TOWERS--RELIGION--MARIA BELANDELLE--STORM--PROTESTANT
RETREAT--SOLEMN DINNERS--"HALF-AND-HALF"--GO TO SLEEP!--THE
BREWERY--GAS ESTABLISHMENT--CHÂTEAU OF LA FONT--THE MYSTERY
EXPLAINED--TRIUMPH OF SCENERY OVER APPETITE--SLAVE TRADE--CHARLES
LE BIEN SERVI--LIBERALITY OF LOUIS PHILIPPE--GUITON--HOUSE OP LE
MAIRE GUITON--THE FLEETS--THE FIGHT--THE MAYOR AND THE GOVERNOR.
IT appears that, from the position of the town of La Rochelle, it was
not difficult for the vessels of an enemy to reach its walls, and even
to penetrate its harbour; the latter was formed outside the town, and
the access to it was by numerous gates. The entrance, nevertheless, was
defended by two towers, which still exist, if not in all their original
strength, yet exhibiting an aspect of defiance, and recalling
recollections of times long past, such as few towns in France can now
do. These towers, which stand, like Sir Bevis and Sir Ascapart, bold and
menacing, and forbidding the entrance to any but a friend, are called La
Tour de la Chaine and La Tour de St. Nicolas.
The first is a rugged, round tower of great height and bulk, apparently
of Roman construction; it was formerly called La Petite Tour de la
Chaine, because it assisted its opposite sister, La Grosse Tour, to
sustain the enormous chain which still, on occasion, closes the mouth of
the harbour. The latter is now called St. Nicolas, and presents a most
extraordinary and _old world_ appearance: higher than the first, its
form is so irregular, that it would be difficult to decide what shape it
could be called: round on one side, square on another, with little
round, square, and octagon turrets rising out of it, the whole mass has
the strangest effect imaginable. Within it is just as mysterious, having
chambers built up and down, and communicating with each other in the
most unexpected manner, so that the whole interior is a perfect
labyrinth of galleries, cells, hiding-places, and rooms on different
stages. This is just the sort of tower which seemed fitted for that
inscrutable tyrant, Louis XI.; who wrote upon one of the windows, with a
diamond, these words: "_O la grande Folie_!" alluding, it was believed,
to what he considered his weakness, in having abandoned Guienne to his
brother.
The fortifications of La Rochelle were very extensive formerly, the
gates numerous. La Porte Malvaut or Mauléon, La Porte Rambaud, du Petit
Comte, de St. Nicolas, de Vérité, des Canards, de Mauclair, de la
Vieille Poterie, de la Grande Rue du Port, de la Petit Rue du Port, de
Pérot and du Pont-Vert, tell their age by their antique names. There
are but few vestiges of any of these gates, except that of Cougnes, of
the ancient Porte Neuve, and la Porte Maubec: but, besides all these,
there are seven still existing. To complete the defences, there were
formerly, _without_ the gates, two forts of great strength, one called
St. Louis and Des Deux Moulins, the ruins of which still exist near the
fine pyramidal Tour de la Lanterne, the most conspicuous of all, now
used as a prison, which raises its head far above every tower and spire
of La Rochelle, and which must show its _pharos_ at a great distance at
sea. The architecture of this tower is remarkable, and its ornaments
very beautiful: the spire that sustains its lantern is like that of a
church adorned with graceful foliage to the top: it dates from 1445, and
has been repaired at different periods. Medals were struck at the time
of the siege, in 1628, which represent this tower, having the following
motto round:--_Lucerna impiorum extinguetur_ (the light of the impious
shall be extinguished). It was at this time that Cardinal Richelieu
caused the great _digue_, as it is called, to be made to the south-west
of the town, with enormous labour and expense, in order to prevent
supplies reaching the Rochellois who held out against him. At low water
this _digue_ is visible, and remains a memorial of the cruelty and
harshness of the tyrant priest who ruled France.
One of the numerous towers which formerly protected the town is called
the Demi-bastion _des Dames_, so named from its having been defended by
the ladies of La Rochelle, whose heroic devotion at the time of the
siege by the duke of Anjou, in 1573, has rendered them famous in
history. They were not less active half a century later, when, for
thirteen months, La Rochelle withstood the united forces of Catholic
France bent on its destruction. The scenes which took place at these
periods have made this interesting town classic ground: there is not a
wall, a tower, or a street, which has not some tale of heroism attached
to it, and some noble trait may be recounted as having occurred in every
quarter.[8]
[Footnote 8: In the Romance of the Queen Mother, I have given a detailed
account, from the most correct chroniclers, of the siege of La Rochelle,
and its defence, in 1573.]
There are no interesting churches in La Rochelle, the wars of religion
having destroyed all the antique buildings of worship, both Catholic and
Protestant. Nothing now remains of the extensive possessions of the
Templars, or the Knights of Malta, who both had _commanderies_ here.
The reformed religion, of which La Rochelle afterwards became the
stronghold, is said to have been first introduced by a young girl of
humble station, Maria Belandelle, into this part of the country. Strong
in her conviction, and anxious to spread the truth, this person, more
zealous than prudent, ventured to come forward, in 1534, as antagonist
to, and disputant against, a Franciscan friar. However good her
arguments might be, the result of the controversy had of course been
previously decided on by the strongest party. She was convicted of
heresy and impiety, and condemned to the stake; which _righteous_
judgment was carried into effect, and poor Marie was publicly burnt in
the great square, to the refreshment and edification of her _soi-disant_
fellow-Christians!
Calvinism, however, gained ground in spite of this example of its
dangers, and many were the secret meetings held in concealed places;
sometimes under-ground, like the early Christians; till in 1558 a
minister, previously a priest of the diocese of Agen, named David,
preached in the church of St. Barthélemi (ominous name!) the new
doctrines, in the presence of the King and Queen of Navarre, parents of
Henry IV. A few years later, under these powerful auspices, other
ministers ventured to emerge from their hiding-places, and proclaim the
"glad tidings" to their brethren. With more or less danger and
indulgence, the Protestants pursued their reform for some time--now
persecuted, now permitted--till, by the edict of pacification of 1570,
it was agreed that persons of both religions should in future _live
together in good intelligence_. The immortal horrors of St. Bartholomew,
however, changed the face of things, and a long straggle ensued; during
which, at different times, the Rochellois showed themselves undaunted
defenders of the faith. Always opposed and persecuted, the Protestants
were never publicly allowed, by the State, to follow the exercise of
their religion, till the great revolution swept away all barriers; and,
from that time alone, those who professed that faith could do so openly.
Several houses are shown in the town where the Calvinists were
accustomed to meet secretly, and to one of them an accident introduced
us.
Every morning before breakfast we were accustomed to go down to the
baths of the beautiful _Mail_, and as the walk through the town, under
the interminable arcades, was both hot and tedious, we always chose a
longer, but very agreeable, way, by the boulevards of the ancient
ramparts; which are extremely pleasant, varied, and delightful, offering
here and there fine views of the country beneath, and affording thick
shade under their magnificent trees; some of the best houses open at the
back on these ramparts, from whence their fine gardens, full of flowers
and vine-trellices, can be occasionally seen. We had been a week at La
Rochelle; every morning enjoying our walk, for the weather was
perfection, a warm, bright sun and fresh sea-breeze inspiriting us to
take so very long a promenade twice a day, in order that we might lose
nothing of the splendour of the sea. One day the sun deceived us; we set
out as usual; but had not got half to the end of the ramparts, when a
series of dark clouds came creeping over the blue sky; a hollow wind
began to sigh amongst the leaves, and the light became fitful and lurid,
till, on a sudden, a loud crack in the sky was heard, and in an instant
down rushed the rain in a perfect deluge. We had reached the most
exposed part of the boulevard; all the trees here were young; indeed, as
we observed the quick flashes of lightning, we were scarcely sorry to be
at a distance from the larger ones. We stood close to the old wall, and
covering ourselves with our parasols as well as we could, paused, hoping
the fury of the storm would soon subside. We were wet through instantly;
for it seemed as if the Spirits of the shower took a pleasure in
drenching us without mercy; such a roaring, and creaking, and flashing
echoed around us, that it was impossible not to fancy they were enjoying
our distress. Finding that there was no chance of the storm abating, we
determined to continue our way, and, by getting into the streets, escape
the danger of the lightning; accordingly, at the first opening, which
was near the Ecluse de la Verdière, we hurried down; but here the
storm-fiend became so furious, the wind so terrific, and the rain so
persevering, that, seeing an open door, we darted into it, and in an
instant found ourselves under shelter. When we could breathe we looked
round, and could not help laughing to see where we had been so lucky as
to place ourselves. It was a huge dark cavern, where coals and other
fuel were heaped in all directions; long aisles seemed to diverge from
it with low arches leading further into the building, and apparently
descending. A small, pointed window at the back just gave light enough
to show its retreats, and we became convinced that this was one of the
very places where of old our Protestant brethren were accustomed to meet
to exercise their religion. It answered precisely to a description I had
read of one of them, situate beneath the ramparts, and it was a great
comfort in our emergency to think that we had thus discovered a secret
haunt which must otherwise have escaped us.
The owner of the shed, or a workman, soon arrived, and seemed somewhat
amused, as well as astonished, to see how we had taken possession of his
grot; we had not Imogen's excuse--
"Before I entered here I called;"
but he gave us welcome, nevertheless, till the storm disappearing, as
suddenly as it had arrived, we were able to pick our way home to Les
Trois Chandeliers.
One of the least agreeable things which we encountered in our inn, was
the manner in which our dinners were conducted; we were not allowed the
privilege, which we generally claimed, of dining in our own apartments;
but were given to understand that at the _table d'Hôte_ we should meet
with the best attendance and entertainment. Accordingly, we became
guests in the fine _salon_ I have before described, where a party were
assembled in solemn silence, as if a serious meeting, instead of one
somewhat lively, was on the _tapis_. The cross-looking, silent damsel of
the huge square cap slowly placed the dishes on the table, and every one
sat down; but not a single individual, male or female, attempted to help
his neighbour to anything; not a word was spoken, except in whispers;
and very soon she of the square cap began to remove several of the
untouched viands; as the soup, for which we had ventured to ask, was
particularly bad, we did not interfere to prevent this proceeding. The
next course appeared; but still, except a solitary individual, who made
a desperate move, and cut up a fowl which he handed round, no one put
out a finger; as we were quite at the lower end of the table, and saw
with consternation that our appetites, sharpened with the fine air of
the sea, were not likely to be satisfied, and not relishing this
Governor Sancho's fare, we beckoned to a mute female, who had entered
with the second course, and stood by as if a spectator of the solemnity,
and remonstrated on the absurdity, entreating to have something brought
us; she answered gravely, that _in our turn_ we should be attended to;
and in the end we were fortunate enough to procure a little cream, of
which we took possession; and then, wearied out with the tedium of the
proceeding, rose and made a retreat, leaving the rest of the taciturn
company to wait for and contemplate their dessert. It was not so much
the supineness of the attendants as the apathy of the guests that amazed
us; having generally observed in France, that _mauvaise honte_ by no
means stood in the way of hungry persons, and that a French appetite is
with difficulty appeased, even after partaking of every dish on the
table: a fact of which we had lately been reminded at Poitiers, where a
set of men, who ate in a most prodigious manner, after the last
condiment had disappeared exclaimed, one to the other, "_Eh, mon Dieu!
on ne fait que commencer, il me semble._"
Our desertion being reported to the lady of the Three Candlesticks, she
came to apologise; fearing that her enforced absence had caused
something to go wrong at the dinner. She told us that she was obliged to
attend to the domestic arrangements of her hotel, and to superintend
fifteen workmen who were busied in some necessary duties; but, _as she
always saw to everything herself_, we should have no cause to complain
another day. We had meditated finding out another place to dine at, but
this disarmed us; and, day after day, we were obliged to submit to
something very similar, being forced to make a perfect struggle for our
dinner, and submit to the studiedly tedious movements of the Breton
girl, whose frowns and scowls accompanied every action. We found, one
day, a champion in an old gentleman, who, a stranger and traveller, like
ourselves, endeavoured to create a reform; but was only partially
successful. This person had been to England, and preserved pleased
recollections of London "_half-and-half_" which he seemed to consider
little short of nectar, and was astonished at my ignorance when,
appealed to, I was obliged to plead guilty of not being acquainted with
its virtues. He was the first Frenchman I ever heard refute the
calumnies against our climate; for, though he agreed that we had fogs in
London occasionally somewhat denser than in Paris, he had not fallen
into the error,--which it is thought heresy to dispute,--that, at
Brighton, Richmond, or Windsor, the blue sky is never seen. A very
supercilious man who sat near him, annoyed at his praises of England,
and his raptures at the Tunnel,--that great object of foreign
admiration,--endeavoured to silence him by pronouncing that London had
no monuments, and was not half as big as Paris; for, though he lived in
Poitou, he had seen the capital. The comic look which our champion gave
us when this oracle was pronounced was irresistible.
We had inquired for the fountain and castle of La Font, famous in the
annals of the Liege; and our hostess, finding that we were bent on
seeing all the sights that La Rochelle could furnish, when she met us
one morning at her door, where we had been greeted by her husband, who
officiated as cook in the dark retreat which we had to cross on our
exit, with the salutation of "_Go to sleep_;"--which English phrase he
considered as expressive as any other,--proposed to show us the way to
the village of La Font, and its château--a short walk from La Rochelle.
We accepted her offer; and, accompanied by her little girl--a forward,
clever child of about seven years old, and two friends,--in one of whom
we recognised one of the solemn officials of the dinner-table, who, it
seems, was playing only an amateur part on that occasion,--we set out.
The ideas of all French people, in every part of France, it appears to
me, are the same respecting sights and views: to take a walk means, with
them, to put on your best gown and cap, take your umbrella, and proceed,
at a sauntering pace, talking all the way, down some hot, dusty road,
where the _monde_ is expected to be met with. The end of the journey is
usually at some shabby cottage, or _cabaret_, where seats are set out in
the sun, and refreshments are to be had. I think lanes and meadow-paths
do not exist in France; or, if they do, they are carefully avoided by
all but shepherds and shepherdesses, who are obliged to take them
occasionally; but who much prefer, as do their charges, the sheep and
cows, the high road, all dust and bustle.
The first place we stopped at, we were assured, was very interesting:
the permission to see it had been graciously granted to our hostess, for
us, by the proprietor, who usually dined at the _table d'hôte_,--one of
our silent _companions_, no doubt;--and we could, consequently, do no
less than appear grateful for the favour. Our patience was, however, put
to the test when what we hoped, by its ruinous appearance, would turn
out an antique church or tower was announced to be an infant _brewery_,
in a very early stage of its existence. We stood by while our companions
talked to a very pretty, indolent-looking woman, surrounded by
black-eyed children, whose ages and habits were dilated on, and all of
whom were scattered about the premises--sitting or lying on tubs and
heaps of wood; while the husband and father sauntered through something
like work, which was to bring the erection, in the course of time, to a
close. He seemed glad of an opportunity of leaving off what he was
supposed to be doing, to show us the garden of the establishment,--a
wilderness full of mignionette, and cabbages, and vines, and pumpkins.
As an excuse for the failure of this sight, we were told that the
principal works could not be shown, which, had we seen, would have
amazed us not a little; but, to make up for the disappointment, we
should be introduced to another _fabrique_, which should well repay us.
When near the Porte Dauphine, we found this treat was no other than a
gas establishment; and, terrified at the odour which spread from it far
and wide, which, added to the heat of a very sunny day, warned us to
forego the temptation of becoming acquainted with the method of meting
out gas to the town of La Rochelle, we protested against being forced to
enter; contenting ourselves with admiring the tall pillar, which, being
new, is an object of great exultation to the inhabitants. The air, in
this part, was quite poisoned with the effluvia from the gas; and we
were not surprised to hear that the soldiers, in the barracks close
beneath, suffered continually from sickness since the period when the
gas-works had been established. Unpleasant smells, however, seldom seem
to distress French organs; and our disgust only amused our companions,
who seemed now, for the first time, to perceive that it was not as
agreeable as the mignionette beds we had left.
We were not sorry to reach the beautiful promenade of the Champ de Mars
and the Fontaine de la Maréchale; a fine walk planted with numerous
trees, with alleys diverging towards the village of La Font. Gardens,
with high walls, extend for half a league in this direction; for here
all the rich merchants of the town have their country-houses, and here
they usually spend the summer months. Being enclosed, however, the
perfume of the flowers alone, and an occasional opening, betray their
existence; and the walk is hot and dusty, without any view of sea, or
landscape, to repay the toil. At length we found ourselves at the end of
the longest village I ever was in; all composed of good square houses,
the backs only of which were visible.
We turned aside, along an avenue planted with young trees, to the
château of La Font; but what was our vexation to find at its extremity a
range of little huts, and a black, soapy pool, at which numbers of
washerwomen were busy at their ceaseless occupation. "_Voilà_!"
exclaimed our hostess, in exultation, and with an air which said, You
must be gratified now; "_Voilà_! this is the famous fountain _where all
the linen of La Rochelle is washed_! and there is the château where my
washerwoman lives,--a very respectable mother of a family;--and there
are her turkeys and her farm-yard; and there is her market-garden! Oh!
it is a sweet spot!"
Beyond the group of _blanchisseuses_--to whom she stopped to talk about
her household arrangements,--we saw a ruined tenement flanked with round
towers, very much dilapidated, and preserving but little of their
ancient character, owing to having been pierced with modern windows;
certainly sufficiently ruinous, if that was to be an object of
attraction, but not otherwise worthy of note. Girls and women, in wooden
shoes, were sitting about in a slovenly yard before it, and we were
welcomed as guests by one who got chairs and placed them in sight of the
farm-yard wonders for our accommodation: after which she disappeared
with our hostess to show the washing establishment, which we declined
visiting, in spite of repeated invitations, given with all the
_bonhommie_ in the world, as if there had really been anything to see
but dirty water and soap-suds. We comprehended, afterwards, as we sat
musing in the farm-yard, watching the vagaries of some angry turkeys,
whose combs became perfectly white with passion, as they contended with
their fellows, that the reason of so much pride and admiration on the
part of our hostess and the mistress of the _Château_ de La Font was,
that the washing here was carried on _under cover_; whereas, that
operation usually takes place by the side of rivers and brooks, in the
open face of nature, without hot water or tubs. No wonder that our
apathy annoyed the parties, who had so just a reason to "be vaunty" of
so expensive an establishment!
This, then, is all that remains of the castle of La Font, once a place
so contended for during the numerous sieges, and which the Duke of
Anjou, afterwards Henry III., took possession of, when he ordered his
soldiers to destroy all the fountains which supplied the besieged town
of La Rochelle with water. On this spot, where Protestants and Catholics
fought deadly battles, and disputed every inch of ground, the battle of
a couple of turkeys, and the splashing and thumping of a group of
washerwomen, were all that existed to interest the beholder.
We walked round the towers and into the field at the back, but scarcely
a bit of old wall repaid our trouble; and finding that the subject of
washing became all engrossing to our hostess, who seemed to have
forgotten that the hotel of the Three Candlesticks and its dinner-hour
had existence, we rose and left the party, directing our way back to the
town.
We had managed to make our escape quietly, but our defection once
perceived, consternation ensued, and the departure of La Noue from the
Protestant camp could scarcely have created more sensation. We were
pursued, and accompanied home to the hotel, with repeated apologies for
having been allowed to remain alone until we became _ennuyées_; and so
persecuted were we with politeness, that we were not sorry to take
refuge in the solemn _salle-à-manger_, where, though nearly two hours
past dinner-time, we found no preparations yet on foot for our relief.
It was impossible, considering the well-meant intention of our hostess,
to be angry at anything; but, without exception, the whole arrangement
at this most unique of all inns, was the least comfortable that any
unfortunate traveller ever had to put up with. Every day we meditated
leaving, and every day her good-humour, and a bath and walk at the
delicious sea-side, made us abandon our resolve, and--
"Tempered us to bear;
It was but for a day."
Indeed, it was impossible to be otherwise than content, to find oneself
seated in one of the pretty alcoves of the Bath gardens, with a
magnificent expanse of sparkling sea before the eye, a gentle murmur of
waters at the feet, a hundred gleaming sails, white and red, gliding
along the surface of the glittering wave, the towers of the distant town
shining out from the mass of buildings which surround them, the full
harbour, the green alleys, the superb trees, the pretty shrubs, the
distant island shores, everything, in fact, smiling and gay and
beautiful around. To forget Les Trois Chandeliers, and to grudge the
time necessary for finding a new domicile, was a natural consequence;
and the want of _matériel_ to satisfy the sea-side appetite--sure to be
gained after a whole day's sojourn on the beach--became an after
consideration, our domestic privations were therefore constantly
neglected, bewailed, and forgotten again next day while eating grapes
and bread in the beloved alcove.
There appears to be much ease in the circumstances of the inhabitants of
La Rochelle: we understood that there were not many persons of very
large fortune, but few positively poor. The commerce is inferior now to
what it has been; as, for instance, in the _glorious_ time of the _slave
trade_; but there appears still to be a good deal of bustle on the
quays: however, to an English eye, all French trade seems dull when
compared to the movement in our own ports. There is always building
going on here, as in every other town in France, where one might imagine
everything had been at a stand-still for a century, and had suddenly
been endowed with new life and activity. The cities of France seem--like
the enchanted domains of the marble prince of the Arabian Nights--to
have been doomed to a long inaction, and restored to existence by an
invisible power. The magic which changed the blue and red fishes into
men, was less potent than the wise rule of the present sovereign of the
kingdom, under whom his country flourishes; not a town or village being
forgotten in his endeavours to rescue them from the long night of
wretchedness into which war and misrule had cast them. Everywhere his
donations and encouragement cause ruins and filth to disappear, and
splendour and neatness to take their place: yet, in spite of all this,
and obvious as the benefit is to a traveller who hears of his
benefactions wherever he passes, few of the subjects of this
considerate and liberal monarch seem sufficiently grateful for his
patriotic endeavours to exalt their position. "He has not done _much_
for _us_," is the general remark; a rather startling one, when one
recollects the hundreds of towns, villages, and bourgs which his care
has reached.
The French are certainly neither grateful nor just; for they seldom
remember or acknowledge obligation either to individuals or kings. They
seem, also, wilfully blind to the blessings of the peace, which Louis
Philippe so offends their warlike propensities by insisting on: even
while they are restoring all their battered towns and erecting new
edifices, of which they are proud enough, they would willingly leave
them half done to draw the sword against some windmill giant, and buckle
on their armour to encounter some puppet-show termagant.
The public buildings of La Rochelle are fine, but the narrowness of most
of the streets in which they are placed, prevents their showing to
advantage. If the Palais de Justice stood in the fine square opposite
the cathedral, for instance, it would have a very imposing effect; but,
as it is, one passes under its arcades, and under the arcades opposite,
half-a-dozen times before its beauties become apparent. It is a modern
building of great taste and delicacy, in the style of the Renaissance;
the friezes and entablatures being executed with extreme skill and
grace. The Bourse is also a beautiful building, having a gallery
supported by a colonnade, which connects two of its wings, and which
separates the court from a pretty plantation of ornamental trees, which
agreeably adorns the edifice. But the ancient building of the Hôtel de
Ville is that which most attracts, both for its beauty and its
recollections. The taste of Francis I. and Henry II. is evident in its
architecture. Henry IV.'s additions are also obvious, and more modern
_improvements_ have considerably altered its original appearance.
The entrance is comparatively modern and ugly; which is the more to be
regretted, since, from this spot the Maire Guiton--the great hero of La
Rochelle, spoke to the people when obliged to consent to the
capitulation of the town. However, the site itself cannot but be
interesting; and all that surrounds it remains as it must have been at
his time. The singular gallery, and its ornamented roof in compartments,
with a thousand interlaced letters and devices, as mysterious as those
at the house of Jacques Coeur, at Bourges, the façade, and statues, and
foliage, and ornamental mouldings, the curious windows, the ancient
screen, the outer walls, and _tourelles_ of the thirteenth, and
battlements and door-ways of the fifteenth century, all are singular and
attractive.
It was, probably, in this palace that the accident happened to Charles
the Seventh, _Le Bien Servi_, told with so much characteristic
simplicity by Mezeray.
When the news of the death of his father, the unfortunate Charles the
Sixth, was brought to the Dauphin, says the Chronicler, "he was then at
Espally, in Auvergne, a castle belonging to the Bishop of Le Puy. He
wore mourning only one day; and the next morning changed this sad colour
to scarlet. In this habit he went to hear mass in the chapel of the
castle; as soon as it was over he ordered the banner of France to be
displayed, at the sight of which all present cried out, _Vive le Roy_!
And from that time he was recognised and called king by all good
Frenchmen. But as he had neither Paris nor Rheims in his possession, he
repaired to Poitiers to be crowned, where his parliament then was, and
there received the oaths and homage of all who acknowledged him as
sovereign. From Poitiers he took his way to La Rochelle, on a warning
which was given him that the Duke of Brittany had secret designs, and
that he was making warlike and powerful preparations to take possession
of this province."
"There he nearly lost his life by a strange invention--the machination
of some of his enemies; for, as he was holding his council in a great
hall, the beams having been sawn asunder, the ceiling gave way and fell,
burying every one beneath the ruins. Jacques de Bourbon, Seigneur de
Preaux, died in consequence, several others were grievously wounded,
but the king, by a good fortune, almost miraculous, escaped. This was a
certain presage, that, after great danger, Divine Providence, in the
end, would save him, and draw him forth from the ruins of his empire
against all human expectation."
Thus was saved the most ungrateful of all monarchs; one who suffered his
friends to exert every nerve in his favour, while he sat carelessly by
and saw them betrayed and slaughtered for his sake, of him Lahire said,
"On ne pouvait perdre son royaume plus gaiement."
He was urged to action only, at last, by superstition; and when all was
gained for him, had nothing with which to reward his devoted friends but
banishment and confiscation, as in the case of Jacques Coeur, his
ill-used friend, whose money had gained him back his kingdom. Yet, at
last, his death was as wretched as if he had perished in the hall at La
Rochelle, for he died of famine, to avoid being poisoned by his
unnatural son.
We entered the great hall at the top of the flight of steps in the
centre of the building, and followed a party who were visiting the
interior, by which means, although the hall was otherwise closed, we
were able to see the great picture recently _given by the king_, with
his usual liberality, to the town of La Rochelle.
In this _salle_ is still seen the marble table, and the chair of the
Maire Guiton; a mark across the marble is shown as that made by his
sword when, in his agony, he struck the table, as he rose, indignant at
the proposals of surrender made to him. There is nothing else in the
hall which is not modern, even its form, which has been changed for the
convenience of the meetings which take place here.
The picture is one of very exciting interest, and is very well executed;
it is the work of M. Omer Chartel--a native, I believe, of La
Rochelle--and is a most appropriate present to the town in which the
circumstances it depicts took place.
Jean Guiton was mayor of La Rochelle at the time when, in 1628, Louis
XIII., or rather the Cardinal de Richelieu, besieged the Protestants in
the town. His mysterious disappearance, the uncertainty attached to his
fate, the suspicions of his motives,--notwithstanding the grandeur of
his character, and the determination of his resistance,--altogether
invest him with singular interest, and every particular of his history
which can be collected must be eagerly sought for.
He was appointed to the office of chief-magistrate at a moment of great
danger; and on the occasion made this celebrated speech:
"Fellow-citizens, I accept the honour you design me, on this condition
only, that I shall have a right to pierce with this sword the heart of
him who shall be base enough to speak the words of peace, or who shall
dare to talk of submission. Should I be cowardly enough to do so, let my
blood expiate my crime, and let the meanest citizen be my executioner:
the sacred love of his country will exculpate him for the act. Meantime
let this poniard remain upon the council-table, an object of terror to
the craven and betrayer."
The siege went on, and the unfortunate Rochellois were reduced to the
last extremity; famine and misery brought them to the lowest ebb of
human suffering; and, in spite of their valour and high resolves, it was
evident that nothing but submission could save them from the most
horrible fate. Their implacable enemy had wound his coils around their
town, the fatal _digue_, thrown up with labour, incredible and
impossible to all but hate, prevented any succours reaching them; there
it lay, circling their port like a huge constrictor waiting patiently
for its exhausted prey,--there was no remedy, and the chief persons of
the town repaired in a body to Guiton to represent the state of the
inhabitants and to propose a surrender. They bade him look around on the
famishing wretches who lay about the streets; they bade him look on his
perishing wife and dying child; they described the hopeless state of
things, the cruel perseverance of their foes, and they besought him to
give consent that they should treat with the besiegers.
"Is it even so?" said Guiton; "you all desire it? Take, then, this
poniard; you know the condition on which I accepted office, you know I
swore to stab to the heart the first man who should speak of surrender;
let me be the victim; but never hope that I will participate in the
infamy which you propose to me."
These words produced their effect; those most resolved on submission
were turned from their project, and all retired from his presence
abashed, and determined to suffer still. But the famine continued,
increased, no succour arrived, and human fortitude could endure no more;
the Rochellois opened their gates, and Richelieu was triumphant. But
where was Jean Guiton?--that question remains to be answered to this
day.
He was never seen more; some have thought that he was assassinated by
those who feared his resentment or his opposition; or by those who
considered him still formidable, though fallen; others imagined that the
king, to whom his talents as a seaman were known, and who admired the
firmness of his character, had seduced him, by offers of great
advantage, to abandon his party and enter his service. There is a
tradition that he distinguished himself in the armies of Louis, under an
assumed name, and became a terror to the enemies of France. Again, he is
said to have been condemned to perpetual imprisonment; and again, to
have spent his days in exile from his native land, having fled from the
town at the time of its reduction.
Whatever his fate may have been, it is unknown; and conjecture alone
fills up the blank. It is difficult to imagine that a man such as he
could listen to offers of advantage, or would have betrayed the cause
for which he was ready to sacrifice his life: that he died in exile,
unable to endure to see the destruction of his hopes, is more probable.
The painter has chosen the moment when the citizens are making their
last appeal, and he has succeeded in conveying the feeling and interest
of the scene in an eminent degree; it is impossible to look at the
picture without tears, which certainly must speak a great deal in its
favour; criticism may come afterwards, and a few defects may make
themselves observed; but the first impression is, that of pity and
commiseration for the actors in the sad drama represented.
The Mayor of La Rochelle, with a mournful countenance, is listening to
the words of Etienne Gentils, who was deputed as spokesman on the sad
occasion: the commandant, Perrot, and his son stand by, and by their
gestures confirm his statements. The Marquis de Feuquières--a Catholic
prisoner, who had become a friend of the Rochellois, and anxiously
strove to obtain for them favourable terms--is a prominent person. Paul
Yvon, sire de Laden, the former mayor, adds his entreaties--Madame de
Maisonneuve, his daughter, has cast herself at the feet of Guiton, with
her two children, and points to the pale and fainting wife of the
inflexible citizen, who lies prostrate on the ground with his dying
child in her arms. The scene is fearful, and the struggle terrible; he
holds the dagger in his hand, and his look, though full of sorrow,
speaks of no indecision. You feel that it must have been impossible to
gain over such a man to the opposite party; and you cannot but thank the
artist for rescuing his memory from the reproach endeavoured to be cast
upon it.
Altogether, the picture is most appropriate and interesting, and we
rejoiced that we were so fortunate as to arrive at La Rochelle just at
the moment that it was being placed in the Grande Salle.
With infinitely more interest than before, we now walked down to the
Marché Neuf, where several elegant _tourelles_, at the corners of a
street of arcades, had previously attracted our attention, for we found
that the street was called Rue Guiton, and the tourelles formed part of
a beautifully-ornamented house, whose façade runs along one side of the
market-place. This was the mansion of the unfortunate mayor, and
magnificent it must have been; it is built in the style of the
Renaissance, and in the same taste as parts of the Hôtel de Ville; but
the carved ornaments are more delicate. It is to be regretted that the
whole house could not be preserved as a memorial; but still the little
that remains must be hailed with pleasure, though built into shops, and
serving as receptacles for different wares. One _tourelle_ is
particularly sharp and fine, and does not seem to have sustained the
slightest injury from time. No doubt the house was very extensive;
probably the gardens occupied the space where now the market is kept. In
the centre of the square is one of the numerous fountains, for which the
town is famous: this is called La Fontaine des Petits Bancs, and no
doubt formerly one on the same spot adorned the gardens of the
mayoralty.
No sooner had Louis XIII. gained possession of the Protestant city, than
he began the work of _Reformation_. He had his monks ready in the camp,
"like greyhounds on the slip," and three Minimes from Touraine, who had
been sent as almoners, immediately commenced the building of a convent,
which took the place of the Huguenot temples, under the name of Notre
Dame de la Victoire. Where it stood, now stands a fort and a lazaretto.
Another convent was established at La Font, not a vestige of which
remains.
The cathedral was once more restored to the old worship, and on the
great Fontaine du Château, in the square in front of it, the enemies of
the Protestant party placed _brass_ tablets, full of insult to those
who had so nobly defended their town, and who, from a generous foe,
would have commanded respect. These injurious inscriptions were,
however, removed one night; nor was it ever known by whom; and the
authorities did not think it advisable to replace them: the marks of
their existence still remain.
Another mayor of La Rochelle obtained celebrity in much earlier times,
for conduct not quite so heroic as that of Guiton.
Amongst the many scenes of war which have taken place before La
Rochelle, not the least curious is one related by Froissart, which
occurred at the time when France was making a desperate struggle to
recover her towns from the power of England.
The Earl of Pembroke had been sent by his father, King Edward, with the
famous Captain Messire Guichart d'Angle, to Poitou, with vessels and
money; they set forth, commending themselves to the grace of God and St.
George, and, wind and weather favouring them, the gallant fleet soon
reached the coast of Poitou, with every prospect of success in their
adventure. But the King of France, Charles the Wise, who always managed
to get information of everything done by his enemies--whether by means
of the prescience of his astrologers or his spies is not known,--having
heard that Guichart had visited England with a view of getting supplies
and a new commander, had secretly prepared a hostile fleet ready to
way-lay the English. Forty large ships and thirteen barges, well manned
and provided, were furnished by the King of Castile, and were commanded
by four men whose names were a terror at the period. These were,
Ambrosio de Bocca Negra the Grand Admiral of Spain, Cabeza de Vaca,
Ferrant de Pion, and Radigole Roux, or Riu Diaz de Rojas.
These valiant captains had moored their fleet opposite the harbour of La
Rochelle, awaiting the expected arrival of the English and their allies,
for whose sails they looked anxiously forth. It was on the Vigil of St.
John the Baptist's Day, 1372, that the Spaniards espied the English
approaching in gallant array, and _they_ discovered that the entrance to
the town of La Rochelle was stopped, and that a contest must ensue.
The English were greatly inferior in ships and numbers; but there was no
want of spirit amongst them. The Earl of Pembroke made several knights
on the occasion, and every nerve was strained to support the character
of British valour. They had fearful odds to sustain, and terrible was
the battle which was fought, in which such deeds of arms were done, that
Palmerin of England, and Amadis de Gaul, seemed leading on the
combatants. But it soon became too evident that the brave handful of
English, and the small vessels, were no match for the opposing power.
This, the inhabitants of La Rochelle were aware of, but they were
ill-disposed to interfere or to assist the English.
When Messire Jean de Harpedane, the seneschal of La Rochelle, heard the
_estrif_ and _riote_ which took place without, and found in what straits
his friends were placed, he implored the mayor and people of La Rochelle
to arm and go to the relief of the English; he entreated them to send
out the numerous vessels which crowded their quays, to aid and comfort
those who were so valiantly fighting against odds. But his animated
harangue was met with silence and coldness, and he found, to his great
vexation, that there was no sympathy for King Edward's people.
Harpedane had been supported in his generous desire by three brave and
bold knights, the Lord of Tonnay-Boutonne, Jacques de Surgières, and
Maubrun de Linières; and when they found that no one would listen to
their representations, they resolved to embark, together with all their
people, and go to the succour of the English. At day-break they sailed
forth, and, with some difficulty, reached the fleet, where they were
joyfully welcomed, notwithstanding that they brought bad news, and
confirmed the doubts of the English that no succour awaited them. They,
however, resolved to fight to the last, and remained prepared for the
attack of the Spaniards, who, favoured by the wind, came down upon them,
and casting out irons, grappled with their ships and held them close.
Then ensued a terrible contest, in which the greatest part of the
English were killed, the treasure-vessels sunk, and all the others
destroyed; and the day closed by the capture of the Earl of Pembroke,
Guichart d'Angle, and all the brave knights of their company. The
Spaniards then made great rejoicings, and sailed away with all their
prisoners; but, meeting with adverse winds, they were obliged to put
into the port of Santander in Biscay, where they carried them to a
fortress and cast them into a deep dungeon, loading them with chains:
"No other courtesy had these Spaniards to offer them!"
After this the Rochellois threw off their obedience to the English, and
declared themselves friends and subjects of France: the manner in which
this event occurred is thus related:--
The mayor of the town, Jean Coudourier, or Chaudrier, was secretly
friendly to the French, and had agreed with the famous Captain Ivan, of
Wales, who was before La Rochelle, to deliver the town to him. The
stratagem he used was characteristic, for the governor of the Castle,
Phillippot, though a brave and good knight, was in the case of William
of Deloraine,--
"Of letter or line knew he never a one;"
and by this neglect in his education was he betrayed.
The artful Chaudrier, who appeared to be his intimate friend, invited
the governor to dine with him one day, with some of the citizens of the
town, and took occasion, before dinner, to say that he had just received
news from England which concerned him. The governor desiring to know
them, he replied, "Of course you shall hear; I will fetch the letter,
and it shall be read to you." He then went to a coffer and took out an
open letter, sealed, indeed, with the great seal of Edward of England,
but which, in fact, related to quite other matters; the governor
recognised the seal, and was satisfied that it was an official
communication; but, as for the writing, "he was ignorance itself" in
that. A clerk, in the plot, was ordered to enlighten him as to its
contents, and read that the King desired the mayor to send him an exact
account of all the forces in La Rochelle and the castle, by the bearer
of that letter, as he desired to know, and hoped soon to visit the town
himself.
Thereupon the mayor begged that on the day following a muster should be
made, in the grand square, of all these men-at-arms, and he offered to
lend money to the governor, being so directed by the King, to pay his
troops. All this was done as was projected, and the muster took place,
every man-at-arms leaving the château, and only a few servants
remaining there. Meantime the cunning mayor had provided an ambush of
four hundred men, who concealed themselves in _old houses uninhabited
which were in the square_, and, when all the troops were assembled,
these issued out, and intercepting the return, took possession of the
castle, and became masters of the citadel.
Resistance was now in vain: the governor was completely tricked, and the
artful traitor had gained his end. La Rochelle became French, and the
first step that was taken for the security of the town, in case of its
again falling into the hands of the English, was to raze the castle to
the ground, and destroy that means of defence.