MELUSINE--LUSIGNAN--TROU DE LA FÉE--THE LEGEND--MALE CURIOSITY--THE
DISCOVERY--THE FAIRY'S SHRIEKS--THE CHRONICLER--GEOFFROY OF THE
GREAT TOOTH--JACQUES COEUR--ROYAL GRATITUDE--ENEMIES--JEAN DU
VILLAGE--WEDDING--THE BRIDE--THE TRAGEDY OF MAUPRIER--THE
GARDEN--THE SHEPHERDESS--THE WALNUT GATHERERS--LA GÂTINE--ST.
MAIXANT--NIORT--MADAME DE MAINTENON--ENORMOUS CAPS--CHAMOIS
LEATHER--DUGUESCLIN--THE DAME DE PLAINMARTIN--THE SEA.
FULL of anxiety to visit the famous Château of Lusignan--the very centre
of romance and mystery--we left Poitiers in the afternoon, and, in two
hours, reached the prettily-situated bourg on the banks of the river
Vanne. We looked out constantly for the towers of the castle of
Melusine, but none appeared. At last I descried a building on an
eminence, which I converted at once into the object desired; but, as
the rain had come on violently and the atmosphere was somewhat dull, I
was not surprised that I did not obtain a better view of the turrets and
donjon, which no doubt frowned over the plain beneath.
Our vehicle stopped in the middle of a very unpromising stony street,
before a house which presented no appearance of an inn. Here, however,
we were told that we were to alight; and, having done so in a somewhat
disconsolate mood, for the storm had increased in violence, our baggage
was to be disengaged from the huge pile on the top of the diligence,
while we stood by to recognise it. The whole town, meantime, seemed to
have arrived in this, the principal street; and a host of men in blouses
paused round us, all looking with wonder on our arrival, apparently
amazed at our absurdity in stopping at Lusignan; in which reflection we
began to share, as they took possession of our trunks, and examined them
without ceremony, while the conducteur searched his papers, in a sort of
frenzy, to find our names inscribed, and convince himself that we were
the persons named there as his passengers. As we had only been "set
down" as "Dames Anglaises," he seemed inclined to dispute our identity;
and he, and a man who acted as post-master, conned over the paper
together, while all the inhabitants who could get near endeavoured to
catch a peep, not only at the scroll, but the suspected persons. At
length, as we protested against lingering in the rain any longer,
further enquiries were abandoned; the conducteur mounted his box; the
post-master called porters; and the crowd made way for us, while we
followed half-a-dozen guides, who made as much of their packages as they
could; and we at last found shelter. The aspect of affairs now changed:
a very neat landlady, and a smart waiting-maid, ushered us into a
pretty, clean, decorated, raftered room,--the best in the Lion d'Or,--up
a flight of tower stairs; our porters disappeared; the street was
cleared; curiosity seemed amply gratified; and we were left to a good
dinner, and in comfortable quarters. The sun broke forth, and all looked
promising; but where were the towers of the castle?
This question we repeated frequently, and the answers assured us that
_là haut_ we should see the castle and the "_Trou Meluisin_." We slept
well in our snow-white beds; occasionally hearing, during the night, the
cracked, hollow, unearthly sound of the great church bell of the
Lusignans, to which an equally ghost-like voice on the stair replied. At
day-break the noise of hilarity roused us, and we found that a rural
meeting was taking place below, in the _grand salon_. Our friends of the
day before seemed all met previous to setting out to begin the walnut
gathering; and they uttered strange jocund sounds, more wolfish than
human, without a word which could be, by possibility, construed into the
French language.
We hurried up the rugged way which was to lead us to the castle; but,
having reached the height, I rubbed my eyes, for I thought the fairy had
been busy during the night, and, by a stroke of her wand, had swept away
every vestige of the castle. Certain it was that not a stone was
left,--not a solitary piece of wall or tower, to satisfy our curiosity!
A pretty little girl of fifteen, who had hurried after us, now
approached, and offered to be our _guide_. We accepted her civility, as
we hoped something would ensue: she led us to a heap of bushes, and,
stooping down and pulling them aside, proclaimed to us, as she pointed
to a dark chasm beneath, that we stood at the entrance of the "Trou de
la Fée." "This," said she, "is the hole which she used to enter, and it
has a way which leads to the wood yonder: she could there rise up at her
fountain, where she bathed; and from thence there is another way leading
as far as Poitiers itself." We asked her if the fairy ever appeared now;
but she laughed, and said, contemptuously, "Oh! no, that is all fable:
it was a great while ago." She had a tragical story of a soldier who
descended, resolving to attempt the adventure; but he was never seen
afterwards, as might easily be expected. She, however, accounted for
his fate without attributing it to supernatural causes: the superstition
of Melusine has disappeared with the turrets of her castle.
The church is curious, though very much defaced: in the sacristy is a
circular-arched door, elaborately sculptured with the signs of the
Zodiac; but the formerly-existing stones on which the effigy of the
fairy appeared have been entirely swept away.
The castle of Lusignan was once one of the most beautiful and powerful
_châteaux forts_ in France; so strong and so singular in its
construction that it was attributed to an architect of a world of
spirits,--the famous witch, or fairy, Melusine; about whom so much has
been written and sung for ages, and who still occupies the attention of
the curious antiquary. Her story may be thus briefly told:
She was married to the Sire Raymondin, of Poitiers; who, struck with her
surpassing beauty, and aware of her great wealth and possessions, had
won her from a host of suitors. He was, however, ignorant that her
nature was different from that of others; and, when she informed him
that, if she consented to be his wife, he must agree that she should,
once a week, absent herself from him, and must promise never to attempt
to penetrate the retreat to which she retired, he gave an unconditional
assent. They had been married some time, and their happiness was
complete; but at length Raymondin's mind began to be disturbed with
uneasy thoughts, and the demon of curiosity took possession of him. His
wife disappeared every week for a single day--some say Saturday--and he
had no idea where she went, or what she occupied herself about. Was it
possible, thought he, that she had some other attachment? Could she be
capable of deceiving his affection? Every time she returned to him she
looked more lovely than ever; and there was a satisfaction in her aspect
that was far from pleasing him. She never alluded to the circumstance of
her retreat; but redoubled her tenderness and kindness to him; and, but
for the growing and increasing anxiety he felt to know the truth, he
might have been the happiest of men.
Melusine had, according to her wont, taken leave of him on the
accustomed night of her retirement; and he found himself alone in his
chamber. He mused, long and painfully, till he could endure his thoughts
no longer; and, catching up his sword, he rushed to the tower, at the
door of which he had parted with his mysterious lady. The door was of
bronze, elaborately ornamented with strange carvings: it was thick and
strong; but, in his frenzy of impatience, he did not hesitate to strike
it violently with his sharp sword; and, in an instant, a wide cleft
appeared, disclosing to him a sight for which he paid dear.
In the centre of the chamber he beheld a marble basin, filled with
crystal water; and there, disporting and plunging, was a female form
with the features of his wife. Her golden hair, in undulating waves,
fell over her white bosom and shoulders, and rested on the edge of the
basin, and on the surface of the water; her hands held a comb and a
mirror; and in the latter she occasionally gazed intently as a series of
figures passed across it. Down to her waist it was Melusine; but below
it was no longer the body of a woman, but a scaly marine monster, who
wreathed a glittering tail in a thousand folds; dashing and casting the
silver waves in every direction, and throwing a veil of shining drops
over the beautiful head above, till the walls and ceiling shone with the
sparkling dew, on which an unearthly light played in all directions!
Raymondin stood petrified, without power to speak or move. An instant
sufficed to disclose to him this unnatural vision; and an instant was
enough to show the fairy that her secret was discovered. She turned her
large lustrous eyes upon him, uttered a loud, piercing shriek, which
shook the castle to its foundation, and all became darkness and silence.
The lord of the château passed the rest of his life in penitence and
prayer; but the lady was never afterwards seen by him.
She had not, however, abandoned her abode; and, always, from that time
till within a few years, she returned whenever any misfortune threatened
the family of Lusignan, screaming round the walls, and rustling with her
serpent folds along the passages, announcing the event. In 1575 the
castle was razed, by order of the Duke de Moutpensier, and for several
nights previous to its demolition, Melusine startled the country round
with her piercing cries. It is even said that certain ancient women in
Lusignan hear her occasionally; but we were not so fortunate as to meet
with any who had been so favoured.
Bouchet, in his chronicle, acknowledges himself greatly puzzled to
account for the legend of Melusine; for, though he does not hesitate to
believe anything advanced by the Church, he does not feel bound to put
entire faith in a book of romance. "As for me," he says, "I think and
conjecture, that the sons of Melluzine performed many fine feats of
arms; but not in the manner related in the romance; for it must be
recollected that at the period of 1200 were begun to be made many books,
in gross and rude language, and in rhythm of all measure and style,
merely for the pastime of princes, and sometimes for flattery, to vaunt
beyond all reason the feats of certain knights, in order to give courage
to young men to do the like and become brave; such are the said Romance
of Melluzine, those of Little Arthur of Brittany, Lancelot du Lac,
Tristan the Adventurous, Ogier the Dane, and others in ancient verse,
which I have seen in notable libraries: the which have since been put
into prose, in tolerably good language, according to the time at which
they were written, in which are things _impossible to believe, but at
the same time delectable to read_. But, in truth, all that romance of
Melluzine is a dream, and cannot be supported by reason. You may see, in
the said romance, that the children of Melluzine, Geoffrey la
grande-dent, and Guion, and Raimondin, her husband, a native of Forez,
were Christians, and that they fought against, and conquered, the Turks,
and that the said Raimondin was nephew to a Count of Poictou, named
Aymery, who had a son called Bertrand, who was count after him, and a
daughter, Blanche. Now I have not been able to find in any history,
letter, nor _pancarte_, _though I have carefully searched_, that, since
the passion of our Lord, there has been a duke or count in Poictou,
called either Bertrand or Aymery; nor that there have been any such but
what I have enumerated. And as for those events having happened before,
it could not be; for there were then no Christians living, our Lord and
Redeemer not being then on earth."
The confused chronicler then proceeds to tell the whole serpent-story,
hinting his suspicions that the lady was discovered by her husband to
be unfaithful, and giving an etymology to her name, similar to one we
heard on the spot, namely, that she was lady of _Melle_, a castle near.
Our village archæologist added, however, that this castle was called
Uzine, and as both belonged to her, she was so called, Melle-Uzine.
In the fourteenth century, the estates of Lusignan passed into royal
possession. Hugues le Brun left in his will great part of the estates to
the King of France, Phillippe le Bel. His brother, Guy, irritated at
this disposition of the property, cast his will into the fire; on which
the king had him accused of treason, and took possession of the county
of Lusignan, which became confiscated to the crown. It was on this sad
occasion that, for twelve successive nights, the spirit of Melusine
appeared on the platform of the castle, wailing and lamenting in a
pitiable manner, and making the woods and groves re-echo with her
sorrows.
There is another account, that the castle was greatly added to by a
powerful lord, called _Geoffrey of the Great Tooth_, son of Melusine,
whose effigy might once be seen over the principal entrance of the
donjon-tower; but his existence is as great a problem as that of the
fairy herself.
Henry II. of England took the castle, and came here in triumph with his
warriors. Louis XII. when Duke of Orleans, passed several sad years in
these walls as a prisoner. It was taken by Admiral de Coligny, in 1569;
but it was lost soon after, and again and again retaken, partially
destroyed, and rebuilt, and at length swept away altogether, leaving
nothing but recollections, a piece of old tower, and Le Trou de
Melusine.
It once had three circles of defence, bastions, esplanades, moats, and
walls; embattled gates, one called the Gate of Geoffrey of the Great
Tooth, one the Gate of the Tour Poitevine, and the gigantic Tour de
Melusine in the centre of all; its subterranean ways, strange legends,
mysterious passages, and enormous strength, made it a marvel in all
times, and a subject for romance from the earliest ages.
M. Francisque Michel is the last who has endeavoured to collect its
curious records, and throw some light on its strange history.
In this castle was imprisoned, during his iniquitous trial, which is an
eternal blot on the name of his ungrateful _friend_, Charles VII. of
France, the rich and noble merchant of Bourges, Jacques Coeur, whose
purse had been opened to the destitute king in his emergencies, and who
had devoted all the energies of his mind to save his country from the
ruin which the idle favourites who surrounded the throne were assisting
as much as possible. His princely liberality, his foresight, and
promptitude, had rescued Charles from perils which seemed
insurmountable. He had come forward with a sum of great magnitude, at
the moment when his royal master was so distressed that he could not
undertake the conquest of Normandy, then possessed by the English. He
paid and supported an army, and Normandy was restored to France. He
rescued the country from poverty and misery, placed its finances in a
flourishing condition, drove marauders from the desolated land, and saw
the little King of Bourges the powerful monarch of regenerated France.
Then came his reward. His inveterate "adversary and enemy, the wicked
Haman," who had been for years watching to accomplish his downfal,
because his evil was not good in the sight of the right-minded and
true-hearted friend of his country,--the detestable Antoine de
Chabannes, Count of Dammartin, rightly judging that Charles would be
glad to rid himself of so enormous a burthen of gratitude as he owed to
Jacques Coeur, concerted with other spirits as wicked as himself, and
succeeded but too well.
The first step was to shake the public faith in those at the head of the
financial department; but they feared to attack the friend of Charles,
and the acknowledged benefactor of France, _at first_. Money they were
resolved to have, at any rate, without delay, and their first victim was
Jean de Xaincoings, receiver-general. A series of charges were got up
against him, which he was unable to overcome; he was convicted,
sentenced, imprisoned, and his property confiscated. Great was the
exultation of the dissolute lords of the Court, when, in the scramble,
each got a share of the spoil. Dunois--_Le Gentil Dunois_!--the hero of
so many fights--was one of the first to profit by the downfal of this
rich man: his magnificent hôtel at Tours was bestowed on the warrior,
who did not blush to receive it.
Encouraged by this success, and becoming more greedy as they saw how
easy it was to work on the king, when money was in view, the foes of
Jacques Coeur set about accomplishing a similar work, with his colossal
fortune in view as their prize.
At first, there seemed danger in proposing to the weak monarch to
despoil his friend, and to annihilate a friendship of years, and
obligations of such serious moment; but, to their surprise and delight,
they found his ears open to any tales they chose to bring; and having,
in a lucky hour, fixed on an accusation likely to startle such a mind,
they found all ready to their hands.
Dammartin brought forward a woman, base enough to swear that the fair
and frail Agnes Sorel had been poisoned by his treasurer. The infamous
Jeanne de Vendôme, wife of the Lord of Mortagne sur Gironde, was the
instrument of Chabannes, and her accusation was believed and acted upon.
A host of enemies, like a pack of wolves eager for prey, came howling
on, and the great merchant was dragged from his high seat and hunted to
the death.
In this very castle of Lusignan, where the fairy Melusine might well
lament over the disgrace of France, in a dungeon, removed from every
hope, languished the man who had, till now, held in his hand the
destinies of Europe; whose galleys filled every port, whose merchandise
crowded every city, who divided with Cosmo de Medici the commerce of the
world. Here did Jacques Coeur reflect, with bitter disappointment, on
all the selfishness, cruelty, meanness, and ingratitude, of the man he
had mainly assisted to regain the throne of his ancestors. It was here
he was told that the falsehood of the charge against him had been
proved; but when he quitted this, the first prison which the gratitude
of the king had supplied him with, it was but to inhabit others; while a
crowd of new accusations were examined, one of which was enough to crush
him. The game was in the hands of his foes; his gold glittered too near
their eyes; their clutches were upon his bags; their daggers were ready
to force his chests; they were led on by one whose avarice was only
equalled by his profligate profusion, and he was a prisoner kept from
his own defence.
The wealth of Jacques Coeur was poured into the laps of _Charles_ and
his harpy courtiers, and the victim was consigned to oblivion. Of all he
had saved and supported, one man alone was grateful--_Jean du Village_,
_his clerk_, devoted himself to his master's interests, and his life,
and part of his property abroad, were saved.
The fate of the great merchant is still a mystery. His mock trial was
decided by the commission appointed to examine him at the castle of
Lusignan, in May, 1453, and judgment was pronounced by Guillaume
Jouvenel des Ursins, chancellor of France, after the king _had taken
cognisance of and approved it_![7]
[Footnote 7: For account of Jacques Coeur and his dwelling at Bourges,
see "Pilgrimage to Auvergne."]
A wedding was going on while we were wandering between the castle and
the church, and we met the party on our way, preceded by the usual
violin accompaniment. Our young guide was greatly interested in the
proceedings, and told us the names and station of the parties concerned.
"What an odd thing it is," said she, "to be married. For two or three
days everybody runs out of their houses to stare at the bride and
bridegroom, as if they were a king and queen, though one has seen them a
thousand times before, and, after that, they may pass in the street and
nobody thinks of looking at them."
Marie Poitiers and René Blanc were the happy pair on this occasion; the
name of the bridegroom amused me, as I was reminded of the perfumer and
poisoner of Queen Catherine, René Bianco, who had lately furnished me
with a _hero_ for a romance. This René was, however, a very
harmless-looking personage, a daily labourer, but "bien riche," as was
his bride, who also worked in the fields, but had a very good property
near Lusignan. "All the family are very well off; but, they work like
other people. Only you see," said our guide, "that the bride's sister,
who is so pretty, dresses in silk like a _grande dame_, and does not
wear the peasant's cap like the rest." The cap of the bride was worthy
of attention, as were those of most of the party. As they were amongst
the first of the kind we had seen, they attracted us extremely, though
we afterwards got quite familiar with their strange appearance. In this
part of the country, the peasants wear a cap, large, square, and high,
of a most inconvenient size, and remarkably ugly shape: they get larger
and squarer as you approach La Rochelle, and cease before you arrive at
Bordeaux. The bride's was of thin embroidered muslin, edged with lace,
placed in folds over a high, square quilted frame, which supported it as
it spread itself out, broad and flaunting, making her head look of a
most disproportionate size. Silver ribbon bows and orange flowers were
not omitted, and she wore a white satin sash tied behind, which floated
over her bright gown and apron. A large silver cross hung on her breast,
her handkerchief was richly embroidered, and her stockings very white
and smart, though her feet and legs were somewhat ponderous, and did not
seem accustomed to their adornment of the day, _sabots_ of course being
her ordinary wear. She was led by her father, whom I mistook for the
mayor, he was so decorated with coloured ribbons, and strode along with
so dignified an air, his large black hat shading his happy, florid face.
The bridegroom closed a very long procession, as he led the bride's
mother along: they were going to the Mairie, where, after signing,
Made. Blanc would take her husband's arm, and walk back again through
the town to hear mass, when _ses bagues_ would be presented to her by
her lord. Great excitement seemed to prevail in Lusignan, in consequence
of this event, and smiles and gaiety were the order of the day.
Our hostess proposed accompanying us to a château not far distant, in
order that we might see the country, and as it was fine and not very
damp we set out with her, having stopped in the town at a little
chandler's shop for her sister who wished to be of the party.
Their mother--a dignified old lady, who looked as if she had been a
housekeeper at some château--welcomed us into her shop, and set chairs
while her daughter was getting ready, when she resumed her knitting, and
conversed on the subject of their metropolis, Poitiers, with which she
appeared partially acquainted. She detailed to us several of the
miracles of Ste. Radegonde, for whom she had an especial respect, and
assured us there was no saint in the country who had so distinguished
herself. I was surprised, after this, that she treated the story of
Melusine as a fable, though she believed in the existence of the
subterranean way, and told us of the riches supposed still to exist
beneath the castle and in the ruins. One man, lately, in taking away
stones to build a house, stumbled on a heap of money which had evidently
been placed for concealment beneath the walls, and coins of more or less
value, and of various dates, are found, from time to time, as the large
stones are removed for building, any one being at liberty to demolish
whatever ancient wall they find in the neighbourhood.
Our walk was an extremely pleasant one, for the country round is very
pretty and rural; it terminated at the Château de Mauprier, a private
residence, which appears to have been formerly a fortified manor-house,
to judge by its moat and the square and round towers which still remain.
The "park" leading to it is a series of beautiful alleys, some of the
trees of which are allowed to grow naturally, others are cut into form,
with fine grassy walks between, covered with rich purple heath here and
there in nooks. The walks branch off from space to space in stars,
leaving open glades of emerald turf between.
As we approached the lodge through the slovenly gate half off its
hinges, the sound of wailing reached us from within, and, entering the
room whence it proceeded, we became witnesses of a sad scene of
desolation. There was no fire on the hearth, all looked dismal and
wretched; a great girl of twelve stood sobbing near the table, a younger
one sat at the door, and, with her feet on the damp earthen floor,
rocking herself backwards and forwards on a low chair, sat a small, thin
woman, moaning piteously, and wringing her hands.
Of course we thought she was bewailing some severe domestic bereavement,
and our companions, who were full of friendly commiseration, began to
question her, but could obtain no answer but tears and cries. At length,
by dint of coaxing and remonstrance, we discovered that the tragedy
which had happened was as follows:
The gardener-porter was entrusted by his master with the care of the
live stock of the farm; his wife had sent a child of about eight years
of age into the woods with a flock of turkeys; the young guardian had
been seduced by fruit or flowers to wander away, forgetting her charge,
and they followed her example, and dispersed themselves in all
directions. The consequence was, that an ill-disposed fox, who was lying
in wait, took the opportunity of way-laying them, and no less than seven
had become his victims: the little girl had returned to tell her loss,
was beaten and turned out of doors; the husband's rage had been fearful,
and, though a night and day had elapsed, and the second evening was
coming on, the disconsolate wife had not risen from her chair, nor
ceased her lamentations. The turkeys must be replaced; the little girl
was not her own, but an _enfant trouvée_, whom she had nursed and loved
as her own--and how was she to be received after her crime! the husband
was irate, the children were miserable, neither cookery nor fire were to
be seen, and despair reigned triumphant. A small present, and a good
deal of reasoning, brought her a little to herself; and we persuaded the
eldest girl to light the fire, and give her mother something to revive
her; the father was sent for; but the poor woman fainted, and we lifted
her into bed; where we at length left her now repentant husband
attending her, and promising to reproach no one any more about the fox
and the turkeys.
Nothing could possibly do less credit to the gardener than the
appearance of the grounds, where liberty reigned triumphant; every
thing, from enormous gourds of surprising size to grapevines in
festoons, being allowed to grow as it listed; yet the original laying
out was pretty, and if half-a-dozen men were employed, as would be the
case in England, the gardens might be made very agreeable. The
proprietor is, however, an old man who spends a great deal of his time
in Poitiers; and, as all French people do when at their country places,
merely conceals himself for a few months, and cares little about
appearances, provided his fruit and vegetables are produced in the
required quantity. We heard that he was a most excellent and indulgent
man, very liberal to the poor, and generous to his people; and our
hostess assured us, that if he knew of the wretchedness the loss of his
turkeys had caused in his gardener's family, it would give him real
pain, and he would at once forgive them their debt to him. Perhaps the
knowledge of his kindness might be one reason of his servant's vexation;
but though that feeling was honourable to him, we could not forgive him
for his severity to his poor, silly terrified little wife.
As we returned by another, and a very pretty way, we met a young girl,
to whom our guides, who were zealous in the cause, told the story of her
neighbour's illness; she promised to go to her and offer her aid as soon
as she could, and expressed her disgust at the cruelty of the husband,
whose character, she said, was brutal in the extreme. While they were
talking, I remarked the appearance of the shepherdess, who was certainly
one of the most charming specimens of a country Phillis I ever beheld.
Her age might be about eighteen; she was tall, and well made, with a
healthy, clear complexion, a good deal bronzed with the sun; teeth as
white as pearls, and as even as possible; rather a wide, but very
prettily shaped mouth; fine nose; cheeks oval and richly tinted; fine
black eyes filbert shaped, and delicately-pencilled eyebrows, perfectly
Circassian; a small white forehead, and shining black hair in braids:
the expression of her smile was the most simple and innocent
imaginable, and the total absence of anything like thought or intellect,
made her face a perfect reflection of that of one of her own lambs. Her
costume was extremely picturesque; and her head-dress explained at once
the mystery of the cap of Anne Boleyn, of which it was a model, no doubt
an unchanged fashion from the time of, and probably long before,
Marguerite de Valois. It was of white, thick, stiff muslin, pinched into
the three-cornered shape so becoming to a lovely face, precisely like
the Holbein head, but that the living creature was much prettier than
the great master usually depicted his princesses. Her petticoat was dark
blue, her apron white, and so was her handkerchief, and round her
handsome throat was a small hair chain, or ribbon, with a little gold
cross attached. Her feet were in _sabots_; and she held a whip in her
hand, with which to chastise her stray sheep; on her arm hung a flat
basket, in which were probably her provisions for the day, or she might
have filled it with walnuts which were being gathered close by. I never
saw a sweeter figure altogether, and her merry, ringing laugh, and
curious _patois_ sounded quite in character; she was just the sort of
girl Florian must have seen to describe his Annette from; but I did not
meet with any peasant swain in the neighbourhood worthy to have been her
Lubin. Her beauty was, however, rare, for we were not struck with any of
the peasants besides, as more than ordinarily good-looking; but, seen
anywhere, this girl must have attracted attention.
We soon, on entering a long avenue, came upon a party of
walnut-gatherers, to whom the tragedy of the fox was again detailed,
while groups came round us to hear and comment on the event, which
appeared to be formed to enliven the monotony of a country existence as
much as a piece of scandal in a town.
Seated on the ground, quietly eating walnuts, in the midst of a ring of
other children, sat the little delinquent of the tale, as unmoved and
unconscious as if she had not caused a perfect hurricane of talk and
anxiety in the commune; she turned her large gypsy black eyes on me with
an expression almost of contempt, as I asked her a few questions, and
recommended her caution in future. As one of the reports we had gathered
on our way was, that the child, after being beaten, had run away into
the woods and had not since re-appeared, we were not sorry to find her
here; but as she looked saucy and careless, and able to bear a good deal
of severity, and was besides several years older than had been
represented, our sympathy was little excited in her favour. "She has
acted in this way often before," said a bystander, "and cannot be made
to work or to do anything she is told." She had strangely the appearance
of a Bohemian, and her fondness for the _dolce far niente_ increased my
suspicions of her parentage. The tenderness of her foster-mother for her
was, however, not to be changed by her ill-conduct, for she was said to
prefer her to her own children, in spite of her faults: so capricious is
affection.
The road from Lusignan to Niort is through a very pleasing country,
sometimes _bocage_, and sometimes _gâtine_: the latter term being
generally applied to a country of rocks, where the soil does not allow
of much cultivation. This is, however, not always the case, for on
several occasions I have heard, as at Chartres, a little wood called _la
gâtine_; and once at Hastings was surprised, on inquiring my way in the
fields, to be directed to pass the _gattin_ hard by; namely a small
copse. The word is said to be Celtic, and may be derived either from
_geat_, which means a plot of ground, or _geas_, a thick branch.
We were much struck with the town of St. Maixant; which is approached by
beautiful boulevards, and the environs are very rich and fine; the road
does not lead within the walls, but outside; and there was no reason to
regret this, as the streets are narrow and ill-built, while the
promenades round are charming. The Sèvre Niortaise bathes the foot of
the hill on which St. Maixant stands, and beyond rises the forest of
Hermitaine, once part of the celebrated Vauclair, where some famous
hermits took up their abode, and made the spot holy. Clovis assisted the
recluses who had chosen this retreat as their abode, and granted them
land and wood; a monastery was soon formed and the town grew round it.
There is a fine cascade near La Ceuille, of which, or rather of the
stream which flowed from it, we caught a glimpse on approaching St.
Maixant; it falls from the _cóteau_ called Puy d'Enfer, and it is one of
the wonders of the neighbourhood. The old walls of the town now appear
to enclose gardens, and all looks smiling and gay; but they have
sustained many a rude siege at different periods, and suffered much
during the wars of La Vendée.
At mid-day we reached Niort, a fine, clean, good-looking new town, with
scarcely any antiquity left, though of ancient renown: a Celtic city
with a Celtic name; a castle whose date cannot be ascertained; a palace
inhabited by the great heroine of the country, Elionor; and convents and
monasteries of infinite wealth and celebrity. That singular and famous
community established by the Troubadour Count of Poitou, Guillaume IX.,
was at Niort, and was replaced by the holy Capuchin brothers, who must
have been sufficiently scandalized at the conduct of the fair devotees
who preceded them in their cells.
The Duchess Elionor was married to Henry II. at Niort, and lived here
frequently. We hoped to see some remains of her palace, but found only
a large square building which might have formed a part of it; though its
form, which is an isolated tower, makes it difficult to imagine how it
could be in any way connected with the rest of the palace; this tower is
now used as the Hôtel de Ville; its lozenge and circle ornaments appear
not to be of older date than Francis I.; and we could scarcely persuade
ourselves, however ready to believe in antiquities, that the
all-powerful lady of Aquitaine, or her warrior husband, ever sat within
these walls.
A curious privilege was granted by the pope, in 1461, to the mayor,
aldermen, sheriffs, councillors, peers, and citizens of Niort, to be
buried in the habit, and with the cord round their waists, of the
Cordeliers: it is not recorded that the ladies of the town petitioned to
be dressed as well in their coffins as the nuns whose beauty delighted
William the Ninth, or they might have gone to their last fête in--
"A charming chintz and Brussels lace."
The most remarkable recollection connected with Niort, is that, in the
prison of the town, called La Conciergerie, where her father was
confined for the crime of forgery, was born Françoise D'Aubigné,
afterwards the wife of Scarron, and by the favour of Louis XIV.,
Marquise de Maintenon, in whom the triumph of hypocrisy was complete.
One of the streets is called by her name; but it is not recorded that
she ever did anything for her native town; probably she was not anxious
to perpetuate the memory of any part of her early life, not seeing fit
to be quite so communicative on the subject as her brother, whose tongue
she had so much difficulty in keeping quiet.
Niort is a very pleasant, lively-looking town--that is, for a French
town, where the nearest approach to gaiety is the crowd which a weekly
market brings, or the groups of laughing, talking women, which the
ceaseless occupation of washing collects on the banks of the river. We
were much amused here with the latter, and stood some time on the bridge
below the frowning round towers, of strange construction, which serve as
a prison, to observe the manoeuvres of the washerwomen, who, in their
enormous, misshapen, towering, square caps, were beating and scrubbing
away at their linen. Nothing can appear so inconvenient as this
head-dress when its wearer is engaged in domestic duties; yet the women
are constantly to be seen with it; rarely, as in Normandy, contenting
themselves with the under frame alone, and placing the huge mass of
linen or muslin over it when their work is done. On one occasion we
travelled with a _bourgeoise_ whose cap was so enormous, that she could
scarcely get into the coach, and when once in had to stoop her head the
whole time to avoid crushing the transparent superstructure of lace and
muslin, which it is the pleasure of the belles of Poitou to deform
themselves with. We were, however, assured that this costume was
becoming, and that many a girl passed for pretty who wore it, who would
be but ordinary in a plain, round, every-day cap. Sometimes this
monstrosity is ornamented with gold pins, or buttons, all up the front,
and the variety of arrangement of the muslin folds, both before and
behind, is curious enough. It has occasionally frilled drapery depending
from its height, hanging about half way down behind, or crossed over and
sticking out at the sides, making it as wide as possible; I have seen
some that could not be less than a foot and a half wide, and about a
foot high; but some are even larger than this, extravagant as the
description appears. The pyramidal Cauchoise caps are as high, it is
true, or even higher, but there is an approach to grace in them, while
those of Poitou are hideous as to form, even when the materials are
light; those of the commonest sort are of coarse linen or cotton, and
reach the very acme of ugliness.
One of the great articles of commerce here is the preparation of chamois
leather, which is said to be brought to great perfection; but, perhaps,
like the cutlery so celebrated in so many towns, and boasted of as
_equal to the English_, this famous production might be looked upon by
an English tradesman as mere "leather and prunella."
There is an attempt at a _passage_ here--the great ambition of country
towns which think to rival Paris; but, as usual, it appears to be a
failure, the shops looking common-place and shabby, and the place
deserted and dismal. The public library is good, and there are several
handsome public buildings; the churches are without interest, except one
portal of Notre Dame, where we observed some mutilated, but very
beautiful, twisted columns, whose wreaths were continued round a pointed
arch in a manner I never recollect to have seen before, and which seems
to indicate that the church must once have been extremely elaborate in
its ornament.
Niort was a great object of contention during the wars of the Black
Prince. The famous Duguesclin is said to have taken the town by
stratagem from the English.
At the siege of Chisey, where Duguesclin had been successful, he had
killed all the English garrison; and, taking their tunics, had clothed
his own people in them, over their armour: so that, when those of Niort
saw his party approaching, and heard them cry, "St. George!" they
thought their friends were returning victors, and readily opened their
gates; when they were fatally undeceived; being all taken or put to the
sword.
Here Duguesclin, and his fortunate band, remained for four days;
reposing and refreshing themselves. After which they rode forth to
Lusignan: where they found the castle empty; all the garrison having
abandoned it as soon as the news of the taking of Chisey reached them.
The French, therefore, without trouble, took possession of "this fine
and strong castle," and then continued their way to that of
Chatel-Acart, held by the Dame de Plainmartin, for her husband Guichart
d'Angle, who was prisoner in Spain.
When the lady found, says Froissart, that the constable Duguesclin was
come to make war upon her, she sent a herald to him, desiring to be
allowed a safe conduct, that she might speak with him in his tent. He
granted her request; and the lady accordingly came to where he was
encamped in the field. Then she entreated him to give her permission
that she might go safely to Poitiers, and have audience of the Duke de
Berry. Duguesclin would not deny her, for the love of her husband,
Guichart; and, giving her assurance that her lands and castle should be
respected during her absence, she departed, and he directed his troops
to march on Mortemer.
Such good speed did the lady of Plainmartin make, that she soon arrived
in Poitiers; where she found the Duke de Berry. He received her very
graciously, and spoke very courteously to her, as was his wont. The lady
would fain have cast herself on her knees before him; but he prevented
her. She then said: "My lord, you know that I am a lone woman, without
power or defence, and the widow of a living husband, if it so pleases
God; for my lord Guichart is prisoner in Spain, and in the danger of the
king of that country. I therefore supplicate you, that, during the
enforced absence of my husband, you will grant that my castle, lands,
myself, my possessions, and my people, shall be left at peace; we
engaging to make no war on any, if they do not make war on us."
The Duke de Berry made no hesitation in granting the prayer of the lady;
for, although Messire Guichart d'Angle, her husband, was a good and
true Englishman, yet was he by no means hated by the French. He,
therefore, delivered letters to her, with guarantee of surety; with
which she was fully satisfied and much comforted. She then hastened back
to her castle, and sent the orders to the constable, who received them
with much willingness and joy. He was then before the castle of
Mortemer; the lady of which at once yielded it to him, out of dread, and
placed herself in obedience to the king of France, together with all her
lands and the castle of Dienne.
We left Niort at day-break and continued our way through a very
cultivated and rich country, admirably laid out, neatly enclosed, and
with a great extent of very carefully-pruned vines, which had here lost
the grace which distinguishes them in the neighbourhood of the Loire,
where they are allowed to hang in festoons, and grow to a reasonable
height. Here they are kept low, and seem attended to with care. The road
is level, but the scenes pleasing and the air fine; though, as you
advance in the ancient Aunis, towards the sea, low grounds, which have
been marshes, extend to a considerable distance. As we approached La
Rochelle this was very apparent; but still all looked rich and
agreeable, and the idea of soon feeling the sea-breeze was so comforting
that our spirits were greatly raised; and when on a sudden a broad
glare, at a distance, of bright sunshine on an expanse of water broke
on our view, we were quite in ecstasies. We could distinguish white
sails, and towers, and spires, on the shore; and all the memories of the
Protestant town came crowding on our minds, as we turned every windmill
we saw into an ancient tower formerly defended by a brave Huguenot
against a host of besiegers. There are no want of these defences round
La Rochelle; and every windmill has a most warlike aspect, as they are
all built in the form of round towers, of considerable strength;
probably owing to the necessity of making them strong enough to resist
the gales which frequently prevail.