“THOU WEL OF MERCY, SINFUL SOULES CURE.”--CHAUCER.

Lourdes, apart from any religious interest, is well worth a visit, for it

is an old historic place. “Bigerronum arx antiqua fuit Luparda, quæ nunc

Lourda est,” says Julius Scaliger. It is associated with the Romans, the

Moors, the paladins of Charlemagne, and the flower of French and English

chivalry, and is celebrated by Gregory of Tours, Froissart, Monstrelet,

and all the ancient chroniclers of the land. Situated at the entrance

of the seven valleys of the Lavedan on the one side, and the rich sunny

plains of Béarn on the other, under a sky as soft and bright as that of

Italy, it is as attractive to the eye of the tourist as to the soul of

the archæologist and the pilgrim.

We arrived at Lourdes in less than an hour after leaving Tarbes. The

station is some distance from town, and at least a mile from the

world-famous grotto; but there are always hacks and omnibuses eager to

take the visitor to one of the numerous hotels. The depot is encumbered

with luggage and crowded with pilgrims going and coming, and on the side

tracks are long trains of empty cars that tell of the importance of the

station--an importance solely due to the immense number of pilgrims, who

sometimes amount to five hundred thousand a year.

On leaving the station, one naturally looks around to discover the

renowned sanctuary of Notre Dame de Lourdes, but not a glimpse of it is

to be seen. Nothing meets the eye but a gray picturesque town shut in

by the outlying Pyrenees. Nothing could be lovelier than the fresh green

valley in which it stands, framed by hills whose sides are blackened with

_débris_ from the immense quarries of slate. It is only a pleasant walk

to the town in good weather, which gives one an opportunity of taking in

the features of the charming landscape. Flowers bloom in the hedge-rows,

elms and ash-trees dot the grassy meadows, the hillsides beneath the

quarries are luxuriant with vineyards and fields of waving grain. The way

is lively with hurrying pilgrims, all intent on their own business and

regardless of you; some saying their rosaries, others in a band singing

some pious hymn, and many solitary ones absorbed in their own reflections.

We soon reach the town. The houses are of stone with slated roofs.

Nearly every one is a hotel, or a lodging-house, or a shop for the sale

of religious objects. The windows are full of rosaries, medallions

inscribed with the words of the Virgin to Bernadette, miniature grottos,

photographs--in short, everything that can recall the wonderful history

of the grotto of Massabielle. The very silk kerchiefs in the windows,

such as the peasants wear on their heads, are stamped with the Virgin

in her niche. The old part of the town has narrow streets, without

any sidewalks, paved with cobble-stones quite in harmony with the

penitential spirit of a true pilgrim. They are mere lanes, fearful in

muddy weather when crowded with people in danger at every step from the

carriages.

The Hotel de la Grotte is the nearest to the church of Notre Dame de

Lourdes, and very pleasantly situated at a convenient walking distance

from it. At one of our visits to the place, we stopped at the Hotel des

Pyrénées in the heart of the town, where we were made very comfortable;

but the second time, it was in the height of the season, and there was

not a room to be had in any of the hotels, and had we not providentially

stumbled on a friend with a vacant room at his command, we might have

been forced to spend the night in the church--no great penance, to be

sure, in so heavenly a place, where Masses begin at midnight and do not

cease till afternoon. The only safe way is to secure rooms beforehand,

especially when the place is most frequented.

Lourdes is a small town of about five thousand inhabitants, mostly

workers in marble, slate, etc., that is, those who do not keep a

hotel, or a _café_, or a shop of some kind; for the good people seem

quite ready to avail themselves of every opportunity of benefiting by

the piety that brings so many strangers among them. They are shrewd,

quick-witted, upright, and kind-hearted; attached to their ancient

traditions, and firm in their faith as their rock-built houses. They

have always been characterized by their devotion to the Blessed Virgin.

Five of the chapels in the parish church are dedicated to her honor.

The confraternities of the Scapular and the Rosary are flourishing, and

the congregation of the Enfants de Marie is one of the oldest in the

country. The dark-eyed women of Lourdes have a Spanish look, and are

quite picturesque in their scarlet capulets or black capuchins, but the

men have mostly laid aside the Bigorrais cloak, once so sought after

that they were exported from the country, and mentioned by learned men.

Pope Gregory I., in a letter to Eulogius, Bishop of Alexandria, thus

alludes to them: “Sex minora Aquitanica pallia.” S. Paulinus of Nola, in

a letter to Ausonius, says: “Dignaque pellitis habitas deserta Bigerris.”

“Bigerricam vestem, brevem atque hispidam,” says Sulpicius Severus. And

the poet Fortunatus, in his life of S. Martin, says: “Induitur sanctus

hirsuta Bigerrica palla.”

These _Marlottes_, as Scaliger calls them, are now mostly confined to

the mountaineers who cling to the old ways. The people of the valley,

however, have not laid aside all their old prejudices with their cloaks.

The natives of Lourdes are said to hold in proud disdain those who have

had the disadvantage of being born elsewhere, in proof of which it is

related that a prisoner of state, named Soulié, once confined in the

castle for some offence, at last died from the effects of his captivity.

His fellow-prisoners, desirous of showing him suitable honor, as well

as giving proper expression to their own regret, paid the bell-ringer

to toll a bell of the second class. It appears there were four bells in

use for funerals; the first for the clergy; the second, for the grandees

of the place; the third, for the common citizen, and the fourth for the

poor. The inhabitants were so enraged that such an honor as a bell of

the second class should be rung for a stranger, that they condemned the

guilty sexton to prison. During his long confinement, he was frequently

heard exclaiming with a groan: “Ah! detestable _Soulié_! Had it only been

a _savate_,[157] I should not be here!”

This is a mere reminiscence of their ancient glory. It is always

difficult to bring one’s self to the level of fallen fortunes. The title

of stranger is still said to be an original stain that nothing can ever

efface. Small and unpretending as Lourdes may now seem, it has its grand

old memories. Its origin is lost in the obscurity of remote ages, but

where history is at fault, fable generally comes to the rescue.

The glory of founding Lourdes is attributed to an Ethiopian princess.

Tarbis, queen of Ethiopia, captivated by the valor and personal

attractions of Moses, offered him her throne and hand. Wounded and

mortified at his refusal, she abandoned her country to hide her

disappointment in the obscurity of the Pyrenean valleys. She founded the

city of Tarbes, and her sister Lorda that of Lourdes.

In the Middle Ages the Counts of Bigorre were the Seigneurs of Lourdes,

and, like S. Louis under the oak of Vincennes, they seated themselves

with patriarchal simplicity on a stone bench under an elm before the

church to receive the homage of their vassals. Notre Dame de Bigorre! was

then the battle-cry of the people. Then, as now, Mary was the Sovereign

Lady of the valley. To her its lords acknowledged themselves vassals

and paid tribute, and the arms of the town commemorate her miraculous

intervention to deliver it from the hands of the Moors. But as this

legend is connected with the history of the castle, we will give a brief

sketch of that once strong hold.

The tourist, on his way to Pau, Cauteréts, St. Sauveur, or Bagnères, as

he traverses the plateau which overlooks the fertile valley of the Gave,

sees an ancient fortress on the top of an inaccessible cliff, that rises

straight up from the banks of the river. This is the old citadel of

Lourdes, the key of the Seven Valleys, the stronghold of the Counts of

Bigorre in the Middle Ages. The eye of the traveller cannot fail to be

struck by the antiquity of its gray battlements, crenellated towers, and

picturesque situation, and he at once feels it has a marvellous history.

The castle of Lourdes is more than two thousand years old. Here the

ancient inhabitants long held out against the attacks of the Romans;

and here, when they were forced to yield, their conquerors built the

fortifications whose indestructible foundation ages have passed over

without leaving any trace. Several centuries later, the castle of

Mirambel, as it was then called, was held by the Moors, and their leader,

Mirat, defended it for a time against the hosts of Charlemagne, and

at length, too haughty to yield to any earthly power, surrendered to

the Queen of Heaven, who wrought such a miracle of grace on the proud

painim’s heart that he and all his followers went with garlands of hay on

their lances to swear fealty to Notre Dame de Puy, and resign all right

to Mirambel. Mirat was baptized by the name of Lorus. He received the

honors of knighthood, and gave the name of Lordum to the castle he now

held in the name of the Virgin.

We are indebted to an English monk, named Marfin, for this legend,

and though rejected by many, it was doubtless founded on the popular

traditions of the country, which alone account for the arms of the town

and the annual tribute the Counts of Bigorre paid to Notre Dame de Puy as

long as they held possession of the castle.[158]

_Lo ric castel de Lorda_ having been taken possession of by the

Albigenses in the XIIth century, the celebrated Simon de Montfort

besieged it, but in vain. The castle remained in their hands till the end

of the war.

No one of English origin can look at the hoary walls of this ancient

fortress without the greatest interest, for it is associated with the

memory of the Black Prince, and the time was when the banner of England

floated from its towers and defied the efforts of the bravest knights of

France to tear it from its hold.

Lourdes, as well as the whole province of Bigorre (which lay between

Béarn and Foix), fell into the hands of the English by the treaty of

Bretagne, and constituted a part of the Duchy of Aquitaine, which Edward

III. conferred on his son, the Black Prince, who left England to take

possession of his domains in 1363. He made Bordeaux his capital, and

there, in the church of S. André, Jehan Caubot, consul of Lourdes, and

the representatives of Tarbes and other towns, presented themselves at

high noon before the most noble and puissant Lord Edward, Prince of Wales

and Duke of Aquitaine, and, in the presence of many lords, knights, and

citizens, swore fealty to the English prince, beseeching him to confirm

the rights and franchises which they had hitherto enjoyed, which he

solemnly promised.

The Count of Armagnac (John I.) gave so captivating a description of

the beauty of Bigorre that the Black Prince was induced to visit his

mountain province. He remained for some time at Tarbes, and while there

explored the neighboring valleys, strengthened old fortresses and built

several new ones. He was particularly struck with the castle of Lourdes,

and the advantage of holding such a position. “It is the key of many

countries,” said he, “by which I can find my way into Aragon, Catalonia,

and Barcelona.” He strengthened its fortifications, and entrusted the

command to Pierre Arnaud of Béarn, a cousin of Gaston Phœbus of Foix,

saying: “Master Arnaud, I constitute and appoint you captain of Lourdes,

and warden of Bigorre. See that you hold them, and render a good account

of your trust to me and my father.”

Arnaud swore fealty to the Prince, who soon after broke up his court

at Tarbes and returned to Bordeaux. He could not have left a better

commander at Lourdes. Arnaud was one of those men who would rather face

death a thousand times than be untrue to their word. He held the castle

long after all the rest of Bigorre had been wrested from the English,

and the exploits of the brave knights that took refuge here made it

the terror of the surrounding country. Froissart’s account of their

adventures is more like that of highwaymen than of chivalrous knights.

They were continually coming down from their eyry at the head of a band,

to scour the country and plunder all they could lay their hands upon.

Sometimes they extended their ravages to Toulouse, Alby, and Carcassone,

taking castles, robbing merchants and attacking knights, and then rushing

back to Lourdes with their booty--cattle, provisions, prisoners they

could ransom, etc. They only respected the rights of Gaston Phœbus, their

captain’s kinsman.

It is related of Mongat that on one occasion he put on the habit of a

monk, and with three of his men similarly attired, he took his way with

devout air and mien to Montpellier, where he alighted at the Angel and

gave out he was a lord abbot from Upper Gascony on his way to Paris on

business. Here he made the acquaintance of the Sire Berenger, who was

likewise going to Paris on some affair of importance, and was delighted

to be thrown into such holy company. The pretended abbot led him by

devious ways to Lourdes, where he ransomed him for a large sum.

In one of his adventures, Mongat came to his end. He had been to Toulouse

with two other knights and one hundred and twenty lances, and on their

way back with cattle, hogs, sheep, and prisoners, they were attacked by

two hundred knights, with the brave Ernauton Bissette at their head, in

a forest belonging to the Sire de Barbazan. The fury with which they

fought was only equalled by their knightly courtesy. When exhausted,

they took off their helmets, refreshed themselves at a stream, and then

resumed the contest. Mongat and Ernauton fought hand to hand the whole

day, and at length, utterly exhausted, they both fell dead on the field.

Hostilities then ceased. Each party bore away its dead, and a cross was

raised on the spot where they fell.

Of course the whole country around was eager to dislodge the English

from their fortress. The Duke of Anjou, with the celebrated Du Guesclin,

attacked it at the head of fifteen thousand of the best soldiers of

France. All the other castles of Bigorre had been taken. Tarbes had been

readily given up by the captain who had sworn to defend it. Mauvezin had

gallantly held out for a time, and then honorably surrendered. Lourdes

alone bade defiance to the enemy. The town, built on a slope at the east

of the castle, resisted the duke’s army a fortnight. The inhabitants

finally took refuge in the castle, and the French took possession of the

empty houses, with great rejoicing. For six weeks they laid siege to the

castle, but in vain. The duke now sought to obtain it by bribing Arnaud

with vast sums of money, but the incorruptible captain replied:

“The fortress is not mine. It is the property of the King of England,

and I cannot sell, alienate, or give it up, without proving myself a

traitor, which I will not. I will remain loyal to my liege lord on whose

hand I swore by my faith, when he appointed me governor of this castle,

to defend it against all men, and to yield it to no one whom he had not

authorized to demand it, and Pierre Arnaud will keep to his trust till he

dies.”

Discouraged and mortified, the duke raised the siege and set fire to

the four quarters of the town, which was wholly consumed, with all the

titles of the ancient _fors_ and rights. He now determined to obtain the

castle by some other means, and despatched a messenger to Gaston Phœbus

to convince him it was for his interest to use his influence in driving

the English from Lourdes. The count promised to do so and invited Arnaud

to Orthez. Somewhat suspicious of his intentions, Arnaud, before leaving

Lourdes, appointed his brother John commander of the fortress, making

him swear by his faith and honor as a knight to guard it as faithfully

as he had done himself, and never to yield it to any one but him who had

entrusted it to their care.

John solemnly swore as he was desired, and his brother proceeded to

Orthez, where he was graciously received by the Count of Foix. It was not

till the third day he was summoned to give up the castle. Arnaud at once

comprehended the danger of his situation, but undauntedly replied: “My

lord, I doubtless owe you duty and regard, for I am a poor knight of your

land and race, but the castle of Lourdes I cannot surrender. You have

sent for me and can do with me whatever you please, but what I hold from

the King of England, I will surrender to no one but him.”

“Ha, traitor!” cried the count in a rage, drawing his dagger, “do you

tell me you will not do it? By my head, you shall pay for such a speech”;

and he stabbed him to the heart.

Arnaud cried: “Ah! my lord, you act not as beseemeth gentle knight. You

invited me here and it is thus you put me to death.”

This base act did no good. John was as faithful to his trust as

his brother Arnaud. His appointment was confirmed by the King of

England,[159] and the English flag was not taken down till the year 1425,

when the citadel of Lourdes surrendered to John of Foix, the companion

in arms of Dunois the brave, and the illustrious Barbazan, first to be

styled _Sans peur et sans reproche_. Then the war-cry, “S. George for

Lourdes!” was heard for the last time in the land, and the red flag of

England taken down for ever.

Lourdes was attacked by the Huguenots in 1573. The town was taken by

assault, pillaged, and partly burned, but they made no impression on the

castle. A cry of alarm, however, resounded all through the Seven Valleys.

The mountaineers of Lavedan knew the importance of the castle, which,

once taken, would expose them to an invasion it would be impossible to

resist, and they seized their arms and gathered under the banners of the

lords of Vieuzac and Arras to defend the entrance to their valleys. The

Huguenots, astonished at their determined resistance, were obliged to

retreat to Béarn.

The union of Bigorre with the crown of France by Henry IV. was favorable

to the prosperity and happiness of Lourdes, but fatal to the military

importance of the castle. After being for ages the chief defence of the

land, it now became the most unimportant fortress in the country.

In the XVIIIth century it was made the Bastile of the Pyrenees--a prison

“created by despotism on the frontiers of liberty”--and was called the

Royal Prison of Lourdes. Here, as the Comte de Marcellus says:

“Dans d’effroyables cachots,

Entouré d’épaisses ténèbres,

Plus d’un captif, couché sous des voûtes funèbres,

Attendrissait leurs lugubres échos

Par ses gémissements, ses pleurs et ses sanglots.

…

Sous ses sombres donjons, l’œil, d’abime en abime,

Voit le Gave rouler et bondir furieux;

Et les monts hérissés qui portent jusqu’ aux cieux

De leurs rocs décharnés l’inaccessible cime,

Redoublent la tristesse et l’horreur de ces lieux.”

Père Lacombe, the spiritual director, or rather disciple, of the famous

Mme. Guyon, was confined in the castle of Lourdes in 1687. The see of

Tarbes was vacant at the time, but when a bishop was appointed, in 1695,

he obtained the deliverance of the poor prisoner, who did not, however,

enjoy his liberty long. His mind became so affected that he was again

confined at Charenton, where he died.

In the time of Napoleon I., Lord Elgin, the famous spoliator of the

Parthenon, on his way back from Constantinople, came for the recovery

of his health to the springs of Barrèges, where he was arrested by the

government and brought to the castle of Lourdes. He characteristically

profited by his confinement here to strip the fortress of all the

antiquities he could secure, and carry them off to his residence in

Fifeshire.

The castle ceased to be a prison at the restoration of the monarchy.

It is now a military post, and accessible to the tourist, who enters

a postern gate at the east, and ascends the cliff by a winding stone

staircase, at the top of which he comes out on a court with a clump of

trees and a few flowers, guarded by a sentinel ferocious-looking enough

to strike terror into the heart of the fearless Barbazan himself, but

whom we found to be the mildest of warriors, and the most accommodating

of guides around the old _château-fort_. Unless you looked at him, you

would never have supposed him brought up on the marrow of lions!

From the battlements there is a magnificent view of the valley of the

Gave. Never was fairer picture framed among majestic mountains. The

river flows directly beneath, through a meadow of wonderful freshness.

On the right bank stands the spacious monasteries of Mt. Carmel and S.

Benedict, not yet completed, and the other side, directly in front of the

castle, rises the new fortress of Our Lady of Lourdes--stronghold of the

faith--where the whole world comes, like the ancient Barons of Bigorre,

to pay tribute to Mary. It is high time to turn our steps thither.

Leaving the town of Lourdes by a narrow street to the west, we come out

into the open valley in full view of the Gave--a clear, broad stream, fed

by mountain torrents, which rushes impetuously over a rocky bed towards

the Adour and the ocean. It comes from the south, but here turns abruptly

away from the cliff--that rises straight up from its banks to the height

of three hundred feet, crowned with its old historic castle--and flows to

the west. In this sharp bend of the river is the cliff of Massabielle,

from the side of which rises before us into the clear blue heavens a tall

spire with a golden cross. It is the celebrated church of Notre Dame

de Lourdes, a pure white edifice worthy of the spotless Virgin whose

immaculate purity it commemorates--the object of so many vows, the spot

to which so many hearts are turned, and so many feet are wending, from

every part of the Christian world.

The road between the town and church is bordered by small booths for the

sale of rosaries, medals, and every conceivable object of devotion,

including pilgrims’ staves and scallop shells, and stacks of tall candles

to burn before Our Lady of Lourdes. There are over two hundred of these

little shops, altogether too many for the place, though there is a pretty

brisk trade during the season of pilgrimages. At every step you are

called upon to buy, just as at Loretto, the owner advertising his wares

with the volubility and something of the style of the London apprentices

in the time of Lord Nigel. Crossing the bridge, we stop to look down

into the clear, green, turbulent waters of the Gave. The mountaineers

say reproachfully to their troublesome wives: “Maridat lou Gabé, que

staré”--Marry the Gave, and it will remain quiet. However refractory this

virgin stream may be, the valley is peaceful enough to bring the heart

and soul into harmony with the place we are approaching. All along the

wayside are the blind and the lame in every stage of horrible infirmity,

appealing to the charity of the passers-by in the name of the _Sainte

Vierge_ of Lourdes, which no one can resist in the very sight of her

altar, and we stop every now and then to buy, in this way, “a pennyworth

of paradise,” like the prudent M. Géborand, of _miser_able memory. We

pick our way along through the crowds of pilgrims, going and coming with

arms full of tapers and great wooden rosaries, and a bleeding heart upon

their breasts, like a decoration. We are thrust aside by a procession

hurrying off to the station, joyously singing some song of praise,

and we turn for a moment into a soft green meadow on the banks of the

river, with pleasant winding paths among umbrageous trees, leading to an

immense ring with rustic roof and open sides, provided with seats and

tables of beautiful Pyrenean marble--where pilgrims can rest and take

their lunch--the gift of M. Henri Lasserre, the author of “Our Lady of

Lourdes,” so admirably translated for THE CATHOLIC WORLD. At one end of

the meadow is a pretty _châlet_ given the Bishop of Tarbes by some pious

individual for his residence when he comes to Lourdes. Turning into the

road again, we come to a fork--one path leading up over the cliff to the

church, and the other along the shore of the river beneath. Taking the

latter, we find a chain stretched across the way, beyond which no vender

of holy wares can go, or carriage pass. We keep on beneath the cliff of

Massabielle, crowned with its fair white church far above our heads. The

few rods that separate it from the Gave is crowded with people. We hurry

on. A slight turn brings us suddenly before the Grotto of the Apparition,

towards, which every eye is turned.…

“O Light Divine!

Thy Presence and thy power were here.”

No words can express the emotions of the heart at the very sight of this

place of benediction. You at once feel it has some mysterious connection

with the unseen world. A thousand memories of its history, its eighteen

apparitions, its countless miracles, come over you. You forget the crowd

around you. Like the rest, you kneel on the pavement to adore and pray.…

The grotto has wisely been left to nature. It stands open, facing the

Gave, tapestried with ivy, and rosebushes, and pretty ferns that grow in

the clefts of the rocks. The birds that build their nests among the vines

undisturbed are flying to and fro, their songs filling the air above the

hushed crowd. On one side of the grotto in a small niche--the very place

where Bernadette beheld the Marvellous Vision--is a statue of the Virgin

of pure white Carrara marble, standing with folded hands, palm to palm,

and uplifted eyes. A blue girdle is tied around the waist, a crystal

rosary hangs from her arm, and JE SUIS L’IMMACULÉE CONCEPTION, in silver

letters, form a glory around her head.

The grotto is all aflame with an immense pyramidal stand of tapers.

Enormous wax candles, several inches in circumference, burn on the

pavement among pots of lilies. The sides of the cave are hung with

innumerable crutches, canes, shoes, models of hands and arms, etc., etc.,

in pious commemoration of the wonderful cures wrought here. The pavement

is strewn with bouquets of beautiful flowers and more practical offerings

in the form of money, voluntarily thrown in to aid in the construction of

the church. Letters peep out of the clefts of the rocks, each with its

tale of suffering, its prayer for aid.

Of course every pilgrim wishes to enter the grotto, examine it, touch it

with his hands, and kiss it with profound respect. He wishes to pluck a

branch from the vine around the niche of the Virgin, and even appropriate

a fragment of the walls. The necessity will at once be seen of placing

some bounds to the manifestations of a piety praiseworthy in its nature,

but serious in its results. To protect the grotto, therefore, a solid

iron grating bars the entrance, but allows a clear view of the interior.

It is unlocked from time to time to admit a knot of pilgrims, so all can

have an opportunity of praying in so sacred a place. Before the grating

kneel countless pilgrims in the open air, on the cold pavement which

extends to the very edge of the Gave, thrust back from its course to

give additional space. There are a few benches for the weary and infirm.

The different classes of people gathered here, the variety of costumes

worn by peasants from different provinces, and the clergy and sisters of

various orders, to say nothing of the fashionable dresses of the upper

classes, are a study for the artist who has set up an easel before the

stone bench along the banks of the river. Beyond is a long avenue of

trees furnished with seats where pilgrims are gathered in knots around

huge lunch-baskets. At the left of the grotto are several faucets over a

long stone basin, fed by water from the miraculous fountain. Over them

is the inscription: “_Allez boire à la fontaine et vous laver._” Around

are crowded people drinking the healing waters, or filling their cans

and bottles to carry away. Close by is a room furnished with cans of all

dimensions for the accommodation of the pilgrim. Beyond are the bathing

rooms, to so many a pool of Siloam where the angel is never weary of

troubling the waters. Around these doors of hope is always a sad array of

the blind, the deaf, the lame, and the paralytic.

No wonder miracles are wrought here. There is such simple, unbounded

faith in the divine mercy and power, that mountains might be moved.

What would be marvellous elsewhere, only seems the natural order of

things here. Dr. Dozous, a physician of the place--who often accompanied

Bernadette in her visits to the grotto, and has watched with interest

the gradual development of the devotion to Notre Dame de Lourdes; and

witnessed a great number of miracles of all kinds, including the cure of

those who had been blind, or deaf and dumb, from their birth--says, in a

book he has recently published:

“The cures of which I have so often been the ocular witness, and which I

am about to relate, have convinced me, beyond the possibility of doubt,

of the importance of Bernadette’s visits to the grotto of Massabielle,

and the reality of the visions she was there favored with.”

M. Artus, an Alsace refugee at Bordeaux, whose niece had been

miraculously cured of a serious malady by recourse to Notre Dame de

Lourdes, has offered ten thousand francs to any one who will prove the

falseness of any of the statements in M. Lasserre’s book, but, though two

years have since passed, no one has been found quite ready to take up the

offer.

Miracles are so constantly wrought here, that not half of them are

recorded. Five occurred the day before our arrival, one, a deaf-mute to

whom the faculty of speech was instantaneously given. We dared not hope

to witness anything of the kind, nor did we need it to increase our faith

in the power of Omnipotence, though human nature is always seeking some

sign. But the piety of the multitude around obtained the grace we should

not have ventured to ask for ourselves. We were praying one morning in

the grotto, when suddenly there was an unusual movement in the crowd

without, and an increasing wave-like murmur that broke at last into a

tumultuous shout. A gentleman beside us seemed to catch the meaning,

for he sprang up and exclaimed at the top of his voice, _Vive Marie!_

which was answered by hundreds of voices. The effect was electrical,

and the feeling that came over us was something new in our experience.

Tears sprang to the eye. We hurried out of the grotto, and the movement

of the crowd brought us close to a young girl raised above the excited

multitude, pale, smiling with joy, and waving a hand covered with the

marks of ineffectual human remedies, and that had been utterly paralyzed

an hour before. Every one crowded around her to see, examine, test the

use of her arm, and assure themselves of the truth of the case. She had

been fourteen months in a hospital at Marseilles, and had come with a

large number of pilgrims from that place who were ready to testify to her

previous helplessness. The whole scene was thrilling. Bands of pilgrims

with blue badges of the Virgin sang hymns of joy. A wave of excitement

every now and then passed over the crowd and found vent in repeated

_vivas_. The girl was finally released from the examination and admitted

into the grotto, when the Magnificat was intoned.

The cliff of Massabielle has been cut down and levelled off to serve as

the foundation of the church, which stands on the top at a distance of

seventy or eighty feet directly above the grotto. The title of minor

basilica was conferred on it by His Holiness Pius IX., in March, 1874. A

path leads up to it from the shore, its windings along the edge of the

cliff forming the monogram of Mary, among hedges of roses and arbor-vitæ,

glistening with dew, and overhung with acacias and evergreens--a charming

ascent, each step of which leads to a rarer atmosphere, a lovelier and

more extended view, and nearer the altar of Mary.

There are two churches, one above the other; the lower one, dim and

solemn with penitential gloom; the upper, radiant with the light and

purity that ought to surround

“Our tainted nature’s solitary boast.”

Let us first enter the crypt. In the vestibule is a statue of S. Germaine

of Pibrac with her crook and legendary apron of roses, and a lamb at her

feet--the gift of a band of pilgrims from Toulouse. An arched passage

leads each side of the crypt with banners hung over the confessionals

in the recesses. Passing through one of these, we found ourselves in

a low, gloomy nave crowded with columns to support the upper church.

It is chiefly lighted by the numerous lamps hanging on every side, and

the large stands of candles that burn before the Virgin, who is over

the altar embowered among roses. The pavement is covered with kneeling

forms--ladies, soldiers, peasants. You hear the whispered prayer, you

catch glimpses of devout faces, quivering lips, and upturned eyes.

Everything here is solemn and mysterious, and inclines one to serious

reflection. On the pillars hang the different scenes of the great Passion

in which we all had so sad a part. They strike new terror into the soul

in this sepulchral church that seems hewn out of the living rock.

“Low I sit,

In sorrow, penitence-stricken, and deep woe,

’Mid shades of death, thine arrow drinks my blood;

For I thine innocent side have piercéd deep.

I dare not look upon thy bleeding brow,

For I have circled it with thorny crown,

Thou Holy One, and here I sit and weep,

Bowed with the o’erwhelming burden down to earth.”

The carved confessionals at the end suggest comforting thoughts. There

“The great Absolver with relief

Stands by the door, and bears the key

O’er Penitence on bended knee.”

There are five chapels--a mystic number associated with five sorrowful

mysteries--each with two small windows pierced through the thick walls,

looking like the loop-holes of a fort. Their sides are covered with

votive pictures and small marble tablets with inscriptions, some of which

we copy:

“Reconnaissance éternelle à la toute puissante Notre Dame de

Lourdes pour la grace qu’elle m’a obtenue.

Paris, 30 Juillet, 1872.

“M. M.”

* * * * *

“Amour et reconnaissance à Notre Dame de Lourdes. Deux cœurs

guéris et consolés.”

* * * * *

“A Notre Dame de Lourdes, Colonel L. S.

“6 Aout, 1870.”

* * * * *

“Reconnaissance éternelle à Notre Dame de Lourdes qui a guèri

notre fille.”

There is a countless number of similar inscriptions, which are so many

leaves torn from domestic histories, extremely touching and suggestive

to read. They are eternal expressions of gratitude, which are doubtless

pleasing to the Divine Benefactor, who is not regardless of one who

returns to give thanks.

Our last visit to the crypt will never be forgotten. We had arrived at

Lourdes the evening before, in a pouring rain, which still continued

when we went at half-past four in the morning to attend the Mass of a

clerical friend. It was with difficulty we made our way into the nave,

crammed with pilgrims from Bretagne and La Vendée. The five chapels were

filled with priests waiting for their turn to say Mass. Our friend had

been there since two o’clock, and it was nearly seven before he found a

vacancy at the altar. Masses likewise had been continually succeeding

each other since midnight in the fifteen chapels of the church above. The

place, it will be seen, is one of perpetual prayer.

Our devotions over at a late hour, we ascended a flight of twenty-six

steps, which brought us to a broad terrace before the upper church

commanding a lovely view of the valley, with the picturesque old castle

directly in front. The sun had come out after the rain, and nothing could

be more fresh and enchanting. On the terrace stood the four bells given

by the Prince of Viana, and not yet hung. They were baptized August

11, by Cardinal Donnet of Bordeaux, in presence of a numerous crowd,

including Don Sebastian de Bourbon, Infante of Spain, the Duc de Nemours,

and the Prince of Béarn and Viana.

Before entering the church, we pause in front of the Gothic portal to

look up at the representation of our Saviour over the central arch. His

face is turned towards Lourdes, a cruciform nimbus surrounds his head,

the Alpha and Omega are at the side, and his right hand is raised to

bless the pilgrim beneath. At each side are the winged emblems of the

Evangelists. And lower down is the Virgin Mother, her hands crossed on

her breast, her face,

“The most resembling Christ,”

sweet and thoughtful. She seems to be awaiting all who seek through her

the Divine Redeemer, who by her has been given to mankind. _Felix cœli

porta_, we say as we pass beneath.

Entering the church, we are at once struck with its immaculate purity.

It is in the style of the XIIIth century. The height is about double

the width, which makes the arches seem loftier than they really are.

The spotless white walls are relieved by the beautiful banners hanging

on every side. There are about four hundred of these banners, richly

embroidered with religious symbols and devices, and the arms of different

cities and provinces. Conspicuous among them are the banners of Alsace

and Lorraine bordered with crape. They were wrought in secret, and

brought over the frontier in the night to escape the vigilance of the

Prussian police. They were presented by faithful Christians, one of whom

was a valiant officer whose breast was covered with decorations, and

received by the Archbishop of Auch (to whose province Lourdes belongs),

who wept as he pressed them to his lips, affecting the vast crowd to

tears.

Around the nave of the church is an unique frieze of votive golden

hearts, so arranged as to form inscriptions in immense letters,

taken from the words of the Virgin to Bernadette: “VOUS PRIEREZ POUR

LA CONVERSION DES PÉCHEURS. ALLEZ BOIRE À LA FONTAINE ET VOUS Y

LAVER.--ALLEZ DIRE AUX PRÊTRES QU’IL DOIT SE BÂTIR ICI UNE CHAPELLE, ET

QU’ON DOIT Y VENIR EN PROCESSION.”

The main altar in the centre of the choir is dedicated to the mystery

of the Immaculate Conception. It is of pure white marble, and on the

front are five compartments on which are sculptured the Annunciation,

Visitation, Assumption, Coronation, and the Apparition of the Blessed

Virgin in the grotto. The altar is adorned with white lilies. Over

it in a golden niche is a statue of Mary Most Pure, “above all women

glorified,” the very embodiment of purity and love. Above her, like a

crown, is a constellation of beautiful lamps of filigree and enamel.

Rich votive offerings are fastened to the walls--crosses of the Legion

of Honor, epaulettes, swords crossed above flags, a miniature ship, the

mitre of Mgr. Lawrence, etc. On the keystone of the arch are sculptured

the arms of Pope Pius IX.

The main altar with its Madonna is the central object in the church,

and the focus of its splendor. Around it, like so many rays around the

Immaculate Conception, are five apsidal chapels. Directly behind it is

the chapel of the Sacred Heart, where of course the Blessed Sacrament

is kept. At the left is Notre Dame du Mont Carmel, in honor of the last

apparition to Bernadette, which took place on the festival of that name.

Next is the chapel of Notre Dame des Victoires, in commemoration of

the celebrated archconfraternity at Paris, which has effected so many

conversions, wrought so many miracles, and prepared the way, as it were,

for the triumph of the Immaculate Conception.

At the right of the chapel of the Sacred Heart is that of Notre Dame

du Rosaire, recalling the rosary the Virgin held on her arm in all her

apparitions to Bernadette. Then, Notre Dame de la Sallette, reminding us

that the tears the Mother of Sorrows once shed over the woes of France

in the mountains of Dauphine, have been succeeded by the smiles of Marie

Immaculée in the grotto of the Pyrenees.

Each of these five chapels recall the Holy Trinity by the number of their

windows, as the rose window in the façade is typical of the Divine Unity.

These windows are of stained glass--the gift of the Prince of Viana.

The main altar and the statue of the Immaculate Conception are from

an anonymous benefactor, and many of the other altars are the gifts of

private individuals.

Ten lateral chapels open out of the nave, and communicate with each

other for convenience. The four nearest the choir bring around Mary the

principal members of her family: S. Anne, S. Joachim, S. Joseph, and S.

John the Baptist. Then come the chapel of S. Peter, still living in our

“Pope of the Immaculate Conception,” who so glorified Mary on the 8th

of December, 1854; S. John, the beloved disciple, who was appointed her

son on Mt. Calvary; S. Francis of Assisi, the patriarch of the Seraphic

Order that has always been the advocate of the Immaculate Conception; S.

Francis Xavier, patron of the Society for the Propagation of the Faith,

one of the glories of this age of Mary; S. Bertrand, the illustrious

bishop of Commines and the patron saint of Mgr. Lawrence, whose name

will ever be associated with the church of Notre Dame de Lourdes; and S.

Germaine, the humble shepherdess of Pibrac, so like the little _bergère_

of Lourdes.

Thus four of the great religious orders of the church are represented

before the Virgin’s throne--the Carmelite, Dominican, Franciscan, and

Jesuit. Each chapel, sacred to some holy mystery, has its beautiful

altar, its carved oaken confessional, its circular golden chandelier, its

station of the cross, its banners, and its statues.

The carved oak pulpit on the left side of the nave was given by the

Bishop of Marseilles.

The windows of the side chapels, that await a donor, will depict the

history of Notre Dame de Lourdes, beginning with the first apparition

and ending with the consecration of the church. And the clerestory

windows will represent the history of the devotion to the Immaculate

Conception. The decoration of the church is by no means complete. It is

to be in harmony with the architecture, so pure in outline and light

in form. In the seventy-six arcatures of the triforium the saints most

devoted to the Immaculate Conception are to be represented on a gilt

ground.

To see this beautiful church crowded with devout pilgrims, priests

at every altar of the fifteen chapels, a grand service going on in

the choir with all the solemn pomp displayed in great cathedrals, the

numerous clergy in the richest vestments, and to hear the grand music of

Palestrina executed with perfect harmony and exquisite taste--the whole

congregation heartily joining in the chants, and the peal of the trumpets

contrasting admirably with their earnest voices--is to the ravished soul

like a vision of the heavenly Jerusalem. The lofty arches seem to sway

with the undulations of the music, sometimes soft as the murmur of a

rivulet, and again as deep as a mountain torrent falling over rocks. The

eye is never weary of gazing at this fair temple with its pure outlines,

so harmonious in all its parts, the soft light coming in floods through

the lofty windows and mingling with the brilliancy of the lights and

flowers; the immense oriflammes hanging from the arches to give testimony

to the glory of the Immaculate Conception and the Pontiff who crowned

that glory; the mysterious words on the wall that fell from the smiling

lips of the Virgin in the grotto; and the Most Pure herself, unveiled to

all eyes, standing in the midst of all this splendor above the altar,

in a golden atmosphere, raising heavenward her look of inspiration, her

hands joined in prayer, her heart swelling with love--adoring love for

Him who dwells in the tabernacle; and maternal love for her children

gathered around the fountain opened for the salvation of the world. O

Immaculate One! we here feel thy sweet presence, and the creative power

of thy word: “Go, tell the priests I wish a chapel to be built on this

spot.”

Never was greater miracle wrought by humbler instrumentality--never was

the Divine Hand more manifest than in the upspringing of this mountain

chapel--the lily of the Immaculate Conception, sweetest flower of this

age of Mary. Human intelligence is confounded at what has been effected

by the mouth of a poor peasant girl of this obscure valley. It grasps at

the assurance of faith in Mary who has wrought it. Before her the Gave

that beat against the cliff has fallen back--image of the torrent that

approached Mary at the moment of her creation, and, just as she was about

to receive the fatal stain, the wave of corruption, that bears all of us

poor children of Eve on its impure waters, fell back before the ark of

the new covenant, Fœderis Arca.

The very cliffs have bowed down at her presence, and these stones, these

walls, these columns, these arches, and the fountain of indisputable

potency that has sprung out of the bowels of the earth, bear witness to

her wonderful apparitions and power.

One of the most imposing spectacles at Lourdes is a procession of

pilgrims, especially when seen, as we saw one, from the mount above

coming from the town--a very forest of crosses, banners, and lanterns,

borne by thousands of people with that slow, measured, solemn, harmonious

step that is in itself a prayer. We thought of good Mother Hallahan and

her delight in nine miles of prayer. Here were whole leagues of praise.

“On the ear

Swells softly forth some virgin hymn;

The white procession windeth near,

With glimmering lights in sunshine dim.

Mother of Purity and Peace!

They sing the Saviour’s name and thine:

Clothe them forever with the fleece

Unspotted of thy Lamb Divine!”

From one end of the immense procession to the other rose chants without

discord--here from a band of maidens and innocent children, yonder from

harmonious choirs of maturer years. From time to time a peal of trumpets

drowned the murmur of the Gave and awoke the echoes of the mountains. In

the procession were hundreds of men organized into pious confraternities

as in the Middle Ages. They follow the path taken by Bernadette, when she

was irresistibly led on to the place of the wondrous vision. They all

stop to make a genuflection where she knelt before the Beautiful Lady,

and begin the Litany of Loretto in the sweet plaintive air peculiar to

the country. It is delightful to hear Mary’s name swelling along the

valley and up the rocky heights! Thus chanting they ascend the winding

path on the cliff, forming a living monogram of the Virgin’s name, among

roses that give out their perfume, through cedars of Lebanon and other

rare trees that bend down their branches laden with dew. And above this

verdure, these perfumes, and these chanted supplications, the white

marble Church of the Immaculate Conception sends heavenward the silent

prayer of its gleaming walls, its pillars, its turrets and pinnacles.

They wind around the church like a wreath and disappear within its

sculptured portal chanting: _Lætatus sum in his quæ dicta sunt mihi_--I

was glad at the things that were said to me. We will go into the house

of the Lord.… Our feet were wont to stand in thy courts, O Jerusalem!

Jerusalem which is built as a city that is at unity with itself.…

Plenteousness be to them that love thee!

At the particular request of the Prince of Viana, one of the greatest

benefactors to the church, his Holiness Pope Pius IX. has granted a

partial indulgence to all who visit the church, and a plenary indulgence

to those who here approach the sacraments and pray for concord among

Christian princes the extirpation of heresies, and the exaltation of our

holy Mother the Church.

A winding road leads from the church by gentle ascent up the picturesque

mount behind, along which are to be built fifteen chapels in honor of

the Mysteries of the Rosary, where the words once spoken by the angel

will ascend the mountain side in one long and incessant Ave Maria! Along

this holy way will continually ascend and descend the pious votary in

“pilgrim’s cowl and lowly weed”

“Dropping on each mystic bead

To Mary, Mother Mild, a contrite tear.”

A certain party, desirous of bringing pilgrimages into disrepute, and

inclined to seek some human cause for everything supernatural, attributes

a political object to this great crusade of prayer which the impious

instinctively tremble before, and not without reason. M. Lasserre thus

closes an address to the visitor to Notre Dame de Lourdes:

“Pilgrims of France! Your politics at the grotto of Lourdes is to pray,

to begin a new life, to sanctify yourselves, and to become in this

corrupt age the chosen righteous who are to save the wicked cities of the

land. It is thus you will labor efficaciously for the prosperity of your

country and bring back its past splendor and glory. A nation desirous of

salvation in heaven, is a nation saved on earth.”

We close by echoing one of the acclamations sung alternately by clergy

and people at the solemn celebration in this place of benediction:

V. Omnibus nobis peregrinantibus, et universo Christiano populo, Fidei,

Spei, et Charitatis augmentum et gaudium æternum.

R. Amen. Amen. Salvos fac servos tuos, Domine, et benedic hæreditati tuæ,

et rege eos, et extolle illos usque in æternum.

Fiat. Fiat. Amen.

THE HOUSE OF JOAN OF ARC.

I am writing these lines in a small inn of Domrémy, on the evening of

my pilgrimage to the lowly dwelling of Jeanne d’Arc. My table is an old

coffer, shakily placed on the rugged and disjointed paving stones which

form the floor, and my only companion a kitten gambolling in the red rays

of the setting sun. I thus begin my account of that house which has been

well called the _santa casa_ of France.

Arriving at Domrémy while yet its green valleys were enveloped in the

white vapors rising from the Meuse, my first sight of the place was

through the mist of early morning.

It is a small village of Lorraine, near the confines of Champagne. God,

who so often wills to choose a mere nothing through which to exercise his

power, chose it as the starting-point of his work for the deliverance

of France. For Domrémy was a little village also in the year 1425, when

there the heavenly light appeared, there the angel descended, and the

voices not of earth were heard.

The mutilation of this province by the German invasion has only rendered

Domrémy more _lorrain_ than ever: and the Vosges Mountains raise their

blue summits along the horizon and lengthen their shadows as if the

better to guard the home of her who was the good angel of her country.

The village consists of scarcely more than a hundred houses, clustered

round the venerable church and the old walls of the cottage which

sheltered the infancy and youth of the daughter of Jaques d’Arc and his

wife Isabelle Romée.

This church, to which her earliest steps were bent, the place of her

prayers and inspirations, where she armed her soul with virtue and

heroism before arming her breast like a brave warrior preparing for

battle--this church is more than lowly, it is poor; and it is matter for

wonder that, if no one else does so, at least that the maidens of France

do not organize themselves into an association which should make it their

chosen sanctuary, and by which they would engage themselves not only to

provide it with what is necessary and fitting, but with pious generosity

to enrich and beautify their privileged altar.

At the threshold of the church stands a ridiculous statue of Jeanne

d’Arc. It seems a sort of sacrilege so to have misrepresented the

features of the Maid; and the best way to dispose of this image would be

to throw it into a furnace and melt it down in company with the still

more objectionable equestrian statue recently erected in the Place des

Pyramides at Paris, which insults the modest virgin by placing her

astride on her charger, in a complete suit of armor, instead of the steel

breastplate which alone she wore over her womanly apparel. Then, out of

the metal of these molten caricatures might be struck medals of worthier

design, to be distributed in the country.

Among the trees at a few paces from the church is a little Greek monument

supported by four columns, beneath which is a bust of Jeanne in white

marble. Facing this little monument, about a stone’s throw off, stands

her dwelling. This house is separated from the road by two pavilions

connected by a railing of gilt arrows. Trees envelop its walls with their

overshadowing branches, and a third part of the roof is covered with ivy.

Above the door, which is low, are three shields of armorial bearings, the

Arms of France, charged with a sword, and those of the family of D’Arc;

or, to speak more exactly, the door is surmounted by three escutcheons,

namely, that of Louis XI., who caused the cottage to be embellished;

that which was granted to one of the brothers of Jeanne, together with

the name of Lys; and a third, which bears a star and three ploughshares,

to symbolize Jeanne’s heavenly mission and the lowly condition of her

parents. Two inscriptions in uncial Gothic are graven on the stone:

“_Vive Labeur!_”--the motto of Jeanne and the _resumé_ of her history;

and “_Vive le Roi Loys!_”--the _resumé_ of her great work.

On the left of the door is a lattice window with diamond-shaped panes.

Two rooms constitute the whole of the house. Jeanne was born in the first

and larger of the two; the second and inner one is dimly lighted by a

small window opening towards the church. Here it was that Jeanne listened

to the heavenly voices, and here she heard the church bells summoning

to prayer, or sounding the tocsin, when the village was attacked by

marauding bands who came to sack the place and cut down the partisans of

the throne of France.

On several occasions fugitives were concealed by her in this obscure

chamber. She gave up her bed to them, and went to rest in the hayloft.

Facing the hearth in the entrance room is a statue in bronze, reduced

from the expressive figure by the Princess Mary of Orleans.[160] Garlands

of moss surround this statue, and rose-leaves are scattered at its

feet. The nuns who are in charge of the house assemble every evening in

this room with the young girls of the village, to sing hymns. On the

wall hangs a crucifix, and beneath it stands an image of the Blessed

Virgin; and here the nuns with their little flock keep the month of Mary,

celebrating the praises of the Royal Virgin of Judah, who was so dear to

the heart of the virgin of Domrémy.

Here and there upon the walls are _ex votos_, slabs of marble and bronze

relating facts worthy of remembrance in honor of Jeanne, or recalling

historic dates. The beams and rafters of the ceiling are dinted by axe

and sabre strokes given by the Prussians in 1814, not by any means from

disrespect, or motives of jealousy, but merely from an outbreak of

destructive devotion. They entered the house, silent, and with their hats

off, but they did not wish to leave it without taking from it some relics

to carry into their own country.

Numerous pilgrims have been guilty of the low and objectionable

proceeding of carving their names on the stones of the house, although a

register is kept at hand on purpose to receive the visitors’ names and

impressions. The piece of furniture on which the volumes are placed was

presented last year by a prince of France, and accompanied by the gift of

a piece of Gobelin tapestry representing the entry of King Charles VII.

and _Jehanne la bonne Lorraine_ into the city of Rheims.

The latest volume of the register commences in 1871, after the disasters

and misfortunes of France. To every name inscribed in its pages, whether

of aristocrat or commoner, officers of the army or men of the rank and

file, thoughts are elaborated of more or less pretension to literary

merit, in prose or verse, but the dominant idea is prayer to God for the

salvation of France, and grateful love to Jeanne d’Arc; while here and

there are appeals to the Sovereign Pontiff for the beatification of the

young patriot martyr, or at any rate for a solemn affirmation of the

miraculous nature of her call and the sanctity of her life.

A touching incident occurred not quite a year ago. One evening in the

month of May, two English ladies, nuns of the Order of Servites, visited

the house, accompanied by a priest of Vaucouleurs, and had no sooner

crossed the threshold than, falling on their knees, they burst into

tears, entreating God to pardon England, guilty of the death of Joan of

Arc, and making a fervent act of reparation for their country, their

ancestors, and themselves. Nor did they rise before they had kissed the

floor of that lowly cottage where she had so often knelt in prayer to God

and in converse with his glorified saints, and where she had lived in the

fulfilment of the daily duties of her lowly estate.

On another occasion a band of volunteers, on their way to join the

army, came to ask _La Pucelle_ to help them to be good soldiers, and

begging her blessing on themselves and their arms as they would that of

a canonized saint. A cavalry officer made a visit to Domrémy expressly

to remind her that one of his comrades in arms died at Gravelotte

repeating her name. A great number of officers who made their escape from

Germany also came hither direct from the frontier, to return thanks for

their safety, before returning to the homes where their families were

anxiously awaiting them.

A great pope has said, “France will not perish, for God has always a

miracle in reserve to save her.”

The miracle came in the middle of the XVth century, in the person of

Jeanne d’Arc. It may come again through her instrumentality; not this

time leading on the victors at Orleans, Patay, Troyes, Rheims, Compeigne,

Paris, or dying at Rouen amid the flames, but crowned a saint upon the

Church’s altars, as a powerful intercessor for her native land. Mgr.

Dupanloup has given a great impetus to the desire for forwarding her

cause at the infallible tribunal of the Catholic Church.

Gerson, the great and pious chancellor, and the contemporary of Joan of

Arc, ardently desired the same cause, which is now taken to heart, not

only by the illustrious bishop, but also by the clergy, the magistrature,

and the army in Orleans, who are at the head of various commissions

employed in obtaining the evidence necessary for aiding the judgment

of the Sovereign Pontiff. He will have a pleasant task who may be

entrusted to collect the popular traditions which linger like a fragrance

at Domrémy, of the innocent and holy life of Joan of Arc, and to him

the very walls of her cottage birthplace will be eloquent: _lapides

clamabunt_.[161]

SONNET.

Mark yonder gentle doe! her one loved fawn

Close at her side, just where the leafy wood,

With all its summer charms of solitude,

Steps o’er the verdant edges of our lawn!

Mark their shy grace at this chaste hour of dawn!

While culling spicy birch-twigs, their cropped food

Dew-drops impearl, and morning shadows brood

O’er dells, towards which their timid feet are drawn.

Thus have I seen, within a cloister’s shade,

A widowed mother and one tender child

Close at her side; one habit on them laid;

Both, by a kindred exaltation mild,

Led to the service of the Mother Maid,

With her to seek Heaven’s peace through pathways undefiled.

DOMINIQUE DE GOURGUES,

_THE AVENGER OF THE HUGUENOTS IN FLORIDA, A CATHOLIC_.

The traveller between Bordeaux and Bayonne who takes an eastward train at

Morcenx, will arrive in less than an hour at Mont-de-Marsan, a small town

of four or five thousand inhabitants, on the borders of the Landes, at

the confluence of the Douze and Midou, which form the Midouze. Some say

it was founded on the site of an old temple of Mars, by Charlemagne, on

his return from Roncesvalles. If so, the place was afterwards destroyed

by the Saracen or Norman invaders, for the fifth Vicomte de Marsan,

desirous of purging the forest of Maremsin of the robbers who endangered

the lives and property of the merchants and pilgrims who passed that

way, built a castle at the junction of the two rivers, on a spot which

bore a name of ominous meaning: _Maü-pas_, or _Mauvais-pas_--doubtless

a bad place to fall into, on account of the frequent robberies. Around

this castle gathered the vassals of the neighboring abbey of S. Sever for

protection. They came from the parish of S. Pierre-du-Mont, and brought

their devotion to S. Peter with them. The arms of the town are still two

keys _en pal_, between the letters M. M. (Mons Martianus); and the parish

church that stood till the Revolution, was dedicated to S. Peter, where

the mayor, before entering on his functions, took the following curious

oath in three languages--the Gascon, Latin, and French:

Per Diu et per aquet monsegné Saint Pé,

Jou juri que bon et lejau a la bille jou seré

Lous bens daquere jou proucureré,

Et lous maux esbiteré.

Las causes doubtouses dab conselt jou feré,

Justice tan au petit com au gros jou faré,

Com an heit lous autes maires et millou si jou sé,

Ansi me adjudé Diu et monsegné Saint Pé.

Per Deum et sanctum Petrum juro

Quod urbi bonus et legalis ero,

Ejus bona procurabo,

Ejus mala vitabo:

Dubia faciam cum consilio,

Et justitiam tam parvo quam magno,

Sicut alii magistratus et melius si scio,

Sic non ero sine Dei ac sancti Petri adjutorio.

Je jure par le Dieu vivant et par Saint Pierre,

Que jè seray bon et légal à la ville;

Que j’en procureray les biens et eviteray les maux,

Que je ne feray jamais les choses douteuses sans conseil,

Que je feray justice, au petit comme au grand,

De même que les autres maires, et mieux si je scay;

Ainsi me puisse toujours ayder mon Dieu et Saint Pierre.[162]

In 1256, the town passed into the possession of the lords of Béarn,

and to keep it in due subjection Gaston Phœbus built the castle

of _Nou-li-bos_, _i.e._, _You-do-not-wish-it-there_, referring to

the opposition of the inhabitants--a name that recalls the famous

_Quiquengrogne_ erected by Anne of Bretagne to keep the town of S. Malo

in check, and the _Bridle_ built by Louis XII. at the entrance of the

harbor of Genoa.

Calvinism, of course, took some root here in the time of Jeanne d’Albret.

Theodore Beza sent preachers to win over the people, but the Catholics

organized under the Seigneur de Ravignan and for a while kept the

Huguenots from any excesses. Montgomery, however, soon swept over the

country, sacking all the churches and monasteries, many of which he razed

to the ground. Among these was the convent of Bayries, a community of

Clarist nuns in the vicinity of Mont-de-Marsan, founded in 1270 by Gaston

Phœbus and his wife Amate, which numbered Catherine d’Albret, a cousin

of Francis I., among its abbesses. Marie d’Albret, another relative of

the king’s, was abbess when the marriage between him and Eleanore of

Austria took place here, July 6, 1530. This house of historic interest

was stripped of every valuable by the Huguenots, and then burned to the

ground, the nuns barely escaping with their lives.

The redoubtable Monluc soon avenged all these sacrileges by taking

Mont-de-Marsan, and despatching all who opposed the passage of his

troops. The few Huguenot soldiers left, he threw from the windows of the

formidable _Nou-li-bos_, to avenge, as he said, the brother-in-arms,

whose officers were treacherously butchered by the Huguenots after the

capitulation of Orthez.

This castle of terrible memory has a pleasanter association, for in it

passed the early childhood of the poet François Le Poulchre, the king’s

knight, and lord of La Motte-Messemé, who boasted of descending from the

ancient Roman consul, Appius Pulcher, who displayed such conspicuous

valor under the famous Lucullus,

“Un Appius Pulcher, gentilhomme Romain,

Duquel s’est maintenu le nom de main en main

Jusques au temps présent, jusqu’à moi qui le porte.”

He took for his device: _Suum cuique pulchrum_, in allusion to his name.

As his father was superintendent of the household of Margaret, queen

of Navarre, sister of Francis I., François Le Poulchre had the honor

of having that king for his godfather, and Margaret for his godmother.

The latter conceived such an affection for him that she kept him at her

castle at Marsan, and made him eat at her table as soon as he was old

enough. He says himself:

“J’eus l’honneur pour parrain d’avoir le roi François,

Pour marraine sa sœur, Royne des Navarrois,

Qui me favorisa jusque là elle mesme

Me tenir sur les fons le iour de mon baptesme,

Faict par un grand preslat l’evesque de Loron. (Oloron).

…

“Me faisant mesmement à sa table manger

En présence des siens, ou de quelque estranger

Qui peut y arriver, ne changeant onc de place.”

With little taste for study Le Poulchre left college at an early age to

embrace the profession of arms.

“Avecque ce grand duc, non moins vaillant que bon,

Race de Saint Louis, dit Louis de Bourbon,”

--that is to say, under the great Condé. He has given us his own life

and adventures under the title of _Les honnestes Loisirs du Seigneur de

la Motte-Messemé_, which is divided into seven books bearing the title

of the seven planets, as the history of Herodotus bears the name of the

nine muses, and the poetical Zodiac of Marcellus Palingenesis bears the

names of the twelve signs of the zodiac. To compose it, he retired to the

Château de Bouzemont in Lorraine. We trust he was more skilful in the use

of the sword than of the pen. One of his sonnets, however, is pleasing.

It is like a single flower in a barren parterre. It is addressed to

the _dame de ses pensées_, to whom, after acknowledging she hears Mass

devoutly, fasts with due strictness, goes to confession regularly, and

is always charitable to the poor, he says:

“Vous faictes tout cela, mais ce seroit resver

De croire que cela tout seul vous pust sauver.

Ne vous y arrestez pas, je vous prie, Madame;

D’aller en Paradis le plus certain moyen

C’est de rendre à chacun ce que l’on a du sien:

Rendez-moi donc mon cœur, vous sauverez vostre ame;”

--You do all this, but it is a dream to suppose this alone can save you.

Do not stop here, madam, I pray you; the surest means of gaining paradise

is to restore to every one what belongs to him: Give me back my heart,

then, and you will save your soul!

Among other historic memories evoked by Le Poulchre in his seven cantos,

he relates how, going to kiss the hand of the young King Charles IX.,

Anne d’Este,

“Veufve du grand Lorrain,

Qu’avait meschantement d’une traisteresse main

Blecé d’un coup de plomb Poltrot, son domestique,”

--came not to seek vengeance on Poltrot, for he had already been drawn

and quartered before St. Jean de Grève, but on Coligny, whom, in the

presence of the king, the Cardinal de Guise, and others, in the nave

of the chapel of the château de Vincennes, she accused of being an

accomplice in the crime of February 18, 1563.

It was not long after this the king,

“Se hastant de traverser les Lanes

Pour aller voir sa sœur la Reyne des Espagnes,”

stopped at Mont-de-Marsan, where he made Le Poulchre _escuyer d’escuyrie

ordinaire_, as the poet does not fail to record, and shortly after he

received the collar of knighthood from the same royal hand.

The château of Gaston Phœbus, which had received so many princes and

princesses within its walls, and been the witness of so many tragedies,

was, after being taken anew from the Huguenots, totally demolished by

the order of Louis XIII A charming promenade, called the _Pépinière_,

surrounded by the Douze, is now the spot.

Mont-de-Marsan was formerly a centre of considerable trade, and the

entrepôt of the country around. Wine, grain, turpentine, wool, etc.,

were brought here to be sent down the Midouze. This was a source of

considerable revenue to the place, and explains the extensive warehouses,

now unused in consequence of the railway and the diversion of trade.

There is still a little wharf, where are moored several barks laden with

wood or turpentine, but there is not business enough to disturb the

quietness of the place. No one would suppose it had ever been the theatre

of terrible events. The most striking feature is a peculiar oblong

court, surrounded by houses of uniform style, with numerous balconies

for the spectators to witness the bull-fights occasionally held here--an

amusement that accords with the fiery nature and pastoral pursuits of

the people around, and is still clung to in several places in the Landes

and among the Pyrenees. This square is, by a singular anomaly, called

the _Place St. Roch_, from a saint regarded throughout the region as the

patron of animals; and they certainly have need of his protection in a

place where they are exposed to such cruelty.

Such are some of the characteristics and memories of the small inland

town in which was born Dominique de Gourgues, the leader of the

celebrated expedition against the Spaniards in Florida. He was the third

son of Jean de Gourgues and Isabella de Lau, his wife.

He was born in the year 1537, in an age of religious conflict, when

party spirit ran too high for any one to remain neutral, whatever their

grade of piety. It might therefore seem surprising there should ever have

been any doubt as to the religious convictions of De Gourgues. Because

he was the avenger of the massacre of the Huguenots in Florida, he has

often been identified with the Protestant party. Because he lived in an

age when provincial and sectarian spirit often prevailed over patriotism,

it has been taken for granted that sympathy with the religious sentiments

of the victims of the Spaniards could alone have induced him to sell

his property to provide for a distant and dangerous expedition that

would never repay him even if successful. In a work entitled, _La

France Protestante_, by MM. Haag, a kind of dictionary of Protestant

celebrities in France, issued in 1853 by a proselyting press, whose works

are everywhere to be found, De Gourgues is made a Huguenot. No proof is

given, no doubt expressed--the surest and shortest way of carrying one’s

point in these days. Assurance always produces a certain effect even

on the thoughtfully-minded. They take it for granted it has some real

foundation.

The _Revue Protestante_[163] makes the same assertion, appealing to De

Thou and other historians.

Francis Parkman, in his _Pioneers of France in the New World_, says:

“There was a gentleman of Mont-de-Marsan, Dominique de Gourgues, a

soldier of ancient birth and high renown. That he was a Huguenot is not

certain. The Spanish annalist Barcia calls him a terrible heretic; but

the French Jesuit, Charlevoix, anxious the faithful should share the

glory of his exploits, affirms, that, like his ancestors before him, he

was a good Catholic. If so, his faith sat lightly upon him, and Catholic

or heretic, he hated the Spaniards with a mortal hate.”

The English made the Catholic Church responsible for the massacre of

the Huguenots. The account of Le Moyne, published in England under the

patronage of Raleigh, inflamed anew the public mind against Catholicity,

and the terrible words of the Spanish leader, _El que fuere herege

morira_, were regarded as the echo of the church. Consequently the

avengers of the deed were supposed to be necessarily Protestants--not

only De Gourgues, but all his followers. Nor is this all. The whole

family of the latter is said to have been converted to Calvinism in the

XVIth century.

M. le Vicomte de Gourgues, the present representative of the family,

desirous of vindicating the orthodoxy of his ancestors, and, in

particular, of so illustrious a relative as Dominique de Gourgues, has

given to the public incontrovertible proofs that the whole family was

eminently Catholic, that Dominique lived and died in the faith, and that

his expedition to Florida was a patriotic deed in which religious zeal

had no part. He felt the anger of a man of honor against the cruelty of

the Spaniards. A great national injury was to be avenged, and he was too

good a soldier not to wish to be foremost in the conflict. And perhaps

some private motives excited him to vengeance, for he had been taken

himself by the Spaniards, and narrowly escaped death at their hands,

and could therefore feel for these new victims of their barbarity.

Moreover, his expedition was the expression of public sentiment in

France concerning the massacre--the mere outburst of the electric current

that ran over the country at such an insult to the honor of France.

The assertion that De Gourgues was a Protestant is a modern invention

without a shadow of foundation. None of the old French historians express

any doubt as to his orthodoxy. Even the romances in which he figures

represent him as a Catholic, as if his religion were a prominent feature

in his character. Some years ago, a novel was published in the _Siècle_

called “La Peine du Talion,” of which the Chevalier de Gourgues is the

hero, and on his Catholicity turns the interest of the story. He is

represented as a brilliant cavalier who has served in the wars of Italy,

and is now an officer in the service of the Duke of Guise, whose favor

he enjoys. An attachment is formed between him and Estiennette de Nérac,

whose hand he requests in marriage. The Seigneur de Nérac expresses great

surprise that Messire Dominique should forget the insuperable abyss there

is between an ardent Catholic in the service of the house of Lorraine and

his Protestant daughter.

But for more serious proofs. And first let us examine the orthodoxy of

Dominique de Gourgues’ family.

That his parents were Catholics is proved by the list of those who

appeared in the ban and arrière-ban at Mont-de-Marsan, March 4, 1537.

“Noble Jean de Gourgues, Seigneur de Gaube and Monlezun, present at the

convocation held in this town by order of the king.” And Isabella de

Lau, his wife, requests in her will “to be buried in the church of the

convent of the Cordeliers at Mont-de-Marsan,[164] before the chapel of

the Conception where the ancestors of the said De Gourgues are buried.”

It is sure, therefore, that Dominique was baptized in the Catholic Church

at Mont-de-Marsan.

Dominique and his brother Ogier left their native place in early life

and established themselves at Bordeaux. The former was never married,

and seems to have made his home with his brother, to whom he was greatly

attached. At the château de Vayries there were, a few years ago, four

old evergreen trees of some foreign species, at the corners of the lawn

before the terrace, said by tradition to have been planted by the hero of

Florida.

Ogier became king’s counsellor in the council of state, and president

of the treasury in Guienne, and, after serving his country faithfully

under five kings, died full of years and honors at his house in Bordeaux,

“without leaving the like of his quality in Guyenne.” He took part in

all the affairs of the province, in the accounts of which we find many

things significant of his religious convictions. Monluc mentions him in

his _Commentaries_, as offering to procure wheat and cattle from the

Landes, on his own credit, when it was proposed to fortify the coast to

defeat the projects of the Huguenots. He placed his property as much as

possible at the disposal of the king. He manifested great interest in the

reduction of La Rochelle, and lent twenty-three hundred livres to enable

the Baron de la Gardie to despatch his galleys to the siege, as is shown

by the following letter from the king:

“For the payment of my galleys which I have ordered Baron de la Gardie,

the general, to despatch promptly to the coast of Bretagne on a service

of great importance, … I write praying you to advance to Sieur Felix

the sums I have assigned for this purpose, … trusting that, as in the

past you have never spared your means and substance in my service,

you will spare them still less in this urgent necessity. I have been

advised, however, by the said Sieur de la Gardie that you have not yet

lent your aid, which I am persuaded proceeds from want of means; but

well knowing the credit you have in my city of Bordeaux, and trusting to

your good-will, I send this line to beg you, in continuation of the good

and acceptable services I have heretofore received from you in public

affairs, and on other occasions which have presented themselves, to do

me likewise this other in so extreme a need, to advance and place in the

hands of the said Felix the sums I have assigned in aid, not only of

the said Sieur de la Gardie, but the other captains of my said galleys,

which I will pay and reimburse you, or those who by your favor and credit

shall have advanced them.… (Hoping) that you have lessened in no way the

extreme affection you have had till the present, in all that relates to

my service, which I will not forget in due time or fail to recognize,

… to gratify you in every way possible, … I finish praying God, Sr. de

Gourgues, to have you in his holy keeping.--Given at Gaillon the 24th of

May, 1571.

“CHARLES.”

The appeal was not in vain, as we have said.

Máréchal de Matignon, in a letter to the king in 1585, renders the

following fine testimony concerning Ogier de Gourgues:

“Sire, the pestilence in this city continues to such a degree that there

is not a person, with the means of living elsewhere, who has not left it,

and there are now only the Srs. Premier President and De Gourgues, who

remain out of the special affection they have for your service.”

Ogier de Gourgues had two sons, Antoine and Marc Antoine. Antoine, the

elder, presumed by MM. Haag and others to be a Protestant, is thus spoken

of in the _Chronique Bourdeloyse_, published in 1672:

“The château de Castillon, in Médoc, having been surprised by some

troops, has been restored to the obedience of the king and the Seigneur

de Matignon in eight days by Capt. de Gourgues, _mestre de camp_ of a

French regiment, and cousin of him who attacked the Spaniards in Florida.”

And in another place: “And after some sorties from the garrison of Blaye,

in which Capt. de Gourgues, while fighting valiantly, was wounded, and

after some days died, the said Seigneur de Matignon raised the siege.”

Of course, Marshal de Matignon’s lieutenant could not be a Huguenot.

Besides, the account of the expenses at the grand funeral services of

Capt. Antoine de Gourgues, attended by all the religious communities in

Bordeaux, is still extant. By this we find seven livres are paid the

Carmelite monks for their services three days, and the use of several

objects for the funeral; three crowns to the canons of St. André for

High Mass and the burial service; twenty sols to the Brothers of the

Observance for three days’ assistance and the use of robes; four crowns

to the religious of the Chapelet for aiding in the three days’ service;

five sols to the Brothers of Mary for the same; two crowns to twenty-four

priests who recited prayers around the bier; fifty-one sols each to four

women who dressed the body and remained with it day and night; one sol

apiece given to three thousand poor on the day of burial, and six deniers

the following day, etc., etc. There is a _chapelle ardente_, hung with

mourning, emblazoned with the family arms, the bells are tolled two days,

and all the clergy and poor follow him to the grave, with the most solemn

rites of the Catholic Church.

Marc Antoine, the second son of Ogier de Gourgues, was a zealous

defender of the Catholic faith. He travelled all through Europe in his

youth, studied theology at the Roman college, and, gifted with uncommon

eloquence, though he did not take Orders, held public controversies

against Calvinism and a discussion with Scaliger, as is shown by the

eulogy at his funeral, which took place at Bordeaux. Some years after

those public vindications of the Catholic faith, he went to England,

where he was received with great distinction by Queen Elizabeth, a fact

worthy of notice, as the favor she manifested to Dominique has been

considered as an argument in proof of his Protestant proclivities. She

liked to gather around her men of certain celebrity, and those who

were in her good graces were not always in sympathy with her religious

notions, as is shown in the case of Marc Antoine.

Marc Antoine became Premier President of the Parliament of Bordeaux, and

was charged with all the preparations relative to the fulfilment of the

marriage between Louis XIII. and the Infanta of Austria--a difficult

mission, because the Huguenots, opposed to the alliance, were resolved

to frustrate it. M. O’Reilly, in his _Histoire de Bordeaux_, says: “They

endeavored to seize the person of the king in the environs of Guitre,

but he arrived at Bordeaux without any disaster, thanks to the excellent

arrangements made by President de Gourgues.”

Marc Antoine not only made foundations in favor of the Jesuits and

Carmelites, but his second wife, Olive de Lestonnac, left thirty thousand

livres to the Recollects of Sainte Foy, to build a residence where they

could labor for the conversion of the Huguenots. It would seem as if

every member of the family were animated with a particular zeal for the

Catholic religion.

In 1690 we find Jacques Joseph de Gourgues Bishop of Bazas.

After the foregoing proofs, no possible doubt can be felt concerning

the stanch Catholicity of the De Gourgues family. As for Dominique,

but little is known of his life previous to his expedition to Florida.

Though he afterwards belonged to the royal navy, it appears that he first

served on land and took part in the Italian campaign under Maréchal de

Strozzi. His last feat of arms in Italy, says one of his biographers,

was to sustain a siege, in 1557, with thirty men against a corps of

Spanish troops. The fort held was taken by assault, and the garrison all

slaughtered, except De Gourgues, who was spared, to be sent ignominiously

to row on the galleys. His boat being captured by the Turks on the coast

of Sicily, he was taken to Rhodes and thence to Constantinople. But

his fate was not changed; he continued to serve in the galleys. Again

putting to sea, he was taken and set at liberty by Mathurin Romegas,

commander of the galleys of Malta and Knight of S. John of Jerusalem.

The deliverer of the future hero of Florida was likewise a Gascon. His

tombstone may still be seen in the nave of the nuns’ church of Trinità

de’ Monti at Rome, the inscription half effaced by the feet of the

worshippers.

Dominique now returned to France, and after a voyage to Brazil and the

Indies, he entered the service of the house of Lorraine, who employed him

on several private occasions against the Huguenots. His expedition to

Florida did not take place till the year 1567. We have seen him fighting

against the Spaniards in Italy, and subjected by them to the utmost

degradation. It is not surprising he burned to avenge the murder of his

companions-in-arms and the severe treatment he had endured, as well

as to wipe out the stain on the national honor caused by the massacre

of his fellow-countrymen in Florida. He had too narrowly escaped the

Spanish sword himself not to feel the deepest sympathy in their fate. He

afterwards drew up himself an account of his expedition, which is full

of thrilling interest. It has been published, but the original is in the

Bibliothèque Impériale at St. Germain.

The establishment of a French colony in Florida grew out of the civil

and religious contests of the XVIth century. Admiral de Coligni, with

the view of providing his co-religionists a safe asylum beyond the

seas, induced Charles IX. to allow five or six hundred Huguenots under

Jean Ribault to embark at Dieppe, Feb. 18, 1561, in order to establish

themselves in Florida. They landed at the mouth of the Rio San Mateo on

the 1st of May, and built a fort on an island, which they called Fort

Charles, in honor of their sovereign. The return of Ribault to France led

to a relaxation of discipline, and the consequent ruin of the colony.

Other companies, also favored by Coligni, were sent in 1564 and 1565,

under Laudonnière and the same Ribault, to place the colony on a better

footing. Laudonnière secured the friendship of the Indians, whose chief,

Satirova, hastened to offer his support. But the destitution to which the

colony was reduced weakened the attachment of the natives, and some acts

of piracy exasperated the Spaniards, who regarded them as intruders, and

resolved on their destruction.

Pedro Melendez appeared with six vessels before Fort Caroline and

summoned Laudonnière and Ribault to surrender, promising to spare those

who were Catholics, but declaring all heretics should be put to death.

They defended themselves valiantly, and even took the offensive, and

had it not been for a tempest, perhaps bravery would have won the day

over the number of the enemy. But we need not give details which are

familiar to all. The fort fell into the hands of Melendez, and all,

except Laudonnière and one of his companions who evaded the search, were

put to death, “not as French, but as heretics,” if we are to believe an

inscription left on the spot. Nothing could be more horrible than this

atrocious murder of four hundred inoffensive colonists. The Spaniards

even tore out the eyes of their victims, stuck them on the point of their

daggers, and hurled them against the French on the water. The skin of

Ribault was sent to the King of Spain. And to crown so barbarous a deed,

they heaped together the bodies of the men, women, and children, and

kindling a great fire, reduced them to ashes, with savage howlings.

Whatever the zeal of the Spanish for the Catholic religion, we may

naturally suppose it was not the only motive that animated them on this

occasion. Their eagerness to take possession of the country and fortify

it, instead of requesting Charles IX. to send a Catholic colony to

replace the Huguenots, shows that other motives influenced them. Religion

was only a cloak. Moreri, in his _Dictionnaire Historique_, 1712, says:

“They hung the French under the pretext they were Lutherans.”

Laudonnière, who escaped, brought the fearful details of this butchery

to France. The rage was universal. Notwithstanding the antipathy of the

court to the religion of the majority of the victims, it has been too

strongly asserted that all sense of national honor was lost in view of

the religious aspect of the case. The government of Charles IX. was too

weak to insist on complete reparation, but his letters to the French

Ambassador at Madrid prove he demanded Philip II. should chastise those

who were guilty of the massacre.[165] No reparation, however, was made,

and the cruelties of Melendez not only remained unpunished, but he was

loaded with honors.

Père Daniel, in his _History_, says: “This inhumanity (of Melendez),

instead of being punished by the government of Spain when complaint was

made, was praised, and those who had a share in it rewarded. The unhappy

state of affairs in the kingdom (France), in consequence of the civil

wars, prevented the king from taking vengeance, and three years passed

away without the court’s thinking of exacting justice. Capt. Gourgues,

a man who sought to distinguish himself, and loved glory more than

anything else, resolved to avenge the insult to the French nation, and

without looking for any other reward but success and renown, undertook

the expedition at his own expense in spite of the danger and every

expectation of being disavowed at court.… This deed, that may be numbered

among the most memorable ever done of the kind, wiped out the affront

inflicted on the French nation.”

And the account from the Imperial library says: “The traitors and

murderers, instead of being blamed and punished in Spain, were honored

with great estates and dignities. All the French nation expected such

an injury to the king and the whole nation would soon be avenged by the

public authorities, but this expectation being disappointed for the space

of three years, it was hoped some private individual would be found to

undertake a deed so essential to the honor and reputation of France.

There were many who would have been glad of the renown to be won by such

an enterprise, but it could not be undertaken without great expense; the

result, for many reasons, was uncertain, hazardous, and full of peril;

and even if successfully executed, it might not be exempt from calumny.

And it was difficult to find any one willing to incur this calumny by the

loss of his property, and an infinite number of difficulties and dangers.”

It was not Laudonnière who went to take vengeance on the Spaniards. It

was no agent of Coligni’s. It was not even one of the Huguenots, though

their brothers’ blood cried from the ground, who lent his ear to the

terrible appeal. No; the brave heart who atoned for the weakness of the

sovereign belonged to a devoted Catholic family of the Landes. It was a

soldier who had served under the Strozzi in Italy, and afterwards under

the Guises in France, who lost sight of religious distinctions in view of

his country’s disgrace, and nobly resolved to become the avenger of the

Huguenots.

Dominique de Gourgues began his preparations early in the year 1567. He

sold some of his property, or, as stated by others, his brother Ogier

advanced the money necessary for fitting out the expedition. He armed two

vessels small enough to enter the large rivers, and a patache which, when

there was lack of wind, could be propelled by oars. He manned them with

eighty sailors and one hundred and fifty soldiers, among whom we find

some of the noble, as well as plebeian, names of Gascony. Monluc, the

governor of Bordeaux, allowed him to depart on a pretended expedition to

the coast of Africa. It was the 22d of August. De Gourgues even concealed

the object of the voyage from his followers, which shows how unreasonable

it is to regard them as Protestants going to avenge a Protestant cause,

as many suppose. The names of only a few of them are known, and nothing

in particular of these. Capt. Cazenove, of a noble family near Agen that

still exists, commanded one of the vessels. Another is called Bierre

by MM. Haag, and De Berre by M. de Barbot, and one of the captains of

the Baron de la Gardie’s galleys was named Loys de Berre, of course a

stanch Catholic. But we see no reason for religious distinctions in

the case. The important thing was to have brave, resolute men. And it

is certain they knew nothing of the object of the expedition till they

arrived at Cape St. Antoine. It is said when they learned it, “they were

at first surprised and dissatisfied,” which does not look much like

sympathy for slaughtered co-religionists. Parkman says: “There (in Cuba)

he gathered his followers about him and addressed them with his fiery

Gascon eloquence.… He painted with angry rhetoric the butcheries of Fort

Caroline and St. Augustine. ‘What disgrace,’ he cried, ‘if such an insult

should pass unpunished! What glory to us if we avenge it! To this I have

devoted my fortune. I relied on you. I thought you jealous enough of your

country’s glory to sacrifice life itself in a cause like this. Was I

deceived? I will show you the way; I will be always at your head; I will

bear the brunt of the danger. Will you refuse to follow me?’ The sparks

fell among gunpowder. The combustible French nature bursts into flame.”

There is not a word in this address of their being Huguenots, though free

to express his sentiments at such a distance from their native land. The

only appeal is--glory and France.

It is unnecessary to relate the wonderful _coup-de-main_ by which the

three forts of the Spanish were taken. Every one knows how he hung up

the thirty Spaniards who were left, on the same trees on which his

fellow-countrymen had been hung, and in place of the inscription left by

Melendez, he graved with a red-hot iron on a pine slab: “This is not done

to Spaniards, but to treacherous robbers and assassins.” One of these

victims confessed the justice of the act, as he had hung five of the

Huguenots with his own hand.

The _Revue des Deux Mondes_ calls the retaliation of the bold Landais

“savage,” and certainly grave moral reasons can be brought against such

a proceeding. But everything was exceptional in this historic episode,

and we must not regard it according to the ideas of the present age. The

disinterested and heroic daring of De Gourgues cannot be denied, nor can

any one help applauding his patriotic wish to repair the injured honor of

the nation. That he looked upon his deed as one of righteous vengeance

is sure. How solemn and religious is his language in addressing his

followers after his victory:

“My friends, let us give thanks to God for the success he has accorded

to our enterprise. It was he who saved us from danger in the tempest off

Cape Finibus Terræ, at Hispaniola, Cuba, and the river of Halimacany!

It was he who inclined the hearts of the savages to aid us! It was he

who blinded the understanding of the Spaniards, so they were unable to

discover our forces, or avail themselves of their own! They were four

to our one, strongly intrenched, and well provided with artillery, and

supplies of food and ammunition. We only had justice on our side, and

yet we have conquered them with but little trouble. It is not to our

strength, but to God alone we owe the victory. Let us thank him, my

friends, and never forget the benefits we have received from him. Let us

pray him to continue his favor towards us, to guide us on our way back

and preserve us from all danger; pray him also to vouchsafe to dispose

the hearts of men so that the many dangers we have incurred and the

fatigues we have endured may find grace and favor before our king and

before all France, as we had no other motive but the service of the king

and the honor of our country!”

They set sail May 3, and arrived at La Rochelle the 6th of June. De

Gourgues went immediately to Bordeaux to render an account of his

voyage to Monluc, who, as Père Daniel says, loaded him with praises and

caresses, which, with his antipathy to Huguenotism, he would hardly

have done had De Gourgues been a Huguenot in the service of Huguenots.

If the latter did not inform him before his departure of the object of

his expedition, it was because he knew Monluc was anxious to avoid all

occasion of rupture with Spain. MM. Haag say Monluc had received orders

to forbid all expeditions of the kind. And though De Gourgues did not

doubt the approbation of the governor, he did not wish to compromise him

in the eyes of the king.

De Gourgues received not only a flattering welcome from Monluc but the

acclamations of the entire nation. The wish for vengeance had been

universal, and he was applauded for realizing it. Perhaps it was this

outburst of patriotism that forgot all religious animosities which led

that sagacious diplomatist, François de Noailles, at this very time

Bishop of Dax, a place not far from Mont-de-Marsan, to assure the king

the best means of putting an end to the civil dissensions of the country

was to declare war against Spain.

Had De Gourgues been a Huguenot he would probably have disposed of his

war prizes at La Rochelle, where he first touched, thereby rendering his

party a service by supplying them with arms. Instead of that, he took

them to Bordeaux, and Monluc bought them to arm the city against the

Huguenots, as is shown by existing documents estimating their value,

dated Aug. 27, 1568.