Béarn and the Pyrenees
by Louisa Stuart Costello · English · Gutenberg #20124 · 1,116,734 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Béarn and the Pyrenees
A legendary tour to the country of Henri Quatre
Author: Louisa Stuart Costello
Release date: December 16, 2006 [eBook #20124]
Most recently updated: January 1, 2021
Language: English
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BÉARN 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 Béarnais 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 Vendéean
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 Eperonnière--Le Camp-ferme--Antiquities of
Falaise--Alençon--Norman Caps--Geese--Le Mans--Tomb of
Bérangère--Cathedral--Ancient Remains--Streets--The Veiled Figure.
CHAPTER III.
Tomb of Bérangère--Wives of Coeur de Lion--Tombs--Abbey
Churches--Château of Le Mans--De Craon--The Spectre of Le Mans--The
Vendéeans--Madame de la Roche-Jaquelin--A Woman's Perils--Disasters of
the Vendéeans--Henri--Chouans.
CHAPTER IV.
The Museum of Le Mans--Venus--Mummy--Geoffrey-le-Bel--His
Costume--Matilda--Scarron--Hélie de la Flèche--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--Hôtel 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.
Château de la Fée--King René--The Miniatures--The Post-Office
Functionary--Originality--The English Bank-note--St. Porchaire--The Dead
Child--Montierneuf--Guillaume Guy Geoffroy--Thomas à 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 Fée--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 Gâtine--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
Auffrédy.
CHAPTER XI.
Towers--Religion--Maria Belandelle--Storm--Protestant Retreat--Solemn
Dinners--"Half-and-half"--Go to sleep!--The Brewery--Gas
Establishment--Château 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--Puytaillé
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--Fête--The Côteau--Ste. Marie
CHAPTER XIV.
Frère Chrétien--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--Allées--First
Impression--Chartrons--Bahutier--Bacalan--Quays--White Guide--Ste.
Croix--St. Michel--St. André--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--Eugénie and her Song.
CHAPTER XVII.
Agen--La Belle Esther--St. Caprais--The Little Cherubs--Zoé at the
Fountain--The Hill--Le Gravier--Jasmin, the Poet-Barber--The
Metaphor--Las Papillotas--Françonnette--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.
BÉARN 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 _café_, 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 Trinité 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 _Vertprès_, 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 EPERONNIÈRE--LE CAMP-FERME--ANTIQUITIES
OF FALAISE--ALENÇON--NORMAN CAPS--GEESE--LE MANS--TOMB OF
BÉRANGÈRE--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
Eperonnière_. 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 Eperonnière 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 Alençon, 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.
Alençon, 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 château, 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'Alençon. 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 Alençon. 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 crète 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 Bérangère, 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
Bérangère 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 Pré, 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 Bérangère, 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 château, 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 BÉRANGÈRE--WIVES OF COEUR DE LION--TOMBS--ABBEY
CHURCHES--CHÂTEAU OF LE MANS--DE CRAON--THE SPECTRE OF LE MANS--THE
VENDÉEANS--MADAME DE LA ROCHE-JAQUELIN--A WOMAN'S PERILS--DISASTERS
OF THE VENDÉEANS--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 Bérangère, 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]
Bérangère 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 Bérangère_. 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 Angoulême, 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 Bérangère 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_ Bérangère 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 Bérangère 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 Bérangère, 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, Bérangère, 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 Pré, 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, Hélie de la Flèche, 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 Pré 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 Bérangère, 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
façade 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 Château 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 château 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 Château 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 Sablé and Ferté 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 Vendéeans 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 Vendéeans, 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 Vendéean 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 Vendéeans
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 Vendéeans 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 Alençon, were there taken, and conducted to
the scaffold.
* * * * *
"Such was the deplorable defeat of Le Mans, where the Vendéean 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 Vendéeans 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 Scépeaux, 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-à-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--HÉLIE DE LA FLÈCHE--RUFUS--THE WHITE
KNIGHT.
THE Museum of Le Mans is in the Hôtel 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 Montulé, 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 fêtes 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 Bérangère,
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 fête,
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 fées_, 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 Hélie de la Flèche. 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. Hélie 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 Hélie, 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 Flèche, which he knew had long been
coveted by those of Anjou, Hélie 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 Flèche, 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 Hélie'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 Hélie found
Words to reply. He turned him round,
And little he delayed, I ween,
To make their distance great between!"
As might be anticipated, Hélie 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 Hélie 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. Hélie, 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 Hélie; 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."
Hélie, 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
Faltröet, 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 Hôtel 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 _délices_, 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 Curé, 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 garçon_ 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-à-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 curé 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 _agrémens_ 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 Cordonnière de Loudun_, in which the Cardinal figured: Père
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 curé 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 curé, 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 curé. 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 curé 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 Béelzébub, 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 Musée 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 château 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 Taillé 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 _déménager_, 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 Taillé, and we arrived before day-break safely at the Hôtel
de France, at Poitiers.
CHAPTER VI.
POITIERS--BATTLES--THE ARMIES--KING JOHN OF FRANCE--THE YOUNG
WARRIOR--HÔTEL 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 Vouillé, 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_-Antiquités 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 Hôtel 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
Arènes 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 Arènes 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
levée_, 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 Levée. 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 Levée."
Bouchet's opinion is, that the stone was placed by Aliénor 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 _musée_. 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 depôt 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, amphoræ, 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 Brèche 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 hépathique. 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 façade; 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 Tranchée; 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 Tranchée, in arms, to be ready in case of surprise.
The report soon spread that the English were at the Tranchée, 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 _cortège_ 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 bibliothécaire--"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 (_gibecière_) 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 _gibecière_."
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.
CHÂTEAU DE LA FÉE--KING RENÉ--THE MINIATURES--THE POST-OFFICE
FUNCTIONARY--ORIGINALITY--THE ENGLISH BANK-NOTE--ST. PORCHAIRE--THE
DEAD CHILD--MONTIERNEUF--GUILLAUME GUY GEOFFROY--THOMAS À
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 Prévôté, close to the Place de la Pilori, and has been a
prison. The door and windows are finely ornamented, as is the whole
façade, 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
Bibliothèque, 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 _château de la Fée_.
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 Eugène 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-Sèvres, La Vendée, and
Charente Inférieure.
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 René. 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
René 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 René'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, ça 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 _aumônière_, 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 Moulière.
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-à-pié_, 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 _Tête d'Etoupes_,
William _Fier-à-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 Châtelleraud, 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 FÉE--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 GÂTINE--ST.
MAIXANT--NIORT--MADAME DE MAINTENON--ENORMOUS CAPS--CHAMOIS
LEATHER--DUGUESCLIN--THE DAME DE PLAINMARTIN--THE SEA.
FULL of anxiety to visit the famous Château 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
_là 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 Fée." "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
_châteaux 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 château 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 demoli
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