PRINCE ARTHUR--WANT OF GALLANTRY PUNISHED--THE RECREANT SOW--THE
ROCKS OF NORON--LA GRANDE EPERONNIÈRE--LE CAMP-FERME--ANTIQUITIES
OF FALAISE--ALENÇON--NORMAN CAPS--GEESE--LE MANS--TOMB OF
BÉRANGÈRE--CATHEDRAL--ANCIENT REMAINS--STREETS--THE VEILED FIGURE.
CLOSE to the natal chamber of Duke William may be seen another recess in
the thick walls, still smaller and more dismal, to which a ruined window
now gives more light than in the days when poor young Arthur of Brittany
looked sadly through its loop-holes over a wide extent of country, now
all cultivation and beauty, but probably then bristling with forts and
towers, all in the hands of his hard-hearted uncle John. After having
made his nephew prisoner in Anjou, John sent him to Falaise, and had him
placed in this dungeon in the custody of some severe but not cruel
knights, who treated him with all the respect they dared to show. An
order from their treacherous master soon arrived, directing that he
should be put to death; but they refused obedience, and indignantly
exclaimed, that the walls of the castle of Falaise should not be sullied
by such a crime. Arthur was therefore removed to Rouen, and there less
conscientious men were found to execute the tyrant's will, if tradition,
so varied on the point, speak true.
Stephen maintained himself in the castle of Falaise against the father
of Henry II., and these walls have probably echoed to the lays of
minstrels, whose harps were tuned in praise of the beautiful and haughty
heiress of Aquitaine. The fair wife of Coeur de Lion had this castle for
her dower, and, for some time, is said to have lived here. Philip
Augustus accorded some singular privileges to Falaise, two of which
deserve to be recorded.
If a woman were convicted of _being fond of scandal_, and known to
backbite her neighbours, they had the right of placing cords under her
arms and ducking her three times in the water: after this, if a man took
the liberty of reproaching her with the circumstance, he was compelled
to pay a fine of ten sous, or else he was plunged into the stream in a
similar manner.
If a man were so ungallant as to call a woman _ugly_, he was obliged to
pay a fine. This offence was indeed worthy of condign punishment, if the
women of Falaise were as pretty formerly as they are now: with their
neat petticoats, smart feet in sabots, high butterfly or mushroom caps,
as white as snow, scarlet handkerchiefs and bright-coloured aprons, with
their round healthy cheeks, lively eyes, and good-humoured expression
of countenance, the Falaisiennes are as agreeable a looking race as one
would wish to see, and more likely to elicit compliment than insult.
Many curious customs prevailed in the middle ages in this old town; and
one was formerly portrayed on the walls of a chapel in the church of the
Holy Trinity. It was the representation of an execution: the delinquent
had injured a child, by disfiguring its face and arms, and suffered in
consequence. The culprit was no other than a sow; and when the crime
committed was brought home to her, the learned judges assembled on the
occasion pronounced her as guilty of malice prepense; and in order to
hold her up as an example to all sows in time to come, her _face_ and
_fore legs_ were mutilated in a similar manner to those of her victim.
The spectacle of her punishment took place in a public square, amidst a
great concourse of spectators, the father of the child being brought as
a witness, and condemned to stand by during the infliction, as a due
reward for not having sufficiently watched his infant. The
"viscount-judge" of Falaise appeared on the solemn occasion "on
horseback, with a plume of feathers on his head, and _his hand on his
side_." The sow was dragged forth dressed in the costume of a citizen,
in a vest and breeches, and "_with gloves on_, wearing a mask
representing the face of a man."
What effect this wise judgment had is not related; probably it produced
as salutary a result as most of those exhibitions designed for the
amusement or instruction of an enlightened multitude.
The chain of the rocks of Noron, on part of which the castle is
situated, is singularly picturesque; and from those opposite, rising
from the side of Arlette's fountain, the fine ruins have a most majestic
effect; and the prospect for leagues round is extremely beautiful. A
soft turf, covered with wild thyme, heath, and fern, makes the
meandering walks amongst the huge blocks of moss-mantled stone, tempting
and delightful, in spite of their steepness; and the delicious perfume
of the fragrant herbs, growing in great luxuriance everywhere, is
refreshing in the extreme. The snowy tower of strength, rising from its
bed of piled up rock--the broad high walls, and their firm buttresses
and circular windows, through which the blue sky gleams--the nodding
foliage and garlands of ivy which adorn the huge towers--and, far
beyond, a rich and glowing country, altogether present a scene of
beauty, difficult to be equalled in any part of Normandy, rich as that
charming province is in animated landscape.
We spent many hours of a brilliant summer's day, climbing amongst the
rocks, and making sketches of the castle in its different phases, all of
which offer studies to an artist: here the majestic donjon forms a fine
object; there the ruined arsenal; and farther off the battered walls,
separated and hurled down by the cannon of Henri IV. when through this
breach his white plume was seen triumphantly waving as he cheered his
warriors on to the attack, changing the _six months_ proposed by Brissac
into _six days_, during which he took the fortress and the town.
An anecdote is related of a heroine of Falaise, whose exploits are
recorded with pride by her countrymen, by whom she is called _La Grande
Eperonnière_. She had headed a party of valiant citizens, who defended
one of their gates, and fought with such determination, as to keep her
position for a long time against the soldiers of Le Vert Galant.
The king, when the town was in his power, summoned her before him: she
came, and approaching with the same undaunted air, interrupted him, as
he was about to propose terms to her, and demanded at once the safety of
all the women and aged men of the town of Falaise. Henry was struck with
her courage, and desired her to shut herself up in a street with the
persons she wished to save, together with all their most precious
possessions, and gave her his word that no soldier should penetrate that
retreat. He, of course, kept his promise; and she assembled her friends,
took charge of most of the riches of the town, closed the two ends of
the street in which she lived, and, while all the rest of Falaise was
given up to pillage, no one ventured to enter the sacred precincts. The
street is still pointed out, and is called _Le Camp-fermant_, or
_Camp-ferme_, in memory of the event. The heroic Eperonnière was
fortunate in having a chief to deal with, who gladly took advantage of
every opportunity to exercise mercy.
The town of Falaise is well provided with water, and its fountains stand
in fine open squares: a pretty rivulet runs through the greatest part,
and turns several mills for corn, oil, cotton and tan; it is called the
Ante, and gives name to the valley it embellishes as it runs glittering
along amongst the rugged stones which impede its way with a gentle
murmur, making a chorus to the voices of the numerous Arlettes, who,
kneeling at their cottage doors, may be seen rubbing their linen against
the flat stones over which the stream flows, bending down their heads
which, except on grand occasions, are no longer adorned with the high
fly-caps which are so becoming to their faces, but are covered with a
somewhat unsightly cotton nightcap, a species of head-gear much in vogue
in this part of lower Normandy, and a manufacture for which Falaise is
celebrated, and has consequently obtained the name of _the city of
cotton nightcaps_. However, there is one advantage in this usage--the
women have better teeth than in most cider countries, owing perhaps to
their heads being kept warm, and, ugly as the cotton caps are, they
deserve admiration accordingly.
A house is shown in one of the streets, called the House of the
Conqueror, and a rudely sculptured bust is exhibited there, dignified
with his name. Some few tottering antique houses still contrive to keep
together in the oldest parts of the town, but none are by any means
worthy of note; one is singular, being covered with a sort of coat of
mail formed of little scales of wood lapping one over the other, and
preserving the remains of some carved pillars, apparently once of great
delicacy. One pretty tower is still to be seen at the corner of the Rue
du Camp-ferme, which seems to have formed part of a very elegant
building, to judge by its lightness and grace; it has sunk considerably
in the earth, but from its height a fine prospect may be obtained. There
is a public library at Falaise, that great resource of all French towns,
and several fine buildings dedicated to general utility; but the boys of
the college the most excite the envy of the stranger, for their abode is
on the broad ramparts, and their playground and promenades are along the
beautiful walks formed on the ancient defences of the castle.
Our way to Alençon, where we proposed to stop a day, lay through
Argentan on the Orne, a pretty town on a height commanding a fine view
of plain and forest; the country is little remarkable the whole way, but
cultivated and pretty. At Seez the fine, delicate, elevated spires of
the Cathedral mark the situation of the town long before and after it is
reached; but, besides that, it possesses no attractions sufficient to
detain the traveller.
Alençon, the capital of the department of Orne, is a clean, open,
well-built town, situated in a plain with woods in all directions, which
entirely bound its prospects. The public promenades are remarkably fine,
laid out with taste, and a great resource to the inhabitants, who
consider them equal to those of Paris, comparing them to the gardens of
the Luxembourg. The cathedral, once fine, is dreadfully defaced, and the
boasted altars and adornments of the chapels are in the usual bad taste
so remarkable at the present day.
A few fine round towers remain of the ancient château, now a prison,
which is the only vestige of antiquity remaining. There was an
exhibition of works of industry and art going on, which we went to see,
and were much struck with the extreme beauty of some specimens of the
lace called Point d'Alençon. The patterns and delicate execution of this
manufacture are exquisite, equalling ancient point lace and Brussels.
Some very fine stuffs in wool, transparent as gossamer and of the
softest colours, attracted us, but the severity of an official
prevented our examining them as closely as we wished, and as there was
no indication of the place where they could be beheld at liberty, we
were obliged to content ourselves with the supposition that they were
the produce of the workshops of Alençon. As the large gallery in which
the exhibition took place was principally filled with peasants in
blouses and women with children, perhaps the vigilance of the attendants
might not be useless; but whether their proceeding was judicious in
refusing information to strangers or persons who might be able to
purchase goods which pleased them, is questionable.
Amongst the customary Norman caps to be seen here, we remarked one which
we recognised at once as Breton. The girl who wore it was very pretty,
and in spite of the grave demeanour peculiar to her country and a
distinguishing trait, was pleased at my wishing to sketch her
singular-shaped head-dress, _en crète de coq_: she was from St. Malo, as
I had no difficulty in guessing.
Through alleys of crimson-apple trees our road continued, and we were
forcibly, and not very agreeably reminded, at almost every step, that
there is a large trade carried on in this part of the country in goose
down, for flocks of these unfortunate animals were scattered along the
road, their breasts entirely despoiled of their downy beauties, offering
a frightful spectacle; the immense numbers exceed belief, and all appear
of a fine species. At every cabaret we passed, notices were stuck up
informing those whom it might concern, that accommodation for four or
five hundred oxen was to be had within; but we met no private carriages,
nor, even in the neighbourhood of large towns, horsemen or pedestrians
above the rank of peasants. This is a circumstance so universal in every
part of France, that it becomes a mystery where the other classes of
society conceal themselves--on the promenades, in the streets and shops,
to see a well-dressed person is a prodigy, and the wonder is to whom the
goods are sold, which are certainly sparingly enough exhibited.
We had looked forward to much pleasure in a visit to the ancient town
of Le Mans, and its treasure, the tomb of Bérangère, for the discovery
of which, although a benefit unacknowledged, France and the curious are
indebted to the zeal and perseverance of the late lamented Stothard, who
sought for and found one of the most beautiful statues of the time under
a heap of corn in an old church formerly belonging to the convent of
Epau, but converted into a granary in 1820, when, by his entreaties and
resolution, the lost beauty was restored to daylight and honour. Not a
word of all this is, however, named by any French chronicler, although
Bérangère is now the heroine and the boast of Le Mans, the object of
interest to travellers, the gem of the cathedral, and the pride of Le
Maine.
Nothing can be more majestic, more imposing, or more magnificent than
the huge and massive building which towers above the town of Le Mans,
and now adorns one side of a wide handsome square, where convents,
churches, houses, and streets have been cleared away, without remorse,
to leave a free opening in front of this fine cathedral. The _place_ is
named _des Jacobins_, from one of the vanished monasteries, which a
beautiful theatre now replaces, one of the most elegant I ever saw in
France, and yet unopened, at the back of which spreads out a promenade
in terraces, the site of a Roman amphitheatre. All the houses round
this square are handsome, and a broad terrace before the arcades of the
theatre completes its good effect. Numerous flying buttresses and
galleries and figures combine to give lightness to the enormous bulk of
the cathedral, which, being without spires, would otherwise be heavy;
but the want of these graceful accessories is scarcely felt, so grand is
the general character given to it by the enormous square tower, which
appears to protect it, and the smaller ones, its satellites. Statues of
the countesses of Maine, of nuns, and queens, may still be seen in
niches at different heights of the tower, and the portals are enriched
with saints and bishops, angels and foliage astonishing the eye with
their elaborate grace and beauty. There are thirteen chapels projecting
from the main building, that which forms the termination towards the
square being the largest. One rose window is remarkable for the elegance
of its stone-work, and the form of all the windows is grand and
imposing.
This glorious fabric, equal to that of Beauvais, which it resembles, and
more extensive, is sufficient of itself to render Le Mans interesting,
but it is a town full of objects that delight and please. The streets
are all wide, clean, and well-paved; there are good squares and handsome
houses; and its position on the pretty, clear river Sarthe, from which
the banks rise gracefully, crowned with foliage and adorned with towers
and churches, makes the place really charming. There is a promenade,
called Du Greffier, formed evidently on the ramparts of an old castle,
part of whose massive walls may still be traced among the trees, which
are planted in terraces above the river, whose water is as bright and
glittering as those of the Loire itself: green meadows and pretty _aits_
adorn the stream, and the usual picturesque idleness of fishing is
carried on by its banks, while groups of wading washerwomen, in
high-coloured petticoats and white caps, enliven the little quays.
The weather was very propitious while we were at Le Mans, and all
appeared attractive and agreeable, and we enjoyed our unwearied walks,
both in the environs, and in the town, extremely. Although there is a
great deal that is entirely new in the principal quarter of the town,
where our Hotel du Dauphin, in the spacious Place aux Halles, was
situated, yet, to the antiquarian, there is no lack of interest in the
antique parts, where much of the original city remains even as it might
have been in the earliest times. Roman walls and towers extend in every
direction between the three bridges of Ysoir, St. Jean, and Napoleon;
and, in the old quartiers of Gourdaine and du Pré, arches, pillars, and
ruins, attest the antiquity of the spot. We hesitated not to enter these
singular old streets, where the lowest of the population reside, and,
as is almost invariable in France, we always found civility and a
cheerful readiness to afford us information. The inquisitive stranger is
generally, however, obliged, after going through several of the narrow
ways which excite his curiosity, to abandon his search after uncertain
antiquities, from the inodorous accompaniments which are sure to assail
him; and so it was with us when we had visited the Rue _Danse Renard_,
Rue _de la Truie qui File_, _Vert Galant_, the _Grande_ and _Petite
Poterne_, &c. We found ourselves wandering in circles, amongst dwellings
that looked as if they must be the same inhabited by the original
Gaulish inhabitants, and at length, anxious to pay our daily devotions
at the shrine of Bérangère, we ventured on the ascent of an apparently
interminable flight of stone steps, between immensely high massive
walls, called _Les Pans de Gorron_.
We paused every now and then, on our ascent, to wonder at the appearance
of the town, of which, and the river, we caught glimpses at intervals,
and to gaze upwards at the strange old Roman walls above us, and the
high houses, some with five and six rows of windows in their shelving
roofs. At length, after considerable toil, we reached the platform where
once stood the château, and where still stands a curious building, all
towers and tourelles, some ugly, and some of graceful form, the latter
apparently of the period of Charles VI. Immediately before the steps in
the square above us rose the cathedral, which we came upon unawares;
and, exactly in front of us, in an angle, partly concealed by the broad
shadow, we perceived a figure so mysterious, so remarkable, that it was
impossible not to create in the mind of a beholder the most interesting
speculations. This extraordinary figure deserves particular description,
and I hope it may be viewed by some person more able than myself to
explain it, or one more fortunate than I was in obtaining information
respecting it. To all the questions I asked of the dwellers in Le Mans,
the answers were exclamations of surprise at a stranger having noticed
that which had never been remarked at all by any one of the passers by,
who classed it with the stones of the church or the posts of the square.
Yet surely the antiquarian will not be indifferent to the treasure
which, it appears to me, he should hail with as much delight as the
discovery of a Druidical monument or a Roman pavement.
Seated in an angle of the exterior walls of the cathedral, on a rude
stone, is a reddish looking block, which has all the appearance of a
veiled priest, covered with a large mantle, which conceals his hands and
face. The height of the figure is about eight feet as it sits; the feet,
huge unformed masses, covered with what seems drapery, are supported on
a square pedestal, which is again sustained by one larger, which
projects from the angle of the building. The veil, the ample mantle, and
two under-garments, all flowing in graceful folds, and defining the
shape, may be clearly distinguished. No features are visible, nor are
the limbs actually apparent, except through the uninterrupted waving
lines of the drapery, or what may be called so. A part of the side of
what seems the head has been sliced off, otherwise the block is entire.
It would scarcely appear to have been sculptured, but has the effect of
one of those sports of Nature in which she delights to offer
representations of forms which the fancy can shape into symmetry.
There is something singularly Egyptian about the form of this swathed
figure, or it is like those Indian idols, whose contours are scarcely
defined to the eye; it is so wrapped up in mystery, and is so surrounded
with oblivion, that the mind is lost in amazement in contemplating it.
Did it belong to a worship long since swept away?--was it a god of the
Gauls, or a veiled Jupiter?--how came it squeezed in between two walls
of the great church, close to the ground, yet supported by steps?--why
was it not removed on the introduction of a purer worship?--how came it
to escape destruction when saints and angels fell around?--who placed it
there, and for what purpose?--will no zealous antiquarian, on his way
from a visit to the wondrous circle of Carnac and the gigantic Dolmens
of Saumur, pause at Le Mans, at this obscure corner of the cathedral,
opposite the huge Pans de Gorron, and tell the world the meaning of this
figure with the stone veil?
* * * * *
Since I left Le Mans, a friend, who resided there some years, informs me
the tradition respecting this stone is, that an _English Giant_ brought
the block from the banks of the river, up the steep ascent of the Pans
de Gorron, and cast it from his shoulders against the wall of the
cathedral, where it now stands.
Imagination may easily, here in the country, where the sage bard, the
great Merlin, or Myrdhyn, lived, induce the belief that this mysterious
stone represents the Druid lover of the fatal Viviana;--may this not be
the very stone brought from Brociliande, within, or under, which he is
in durance; or rather is not this himself transformed to stone? Thus
runs the tradition:--
THE DRUID LOVER.
"Myrdhyn the Druid still sleeps under a stone in a forest in Brittany;
his Viviana is the cause; she wished to prove his power, and asked the
sage the fatal word which could enchain him; he, who knew all things,
was aware of the consequences, yet he could not resist her entreaties;
he told her the spell, and, to gratify her, condemned himself to eternal
oblivion."
I know to tell the fatal word
Is sorrow evermore--
I know that I that boon accord
Whole ages will deplore.
Though I be more than mortal wise,
And all is clear to gifted eyes;
And endless pain and worlds of woe
May from my heedless passion flow,
Yet thou hast power all else above,--
Sense, reason, wisdom, yield to love.
I look upon thine eyes of light,
And feel that all besides is night;
I press that snowy hand in mine,
And but contemn my art divine.
Oh Viviana! I am lost;
A life's renown thy smile hath cost.
A stone no ages can remove
Will be my monument of love;
A nation's wail shall mourn my fate,
My country will be desolate:
Heav'n has no pardon left for me,
Condemn'd--undone--destroy'd--by thee!
Thy tears subdue my soul, thy sighs
Efface all other memories.
I have no being but in thee;
My thirst for knowledge is forgot,
And life immortal would but be
A load of care, where thou wert not.
Wouldst thou but turn away those eyes
I might be saved--I might be wise.
I might recal my reason still
But for that tongue's melodious thrill!
Oh! wherefore was my soul replete
With wisdom, knowledge, sense, and power,
Thus to lie prostrate at thy feet,
And lose them all in one weak hour!
But no--I argue not--'tis past--
Thus to be thine, belov'd by thee,
I seek but this, even to the last,
For all besides is vain to me.
I gaze upon thy radiant brow,
And do not ask a future now.
Thou hast the secret! speak not yet!
Soon shall I gaze myself to stone,
Soon shall I all but thee forget,
And perish to be thine alone.
Ages on ages shall decline,
But Myrdhyn shall be ever thine!