St. Jean de Maurienne—A tradition of two fingers—Story of a
procession of bears at Henry the Second’s passage—Peculiar
customs—Baptism—Funerals—Aiguebelle—La
Carbonaria—Chambéry—-Road by the Mont du Chat—A valley of the
Rhone—Pierre Châtel once a monastery—Bellay—Murder committed by a
notary—A peculiar race—Pont d’Ain—Cathedral of Brou—Its foundress
and her motto—Bourg—Fair-time—An aubergiste—Montrevel—We are
taken for part of Franconi’s troop—Tournus—Chalons—Arnay le
Duc—Vermenton—Joigny—A poor traveller—The chapter of
Sens—Montereau where Jean sans Peur was
murdered—Melun—Paris—Fanny.
4th November.
Left St. Michel early as possible, (the mountains before us, along
whose edge a passage from the road has been blasted, seeming to shut in
the valley,) skirting the bright river, which widens and winds, forming
birch and fir islets, its small waves all golden, not from the sun,
which does not look down on them so early, but the reflection of the
autumnal foliage on the hill side. St. Jean de Maurienne, two posts
farther, has a good inn; looking back to it from the turn of the road,
the view was smiling and lovely. In the vestibule of the cathedral are
the tomb of Humbert of the white hands, and others of the first counts
of La Maurienne, and in its treasury are preserved the two fingers of
John the Baptist, with which it is said he baptized Jesus Christ.
According to the traditions of the country, a young girl born in the
environs went to Egypt, whence she brought them back in a golden box.
Gontran, king of Burgundy and Orleans, built, in the year 561, the
church which was destined to contain these precious relics, and the
town, tendering to them the respect due, added two fingers to its arms!!
The country surrounding St. Jean produces bears, and the Maréchal de
Vielleville tells an amusing anecdote relating to the passage of Henry
the Second of France in 1548:—
“He was prayed by the bishop and the inhabitants to honour them by
making his entry into their town with some pomp, promising him some new
diversion which would gratify and was unknown to him. The king
consequently presented himself at the gates of Maurienne, accompanied
by a train suited to royalty, but having entered and moved forward
about two hundred paces, he was suddenly met by a company of men in
bearskins, but their heads, hands and feet as well as their bodies so
masked and accoutred, that they might be taken for real bears, and
issuing from a street to the beat of drum, banners earned before them,
and each bearing a pole on his shoulder, placed themselves between the
king and his Swiss guards, marching four and four, to the wonder of the
court, and the people conducted the king, who was marvellously
delighted at seeing bears so well counterfeited, to the portal of the
church, where, according to custom, Henry dismounted, and where the
bishop and clergy waited his coming, forming a station with cross and
relics, in their ornaments and richest attire, and with sacred music to
welcome him.”
“The service over, the above named bears brought the king back to his
lodging, and executed before it a thousand bearish gambols, such as
wrestling and climbing along the houses and up the pillars of the
market, and, admirable to relate, they imitated with such truth to
nature, the howling of bears, that one might have fancied oneself in
the mountains; and seeing that his majesty from his apartments took
great pleasure in watching them, the whole hundred assembled beneath
and howled simultaneously a manner of salvo, so fearful, that a great
number of horses, mounted by valets and lackeys, and in waiting before
the king’s lodging, broke violently girths and reins, flung their
riders, and dashed in their terror over the bodies of all who stood on
their passage. The king confessed he had never been so gratified by
rural device and drollery, and bestowed two thousand crowns.”
St. Jean de Maurienne retains peculiar customs and ceremonies on the
occasion of baptism, marriage and funeral. The cradle of a male child,
in honour of its sex, is carried on the right shoulder, and the bells
are rung to welcome its birth; they are silent for a female, and the
left shoulder is the less dignified place on which rests her cradle.
The young man who aspires to the hand of a maiden seeks her cottage at
night, accompanied by one comrade. If she places upright in the chimney
one of the logs burning in the hearth, it is a token of his being
rejected. Should this fatal sign remain unmade, preliminaries are
entered upon, and the future bridegroom invites his father-in-law to
the public-house, where all is arranged, and the young man, reconducted
to the cottage, gives earnest-money to his intended wife. They are then
affianced without ceremony. The night before the marriage the relations
of both are invited to the maiden’s house, who hides herself, and is
sought by her lover and his comrades, and welcomed when found with
rustic music. The wedding morning, the friends and guests, covered with
cockades and laurel branches, conduct the couple to church. The
mother-in-law of the maiden waits her return and receives her with
various and symbolical ceremonies. A broom is laid on her path; if she
forgets to take it up it is a mournful omen, and a sign that she will
prove a bad housewife. Her mother-in-law throws a handful of corn at
her head in token of the plenty which is to form the happiness of her
household.
She next finds placed before her a loaf, which she is to cut and
distribute to the poor, and a kettle of broth wherewith to serve the
guests, in token of charity and hospitality. Then follows the meal: a
cake is brought in, ornamented with laurel branches, and a child
carries round the table a plate, on which each person lays his
offering, which is presented to the bride, and by her given to the poor.
When a man dies in these countries, two of his neighbours dig his
grave, others carry him thither, and the ceremony ends by a repast,
during which the guests drink to the memory of the departed, and the
health of those who have “_made the ground_.” There are parishes in
which it is the custom to lay every Sunday, during a year, a loaf and a
pint of wine on the dead man’s grave. If the decease takes place on a
Friday, it is a sign of new misfortune to his family. The new-born
child and the person carrying it, who meet a funeral, are destined to
follow within a year.
We passed La Grande Maison, a low inn by the road-side, and a little
further, arrived at one of those sweet spots which make landmarks in
one’s memory—the entrance of a village, beyond which the mountains
meet again; where a one-arched bridge spans the river before a mass of
black rock, and the remains of one which former storms swept away, and
is now scarce visible through the vegetation which covers it; and
cottages on the shore, with trellised vines and gay flower gardens
sloping to the water.
We had lingered on the way, and it was late and the fog rising, when we
entered the marshy valley in which stands Aiguebelle, at whose entrance
among the trees which cover its summit may still be traced the ruins of
Carbonaria, or, as the Savoyards call it, the Castle of La
Charbonnière, which was the birthplace and the residence of the first
counts of Savoy, but, taken by Henry the Fourth, was razed to the
ground. At no great distance from Aiguebelle, is, or rather was, the
village of Randans, on which a mass of rock, detached from that of
Combes, slipped suddenly down in June, 1750. The soil is now on a level
with the steeple of the church, through whose windows it is possible to
enter the buried edifice. The inn of Aiguebelle (la Posta) good and
comfortable.
5th November.
A morning of clouds and vapour floating over the hills, and hardly
favourable to the cold on my chest, which causes me some suffering; a
road all rises and falls, mud and stones, but looking down on a fair
valley, whose wooded hillocks are again crowned with ruined castles.
Maltaverne, or Chateauneuf, as it is called, may possess a good inn,
but it looks unpromising; I should be more inclined to try the Balance
at St. Ambrose, a little farther. At last, from this narrow road which
winds between green hedges, descending abruptly, we come on the rock of
Montmeillan, (of whose importance you can only on this side be aware,)
the high cliff commanding it, and the broad bed of the Isère below.
From the bridge which crosses the latter Mont Blanc was not to-day
visible, hid in clouds called up by the north-easter. The road skirts
the dirty town, and is carried across the lower portion of the rock,
(D—— said a surly No! to the innkeeper who summoned us to his bad
inn,) and we rode on to Chambéry, through scenery changed and saddened
in the four months which have elapsed since we left it, amongst
leafless walnut-trees and fading yellow poplars. Found on the muddy
road the white-haired and half blind beggar, who was our pensioner. He
thanked me for my return gift, with “Merci, mon garçon,” and entering
by the Faubourg Montmeillan, Fanny made no mistake, but passing
scornfully the Europe and Petit Paris, entered her own inn-yard.
11th November.
Though really ill when I arrived, the comfortable bed I found ready,
and the care of these kind people, who made tisanes innumerable, has
already worked a cure. So having found no letters, and having three
days borne with the anxiety the want of them occasioned, I decided on
leaving for Geneva, where I had also desired they might be sent on. As
we were about to start this morning, an employé of the post-office
appeared bearer of three, whose arrival took place before our own, and
my mind being at ease, we are to take the road over the Mont du Chat,
eleven posts shorter than that by Geneva.
To Bourget, the first post, we crossed the plain, commencing only to
ascend when we had passed its village and ruined castle on the lake
shore. To us who expected a quiet promenade on a hill-side, the Mont du
Chat was a surprise; its bold zigzags, often without parapets, leading
to the very summit, the eye looking perpendicularly down to the blue
water, and the autumnal foliage of the chestnut trees which cover a
portion of its base, and among which hides Hautecombe.
Beyond the abbey the foot of the Mont du Chat is barren and wild, a
mass of grey rock descending to the lake without relief or verdure.
Aix, and the range of mountains at its back, the Mont d’Azi, and the
Dent de Nivolet, lie on the opposite shore, Chambéry and his snowy
mountains behind, faintly outlined to-day through mists called up by
the hottest sun which ever shone in November. Each bend of the zigzags
of this splendid road is supported by a rounded wall from beneath,
resembling towers, and the first of which deceived me, then on the look
out for a Roman ruin, and so determined on its discovery, as to believe
that this might be a part of the temple raised to Mercury, whose
foundations may really be traced still on the little plain at the
summit of the pass. Not far beyond this level of a few yards we rode by
a ruin of another date, being the remnant of a Gothic portal.
Descending once more, though the view had lost its chief charm with the
bright glory of the lake of Bourget, it yet possessed boldness and
grandeur, looking over broken hills topped by towns, strangely grouped,
and barren, and terminated by the mountain of Tarare, recalling Scott’s
descriptions of border country. On our path, beneath the jagged line of
white cliff on the left, were green pastures, hiding in nooks, belted
with rocks and patches of woodland through which peeped cottage
chimneys, and streams fringed with trees, the trunks of prostrate elms
serving for bridge over them, and fair fresh children watching the
cattle which browsed on the strips of turf along their banks. Arrived
at the foot of the Mont du Chat, we soon after reached Yenne, a
prettily-situated but most ill-favoured town, beyond which the road
continued level till it suddenly crossed the bed of a torrent, one of
the Rhone’s tributaries. This being the diligence route, they talk of
building a bridge, but the width of the winter bed would render it a
work of difficulty, though to-day the stream was but about forty feet
wide, and barely reached our horses’ knees. A few steps further brought
us to the brink of the Rhone, and within a most stern and solitary
glen, a valley of stone. On our left, where its wall rose, its cold
grey only varied by stains the weather has made, bare of leaf or living
thing; on the right, and the river’s opposite shore, greenly feathered
to the summit, and a mere line of crag, showing white among the
brushwood, like an embattled wall. A sudden bend of the river parts it
from the road, which, scarcely broad enough for one carriage, winds
under and among tall crags, scattered over turf like velvet, till it
enters a gallery formed by two of these, which might serve for portal
to Dante’s Inferno. The sides are so high, and the aperture they leave
so narrow, that no sunshine penetrates to dissipate its chill or
darkness; and down the face of its upper portion, and through the more
opaque mass which projects below, a winter torrent, which now only
trickles, has worn itself a deep groove and circular passage.
Emerging from the few yards of obscurity, we were again on the bank of
the rapid Rhone, the frontier fortress of Pierre Châtel crowning the
high grand cliff opposite, and before us the light suspension bridge
gracefully crossing the river, uniting Savoy to France. Half way up the
cliff side and imbedded in it, a picturesque object among trees and
briars which spring round, is a loopholed wall flanked by two low
towers, the private entrance to the fort, to which conducts a stair cut
in the living rock. Arrived at the bridge, two stupid Savoy douaniers
detained us twenty minutes ere they could understand our non-possession
of receipts for horse-duty, taken from us when the money was returned.
On the French shore, the men said, that being a festival, they could
not tell whether Monsieur would or would not descend from his pavilion
to give the acquit à caution. We observed that, if that were the case,
he would do well to build an inn. The old gentleman appeared on his
terrace shrugging his shoulders in sign of impatience, but at last
thought proper to come down, and the horses being measured and the
fifty-five francs paid, we were allowed to ride on, having lost an hour.
Pierre Châtel, now a fortress, was once a fortified monastery, raised
by Amedée the Sixth, in the fourteenth century, who founded the order
of the collar of Savoy, now named of the Annonciade, the Chartreuse of
Pierre Châtel serving as chapel and place of assembly for the knights
of the order. It was only when Bresse and Bugey had been ceded by
Charles Emmanuel to Henry the Fourth of France, that the meetings of
the knights of the order were transferred to Montmeillan, and not very
long since the armorial bearings of those received during the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries were still hung in one of the vast halls.
The road passing from the bridge beneath the crag on which the fortress
stands, though quitting the Rhone here, continues very beautiful as far
as Bellay, bold in the distance and wooded near,—but the hills are
frequent and fatiguing, and the last the worst, as the town is perched
on a pinnacle. The miserable inn is on the Place, and the window of our
bedroom looked on the closed office of the notary Peytel. You may
remember that the 31st of October twelvemonth, driving home in his
cabriolet from Bourg, to obtain sole command of her fortune, he
murdered his young wife, having first shot the servant, (a man of
irreproachable character,) as on him was to lie the weight of the
crime. The story Peytel told was at first believed, but his
forgetfulness had left his servant’s still loaded pistols on his
person, and his guilt came strangely to light. His fellow notaries, not
liking the stain of an execution on their brotherhood, drew up a
petition in his favour. It appears that notwithstanding his double
murder, he excited sympathy, and himself believed in the possibility of
pardon; and bearing out the assertion “that all the world is a stage
and the men merely players,” to obtain a last dramatic effect he
embraced the gaoler’s wife ere he went to execution, and bade her mark
that his countenance had undergone no change. The servant, while
lighting my fire, said his sister had gone to Paris to petition the
king, but had done so in vain, because it was said that Peytel was not
a _brave homme_, as this was not his _première fois_. So that,
according to Fanchette’s code of morality, a man may be a _brave homme_
who commits murder only a _première fois_. Bad dinner and bad beds.
The hostler asked D—— if I did not belong to a peculiar race called
Amazons, always attired thus.
Pont d’Ain, 12th November.
Rose early to leave Bellay ditto, and were detained by seeing the rain
pouring down on the melancholy Place, and the red umbrellas of people
who crossed it in sabots, and the dripping diligence just arrived,
wrinkling the widened gutter where half a dozen ducks were dipping
their heads in the water and seemed triumphing in their superior powers
of enjoyment. As the inn was not tempting, we left it as soon as the
shower in some degree subsided, and a short distance and gentle ascent
brought us to the identical bridge, the scene of the murder. It crosses
a sluggish stream which creeps on either side of it and of the road
over low and marshy meadows. The spot has a melancholy aspect, partly
perhaps from its associations and the weather on which we saw it. A few
fine oaks grow here and there, near one of which the man was murdered,
and within hearing are several cottages, one so close that its
inhabitants might almost, had the moon been bright (for it was eleven
o’clock), have seen what was passing. The marsh, to which she fled in
her terror, was on the right hand as we approached the bridge, and
having pursued and shot her there, he feared she was not quite dead,
and ere he feigned to seek assistance, laid her, face downwards, in the
water, and preserving his coolness when he returned, placed her corpse
in the cabriolet and drove beside his victim into Bellay.
Our road entered a desolate glen, where the deposits formed by the
heavy rains have made small lakes or rather large pools under the bare
hills. This melancholy valley is succeeded by one of surpassing beauty,
for there are crags still grey and shattered but peeping above wooded
hills on which stand the proud ruins of convent and castle, or with
vineyards growing up their sides, the clear water of the rapid stream
at their foot flashing as it turns watermills, and in the hollow where
it flows so busily, oak and chestnut, and walnut, and ash-trees,
forming groves rich and varied, interspersed with clumps of dark box
and portions of fallen rock bright with the delicate greens of the
mosses which cover them.
We passed St. Rambert, beautifully placed on the river’s edge, with its
ancient fortress above and the ruin of another stronghold like itself
on an eminence which rises from the flat surface of the valley. Two
leagues before arriving at Pont d’Ain, we bade a final adieu to this
lovely country, and issued on the plains of France. As it was growing
dusk, we less regretted the change, and Fanny, finding a strip of turf
by the road-side, shook her small head and cantered on merrily. There
is a fine bridge at Pont d’Ain, and the inn is good, though dear.
13th November.
A lovely morning; Bourg is prettily placed, for the plain has
undulations and patches of copse wood, and you look back to the
mountains of Savoy. Left the cathedral of Brou on the right hand just
before entering the town, a large building of not perhaps the purest
Gothic, but picturesque notwithstanding, and within of remarkable
beauty. Early in the year 1120, there stood on this spot a monastery,
whither Ulric, Lord of Bresse, returned from the Holy Land to end his
days. The Duchess of Savoy, wife of Philip the Second, made a vow to
build here a splendid church and convent should her husband escape the
consequences of a dangerous fall. Commenced by the latter, they were
left unfinished, for he died in 1497. His son Philibert succeeded him;
he had espoused Margaret of Austria, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian
and of Mary of Burgundy. Twice affianced, to Charles the Eighth of
France, and John, heir to the Spanish throne, she married Philibert,
surnamed the Handsome in 1501, and in 1504 was left a widow and
childless. She had Bresse for dowry, and the government of Burgundy
from her father, so that seeing herself rich and uncontrolled, she
undertook to accomplish her mother-in-law’s vow, and raised the
cathedral as it now stands between the years 1511 and 1530. The tombs
of the old duchess, its first founder, and that of Philip, are there,
as are those of Philibert the Handsome and Margaret herself. On her
monument is inscribed the singular motto—
Fortune, Infortune, fors une.
Unluckily for our progress it was fair time at Bourg, and the crowd of
peasants in their short boddices and flat hats, which, surmounted by a
black lace turret and ornamented by black lace streamers, are placed at
the top of their ugly heads, literally stopped the way. One pretty girl
(the only one) looked well under it. The boddice and short sleeves are
ornamented with fringe, black lace, and rags innumerable, and the arms
are bare, saving in those who, exhibiting great luxury, have worsted
gloves confined above the elbow by elastic garters. Passing towards the
centre of the fair, where the thickest crowd stood gaping round the
tent which contained Franconi’s troop, a fat man came rushing forth
from a café, and with one hand on my rein and the other on my arm,
inquired whether I would take any thing, and whether the horses had
been fed, so affectionately, that I had great trouble in getting rid of
him.
My heart sank when I saw Montrevel, where the landlady of Pont d’Ain
had said we should be “pas mal,” and the poor woman, with fear in her
face, told me she had never lodged travellers before. However, when I
had groped after her up the dark ladder-staircase, and passed the room
in which slept the whole family, three dogs included, we found one
better than I expected, as it was large as a barn, and clean, though
damp, as never used save for festivals, wedding, or christening. We
made a good fire on the one lonely dog, and got supper, whose best dish
was one of roasted chestnuts, and dry sheets over hard, moist
mattresses, the beds being there for ornament. To the stable, while
D—— stood there to see the horses fed, came a peasant in blue frock
and striped night-cap, who watched, in respect and some awe, Fanny’s
demeanour, never of the quietest when she is curried, and at last said,
“Those animals have far more sense than we have.” D—— thought from
his face that might easily be, and said, “Very true;” but with another
look of admiration he returned to the charge, and said, “Vous venez de
travailler à Bourg,” which D——, not quite comprehending, explanations
followed; and it came out that he thought we belonged to Franconi’s
troop (as did I suppose the fat man at the café) and were all four
performers.
Left Montrevel for Tournus, the greater part of the way a desolate
flat, beneath the cold fog, broken by a few hills, long as
uninteresting. The peasants of La Bresse are a quiet though uncouth set
of people; their miserable habitations cleaner than those of the more
northern provinces of France. Met no one save a group of gipsies, on
whom we came as I walked to warm myself down one of these quasi
mountains, Fanny following like a spaniel. They were gathered beneath
an ancient oak, the older people cooking, a handsome youth touching a
guitar, and a girl, with the dark fine features of her race, gazing at
him as did the large dog, whose head rested on her knee. Outside the
bridge of Tournus, found at a café the stout old gentleman, Madame
Lalouet’s pensionnaire, who, on our former visit, provided us with a
château and private theatre. We shook hands, and he told us we should
be welcome at the inn, as indeed we found on our arrival, for it is one
of the very best on the road.
14th November.
Left Tournus for Chalons the 14th November, in cold fog and drizzling
rain; the view of the town and its towers, and the windings of the
Saône, which I thought pretty when we rode here on a sunny morning,
having lost its charm now, seen through the mist which lay heavily on
the few leafless trees, and the waves of mud of the straight road
before us. Before reaching Chalons we came again on the broken, bad
pavé; the sides of the road impassable, as our horses slipped or sunk
into the heavy ground almost to the knee. Arrived at the Hôtel du Parc;
uncomfortable as before.
15th November.
A lovely morning, though the fog overtook us, and the last of our rides
which possessed any interest; for, after Chagny’s plain and pavé, we
entered the valley, and passed the ruins of La Rochepot; they had less
beauty in the gleam of November sunshine, and clouds and mist hid the
plains of Bresse, and the line of snowy mountains which terminated the
view. The moor beyond, soaked by autumnal rains, was too heavy to
canter over; and the oak wood, beyond Givry, exhibits now but a few
brown leaves, clinging mournfully to twigs almost bare. Recognized by
postilions who met us on the road in April, and arrived at Arnay le Duc
by moonlight.
16th November.
As it rains now every other day, it rained this morning, and our
hostess as we left her shrugged her shoulders at our insanity. We hoped
to pass Rouvray and reach Avallon, but when two leagues and a half from
Roche en Breuil, Grizzy dropped a hind shoe, and we were retarded by
the necessity of leading her thither, for in the two wretched villages
we rode through, there was no farrier. Entering Rouvray, Fanny dropped
one of hers put on at Florence, and we went to and were well received
at the Ancienne Poste, our old quarters.
17th November.
Wished to get on to Auxerre, for the day was warm and lovely, but to do
so took unwisely our host’s advice, and a short cut by an abandoned
route, where we sank into mud, and scrambled over stones and rode
through a deep stream, till at the first village we reached we were
very happy to inquire the way to join the high road again, and thus
doubling instead of saving distance, and climbing the long hills of
Burgundy, it was already dark when we reached St. Bris. We reckoned on
the moon, but she was hid in heavy clouds till we reached Vermenton,
where, her light no longer needed, she shone forth splendidly.
The inn is the last house in the dirty town, and though frequented by
rouliers only, whose waggons, with their dogs guarding them, were
ranged before the door in the moonlight, we found there, with a good
humoured fat landlady, good dinner, beds and fire, and our horses a
private stable, but the waggoners sing at supper and get up at two to
prepare for starting at four, so that our rest was of the shortest.
Beyond Vermenton there is another long hill, steeper than any we have
travelled since those of the Appennines. The heavy fog froze on our
cloaks, hiding the view of the bare hills beyond our marl road, the
only good one between Paris and Bourg, till we drew near Auxerre, where
we fed our horses, and the weather changed during our short stay, as
the sun shone out with oppressive splendour. For some miles ere we
reached Joigny, the badness of the road retarded us, and the sun had
set when we stopped at the hôtel de Bourgogne, one of the good inns on
our passage.
19th November.
When half a league out of Joigny, D—— discovered that he had left the
small valise in the manger, and commissioned to return for it a young
man who for some time, walking lightly along, had kept pace with our
horses, and had just laughed heartily at an old marketwoman, who,
riding her donkey in masculine guise, treated with some contempt me and
my saddle. He said it was a happy chance for him, as he was on his way
from Bordeaux to Paris, and had spent his last halfpenny, having paid
four sous for his night’s lodging, and eaten neither supper nor
breakfast. He ran to Joigny and back, and when he came up with us once
more, we noticed that his shoe was cut, and praised his diligence. He
said he had been a far better walker before the beam of a house, which
was taking down, had fallen on his foot and crushed it. As he took from
D—— the money which was to convey him the remainder of his way, he
drew his left hand a moment from his waistcoat pocket, and I saw it was
crippled. So here was a poor fellow, with no breakfast, and no money,
and no hope of either, walking to Paris miles away, with a useless hand
and injured foot, neither desponding nor trying to excite compassion,
nor asking charity, nor servile when it was bestowed—proving again
what I have observed so often, that the French bear privation and
misfortune better than any people in the world. He said he should be
well provided for as soon as he arrived in Paris, as he wrote a fair
hand, and his brother established there had a place of clerk awaiting
him. At the first village we came to, he stopped for his morning meal,
and we saw no more of him.
At Villeneuve le Roy we fed and rested our horses, and again lingered
too long. Passed through Sens, the prettiest of French towns, and
before its cathedral, without stopping. The chapter of Sens is
unfortunately poor, and has lately sold ancient tapestries and curious
relics to pay the expenses of its repairs. A part of this money has
been expended in raising statues outside the building, and the sculptor
has so executed his mission, that several are most remarkable as being
very crooked; and one, in particular, whose arms are folded, leans to
one side, perilously for those below, as he is ninety feet from the
ground. Night closed in as we reached Pont-sur-Yonne, for we had again
counted on a faithless moon; and as the trees, which bordered the bad
road, had been lately felled and lay across it, we proceeded slowly and
all rather wearily, till the moon shone out from behind a cloud, and
Fanny knew her way and trotted on first and stopped at the inn gate.
The landlady received us gratefully, as since our passage she has
lodged several families who went to her on my recommendation, and we
have enjoyed the best supper by the blazing fire in her best room, hung
round with Don Quixote’s adventures.
20th November.
Left Villeneuve le Guiard for Melun in threatening weather, following
the Fontainebleau road as far as Fossard, but the skies compensated for
their yesterday’s kindness, and the cold north-easter blew in our faces
the coldest of all possible rains. The horses hung their heads, and so
did we: for there was neither bank nor bush to shelter us. Where the
road turns off at Fossard, there appears to be a good inn, which we
passed crest-fallen, crossing the bridge of Montereau, where Jean sans
Peur, duke of Burgundy, was murdered.
Not stopping to see his sword, which hangs in the church, we travelled
with more discontent than curiosity up the long hill which rises from
the dirty Yonne. My hat, lately purchased in a country town, proving
only felt, and softened by rain till it clung to my throat like a black
silk handkerchief: rain almost the whole weary day, and the road
crossing a wood, thin, stunted and leafless, so affording no shelter.
Ere entering Melun, the shoe of Grizzle’s obstinate hind foot, and the
two fore shoes of Fanny, were discovered to be loose, and must be put
on ere we leave to-morrow. This inn, the Hôtel de France, is a contrast
and a foil to its Fontainebleau namesake, being as bad as its masters
are uncivil. Poisoned at dinner by some chicorée, dressed in a dirty
copper saucepan.
Paris, 21st November.
Very unwell all night, but up with dawn, as the shoeing of our horses
by a country farrier is an operation long and perilous. If I had seen
yesterday before dinner the aides de cuisine I watched this morning
preparing vegetables in the yard, the sight of them would have cured
hunger and spared illness. The rain held off till we got on horseback,
and then came down and continued in torrents till we reached Charenton,
accompanied by wind and fog; so that the deluge joined to the extreme
fatigue which I felt at last, and the sick faintness consequent on
eating verdigrease, I suffered more than any day of our journey, and,
being last, it seemed the longest. At Charenton the rain abating, the
horses dried, and we cheered up, and as it grew dark arrived at the
Place de la Bastille. When we reached the quays, Fanny, though far from
home, still knew her way, pricked her ears and hurried her pace, and,
when on the Place Louis Quinze, took unbidden the way to the Champs
Elysées, and cantered up them towards her old habitation.
There are always moments of anxiety preceding the meeting with friends
after months of absence, and the heart beats painfully as one stops
before the door, uncertain of the well-being of those within. My
father’s voice from the window reassured me, and we entered, hopeless
looking figures, wet to the skin, and muddy to the knee. “Sure such a
pair were never seen!”
It was luxury to close round the fire, talking all at once; to feel we
did not care whether it snowed or shone on the morrow, as our long
march was at an end at last, and our comrades consigned to the care of
their old attendant, whom they recognized and caressed, after their
manner, and who walked triumphantly away with his travelled Fanny.
* * * * *
We have travelled many a mile.
And your courage mine inspired;
Your playfulness awoke our smile,
Your eager step seemed never tired;
Suspended o’er the torrent’s wrath,
When you trod the zigzag path,
Where your small foot scarce found place;
With the spirit of your race,
Climbed the steps of slippery stone
Where horse’s hoof had never gone,
While the Alpine women wondered;
Where the wild stream foamed and thundered,
Firm and fearless stemmed the ford,
And calmly drank where worst it roared,
And seemed as in contempt to tread
O’er the easier Appennine,
Till you toss’d your tiny head,
Disdainful of the Florentine.
When the summer day we bore
Air which burned and earth which glowed,
On the broad lake’s glorious shore;
Droopingly your comrade trode;
Where from the oak-boughs o’er us flung,
The clasping vine’s rich clusters hung,
And the dark Italian laughed
While the full grape’s juice we quaffed,
The gladness he had given to see;
Save you, we came so wearily;
Still your portion you received,
And thanked me for your thirst relieved
By treading yet more cheerily.
Riding o’er a land unknown,
When day had died in twilight’s bed,
And darkness on the world sank down.
And it was long since you had fed,
And yet we had not reached the town;
The village inn you lingered nigh,
And turned to me your asking eye:
It said, “The long day’s night is near,
Mistress, may I rest me here?”
Needed but to raise the rein,
Merrily you trode again.
All strange places made your home,
You ne’er demeaned you as a stranger,
Wont in confidence to come,
Pawing joy to rack and manger.
Plebeian horses shrank aloof
From my small steed’s indignant hoof.
Where’er we went, affection grew
In the coldest hearts, for you.
They knew you by your hurried tread;
They watched you from afar—they said,
O’er hill, o’er hold your small form shoot,
Like a meteor of the sky,
Fanny of the flying foot,
Fanny of the shining eye!
Bright Italia woo’d in vain,
Fields of France we sought again;
While to the Arno’s narrow valley
The summer would not say adieu,
The autumn’s forces failed to rally
Upon the mountain too;
Lay in the hollow of the hill
The sealike mist, inert and still;
And warring sunbeams shone between,
Where taller trees made islets green;
And on the higher peaks enthroned,
The wind’s contending currents moaned,
Disputing mastery o’er each other,
For the north called the snow, his brother;
And the south, scattering clouds afar,
Made vistas for the evening star.
And it was beautiful to view
The unveiled moon smile all her love
Unto a sky so purely blue:
And by her trembling light you knew
The humble inn and chestnut grove,
Which scarce had shelter suiting you.
Beside, upon the couch of fern,
The tired ox lay down in turn;
The poster’s bells chimed thro’ the night,
The mountain wind sang through the cranny,
And yet of all who rose with light,
The promptest was my joyous Fanny.
The plains of Piedmont we passed o’er,
The swollen river’s ravaged shore;
And Savoy’s sentinel was nigh,
With his white forehead in the sky.
And from the road the conqueror made,
We looked back o’er the land he swayed;
Land deemed an empire’s dearest gem,
Till sank into her wearer’s soul
The iron of her diadem;
Once could she heroes’ names unroll,
And now she yields all saving them!
Seeming near tho’ far away,
Stretched at our feet Italia lay,
As we the fathom line might throw,
Where the coiled river gleamed below;
Where shattered peak and abbey hoar
Darkly rose in heaven as based
On the white vapour which embraced,
And tremblingly one sunbeam found,
A path unto the nearer mound
Nobly tho’ ruinously crowned,
By some old ruler of the Dore.
Hollow tower and crumbling wall,
Sole historians to recall,
Power and pride, and force, and fall.
Rising in that fragrant air,
Breathing life and joy and rest,
(Such as should blow o’er the blest,)
Gently the matin chime it bare,
As if the voice of praise and prayer
Its holy pinion wafted best.
The vine crept up the mountain side,
Paying homage to its pride;
The monarch forest o’er us reared
Arms unshorn and crown unseared;
On its branches, poised or hid
By the green leaves’ pyramid,
Snow-flakes, delicate and faint,
Lay like blossoms pure and pale,
Such as would perish in the taint
Of the hot breezes of the vale.
Gaily went my lively steed,
Cast no lingering glance below,
Browzing on the mountain weed,
Slaking thirst on mountain snow.
Suddenly when change arose,
Unseen winds brought unfelt foes
Heaven to hide and earth to bound,
While the thickening fog closed round,
Impalpable but mighty wall;
Where sprang a moment from the gloom,
Engulphed again as in a tomb,
In mid air hung the waterfall.
And on the border of its shroud,
The lake but seemed a denser cloud.
We knew that shelter must be won
Ere setting of that shadowed sun,
Or we might find at evening’s close
Too cold a couch, too still repose.
The Guardian screen’d him from the blast,
In each closed refuge we rode past.
The strings of pearl the frost had strung
To your dark mane’s tresses clung,
Against the tempest and the hill,
Strained gallantly my palfrey still.
When all things shook in Nature’s spasm,
And the wind roared down the cleft
Where barriers former storms have left,
Bend like rushes o’er the chasm,
Firmly placed to meet its course,
Fearlessly you faced its force;
When its rude hand rending wide
The curtain of the mountain side,
Showed the village at its foot,
Where the pine first strikes its root,
On the loud Arc’s savage shore;
Well you guessed your labour o’er,
And rightly chose the stable door;
With eye undimm’d, and limbs unworn,
You rolled your weariness away.
Your hunger scarce appeased at morn,
For still you struck your foot to say,
What sweetness has the lowland corn,
What fragrance has the mountain hay!
Sun and summer left behind,
Pelting rain and biting wind
Marshalled back our joyless way,
Thro’ the brief and wintry day;
By the long untrodden road,
Straight you sought your old abode;
Neighing welcome at the door,
To the menial yours before.
Strong until the goal was won,
Failing when your task was done,
We watched you prostrate in the stall,
Your head upon the old man’s knee,
And your dim eye turned to me;
Anxiously your state he scanned;
You, untameable with all,
Faintly licked his iron hand;
Now sorrow o’er and sickness cured,
Prized for every pang endured,
Your playful toil what sweetens rest,
Your task to bear me forth at morn,
Lighter step and loftier crest,
Seem proud of hardships braved and borne.
And when age shall come at length,
And the swift foot learns to tire,
And the dark glance lacks its fire,
None to urge your failing strength,
Service harsh nor duties vile,
Peasant hand shall ne’er defile;
The green fields of your native isle
Home of your sinking years shall be;
Ranging far and dying free.
Flowers shall shine and laurels nod
O’er the gay, the bold, the canny;
Larks upsoaring from the sod,
Swell their songs in praise of Fanny.
APPENDIX.
The crime of Cinq Mars consisted in his treating all means as
allowable, provided they had for end the favourite’s downfall; his
treason to Louis; his appeal to Spain. The fault of De Thou lay in his
preference to an individual over his country, in private affections too
strong for public virtues. An extract from Montresor’s Memoirs,
detailing the last days of their lives, must find a place here. By
translating closely, I have tried as much as possible to preserve the
manner of the quaint original—“Journal of all which took place in
Lyons during the Proceedings instituted for the Trial of Messrs. de
Cinq Mars and de Thou.”
‘Monsieur de Cinq Mars arrived at Lyons the 4th of September of the
present year 1642, about two hours after noon, in a coach drawn by four
horses, in which were four gardes du corps carrying their muskets, and
surrounded by foot guards, belonging to the Cardinal Duke’s household,
to the number of one hundred. Before the carriage marched two hundred
horsemen, for the most part Catalonians, and three hundred more well
mounted followed. Monsieur le Grand[1] was attired in musk coloured
cloth of Holland covered over with gold embroidery, having a scarlet
cloak with large silver buttons. Being arrived on the bridge which
crosses the Rhone before entering the town, he asked Monsieur de
Ceton,[2] lieutenant of the Scotch guards, if he permitted that the
coach should be closed. This was refused him, and he was conducted to
the bridge of St. Jean, thence to the Exchange and by the Rue de
Flandres to the foot of the castle of Pierre Encise. As he passed along
the streets, continually showing himself at the carriage door, he
saluted the crowd with a smiling countenance, leaning half out of the
coach, and even recognized many to whom he bowed, calling them by name.
Arrived beneath Pierre Encise, he was surprised when told he must
descend, and mount on horseback to arrive at the castle by a road which
skirted the town: “This then,” he said, “will be the last time.” He had
imagined that orders were given to conduct him to Vincennes, and had
several times asked the guards if would be permitted hunting when
arrived there.
‘His prison was situated at the foot of the great tower, having for
only view that from the two narrow windows which looked on a small
garden, beneath which were stationed guards, as well as in his chamber,
where Monsieur Ceton with four soldiers lay, in that adjoining and
without all the doors.
‘The next day, fifth of the month, the Cardinal Bichy went to visit
him, and asked if it were his pleasure to see some one in his prison
with whom he might converse. He said he should be glad of such favour,
but that he did not deserve that for him any should be troubled.
‘Whereupon the Cardinal of Lyons summoned the Jesuit Malavette,
desiring that, since such was Monsieur de Cinq Mars’ will, he should go
thither; and he went on the 6th at five in the morning, remaining until
eight. He found him laid in a bed of scarlet damask, incommoded by a
stomach disorder which had annoyed him throughout his journey and of
which he was not rid till his death, and therefore very feeble and
pale. The priest’s converse so solaced him, that again that night he
prayed his company, and afterwards during the days his imprisonment
lasted continued to see him eve and morning. When all was over, the
above named father rendered an account to the Cardinal Duke
(Richelieu), and the Cardinal of Lyons, and the chancellor, of all
which he had said to him, and remained a long while in conference with
his Ducal Eminence, although at that time he allowed himself to be seen
by no one.
‘The 7th day of the month, the chancellor visited Monsieur de Cinq
Mars, and treated him courteously, saying he had no reasons for fear,
but all for hope; that he knew he had an upright judge, mindful of
favours received from his benefactor, since through his goodness, and
his power only, the king had not dispossessed him from his office, and
this great kindness deserved not only an eternal remembrance, but to be
repaid with infinite gratitude. The pretended occasion of this
compliment was that Monsieur le Grand had once heretofore appeased the
king’s anger greatly excited against the chancellor, but the true
reason of his civility was a fear of being refused by him for judge and
also of his appealing to the parliament of Paris, and being delivered
by the people, by whom he was loved passionately. Monsieur le Grand
replied, that he thanked him for a courtesy whose excess confused him,
but “nevertheless,” he said, “I note well from the mode in which this
affair proceeds that my life is the mark aimed at. Sir, my fate is
sealed, the king forsakes me; I look on myself henceforth but as a
victim about to be sacrificed to mine enemies’ passion and the king’s
easy temper.” To this the chancellor answered, “that such opinions were
erroneous, and by nothing warranted, and that his own experience
brought with it a contrary conviction.” “Heaven grant it,” replied
Monsieur le Grand; “but I believe it not.” The 8th day of the month,
the chancellor went to hear him, accompanied by six maîtres de
requêtes, two presidents, and six counsellors from Grenoble; but,
having interrogated him from seven in the morning till two hours after
noon, they could extract no replies.
‘The 10th, they departed altogether for Vivey, a mansion belonging to
the Abbé of Aisnay, Monsieur de Villeroy’s brother, two leagues distant
from Lyons, whither Monsieur, the king’s brother, repaired from
Villefranche, and where all proofs and papers were compared and
examined.
‘The 12th, all the judges sitting in Lyons, Monsieur le Grand was
brought thither in a coach from the castle at about eight o’clock in
the forenoon, conducted by the “chevalier du guet,” and his company,
and being introduced and placed in the accused’s seat, he answered and
confessed all which he had already made known to the chancellor in that
conference which, on the 7th of the month, they had held together, and
with gentleness and tranquillity of mind so great withal, that his
judges gazed one at the other in wonder and admiration, constrained to
acknowledge that never before had they seen or heard of constancy so
unshaken, or a mind so strong and clear. After this he was bid retire
to a chamber, whither, soon as the chancellor had collected the votes,
and his condemnation was written, they entered to read to him his
sentence; and also that before its execution, the question, both
ordinary and extraordinary, should be administered, in order to obtain
from him more fully, the declaration of who were his accomplices.
‘During the performance of this mournful office, which drew tears from
the eyes of his judges and his guards, he neither changed colour nor
countenance, losing nothing of his accustomed cheerfulness and that air
of majesty which accompanied all his actions; but towards its close, at
the mention of torture, he said to his judges, though with unaltered
mildness, “Sirs, this seems harsh to me; a person of my age and my
condition should scarce be subjected to these formalities. I know what
the forms of justice demand, but I know mine own rank also. I have
told, and will again tell all; I receive death with willingness and
unflinchingly, and therefore is the torture needless. I confess my
weakness, and that this prospect hath power to disturb me.”
‘He continued his speech yet some time farther, with so much grace and
gentleness, that his judges’ compassion prevented their reply, in
contradiction, or refusal of that indulgence he hoped to obtain from
them.
‘Father Malavette at this time arriving inquired of him what might be
the subject of his demand, saying that these were gentlemen well
nurtured, and that from them he might expect as much favour as from the
king.
‘“It is of small moment, father,” he replied; “I do but confess a
weakness and that it paineth me to submit to the torture; disturbing my
spirit not from apprehension of pain, for I shall go unto death with
joy and firmness, but because, having told all I know, it were vain to
use torture.”
‘The father, embracing him, answered, “Sir, be not uneasy; you have no
concern with merciless judges, since already they give your ill fortune
tears;” and taking aside two of the “maîtres de requêtes,” the priest
told them that they mistook this master spirit; that he saw well the
extreme constraint he imposed upon himself, and that they did ill so to
shake his fortitude as to risk the casting it down. The while he spoke
came thither two judges more, who said in secret to the priest, that
the question would not be administered to Monsieur le Grand, but that,
for the sake of justice and in obedience to its forms, they must
conduct him to the torture chamber. Whereupon the reverend father
accosted Cinq Mars, and drawing him aside from his guards, he said,
“Are you capable of keeping an important secret?” He said, “Father, I
pray you to believe I have been wanting in faith to none save God.”
“Well then,” he returned, “you will not suffer, nor will you be
presented to the torture; you come only to the chamber, whither I will
accompany you in guarantee of the word I pledge you.”
‘They went together, and Monsieur le Grand merely saw the cords and
other fearful instruments of torture. Meanwhile about ten o’clock,
Monsieur de Thou was conducted from the castle of Pierre Encise to the
palace, and presented to the judges to be interrogated there; and after
the usual demands, the chancellor asked whether Monsieur d’Effiat (de
Cinq Mars) had not revealed to him the conspiracy? To which he made
answer: “Gentlemen, I might deny, and absolutely, that I knew aught of
this, nor could you convict me of falsehood, for by Monsieur de Cinq
Mars only you can be apprised of my knowledge, since to no man
breathing have I spoken or written on the subject. An accused man
cannot validly accuse another, and a man cannot be condemned to death
save by the testimony of two irreproachable witnesses. Thus you see
that my life, my death, my condemnation or absolution rest on mine own
tongue; nevertheless, gentlemen, I confess that I knew of this matter.
I avow it frankly for two reasons. First, because the three months of
my imprisonment I have so passed in contemplation of life and death, as
to know undoubtingly, that however long the life I may enjoy, it can
only be unhappy. And that death is an advantage to me, seeing I hold it
as the most certain proof of my election; such as renders me ready to
die, for which I can never be better disposed than now. Wherefore I
would not let pass this opportunity of salvation. My second reason is,
that, notwithstanding this my crime be punishable with death,
nevertheless, gentlemen, you observe that it is neither extraordinary,
nor of great magnitude, nor of deep dye. I do confess I knew the plot;
I did all that in me lay to dissuade him from its accomplishment. He
believed me his only and devoted friend, and I would not betray him;
therefore I deserve death and I condemn myself by the law, Quisquis....”
‘This speech, which he spoke with a wondrous spirit and vivacity, so
favourably impressed his judges, that with difficulty they roused
themselves from the feelings it excited, nor was there one there
present who felt not a passionate inclination to save him and preserve
to France the brightest hope of her court, for so was he called even by
his foes.
He was thereupon sentenced to death, as well as Monsieur le Grand; and
as he quitted the hall he met there the reverend father Mambrun the
Jesuit, who in Pierre Encise had confessed him, and he exclaimed in a
religious transport, “Come, on my father, let us go to death and to
heaven; let us forward to true glory. What through life have I done for
my God to obtain from him this favour he now grants me, to die
ignominiously that I may sooner arrive at true life?” and expressing
the same thought unceasingly, he was conducted to the chamber where was
Monsieur de Cinq Mars. Soon as the latter perceived him, he ran towards
him exclaiming, “Oh! friend, friend, how I mourn thy doom!” but
Monsieur de Thou embracing him, said, “Ah how happy we are to die
thus!” The one asked pardon of the other; they embraced five or six
times successively with claspings of a most unmatched love; bidding
their very guards burst into tears, for this was such a spectacle as
might soften rocks.
‘While these embracings lasted, three or four of their judges came;
which obliged them to retire to the extremity of the chamber, where
they conversed yet half an hour with most entire affection, of which
they gave proof by exclamation and gesture, the while the Father
Malavette prayed the judges who were there to promise him that they
should not be bound, neither see the executioner till arrived on the
scaffold, which was granted after some slight difficulty. And still
while this lasted, Monsieur le Grand embraced Monsieur de Thou, ending
his discourse thus: “Dear friend, let us go to think on God, and employ
the remainder of our lives in working out our salvation.”
‘“It is well said,” replied Monsieur de Thou, and taking his confessor
by the hand, he led him to a corner of the chamber and made his
confession there. Monsieur de Cinq Mars begged of the guards that they
would give him another chamber, which they refused, saying that one was
spacious enough, and that if so pleased him to go to the other corner,
he might confess himself with all convenience. But still urging his
request with grace and mildness, he at last obtained that he asked for.
Being entered into another chamber, he made a general confession of his
whole life, which lasted a long hour; then wrote three letters, the one
to his mother the Maréchale d’Effiat, wherein he prayed her to make
payment to two creditors, to whom he wrote two other letters. After
which he said to the priest that he could bear up no longer, having
swallowed nothing during twenty-four hours.
‘The father prayed his comrade to go in search of wine and eggs, and
the guards having brought both, he begged them to place all on the
table. When they had gone forth, the said father offered him wine, but
he rinsed his mouth only and swallowed nothing. Meanwhile Monsieur de
Thou had confessed himself, and with marvellous promptitude indited two
letters, and this done, paced the chamber reciting aloud the psalm,
“Miserere mei, Deus,” with enthusiasm of mind so shown in the movements
of his body, that it seemed he were about to take flight from earth. He
repeated the same verses ofttimes, exclaiming aloud and with
ejaculations, mingling in his oration passages from St. Paul and the
Holy Scripture, then taking up the “Miserere” once more, and reciting
nine times after it, “Secundum magnam misericordiam tuam.”
‘During these devotions came several gentlemen to pay their respects to
him, but he waved them aside, “My thoughts are with God, I pray you
disturb me not, I am no longer of this world.” Notwithstanding this
ecstacy, there approached him one gentleman sent by his sister the
Présidente Pontac, who had come to Lyons to intercede for her brother.
He asked him from her if he wanted aught, and he replied, “I need
nothing, sir, saving her prayers and yours; nothing but death to
conduct me to life and glory.” And as he commenced reciting the psalm,
“Credidi propter quod locutus sum,” the guardian of the convent des
Observantins of Tarascon, who had confessed him in prison there, came
near and inquired what inscription he chose on the chapel founded by
himself in their convent. He replied, “What you will, my father;” but
the latter urging his request, he asked for a pen, and with such
wondrous promptitude as showed more than human facility and presence of
mind, he wrote, “Christo liberatori votum in carcere pro libertate
conceptum Franciscus Augustus Thuanus è carcere vita jam liberandus,
merito solvit.”
‘Having laid down the pen, he recommenced his prayers, reciting the
psalm “Confitebor tibi, Domine, in toto corde meo,” yielding to such
enthusiasm as at times almost overcame him. The guards looked on
trembling themselves with respect and awe. One of their judges arrived
in the meantime, demanding what they waited for, and where was Monsieur
le Grand. One knocked at his chamber door where he still was with his
confessor, and Monsieur de Cinq Mars replied with his admirable
gentleness, that it would be finished soon, and once more drawing the
priest aside, he spake to him of his conscience with such feeling of
his own offences, and of the goodness of God, that the priest perforce
embraced him, adoring in his person the might of God’s grace and that
of the mind of man; and then they prepared themselves to go forth.
Monsieur le Grand and Monsieur de Thou being met on the steps, and
having exchanged salutes, they encouraged one another with zeal and
joy, such as proved that the Holy Spirit of a truth had filled their
souls and bodies. At the foot of the steps they found their judges, and
each made to them a fair speech with thanks for the mild treatment
granted them.
‘Being on the steps without the hall, they gazed attentively at the
great crowd assembled before the palace, and bowed on all sides low and
gracefully. Monsieur de Thou, seeing how they were to be conducted in a
coach to the place of execution, said aloud to the people, “Gentlemen,
this is indeed goodness to carry thus two criminals to their death, we
who merit to be drawn thither in a cart and dragged on hurdles—the Son
of God, the symbol of innocence, having been for us so done to death
with shame and scandal.”
‘After this they entered the coach which had been prepared for them.
Messieurs de Cinq Mars and de Thou placed themselves in the back seat,
the two priests’ companions opposite the confessors themselves, one at
either door, the guards who accompanied them being about a hundred,
belonging to the chevalier du guet, with three hundred cuirassiers, the
officers of justice and the provost marshal. They began this sad
journey reciting the litanies of the Holy Virgin, after which Monsieur
de Thou embraced Monsieur de Cinq Mars four separate times with the
ardour of an angel, saying, “Dear friend, what during our lives have we
done so pleasing to God as to induce him to do us the favour to die
together? with a little infamy to wipe away our crimes, by a slight
shame to conquer heaven and its glory? Alas! is it not true that we
have not deserved it? let us mortify our hearts and spend our strength
in thankfulness, and receive death with all the affection of our souls.”
‘To this Monsieur le Grand replied by such words of virtue, faith,
charity and resignation, as exalted their confessors above themselves.
The people so thronged in the streets that the coach could hardly move
forward, and the despair was such as for like cause has seldom been
seen depicted on human countenances. Arrived at the slope of the bridge
of the Saône, Monsieur de Thou said to Monsieur de Cinq Mars, “Well,
dear friend, who shall first die?” “Your choice shall decide,” he
answered. Father Malavette, now speaking, said to Monsieur de Thou,
“You are the oldest.” “True,” replied Monsieur de Thou; but turning to
Cinq Mars, “You are the most generous, you will show me the road to
heaven and glory.” “Alas,” said Cinq Mars, “I opened before you the
path to the precipice, but let us fling ourselves there bravely, and we
shall rise to the brightness and happiness of God.”
‘During the remainder of the way, Monsieur de Cinq Mars, continuing his
acts of piety, recommended himself to the people’s prayers, putting his
head forth from the carriage windows. A group of young girls moved
withal uttered a great cry, and Father Malavette, affected by their
sorrow, could not restrain his own and wept: but Monsieur le Grand,
observing him, said, “How, father, are you more interested for me than
I for myself? I pray you shed no tears, we need your firmness to
fortify our own.”
‘As to the Jesuit Mambrun, he was so affected by the sorrow of the
people, the guards and judges, that neither in the palace nor on the
way could he utter a word, his speech stifled by his sobs.
‘Monsieur de Thou continued his journey, repeating an hundred times,
“Credidi propter quod locutus sum,” making the priest promise that he
should be allowed to recite the whole on the scaffold ere he died.
‘Arrived on the Place des Terreaux, Father Malavette first descended,
taking Monsieur le Grand and Monsieur de Thou by the hand, and saying
these words, “Go, sir; a moment will part us now, but soon shall we be
united before God and to all eternity. Do not regret that which you
lose; you have been great on earth, you will be greater in heaven, and
your grandeur will have no fall.” And having embraced once again with
last tokens of friendship, Monsieur le Grand descended from the coach,
and some insolent soldiers attempting to tear his cloak from him, he
turned to the provost marshal and asked to whom it should be given. He
bade him dispose of it as he chose, and he gave it to the priest’s
companion, desiring that its price might be bestowed on the poor.
Another soldier having taken his hat, he asked him for it civilly, and
it was returned, and he ascended the scaffold, having his head covered,
with graceful agility and gaiety kissing his hand ere he gave it to
Malavette to assist him to reach the summit. He took a turn on the
scaffold, still wearing his hat, and bowing round to the crowd with his
fine and majestic countenance. Then he flung his hat from him, and
knelt down, raising his eyes to heaven in adoration. Next approaching
the block, he made trial of it, asking how he should place himself and
whether he did well. He took the crucifix from the priest’s hand
himself on his knees, and kissed it with a tenderness inconceivable.
And as he repeated the action a thousand times, the father called aloud
to the people to pray for him; and Monsieur le Grand, stretching forth
his arms and then clasping the hands which still held the crucifix,
repeated a like prayer.
‘The executioner now approached, but the father bade him retire, and
turning Cinq Mars from him, his companion aided to undo the doublet,
and then Monsieur le Grand embraced them both, and kneeling they
recited together “Ave Maria, stella,” and at its close he received
absolution, and casting himself in the priest’s arms remained there
while one might say a Miserere.
‘The executioner again advancing to cut the hair, Monsieur de Cinq Mars
asked for scissors. The father took them from his hand and gave them to
Monsieur le Grand, who called the priest’s companion, desiring he would
cut it, and this he did, and he laid his head on the block to try it
again, and the father gave a medal into his hand and he received
indulgence and kissed the cross. He then kneeled down with wondrous
tranquillity, begging of the priest’s companion that he would continue
to hold the crucifix before his eyes which he refused to have bound, in
order that he might see it till he died. Embracing the block, he placed
himself thereon and received the mortal blow from a large butcher’s
knife, made after the fashion of the antique axes or rather like those
of England, and the one blow ended him, though the head still held to
the trunk by the skin of the throat not quite severed. The executioner
was an old needy wretch. Unnerved by the necessity of cutting through
this skin which remained, and letting the head roll on the scaffold, it
fell unto the ground.
‘The people, densely crowded on the square, at the windows and on the
towers, broke through the breathless silence which had lasted
throughout, and when the axe was raised, uttered a wild cry. The sobs
and groans recommenced with a noise and tumult altogether startling.
‘After this, Monsieur de Thou, who had remained within the coach which
had been closed, came forth from it boldly, and ascended the scaffold
with such alertness that one might have thought he flew, and arrived at
its summit he took two turns hat in hand, bowing to the multitude; then
flung in a corner his hat and the cloak, and the executioner
approaching embraced him and called him brother, and stripped his
doublet without a moment’s delay.
‘Father Mambrun who accompanied him was so profoundly affected as to be
unable to utter a word. He begged Father Malavette, who had descended
while the assistants stripped the body of Cinq Mars, to return and he
did so. They recited the psalm “Credidi” together and aloud, and after
ejaculations uttered in a firm and loud voice, in a transport and
fervour like that of a seraphim, and gestures which seemed as if his
body yielded to his soul flying to heaven, he received absolution and
gained the indulgence.
‘And having performed all Christian duties, he adored the cross ere yet
he lay his head on the block, then kissed the blood of Cinq Mars which
stained it, and bound his eyes himself with his kerchief. Having taken
his post, he received a blow on the bones of the skull which grazed it
only and he passed his hand on the wound falling backwards. The
executioner repeated the blow, grazing the skull once more, this time
above the ear, casting his victim down who kicked violently in his
agony. The executioner dealt yet a third blow on the throat which
finished him, and he received yet two more ere he could cut the head
completely off—so embarrassed was this wretched executioner. His body
was then stripped instantly, and the two bodies being placed in a coach
were borne to the church of the Feuillans.
‘The next morning the corpse of Monsieur de Thou was embalmed by order
of his sister and carried thence; and that of Monsieur le Grand was
interred under the balustrade of the said church, through the goodness
and authority of Monsieur de Gay, treasurer of France.
‘Thus died these two great men, expiating by religion and constancy the
enormity of their crime.’
-----
Footnote 1:
He was so styled, being grand écuyer.
Footnote 2:
I suppose Seyton.
THE END.
London: Printed by W. CLOWES and SONS, Stamford Street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s notes
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and inconsistencies;
retained non-standard spelling.
2. Correctly accented some French words for improved software
readability.
3. Italic text in the original is delimited by _underscores_.