The Project Gutenberg eBook, Béarn and the Pyrenees, by Louisa Stuart Costello This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Béarn and the Pyrenees A Legendary Tour to the Country of Henri Quatre Author: Louisa Stuart Costello Release Date: December 16, 2006 [eBook #20124] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BéARN AND THE PYRENEES*** E-text prepared by Janet Blenkinship, Chuck Greif, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team at DP Europe (http://dp.rastko.net/) Transcriber's note: The original spelling and puncturation have been retained. BÉARN AND THE PYRENEES: A LEGENDARY TOUR TO THE COUNTRY OF HENRI QUATRE. BY LOUISA STUART COSTELLO, AUTHOR OF "the bocages and the vines," "a pilgrimage to auvergne," etc. With numerous Illustrations. IN TWO VOLUMES. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty. 1844. PRINTED BY R. CLAY, BREAD STREET HILL. TO MISS BURDETT COUTTS, THESE VOLUMES ARE DEDICATED WITH MUCH RESPECT AND AFFECTION BY HER SINCERELY OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT, LOUISA STUART COSTELLO. London, March 16, 1844. INTRODUCTION. When I first indulged the inclination, which I had long entertained, of visiting the famous castle of Chinon, and the equally interesting abbey of Fontevraud—the palace and tomb of our English kings —and paused on my way in "the lovely vales of Vire," and gathered in romantic Brittany some of her pathetic legends, I thought I should have satisfied my longing to explore France; but I found that every step I look in that teeming region opened to me new stores of interest; and, encouraged by the pleasure my descriptions had given, I set out again, following another route, to the regal city of Rheims, visiting the vine-covered plains of Champagne and Burgundy, and all their curious historical towns, till I reached the dominion of Charles the Seventh at Bourges, to become acquainted with whose gorgeous cathedral and antique palaces is worth any fatigue. From thence I wandered on to the beautiful Monts Dores, and the basaltic regions of unexplored Le Vellay; and, after infinite gratification, I once more turned my steps homeward; but, like Sindbad, I felt that there was much more yet to be explored; and I had visions of the romantic and delightful realms, which extend where once the haughty heiress of Aquitaine held her poetical courts of Love and Chivalry. The battle-fields of our Black Prince were yet to be traced; the sites of all the legends and adventures of the most entertaining of chroniclers, Froissart, were yet to be discovered; and the land of mountains and torrents, where the Great Béarnais passed his hardy childhood, was yet unknown to me. I therefore again assumed my "cockle hat and staff," and, re-entering the Norman territory, commenced exploring, from the stone bed of the Conqueror, at Falaise, to the tortoise-shell cradle of Henry of Navarre, at Pau. Not inferior to my two former pilgrimages, in interest, did this my third ramble prove. How many "old romantic towns" I passed through; how much of varied lore I heard and found amongst the still original and, even now, unsophisticated peasantry; how numerous were the recollections which places and things recalled, and how pleasant were the scenes I met, I have endeavoured to tell the lovers of easy adventure—for any traveller, with the slightest enterprise, could accomplish what I have done without fatigue, and with the certainty of being repaid for the exertion of seeking for amusement. In succession, I paused at Le Mans, the scene of the great Vendéean struggle, where the majestic cathedral challenges the admiration of all travellers of taste; at Poitiers, full of antique wonders; in the region of the Serpent lady, Melusine; at Protestant La Rochelle, with all its battlements and turrets, and the most beautiful bathing-establishment in Europe. At mysterious Saintes, and all its pagan temples and arches; at Bordeaux, the magnificent; on the Garonne, and by its robbers'- castles; at Agen, with its barber troubadour; in the haunts of Gaston de Foix and Jeanne d'Albret and her son; in the gloomy valleys of the proscribed Cagot; and where the mellifluous accents of the Basquaise enchant the ear. All the impressions made by these scenes I have endeavoured to convey to my readers, as I did before, inviting them to follow my footsteps, and judge if I have told them true. CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I. Honfleur—Dejazet—The Sailor Prince—Le Mari—Lisieux—La Croix Blanche—Arrival at Falaise—Guibray—Castle of Falaise—The little Recess—Arlette—The Father—The Infant Hero— The Uncle—Arlette's Tears—Her Reception. CHAPTER II. 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. CHAPTER III. Tomb of Bérangère—Wives of Cœur de Lion—Tombs—Abbey Churches—Château of Le Mans —De Craon—The Spectre of Le Mans—The Vendéeans—Madame de la Roche-Jaquelin—A Woman's Perils—Disasters of the Vendéeans—Henri—Chouans. CHAPTER IV. The Museum of Le Mans—Venus—Mummy—Geoffrey-le-Bel—His Costume—Matilda— Scarron—Hélie de la Flèche—Rufus—The White Knight. CHAPTER V. Lude—Saumur Revisited—The Garden—La Petite Voisine—The Retired Militaire—Les Pierres Couvertes—Les Petites Pierres—Loudun—Urbain Grandier—Richelieu—The Nuns—The Victim —The Fly—The Malle Poste—The Dislodged Serpents. CHAPTER VI. Poitiers—Battles—The Armies—King John of France—The Young Warrior—Hôtel des Vreux— Amphitheatre—Blossac—The Great Stone—The Scholars—Museum—The Demon's Stone— Grande Gueule. CHAPTER VII. Notre Dame—The Keys—The Miracle—Procession—St. Radegonde—Tomb of the Saint— Foot-print—Little Loubette—The Count Outwitted—The Cordelier—Late Justice—The Templars. CHAPTER VIII. Château de la Fée—King René—The Miniatures—The Post-Office Functionary—Originality— The English Bank-note—St. Porchaire—The Dead Child—Montierneuf—Guillaume Guy Geoffroy —Thomas à Becket—Choir of Angels—Relics—The Armed Hermit—A Saint—The Repudiated Queen—Elionore—The Bold Priest—Lay. CHAPTER IX. Melusine—Lusignan—Trou de la Fée—The Legend—Male Curiosity—The Discovery—The Fairy's Shrieks—The Chronicler—Geoffrey of the Great Tooth—Jaques Cœur—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. CHAPTER X. La Rochelle—Les Trois Chandeliers—Oysters—Bathing Establishment—Gaiety—Military Discipline—Curious Arcades—Story of Auffrédy. CHAPTER XI. 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 of Le Maire Guiton—The Fleets—The Fight—The Mayor and the Governor. CHAPTER XII. Rochefort—The Curious Bonne—Americanisms—Convicts—The Charente—"Tulipes"— Taillebourg—Henry the Third—St. Louis—False Security—Romegoux—Puytaillé CHAPTER XIII. Saintes—Roman Arch of Triumph—Gothic Bridge—The Cours—Ruined City—Cathedral— Coligny—Ruined Palace—St. Eutrope—Amphitheatre—Legend of Ste. Eustelle—The Prince of Babylon—Fête—The Côteau—Ste. Marie CHAPTER XIV. Frère Chrétien—Utility of Custom-house Search—Bold Voyager—Pauillac—Blaye—The Gironde—Talbot—Vines—The Landes—Phantom of King Arthur—The Witch-finder—The Landes—Wreckers CHAPTER XV. Ports—Divona—Bordeaux—Quinconces—Allées—First Impression—Chartrons—Bahutier— Bacalan—Quays—White Guide—Ste. Croix—St. Michel—St. André—Pretty Figure—Pretty Women—Palais Gallien—Black Prince's Son, Edward. CHAPTER XVI. The Garonne—The Lord of Langoyran—Miracle of the Mule—Castle of the Four Sons of Aymon—The Aged Lover—Gavaches—The Franchimans—Count Raymond—Flying Bridges— The Miller of Barbaste—The Troubadour Count—The Count de la Marche—The Rochellaises— Eugénie and her Song. CHAPTER XVII. Agen—La Belle Esther—St. Caprais—The Little Cherubs—Zoé at the Fountain—The Hill—Le Gravier—Jasmin, the Poet-Barber—The Metaphor—Las Papillotas—Françonnette—Jasmin's Lines on the Old Language—The Shepherd and the Gascon Poet—Return to Agen—Jasmin and the King of France—Jasmin and the Queen of England. CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. CHAPTER I Renown of Pau—Lectoure—The Labourer-Duke—Auch—Tarbes—The Princess and the Count —Costume—Arrival at Pau—The Promenades—The Town—Improvements—First Impressions— Walks—Buildings—Hotels—The Magnificent Baker—The Swain—Tou-Cai! CHAPTER II The Climate of Pau—Storms—Fine Weather—Palassou—Reasons for going to Pau—The Winter CHAPTER III The Castle of Henri Quatre—- The Furniture—The Shell—The Statue—The Birth—Castel Beziat—The Fairy Gift—A Change—Henri Quatre CHAPTER IV Troubadour CHAPTER V Road from Pan to Tarbes—Table Land—The Pics—The Haras of Tarbes—Autumn in the Pyrenees—Mont l'Héris—Gabrielle d'Estrées—Chasseaux Palombes—Penne de l'Héris—Pic du Midi—Charlet the Guide—Valley of Campan—La Gatta—Grip—The Tourmalet—Campana del Vasse—Barèges—Luz—Cagot Door—Gavarine—The Fall of the Rock—Chaos—Circus— Magnificence of Nature—Pont de Neige—Roland—Durendal—Izards—Les Crânes—Pierrefitte— Cauteretz—Cerizet—Pont d'Espagne—Lac de Gaube—Argelez CHAPTER VI Vallée d'Ossau—Le Hourat—The Rio Verde—Eaux Chaudes—Eaux Bonnes—- Bielle—Izeste— Saccaze, the Naturalist CHAPTER VII Gabas—Popular Songs—Pont Crabe—The Recluse of the Vallée d'Ossau—Marguerite—The Springs CHAPTER VIII Peasants of Ossau—Capitivity of Francis the First—Death of Joyeuse—Death of the Duke de Maine—Dances CHAPTER IX Coarraze—Orton—The Pont Long—Les Belles Cantinières—Morlàas—The Curé—Resintance to Improvement—Uzain—Lescar—Reformation in Navarre—Tombs—François Phoebus—The Mother CHAPTER X The Romances of the Castle of Orthez—Tour de Moncade—The Infants—The Son of Gaston Phoebus—Legends—The Oath—The bad King of Navarre—The Quarrel—The Murder—Death of Gaston Phoebus—Paradise the Reward of Hunters—The Captive—The Step-Mother—The Young Countess—The Great Bear—The Return—The Real Cause—The Meeting in the Forest— The Mass CHAPTER XI The Countess of Comminges—The Charge—The persecuted Heiress—The Bridge—The Cordelier—Costume—Aspremont—Peyrehourade CHAPTER XII Bayonne-Public Walks—Biaritz—Atalaya—Giant Fernagus—Anne of Neubourg—The Dancing Mayor CHAPTER XIII Basque Language—Dialects—Words—Poetry—Songs—The Deserter—Character—Drama— Towns CHAPTER XIV Cagots—Cacous of Brittany CHAPTER XV The Cagot—Vallée d'Aspe—Superstitions—Forests—Despourrins—The two Gaves—Bedous— High-road to Saragossa—Cascade of Lescun—Urdos—A Picture for Murillo—La Vache CHAPTER XVI Aramitz—The Play—Mauléon—The Sisters—Words—St. Jean CHAPTER XVII Arneguy—The Cacolet—Rolando's Tree—Snow-white Goats—Costume—Sauveterre—The Pastor—Navarreux—Spanish Air [Page 1] BÉARN AND THE PYRENEES. CHAPTER I. honfleur—dejazet—the sailor prince—le mari—lisieux—la croix blanche— arrival at falaise—guibray—castle of falaise—the little recess—arlette—the father—the infant hero—the uncle—arlette's tears—her reception. Within ten leagues of the interesting town of Caen, where William of Normandy and his queen lie buried, the traveller, who devotes a short space of time to a search after the picturesque, may, without straying too far a-field, find what he desires in the clean, bright, gay town of Falaise, where the hero of the Conquest was born. From Southampton to Havre it requires only twelve hours to cross, and, as was the case with myself and my companions, when, at the end of August 1842, we began a journey, whose end was "to be" the mountains which divide France from Spain, if the city of parrots is already familiar to the tourist, he has only to take the steam-packet, which in four hours will land him at Caen, or enter the boat which crosses the fine bold river to Honfleur. In an hour you arrive at Honfleur, after a very pleasant voyage, which the inhabitants of Havre are extremely fond of taking: a diligence starts from the quay, and proceeds through an avenue of a league's length between beautiful hills, orchards, and corn-fields, to the strange old town of Lisieux, to which we proceeded. One of our fellow-travellers in the diligence was a smart, lively looking young woman, whose resemblance to the celebrated actress Dejazet, whom we had very lately seen in London, was so striking as to be quite remarkable. Her tone of voice, her air and manner, as well as her features, reminded us strongly of the artiste whose warm reception in England, where we are supposed to be correct even to fastidiousness, has not a little amused the Parisians at our expense. Whatever may be the objections to Dejazet's style, certain it is that her imitation of the manners of the class of grisettes and peasants is inimitable; not a shade, not a tone, is forgotten, and the truth of her representations is proved at every step you take in France, either in the provinces or in Paris. Our little talkative companion had much to relate of herself and her husband, whom she described as a piece of perfection; he had just returned from a whaling expedition, after several years' absence, and they were now on their way to Lisieux to visit her relations, and give him a little shooting. He had brought back, according to her account, a mine of wealth; and, as she had incurred no debts during his absence, but had supported herself by opening a little café, which she assured us had succeeded admirably, they were proceeding, with well-filled purses, to see their only child who was in the keeping of its grandmother. She told wondrous histories of his exploits amongst the ice, of his encounters with the natives—"les Indiens," of the success of all his voyages, and the virtues of his captain, who was an Englishman and never spoke to his crew, but was the most just man in the world, and ended by saying that when she met with English people she felt in Paradise. Although we listened to her continued chattering with amused attention, it was far otherwise with some quiet, silent, women who sat beside us; we soon gathered, by certain contemptuous glances which they exchanged, that they did not give credit to half our little Dejazet was telling; and when to crown the whole, she related a story of a beautiful maiden of Lisieux, who had been distinguished by the notice of the Duke de Nemours when he visited that place on his way to join his ship at Havre, they could support their impatience no longer, and broadly contradicted her on the ground that the Prince de Joinville and not Nemours was the sailor. Nothing daunted, our gay whaler's wife insisted on every part of her history being true, asserting that she must know best, and if the young prince had left the navy since, it was not her affair. As she approached Lisieux she became more and more animated, darting her body half way out of the window every minute to look out for her papa or her other relations;—at length, with a scream which would have secured Dejazet three rounds of applause, she recognised her parent in a peasant en blouse, trudging along the road carrying his bundle—on his way, no doubt, as she assured us, to see her sister, who lived at a village near. Tears and smiles alternately divided the expression of her countenance, as she now feared her sister was ill, and now rejoiced at seeing her father. All was however happily settled when the coach stopped and she sprang out into the arms of [2] [3] [4] [5] her papa, who had followed the diligence, and came up out of breath; and it was then that we became aware that a remarkably ill-looking, dirty, elderly, Jewish featured man, to whom she had occasionally spoken on the journey, was the identical perfection of a mari, of whom she had been boasting all the way. The incredulous listeners, whom she had so annoyed, now revenged themselves by sundry depreciatory remarks on the appearance of this phoenix, whom they pronounced to have the air of a tinker or old clothesman, and by no means that of the hero he had been represented. As it was raining violently on our arrival at Lisieux, the town presented to us but an uncomfortable appearance; and as we had to search for an hotel, and were at last obliged to be content with one far from inviting, our first impression was by no means agreeable; nor does Lisieux offer anything to warrant a change in the traveller's opinion who considers it dreary, slovenly, and ruinous. There is much, however, to admire in the once beautiful cathedral, and the church of St. Jacques, both grand specimens of the massive architecture of the twelfth century. In this town lived and died the traitor Bishop of Bayeux, Pierre Cauchon, who sold the heroic Jeanne d'Arc for English gold. An expiatory chapel was erected by him in the cathedral, where it was hoped the tears of the pious would help to wash his sins away; but no one now remembers either him or his crime, for we asked in vain for the spot; and when prayers are offered at the shrine of the Virgin in the chapel dedicated to her, which we eventually discovered to be its site, not one is given to the cruel bishop, whose ill-gotten money was therefore expended in vain; for the centuries it must have required to rescue his soul from purgatory cannot have expired by this time. The churches are being restored, and building, as usual in all French towns, is going on: when numerous ugly striped houses are removed, and their places filled up, the principal square of Lisieux may deserve to be admired, though whether it will ever merit the encomium of an old lady who resides in it, and who assured us it would in a short time be superbe, time will determine. The public promenades are good, and the views round the town pretty, but we did not feel tempted to wait for finer weather, and took our departure for Falaise with little delay. The drive from Lisieux to Falaise is charming; and, although the appearance of the hotels is not in their favour, there is nothing to complain of in regard to cleanliness or attention: at least so we found it at La Croix Blanche, where the singular beauty of our hostess added to the romance of our position, perched, as we were, on a balcony without awning, in a building which had evidently been part of an old tower. It is true that we should have preferred something rather less exposed when we found ourselves confined for a whole day, in consequence of the pouring rain, and found that a stream of water had made its way from our balcony into each of our rooms; whose bricked floors were little improved by their visit. Our suggestion of covering the way, in order that, in wet weather, both the dinner and its bearers might be sheltered, appeared to excite surprise, though our attendants came in constantly with their high caps wet through and their aprons soaked. Our nearly exhausted patience, as we gazed hopelessly on the dull sky of an August day, was at length rewarded; and the sun, which had obstinately concealed himself for several days, burst forth on the second morning of our arrival, and changed by its power the whole face of things at Falaise. We lost no time in taking advantage of the fine day which invited us, and sallied forth, all expectation, into the streets, which we found, as well as the walks, as dry as if no rain had fallen for months; so fresh and bright is the atmosphere in this beautiful place. The town is clean and neat; most of the ruinous, striped houses, with projecting stories, such as deform the streets of Lisieux, being cleared away; leaving wide spaces and pure air, at least in the centre-town, where the best habitations are situated. There are other divisions, less airy and more picturesque, called the fauxbourgs of Guibray and St. Laurent, and le Val d'Ante; where many antique houses are still standing, fit to engage the pencil of the antiquarian artist. The churches of Falaise are sadly defaced, but, from their remains, must have been of great beauty. The Cathedral, or Eglise de St. Laurent, is partly of the twelfth century; the exterior is adorned with carving, and gargouilles, and flying-buttresses, of singular grace; but the whole fabric is so built in with ugly little shops, that all fine effect is destroyed. The galleries in the church of La Trinité are elaborately ornamented, as are some of the chapels, whose roofs are studded with pendants. Much of this adornment is due to the English, under Henry V., and a good deal is of the period of the renaissance. The church of Guibray was founded by Duke William, as the Norman windows and arches testify; but a great deal of bad taste has been expanded in endeavouring to turn the venerable structure into a Grecian temple, according to the approved method of the time of Louis XIV. A statue of the wife of Cœur de Lion was once to be seen here, but has long disappeared. That [6] [7] [8] princess resided in this part of Falaise, at one period of her widowhood, and contributed greatly to the embellishment of the church. There are many columns and capitals, and arches and ornaments of interest in the church of St. Gervais, defaced and altered as it is; but it is impossible to give all the attention they deserve to these buildings, when the towers of the splendid old castle are wooing you to delay no longer, but mount at once the steep ascent which leads to its walls. Rising suddenly from the banks of a brawling crystal stream, a huge mass of grey rocks, thrown in wild confusion one on the other, sustains on its summit the imposing remains of the castle, whose high white tower, alone and in perfect preservation, commands an immense tract of smiling country, and seems to have defied the attacks of ages, as it gleams in the sun, the smooth surface of its walls apparently uninjured and unstained. This mighty donjon is planted in a lower part of the height; consequently, high as it appears, scarcely half of its real elevation is visible. Its walls are of prodigious thickness, and seem to have proved their power through centuries of attack and defence to which it has been exposed; careless alike of the violence of man and the fury of the elements. Adjoining the keep are ranges of ruined walls, pierced with fine windows, whose circular arches, still quite entire, show their early Norman construction. Close to the last of these, whose pillars, with wreathed capitals, are as sharp as if just restored, is a low door, leading to a small chamber in the thickness of the wall. There is a little recess in one corner, and a narrow window, through whose minute opening a fine prospect may be seen. This small chamber, tradition says, was once adorned with "azure and vermilion;" though it could scarcely have ever presented a very gay appearance, even when used as the private retreat of the luxurious master of the castle. However, such as it is, we are bound to look upon this spot with veneration; for it is asserted, that here a child was born in secrecy and mystery, and that here, by this imperfect light, his beautiful mother gazed upon the features of the future hero of Normandy. However unlike a bower fitted for beauty and love, it is said that here Arlette, the skinner's daughter, was confined of William the Conqueror. It is said, too, that from this height, the sharp- sighted Duke his father, gazing from his towers, first beheld the lovely peasant girl bathing in the fountain which still bears her name. In this retreat, concealed from prying eyes, and where inquisitive ears found it difficult to catch a sound, the shrill cry of the wondrous infant was first uttered,—a sound often to be repeated by every echo of the land, when changed to the war note which led to victory. Little, perhaps, did his poor mother exult in his birth, for she was of lowly lineage, and had never raised her eyes to the castle but with awe, nor thought of its master but with fear; her pleasures were to dance, on holidays, under the shade of trees with the simple villagers, her companions; her duties, to wash her linen on the stones of the silver stream, as her townswomen do still at the present day—that silver stream which probably flowed past her father's cottage, as it still flows, bathing the base of cottages as humble and as rudely built as his could have been. There might, perchance, have been one, amongst the youths who admired her beauty, whom she preferred to the rest; her ambition might have been to become his bride, her dreams might have imaged his asking her of her father, whose gracious consent made them both happy: in her ears might have rung the pealing bells of St. Gervais—the vision of maidens, in bridal costumes, strewing flowers in her path, might have risen before her view—her lover with his soft words and smiles—his cottage amongst the heath-covered rocks of Noron—all this might have flitted across her mind, as she stood beside the fountain, beneath the castle walls, unconscious that eyes were gazing on her whose influence was to fix her destiny. A mail-clad warrior, terrible and powerful, whose will may not be resisted, whose gold glitters in her father's eyes, or whose chains clank in his ears, has seen and coveted her for his own, and her simple dream must be dispersed in air to make way for waking terrors. The unfortunate father trembles while he feebly resists, he listens to the duke's proposal, he has yet a few words of entreaty for his child: he dares not tell her what her fate must be, he hopes that time and new adventures will efface Arlette from the mind of her dangerous lover; but, again, he is urged, heaps of gold shine before him, how shall he turn from their tempting lustre? Is there not in yonder tower an oubliette that yawns for the disobedient vassal? He appeals to Arlette, she has no reply but tears; men at arms appear in the night, they knock at the skinner's door and demand his daughter, they promise fair in the name of their master; they mount her on a steed before the gentlest of their band, his horse's hoofs clatter along the rocky way—the father hears the sobs of his child for a little space, and his heart sinks,—he hides his eyes with his clenched hand, but suddenly he starts up—his floor is strewn with glittering pieces—he stoops down and counts them, and Arlette's sorrows are forgotten. [9] [10] [11] [12] Arlette returns no more to her father's cottage. She remains in a turret of the castle, but not as a handmaiden of the duchess; her existence is not supposed to be known, though the childless wife of Duke Robert weeps in secret, over her wrongs. All this is pure fancy, and may have no foundation in reality. "Look here upon this picture and on that." Perhaps Arlette did not repine at her fate; she might have been ambitious and worldly, vain and presuming, have possessed cunning and resolve, and have used every artifice to secure her triumph. Some of the stories extant of her would seem to prove this, and some to exculpate her from blame, inasmuch as she believed herself to have fulfilled a sacred duty in conforming to her master's will. When she told her lover that she had dreamt "a tree sprang from her bosom which overshadowed all Normandy," there was more evidence of policy than simplicity in the communication which was so well calculated to raise the hopes of a great man without an heir; and perhaps it was she herself who dictated the saying of the sage femme at her son's birth, who, having placed him on straw by her side, and observing that the robust infant grasped in his tiny hands as much as he could hold, cried out—"Par Dieu! this child begins early to grasp and make all his own!" At all events the little hero was "honourably brought up," and treated as if legitimate. Another version of the story of Arlette is given by an ancient chronicler, (Benoit de St Maur,) which is certainly a sufficient contrast to the view I ventured to take of the affair, probably with but little correctness, considering the manners of the period. It appears that the scruples of the fair daughter of Vertprès, the skinner, for his name seems to be known, were dispersed by the advice and injunction of her uncle, a holy personage, of singular piety, who dwelt in a hermitage in the wood of Gouffern. Convinced, by his arguments, that Heaven had directed the affection of the duke towards her, she no longer resisted her father's wish, and made preparations as if for a bridal, providing herself with rich habiliments calculated to enhance her beauty. When the messengers of the duke came to fetch her, they requested that she would put on a cloak and cape, and conceal her rich dress, for fear of the jeers of the common people, who would perhaps insult her if she appeared publicly with them; but she replied boldly and proudly, "Does the duke send for me after this manner, as if I were not the daughter of an honourable man? Shall I go secretly, as if I were but a disgraced woman? That which I do is in all honour and respectability, not from wickedness or weakness, and I am not ashamed that men should see me pass. If I am to be taken to the duke, it shall not be on foot and hidden—fetch, therefore, your palfrey, and let me go as it becomes me." Her dress is thus described:—"She had clothed her gentle body in a fine shift, over which was a grey pelisse, wide and without lacings, but setting close to her shape and her arms: over this she wore a short mantle conformable and of good taste; her long hair was slightly bound with a fillet of fine silver. It was in this guise, beautiful to behold, that she mounted the courser which was brought for her, and saluted her father and mother as she rode away; but at the last moment she was seized with a trembling, and burst into weeping, covering her fair bosom with her tears." When she arrived, "by a fine moon-light," at the castle gate, her attendants made her alight, and opened a wicket for her to enter, but she drew back, saying, "The duke has sent for me, and it would seem that he esteems me little if his gates are not to be opened for my passage. Let him order them to give me entrance, or send me back at once. Beaux amis, ouvrez-moi la porte." The messengers, awed by her dignity, hesitated not to obey her, and she was presently conducted into the presence of Duke Robert, who awaited her coming in a vaulted chamber, adorned with gilding, where "fine images were represented in enamel and colours." There he received her with great joy and honour, and from that time she possessed all his love. CHAPTER II. 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 [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] 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 Cœur 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. [18] [19] [20] [21] 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 [22] [23] [24] [25] 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. [26] [27] [28] [29] 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 re...