GANGES
Quissac—A tree gallows—The micocoulier—Sauve—Massacre by the
Camisards—The abbot's summer-house—Manufacture of essences on the
_garigue_—S. Hippolyte-du-Fort—Cruelties of Roland—Ganges—The
murder of the marchioness—Grotto des Demoiselles—Manufactures of
Ganges—Season for excursions.
From Alais the train that runs on to Nîmes drops one at Quissac, whence
diverges a branch to Le Vigan and Tournemire on the main line from
Paris to Bézier, Narbonne, and Barcelona. Quissac lies on the Vidourle,
that flows a thin stream in a vast bed of pebbles, on which the
washerwomen spread their linen. The esplanade by the river is planted,
and on it is the Protestant _temple_, a feeble imitation of the Maison
Carée at Nîmes. The parish church is in another part of the town, and
is an astounding bit of patchwork after wreckage by the Camisards. The
west front is an architectural curiosity. In the little _place_ in
front of it is a plane tree, serving, I presume, as a gallows for all
the vermin caught in the place and neighbourhood. When I was there,
rats, mice, weasels depended from the branches, and a sulky doll that
would not eat had been hoisted up as well, and was dangling by its
neck, whilst the little executioner stood below haranguing it.
The micocoulier, or nettle tree (_Celtis Australis_), is much grown
around Quissac. This tree flourishes along the south of Europe
bordering on the Mediterranean, in Italy, Greece, on the coast of Asia
Minor, and stretches to the south of the Caspian. The tree is at home
also in Algeria and Tunis. It is grown here for making whip-handles and
for pitchforks. For the latter purpose it is suffered to have but two
or three shoots at the top, and pains are taken to give the stem the
utmost regularity, as that is to serve as the handle to the fork. Of
the wood is also made the yokes for the oxen. The wood is heated in an
oven, and given the desired bend or shape when hot.
Sauve bears for its arms argent a mountain, on top of which grows a
plant of sage (_sauve_), and in chief the words _Sal-Sal_, that stand
for _Salvia Salvatrix_. Originally the town occupied the height where
is now the ruined castle, but the inhabitants drifted down to the
abbey, which was below. In the religious wars, Sauve was taken by the
Huguenots, and remained a stronghold of the Calvinists till 1629. In
the war of the Camisards the Protestants of the upper town offered to
open the gates to them disguised in the uniform of the royal soldiery,
but the plot was detected, and in resentment the Camisards set fire to
the abbey church and monastic buildings, murdered the old prior, aged
ninety-one, and the curé, aged seventy. They swept together forty of
the parish priests of the neighbourhood and mutilated them in the most
horrible manner.
The country-house of the abbots of the fourteenth century has the
inscription on it: "In urbe omnibus, in deserto mihi." (In the town
I am at everybody's beck and call, in the desert I belong to myself
only.)
And "desert" is not at all an inappropriate term for the country
between Sauve and S. Hippolyte. It is a land of disintegrated rock,
white as chalk, and assuming strange forms, fissured in parts
vertically, in others horizontally, the wide desert growing nothing
but aromatic herbs, as sage and juniper. The Vidourle sinks and flows
underground. The ruins of a castle stand above the dry bed at a curve
in the channel.
But even this desolate _garigue_ has its use, as have those further
south. It grows lavender, rosemary, thyme in abundance, savin, sage,
savory; and the peasants collect these herbs and distil essences from
them. To the fragrant essences is added bitter rue. The distillation
takes place on the _garigue_ by means of movable retorts that travel
about from one place to another. Vast quantities of herbs are required
for the purpose. Thus, to obtain one kilogramme of essence of thyme,
it requires 400 kilogrammes of leaves, except in May, when the plant
is in greatest vigour and most redolent, then only half that amount is
required.
The great centre of the industry is Sommières to the south of Quissac,
where the _garigues_ are more extensive than near Sauve.
A great rivalry exists between the manufacturers of scents in this part
of Languedoc and those of Provence. All have been hit alike of late
years by the fabrication of scents out of coal tar, that seems as ready
to produce sweet odours as it is to yield bright dyes.
These deserts of limestone apparently grow nothing but what is
fragrant. Their vegetation expires in sweet odours.
At S. Hippolyte-du-Fort the mountains draw near, terraced up for
olives. The town with its three churches, commanded by a castle with
its walls and towers, is eminently picturesque. The town was moved from
its ancient site, S. Hippolyte le Vieux, about a castle built on a
rock, Roquefourcade, so called from its form. The old parish church was
there to the Revolution when it was sold. The bulk of the population
of S. Hippolyte adopted the Reform of Calvin, and Catholic worship
was not restored till 1601, and then only intermittently. In 1774 the
bishop found that there were only two or three Catholic families in it.
All the rest were Huguenot "au dernier point," although the Protestant
temple had been pulled down at the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
A garrison was placed in the castle. It was attacked by the Camisards
in vain. Roland entered the faubourgs on January 14th, 1704, burnt a
church, and slaughtered three girls and five men.
Ganges lies in a valley at the junction of the Sumène with the Hérault,
and near where the Vis emerges from its gorge to shed its waters into
the Hérault. It is a bright town, with good inns, and is an admirable
centre for several interesting excursions. The station is at a height
at some distance from the town, and near it is a huge modern convent,
very conspicuous, planted on a rock.
The town contains little of interest except the château of the
Marquesses of Ganges, which unhappily is doomed to destruction, as it
has been purchased by the town to be pulled down and the site to be
occupied by a market-hall. This is the more to be regretted, as it
is not only a very fine Renaissance structure, but is also rendered
famous by the murder of the Marchioness in 1667. The story has been
often told, but must not here be omitted on that account. All versions
rest on that of Pitaval, taken from the records of the Parliament of
Toulouse. Pitaval's narrative was published in 1734. Unhappily he has
decked it out with romantic features, drawn from conjecture, to explain
the motive of the murderers, and we shall be obliged to distinguish
between these and the facts that were proved.
[Illustration: CASTLE COURT, GANGES]
At the Court of Louis XIV. one of the great beauties was the Marquise
de Castellane, a woman as good as she was beautiful. Queen Christina of
Sweden, who was then at the Court, declared that she had never seen one
who was more lovely, and the painter, Mignard, took her portrait.
She was the daughter of a M. de Roussan, of Avignon, and after the
death of her father had been educated in the house of her grandfather,
M. de Nochères, who loved her as the apple of his eye. He was a very
wealthy man, and she would be his heiress. At the age of thirteen she
married the Marquess, who brought her to Paris. When aged twenty she
was a widow, as her husband was drowned in the Mediterranean. She then
returned to Avignon, and was at once surrounded by suitors. Her choice
fell on the Marquess de Ganges, younger than herself, a man of a weak
character, but with pleasant manners. The marriage took place in 1658.
By him she became the mother of two children, a son and a daughter.
After a while the affection of the Marquess for his wife died away. Her
superiority in mind and character offended his self-esteem, and to add
to this his brother, the Abbé de Ganges, did his utmost to estrange the
married couple.
The Marquess had three younger brothers. The elder, the Count de
Ganges, does not enter into the story except towards its close.
The second brother was the Abbé. This man was clever, cultured, of
insinuating manners. He was not really in Holy Orders, but was one of
those who at the period assumed a semi-ecclesiastical dress, and was
given a benefice _in commendam_, the duties of which he never performed
as unqualified, but the income of which he devoured. The third brother,
the Chevalier, was a poor, weak creature, completely in the hands of
the Abbé. The Marquess was much from home. He lived on bad terms with
his wife; he found life dull in a little country town, and he liked
the dissipation of a capital. He left his two younger brothers at the
château, and placed the management of his estates in the hands of the
Abbé.
According to Pitaval, both brothers fell in love with the far older
Marquise, and the Abbé ventured to declare his sentiments towards
her, and was repulsed with disdain so cutting as to fill him with
resentment. Soon after M. de Nochères died, and left his vast fortune
to his granddaughter in such a manner that her husband could not
touch a penny of it without her consent. The Marquise at once had her
will drawn up, bequeathing all her fortune to her mother, Mme. de
Roussan, in trust for her children, but with the singular proviso that
this old lady was to leave it entire to either one or other of her
grandchildren, whichever she chose. When she deposited this will with
the town councillor of Avignon, she added a codicil to the effect that
in the event of her death and a later will being found this later will
was to be regarded as invalid, as wrung from her against her intent,
and that the above will was alone to take effect. This provision was
witnessed by several persons of authority, and she insisted further
that it should be kept secret and in no way divulged.
On her return to Ganges she was cheerful, saw a good deal of company,
and seemed to be without suspicion of evil devised against her. What
made her the more easy was that her stepmother was there, and in her
presence the Abbé and the Chevalier were circumspect.
But before long the dowager marquise left for Montpellier, and her
husband also departed. Since she had become an heiress he had feigned
greater affection for her, and had treated her with courtesy. After
his departure the Abbé had conferences with her. He assured her that
the Marquess was deeply attached to her, but was wounded to the quick
by her having made a will that passed him over; that the only possible
way of concord being completely re-established was for her to alter the
terms of her will.
The Marquise was a woman. She allowed herself to be persuaded, and
under the dictation of the Abbé drew up a second will, whereby she
constituted her husband sole heir. But she did not revoke the other,
the former will deposited at Avignon, and the Abbé, knowing nothing of
her final declaration made there to vitiate any second disposition of
her property, was satisfied.
It is wholly unnecessary to accept the romance of the passion of the
Abbé for his sister-in-law imported into the story by Pitaval, and for
which no evidence was produced later. She was then aged twenty-nine,
older than the two elder brothers. The fact of the will having been
extorted from her, and the prospect of being able to share in the
spoils should she die, is sufficient to account for what follows. The
object of the Abbé now was to get rid of the Marquise.
She was not feeling well, and on the morning of May 17th, 1667, sent
for the doctor, and asked for a draught. But when this was brought
to her it looked dark and muddy, and she refused to drink it. It was
not proved that this was poisoned, but it is not improbable that it
was so. The Abbé and the Chevalier all day seemed restless, and were
continually inquiring as to her condition, and seemed little pleased to
learn that she was recovering from her indisposition.
The Marquise spent the day in bed. Several ladies of the town visited
her, and she invited them to remain for dinner. She appeared in very
good spirits; but it was noted that both her brothers-in-law spoke
little and seemed distracted in mind. She joked the Chevalier about
this, and he and the Abbé roused and attempted to talk, but manifestly
with an effort. Nor would either of them eat. Presently the party broke
up. The Abbé undertook the duties of host, and accompanied the ladies
to the door of the château. The Chevalier remained behind with his
sister-in-law. His manner was peculiar, he remained buried in thought.
She asked him the reason, but could get no answer from him; then the
door opened, the Abbé entered, and the solution to the puzzle was given.
So far we have the facts from the evidence of the witnesses before
the Parliament of Toulouse; what follows is from the narrative of the
Marchioness herself.
The Abbé entered the bedroom, a pistol in one hand and a tumbler
with some dark turbid liquid in the other. His features had changed
expression. Rage flared from his eyes. He locked the door behind him,
took his station before his sister-in-law, and signed to his brother,
who drew his sword. At first it seemed to her that hesitation appeared
in his face and movements, but if that were so, it passed rapidly away.
The Abbé broke the silence. He stepped up to the bed and said: "Madame,
you must die. Choose steel, lead, or poison."
She cried out, asking what she had done. She implored the two men to
spare her. She promised to forget their conduct if they would withdraw.
She turned to the Chevalier. She reminded him that she had frequently
furnished him with money, and had recently given him a bill for several
hundred livres. But in vain. He also spoke. "Enough, enough, Madame.
Make your selection, or we shall choose for you."
The miserable woman took the glass out of the hand of the Abbé. She
drank whilst he held the pistol to her breast, and the Chevalier
menaced her heart with his rapier. Some drops falling on her bosom
blistered it, and her lips were also blistered. The draught was
a composition of arsenic and sublimate of mercury dissolved in
aquafortis. The Chevalier noticed that she had not swallowed the dregs.
He took a silver hairpin and swept all that remained attached to the
side of the tumbler together into the bottom, and saying, "Be quick
about it; drain to the last drop," forced her to take it. She received
it into her mouth but did not swallow what she had taken, but sank back
into the bed, and in convulsive movements turned away and covering her
head with the bedclothes spat out what she had last taken. Then she
exclaimed, "For God's sake do not slay my soul as well as my body;
send for a confessor." Both brothers left the room. They had no reason
for refusing this last request, for the vicar was Perette, a bad man
who had been tutor to the Marquess, and was in the confidence of the
brothers.
No sooner was the door shut than the Marchioness sprang out of bed. In
haste she drew on her petticoat, and opened the window that looked into
the yard. The window was twenty-four feet from the ground, nevertheless
she leaped down. At the same moment the door had opened and Perette
entered; he sprang after her, and succeeded in laying hold of her dress
and retaining her for a moment or two. But the garment rent, and she
fell to the ground on her feet without serious injury.
The vicar laid hold of a silver water-jar and hurled it after her, but
missed his aim. The jug, instead of braining her, struck a stone and
broke.
The Marquise found every door of the courtyard fastened and locked. In
fear of the operation of the poison she thrust one of her tresses down
her throat, and this produced sickness. Fortunately she had partaken
of a good deal of pudding at the meal, and this in a measure prevented
the immediate working of the poison. She tried to escape through the
stable, but that was locked. A groom, however, came up. "Save me! Save
me! I must escape!" she cried. The man, overcome with terror and pity,
hesitated a moment, then caught her up in his arms, carried her through
the stables, and handed her over to the first woman he encountered in
the street.
The Marquise continued her flight. Already the brothers-in-law were in
pursuit, shouting, "Hold her fast! She is mad!" And whoever saw the
Marquise running in her nightshirt, with a torn skirt and with bare
feet over the pavement of the street, might well believe what they
called out.
The people were already assembling and preparing to stop her, when
the Chevalier caught her at the door of a Mme. de Prets, thrust her
in, and entering himself bolted the house door. The Abbé coming up,
pistol in hand, stood on the threshold and threatened to shoot any one
who interfered. His sister-in-law in her madness was not to be made a
spectacle of to every one.
In the house of Mme. de Prets a party of ladies was assembled. The
Marquise rushed into the midst of them, followed by the Chevalier,
crying out that she had been poisoned. The Chevalier declared before
the ladies that his sister was insane, and they did not know at first
what to make of this extraordinary scene. Mme. Brunette, the wife of
the Calvinist preacher in the place, gave her some treacle, at the time
supposed to be a sovereign remedy against poison. She swallowed it,
but the fire of the poison made the Marchioness entreat for water. A
tumbler was handed to her, but the Chevalier smashed it in her mouth
as she was drinking. He succeeded in persuading the ladies that his
unfortunate sister-in-law was out of her mind, and begged them to
excuse such an unseemly irruption into their midst.
Then the poor creature implored to be allowed to go into the adjoining
room; this was granted, but the Chevalier followed her, and with his
rapier stabbed her twice in the breast. She cried out, ran to the door
and entreated help. He followed, and, blind with rage, stabbed her
five times in the back. The last time the weapon broke and left the
blade sticking in her shoulder. She fell at the feet of the assembled
ladies drenched in blood. The Chevalier then ran downstairs, and cried
to his brother, "Away! away! the job is done!" But as they hurried
down the street they heard the women at the window crying for help
and for a surgeon. The Abbé, in the idea that the Marquise was still
living, had the incredible audacity to go back, enter the house, thrust
the women aside, and put the pistol to the breast of his victim. Mme.
Brunette struck up his hand, and the pistol did not go off. Thereupon
the Abbé hit Mme. Brunette on the head, and again attempted to kill
his sister-in-law, this time by braining her with the butt-end. Now,
however, all the women present fell on him, dragged, beat, thrust, and
succeeded eventually in expelling him from the house.
It was nine o'clock at night when the murderous attempt was made.
Darkness favoured the assassins; they knew that they would be pursued,
so they fled to an estate that belonged to the Marquess at Aubernas,
thence by boat down the river to the sea, and escaped pursuit by
fleeing from France.
The unfortunate Marquise lingered nineteen days. The surgeon was
obliged to plant his knee against her back in order to obtain leverage
for the extraction of the broken blade; but she died of the result of
the poison rather than of her wounds.
The two scoundrels before they fled had sent a message post-haste to
Avignon to inform the Marquess that his wife had been so treated by
them that she could not possibly live. He did not hurry himself to
go to Ganges, and when he arrived expressed no sympathy with her, no
concern for what had been done, but pestered the dying woman about her
will, for in Avignon he had got wind of what she had done to protect
it from being revoked.
The case was tried at Montpellier. The Marquess was decreed to have
forfeited his title and estates, which reverted to the Crown. The Abbé
and Chevalier were condemned to be broken on the wheel, but as they
were beyond reach the sentence could not be carried into effect. The
vicar, Perette, was sentenced to the galleys for life, and died on his
way to them. Louis XIV. conferred the estates of the Marquess on the
brother, the Count of Ganges; he held them till his nephew was of age,
and then surrendered them to him. The Chevalier entered the service of
Venice, and was killed by a Turkish bullet in Candia.
The Abbé escaped into Lippe, where, under the assumed name of
Montellière, he passed as a Huguenot refugee, was received into favour,
and was appointed tutor to the children of the Count of Lippe. He even
aspired to the hand of a kinswoman of the Count. The latter demurred.
He liked Montellière well enough, but objected that he was not noble.
"Oh! as to that, do not concern yourself," said the Abbé, "I am the
Abbé de Ganges, of whom you may possibly have heard."
The horrible story was known—it had been bruited about Europe. The
Count was horror-struck, and would have surrendered the miscreant to
the authorities in France, but that the pupil of the Abbé pleaded for
him, and he was allowed to escape into Holland, where the Count's
cousin, who had lost her heart to him although knowing what a ruffian
he was, followed him in disguise and married him. Six months after his
marriage, a stranger accosted him in the streets of Amsterdam. "You
are the Abbé de Ganges," he said. "I avenge the Marquise," and he blew
out the miscreant's brains. Who the avenger was, was never discovered.
Near Ganges is the Grotte des Demoiselles, a cave that has so long
enjoyed notoriety that the smoke of torches has somewhat spoilt its
freshness. It was, in fact, discovered in 1780. There are other
grottoes finer, as that of Dargilan. However, the great hall called
that of the Virgin, which is one hundred and forty-five feet in height,
is fine; in it is a stalagmite supposed to represent the Virgin, and
another forms a natural porch, eighteen feet high and nine feet wide.
It demands, I think, a special aptitude of the mind to appreciate
caverns. I, for my part, am so fond of the light of day that I do not
go underground before my time comes.
There is another at Ganges, L'Aven Laurien, as picturesque as it is
interesting from an archæological point of view. The phenomenon of this
pot-hole is one very common in this limestone district. A well gapes
before you descending to unknown depths. Honeysuckle, clematis, wild
vine droop down it, disguise its presence, and interlace about it in
the branches of the ilex and the wild fig, flinging their boughs across
the orifice. Bunches of scolopendria let their long fronds droop into
the depth, and laurels add their sombre verdure to the clear notes of
the deciduous plants.
At 150 feet below the mouth of this pot-hole on the mountain flank is
a cave, reduced by accumulations to a small opening. One can enter on
all fours only. But after having passed within, a spacious chamber is
reached about 120 feet in length, with branches as a cross, but at the
extremity opposite the entrance it opens abruptly on the verdant well
of the aven.
It is impossible not to be struck on reaching this point at the
picturesque appearance of the cave. It receives light that filters
down the aven through the network of foliage above, and long trails of
leaves fall from above as though to decorate the unsounded abyss that
opens below. Now this cavern was a habitation of neolithic man, as has
been shown by finds there of his handiwork. But think of the mothers of
families residing there on the brink of that awful gulf! What agonies
of apprehension they must have been in when the little urchins played
puss-in-the-corner there; when they saw them totter to the verge to
look up at the green descending light and the pendent leaves! If a
child tripped and went down, its little body could never be recovered.
But how docile and meek and mealy-mouthed the wives must have been
when, if one raised her voice to scold her lord and master, he could
point over his shoulder with his thumb to the unfathomed abyss where it
could be silenced for ever—by a push.
Another aven again is that of Rabanel, down which M. Martel has
descended. Nothing disguises the opening of this horrible well, that
sinks precipitously 390 feet. The explorers found a heap of debris at
the bottom.
"It took us three days to construct the scaffolding for the
windlass. I went down first, fastened by a double rope, and I
spun round forty-seven times in the void, happy to discover that
the only way to save myself from giddiness was to count the
revolutions I made.
"But what a spectacle when I reached the bottom! A slope of
rubbish inclined at thirty-five degrees which one can descend
without difficulty for 60 feet, and then a great vault, like the
nave of a cathedral, 300 feet long by 45 feet, and 450 feet high,
lighted from above by a _lucarne_ of blue sky, the light falling
down which, is sifted, strange, glinting with violet reflexions
from the walls, whence depended stalactites formed drop by drop
like crystal tears."
Ganges is a manufacturing town, its speciality being the most delicate
silk fabrics. Marvels of lightness are produced. Dyeing the silk is
also done here. The workers produce stockings so fine that a pair will
weigh only 185 grains. The spider does not spin a finer web, and not so
strong, for these impalpable tissues are remarkably resistant. The silk
is purchased in cocoons in the markets of Alais and S. Hippolyte in May
and June. The weaving is done only by day, and embroidresses work with
their needle adorning the tissues, and are remarkably dexterous and
tasteful.
The population is divided into Protestants, who have a large circular
meeting-house on the Grande Place, and the Catholics, who have a
stately new church opposite the old château of the Marquesses of
Ganges, in another part of the town.
Excursions may be made from Ganges to explore the gorges of the Vis
and the Hérault, but there is a dearth of roads. They do not penetrate
these ravines; and to traverse the glaring plateau or to thread the
burning ravines in summer is impossible. They must be visited in April
and May, but even March is not too early.