenly, and the whole statue full of grace and simplicity. The nun has
a melancholy, benevolent cast of features, inferior in style to the
little princess, but extremely pleasing.
I imagined this to be the effigy of Elionore, the young heiress of
Aquitaine, under the care of a patron saint; and, thinking the pretty
group was in marble, had visions of the queen of Henry II. having
erected these figures in her life-time, in the cathedral which she
built; but, on requesting a person, on whose judgment I could rely, to
examine it for me, he discovered that the whole was _only plaster_; and,
consequently, as he added in the language of an antiquarian,
"presenting no possible interest." I gave up my theory with reluctance;
although I ought to have been certain that, had any such statue existed
of her time, it was more likely to be found amongst the rubbish of the
ruined cloisters, where many are still seen, than in the body of the
cathedral.
Close to the group is a picture--at the altar of _Sainte Rote_, who also
wears a nun's habit. Probably my favourite has some connexion with her
legend.
The once fine cloisters of the Cathedral are in ruins. A few door-ways
remain, which seem of an earlier date than the church itself; and some
very antique tombs, with effigies, are thrown into corners totally
uncared for. If these were restored to some of the empty niches they
would be more in place.
At one end of the Cathedral, under the organ-loft, are some very curious
bas-reliefs, in which there seems a singular jumble of sacred and
profane history. They are very well executed, and worthy of minute
attention. An arcade of the time of the Renaissance, extremely
beautiful, but incongruous, encloses these carvings.
But, perhaps, the most remarkable of all the churches of Bordeaux is St.
Seurin: its portico is one of the richest and most elaborate I ever saw,
and the beauty and delicacy of its adornments are beyond description.
The church itself, except this precious _morceau_, is not so interesting
as others; although here once reposed the body of the famous paladin,
Rolando, whose body was brought, by Charlemagne, from Blaye. There, on
his tomb, rested his wondrous sword, Durandal, which was afterwards
transported to Roquemador en Quercy. This was the weapon with which he,
at one stroke, clove the rock of the Pyrenees which bears his name.[13]
His tomb and his bones must be sought elsewhere now, with those of many
other of the knights who fell at Roncesvalles' fight. Where his famous
horn was deposited after it came from Blaye does not appear.
[Footnote 13: See description of _the Breche_, in the second volume of
this work.]
Another long ramble, which exhibited to us more of the curiosities of
Bordeaux, brought us to the Roman building which still rises, in ruins,
in one of the distant quarters of the town, and is called the Palais
Gallien. This fabric has a singular appearance, its strong arch, which
still serves as a passage from one street to another, its thick walls of
brick and small stone, its loops, through which the blue sky shines, and
its ivy-covered masses make it very imposing. The learned are divided as
to its date: Ausonius does not name it in his enumeration of the works
of Bordeaux; but its Roman origin, of whatever age, is undoubted. It
stands in a state of squalid neglect and dirt, sharing the fate of most
of the antiquities of Bordeaux. If the space were cleared, and the
surrounding huts removed, a decent walk made, and the whole enclosed,
this monument of former days might form an attractive object: as it is,
the struggle to escape entanglement in every sort of dirt, while
fighting one's way to the ruined amphitheatre, is almost too
disheartening. When these circumstances accompany a visit to antiquities
in out-of-the-way places, such as Saintes, and distant and
anti-commercial towns, such as Poitiers, one has no reproach to make to
the inhabitants; but what is to be said for rich and flourishing
Bordeaux,--the rival of Paris,--when she allows her monuments to remain
in so degraded a state!
One of the glories of Bordeaux is having been the birth-place of
Montaigne, whose tomb is in the church of the Feuillants, now the
college. There are two inscriptions,--one Greek and one Latin; both of
which appear unsuitable and extravagant.
Another great man, born near Bordeaux, was Montesquieu: to see whose
chateau of La Brede, about four leagues off, is one of the usual
excursions of tourists; but we were prevented visiting it by bad
weather.
Whatever may be the effect of Bordeaux, as a city, one charm it has
which can hardly be disputed, namely, the remarkable beauty of its young
women of the _grisette_ class, and the peculiar grace with which they
wear the handkerchief, which it is usual to wreath round the head in a
manner to display its shape to the greatest advantage, and which is tied
with infinite taste; showing the form of the large knot of hair behind,
which falls low upon the neck, in the most classical style. They have
generally good complexions, rich colour, fine dark eyes and very long
eye-lashes, glossy dark hair, and graceful figures. As they flit and
glide about the streets,--and you come upon them at every turn,--in
their dark dresses and shawls, with only a lively colour in the stripe
of their pretty head-dress, a stranger cannot fail to be exceedingly
struck with their countenances and air. Black and yellow predominate in
the hues; but sometimes a rich chocolate colour, with some other tint
rather lighter, relieves the darkness of the rest of the costume. A gold
chain is worn round the throat, with a golden cross attached; and a
handsome broach generally fastens the well-made gown, with its
neatly-plaited collar, rather more open in front than is usual in
France. They are said to be great coquettes; and certainly worthy of the
admiration which they are sure to attract.
When one observes how flat and marshy all the ground about Bordeaux is,
even now, one need not be surprised at the illness it must have
engendered in the time of the Black Prince, nor that his health suffered
so fatally from its influence. He appears to have deferred his departure
from this uncongenial climate as long as possible, until the loss of his
eldest son, Prince Edward, at the interesting age of six years, decided
him to trust it no longer.
The poor child died the beginning of January 1371, to the extreme grief
of his parents; "as," says the chronicle, "might well be." It was then
recommended to the Prince of Wales and Aquitaine that he should return
to England, in order that, in his native country and air, he might
recover his health, which was fast failing. This counsel was given him
by the surgeons and physicians who understood his malady. The prince was
willing to follow their advice, and said that he should be glad to
return. Accordingly he arranged all his affairs, and prepared to leave.
"When," says the chronicler, "the said prince had settled his departure,
and his vessel was all ready in the Garonne, at the harbour of Bordeaux,
and he was in that city with madame his wife, and young Richard their
son, he sent a special summons to all the barons and knights of Gascony,
Poitou, and all of whom he was sire and lord. When they were all come
and assembled in a chamber in his presence, he set forth to them how he
had been their father, and had maintained them in peace as long as he
could, and in great prosperity and power, against their neighbours, and
that he left them only and returned to England in the hope of recovering
his health, of which he had great want. He therefore entreated them, of
their love, that they would serve and obey the Duke of Lancaster his
brother, as they had obeyed him in time past: for they would find him a
good knight, and courteous, and willing to grant all, and that in their
necessities he would afford them aid and counsel. The barons of
Aquitaine, Gascony, Poitou, and Saintonge, agreed to this proposition;
and swore, by their faith, that he should never find them fail in fealty
and homage to the said duke; but that they would show him all love,
service, and obedience; and they swore the same to him, being there
present, and each of them _kissed him on the mouth_.
"These ordinances settled, the prince made no long sojourn in the city
of Bordeaux, but embarked on board his vessel, with madame, the
princess, and their son, and the Earl of Cambridge, and the Earl of
Pembroke: and in his fleet were five hundred men-at-arms, besides
archers. They sailed so well that, without peril or harm, they reached
Hampton. There they disembarked, and remained to refresh for three days;
and then mounted on horseback--_the prince in his litter_--and travelled
till they came to Windsor, where the king then was; who received his
children _very sweetly_, and informed himself, by them, of the state of
Guienne. And when the prince had remained a space with the king, he took
leave and went to his hotel at Berkhampstead, about _twenty leagues_
from the city of London."
CHAPTER XVI.
THE GARONNE--THE LORD OF LANGOYRAN--MIRACLE OF THE MULE--CASTLE OF
THE FOUR SONS OF AYMON--THE AGED LOVER--GAVACHES--THE
FRANCHIMANS--COUNT RAYMOND--FLYING BRIDGES--THE MILLER OF
BARBASTE--THE TROUBADOUR COUNT--THE COUNT DE LA MARCHE--THE
ROCHELLAISE--EUGENIE AND HER SONG.
AT four o'clock, on a September morning, we followed our
_commissionnaire_ from the Hotel de Nantes, at Bordeaux, along the now
solitary quay, for nearly a mile, the stars shining brightly and the air
soft and balmy, to the steam-boat, which was to take us along the
Garonne to Agen--a distance of about a hundred and twelve miles. The
boat was the longest and narrowest I ever saw, but well enough
appointed, with very tolerable accommodation, and an excellent
_cuisine_.
As soon as it was daylight, we began to look out for the beauties of the
river, which several persons had told us was, in many respects, superior
to the Loire; consequently, as we continued to pass long, marshy fields,
without an elevation, covered with the blue crocus, and bordered with
dim grey sallows, we were content, expecting, when we were further from
the neighbourhood of Bordeaux, that these beauties would burst upon our
view. For many hours the boat pursued its way against the stream, but
nothing striking came before our view: the same clay-coloured river, the
same flat bank, with here and there a little change to undulating hills
of insignificant height, and occasionally some village, picturesquely
situated, or some town, with a few ruined walls, which told of former
battles and sieges. All these banks were the scenes of contention
between the Lusignans and the Epernonists, in 1649; and here are many
famous vineyards; amongst them Castres and Portets, renowned for their
white wines; close to which is La Brede, where Montesquieu was born.
The scenery about this part began to improve; some ruins, crowning a
height, appeared, which we found had once been the Chateau de Langoyran;
about a lord of which an anecdote is told, characteristic of the period
when it occurred. Francois de Langoyran carried on constant contention
with two neighbouring chiefs, who were friends to England; and, one day,
with forty lances, he presented himself before the walls of Cadillac,
occupied by an English garrison: "Where is Courant, your captain?" said
he; "let him know that the Sire de Langoyran desires a joust with him:
he is so good and so valiant, he will not refuse, for the love of his
lady; and if he should, it would be to his great dishonour; and I shall
say, wherever I come, that he refused a joust of lances from cowardice."
Bernard Courant accepted the challenge, and a deadly strife began, in
which Langoyran was wounded and thrown to the earth. Seeing that his
troop were coming to his rescue, Courant summoned his adversary to
yield; but, he refusing to do so, Courant drew his dagger, stabbed him
to the heart, and rode out of the lists, leaving the imprudent knight
dead on the spot. A later lord of Langoyran became a firm ally of the
English, till they were expelled under Charles le Bien Servi.
Cadillac, where once stood a magnificent castle, built by the Duke
d'Epernon, where Louis XIII. and all his court were entertained with
great pomp, in 1620, and which cost above two millions of francs, offers
now but a retreat for convicts.
Barsac is not far off, well known for its fine white wines; and beyond,
is Sainte Croix de Mont, a village placed on rather a bold eminence. At
Preignac the little river Ciron runs into the Garonne, and brings on its
current wood from the Landes. Sometimes this small stream becomes so
swollen, that it overflows, and renders the road in its neighbourhood
dangerous. After the battle of Orthez, the mutilated remains of the
French army crossed the valley, which this river had rendered a perfect
marsh, at the peril of their lives, in order to pursue their melancholy
journey, flying from the British arms.
Close by is Garonnelle, a port of the _Verdelais_, where, situated a
little way up the country, is a famous chapel, dedicated to Notre Dame
du Luc, to which pilgrims resort, on the 8th of September, from all
parts of France--so great is her renown. The chapel was founded in the
twelfth century, by a Countess of Foix, and re-edified by another, or,
as some say, built first in 1407, under the following circumstances:--
One day, as Isabella de Foix, wife of Archambaud de Grailli, C |
