WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE, I'ilOM ROUEN TO THE SOURCE. LEITCH RITCHIE, ESQ. AUTHOR OF HEATH S PICTURESQUE ANNUAL, SCHINDERHANNES, ROMANCE OF FRENCH HISTORY, &C. TWENTY ENGRAVINGS BY J. M. W. TURNER, ESQ. R.A. LONDON : PUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETOR, BY LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMAN; RITTXER & GOUPIL, PARIS; AND A. ASHER, BERLIN. 1835. LONDON: PRINTED BY JAMES MOVES, Castle Street, Leicester Square. VC A'- CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. THE VALLEY OF ANDELI 1 n. GREAT MEN OF THE VALLEY 12 in. CASTLE INSOLENT ... 24 IV. THE SIEGE 37 V. THE FALL OF CHATEAU GAILLARD 49 VI. VERNON 63 VII. THE CHATEAU AND THE SHOP 75 Vin. LA ROCHE-GUYON AND ROSNY 01 IX. THE RIVERAINS OF THE SEINE 103 X. THE BAL 118 XL SAINT GERMAIN 132 XII. APPROACH TO THE CAPITAL 144 XIIL PARIS AND ITS RELIGION Kil XIV. PARIS AND ITS LAW 17(5 XV. THE LATIN COUNTRY 188 XVL THE COURT-END OF PARIS lO'J XVH. FONTAINEBLEAU 210 XVIII. CHAMPAGNE 22j XIX. TROYES -zw WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. CHAPTER I. THE VALLEY OF ANDELL For a short period in summer, it is possible to travel from Rouen to Paris by a passage steam-boat on the Seine : the voyage, however, is long, and not always pleasant. Our eyes, accustomed to the magnificent panorama presented by the lower part of the river, become discontented even with beauty itself; the towns, villages, and castles, flit past us like shadows, and carry away with them, like shadows, their historical associations ; till, by the time we reach our destination, we heartily regret having forsaken the moral world of the past and present, for the cold, dead face of external nature. For our part, we hate to be stuck, like one of its masts, in a river-boat, and with no greater faculty of volition. Give us the firm land for our wandering foot, and let us feel that we are free denizens of the earth ! Give us the rock for our seat, the forest for our shade, the mountain-top for our temple, the city for our theatre — where we may laugh and weep, when we are i' the vein, at the tragi-comedy of life! But, above B Z WANDERINGS BY TJIE SEINE. all, let change be at our command ; and let us feel, in gazing at rock, forest, mountain, or city, that wherever our fancy leads us, " We have the passion and the power to roam !" At sea, the case is different. There, indeed, the traveller is still more a captive than on a river ; and the jailer-waves fling their spray in his face, while the insulting winds shout wildly in his ear. The effect, however, is forgotten in the magnitude of the cause ; or rather, his sense of helplessness is so profound, as to amalgamate, if the expression is intelligible, with the things which produce it. All is sublimity around and within ; and the feeble object of destiny claims kindred with its elemental a'2:ents. In a carriage — the meanest, most commonplace, and unsatisfactory, of all the modes of journeying — if not occupied with our fellow-travellers, we are sensible of little more than the circumstance of progression. We have a goal before us \ and how to get there most quickly and easily is the grand question. The English love of rapid travelling is one of the most rational, as it certainly is one of the most powerful, of the national tastes ; and at this moment, when the horses have broken for the first time into a canter, (perhaps we omitted to say that we mounted the diligence at Rouen), we i-ecognise a countryman by the gleam of intelligence which rises into his eyes. The man has not uttered a word, nor moved a muscle, since we left the Norman capital. Can it be that we are mistaken? ]\o ; he hast just leant out of the window, in the ful- THE VALLEY OF ANDELI. 3 ness of his heart, and shouted, in his own language, to the postilion — " Go it, my hoy — that's your sort!" AVe are confident that the French will '^ go it," one day. Already they begin to renew the paint of their diligences, and to scrape, if not absolutely wash, their harness. This looks well ; and the lesson lately given by Louis-Philippe will, in all probability, induce them, in the course of a few yearSj to improve the form of their vehicles. In the mean time, the purchase made by the king, of an English carriage, has given great offence to his coach-building subjects ! The French, in fact, are in a very singular and interesting position. They seem to have overleaped, by their own resistless energy, most of the minuter landmarks which point the upward march of civili- sation ; and, standing on the height they now occupy, acknowledging no superior on earth, they very natu- rally suppose themselves to possess all the attributes, great and small, peculiar to their station. Learned, however, as they may be in political philosophy, they are yet ignorant of many of the arts and comforts of social life. Climbino- with seven - leao-ue boots the loftiest heights of national greatness, their diligences, jjai^ exemple, dodge after them at the rate of four miles an hour ! There are some people who take a pleasure in con- templating corn-fields and apple-trees ; but our coun- tryman, apparently, did not belong to the number. There was absolutely nothing else to be seen on the route, which, to be more explicit, lay on the right bank of the rivei'. The trees were not disposed in orchards, 4 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. but stood singly here and there, giving a still more dreary uniformity to the sea of corn around us. The apple-tree, besides, is one of the least picturesque and poetical in nature; and in this part of the country more especially, its straight, thick trunk, generally inclined to one side, and surmounted by an immense circular ic'ig of branches and leaves, has a most awkward and ungraceful effect. The ground at length sunk, almost suddenly, and the whole character of the view was changed, like the shifting of the scenes in a theatre, where there is no law of approximation or analogy to be preserved. Stretching to the right and left, a deep and beautiful valley lay before us, the opposite side of which was so steep, that the road, after traversing the bottom, was carried up to the level of the earth by means of suc- cessive terraces. In the middle, a village, sequestered in a grove of poplars, had a charming effect ; and the fields surrounding it, of different shades of green, embroidered with those gorgeous flowers — red, blue, and white — which the unpoetical farmer calls weeds, gave an extraordinary richness to the landscape. In ascending the terrace-roads on the opposite side, this agreeable scene assumed a new phasis at every turning; till, at last, line by line, the verdant fields, the poplar grove, the sequestered village, the whole valley itself, were effaced from the picture, and we found ourselves, as before, wandering in a uniform track of abundance and fertility. The level of the soil, however, was changed. We could now see so far on either side, tliat it appeared as if the view terminated THE VALLEY OF ANDELI. 5 only with the powers of vision ; the fields and apple- trees extended to the utmost verge of the far horizon, and the very vastness of the monotony redeemed it from dreariness. By and b}-, another change, similar to the former, took place, and we plunged anew into a deep and beautiful valley. This, however, appeared to be the term of our wanderings in the same direction. Instead of ascending the opposite side, we traversed the gorge towards its opening. We were in the vale of Andeli, once the grand avenue from France into Normandy, when the kings of England held sway in this famous duchy. The town of Grand Andeli, a small, antique-looking place, is situated at the inner end of this avenue, at the foot of some steep and stony hills, and about a mile from the Seine, which shuts in the entrance of the valley. It originated in a convent of nuns, built there in the year 511 by Saint Clotilde, the wife of Clovis, which became so celebrated that Bede classes it with the famous abbeys of Chelles and Faremoutier. During the first race of the Gallic kings it continued to flourish, being a favourite place of education for the high-born damsels of England ; and in 884 it still subsisted, although greatly shorn of its beams by the piratical tribes of the north, who honoured the shrine with a visit on their way to the siege of Paris. That this Saint Clotilde was the foundress of the church is certain ; for, ]jy the same token, when the workuien one day were hot, weary, and athirst, she conferred upon a well in the vicinity, for tiieir exclusive 6 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE, benefit, the taste and strength of wine. The miracle is commemorated to this day by a ceremony which takes place on the second of June. The image of the saint is carried in procession to the fountain, which bears her name, and, together with some relics of her body, ducked in the water, the cure at the same time pouring several quarts of wine into the well. This is no sooner over, than the halt, the maimed, the blind, the sick, the miserable of all sorts, ages, and sexes, rush head- long to the spot, and in an instant are floundering, topsyturvy, in the consecrated stream. Even little childi'en — born perhaps the same hour — the weak, the delicate, and the dying, are plunged into this holy fountain, whose hard and cold waters, it is said, are sometimes found, in such cases, to be an elixir of life — immortal. At the beginning of the twelfth century, Andeli seems to have been a place of considerable importance, and fortified by walls. It was then, with the rest of the Norman Vexin, in the hands of our Henry L, a cruel and politic prince, who shut up one of his brothers in a dungeon for life, mounted the throne of the other, and even cut oft' his own beautiful hair, for the sake of l)is interest. It is true that, before making this last sacrifice, his vanity held out for more than eight years. Henry was a handsome, noble-looking man ; and above all things his flowing locks were admired by the Nor- man women. When the Council of llouen, therefore, declared the sinfulness of wearing long hair, he only smiled ; when it interdicted such sinner from entering a place of worship, he only tossed his head ; M'hen it THE VALLEY OF ANDELT. / forbade prayers to be said by the faithful for tlie un- happy soul, he only combed his hair, and allowed it to flourish on. This was in the year 1096; but in 1104 his cir- cumstances appear to have been somewhat different. At the latter date, Serlon, bishop of Seez, preaching before him at Carentan, held forth with extraordinary vehemence against the exceeding sinfulness of Henry's sin. He had not, indeed, the indelicacy to allude to his crimes of ambition and blood ; but he denounced the vengeance of Heaven against those lost and infa- tuated beings who wore long hair. The king and his wliole court immediately caused their heads to be shorn to the very scalp. Perhaps the king found it his interest to be pious; jierhaps he was struck wilh late remorse for his enormity ; perhaps the hair had begun to turn grey. Neither Henry's personal heroism, nor that of his rival, Louis, was exhibited to much advantage in a meeting which took place betwixt them near Gisors, a frontier strength, similar to Andeli, in the hands of the English prince. The two armies met at the Epte, with only a narrow and tottering bridge between them, which it was almost dangerous for a heavily armed warrior to cross even without hostile purpose. They both halted, eyeing one another attentively, and each expecting the other to begin the fray, when, in the midst of the pause, a private soldier stepped out from the ranks, and cried with a loud voice — " Let the two kings fight it out themselves on the totterino- bi'ida'e : tlie affair is their own!" 8 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. It may be imagined what a poser this was, in an age when such a proposal was perfectly in rule, and when neither king nor commoner could absolutely decline it without infamy. The royal champions on this occasion did not fight, but they talked a great deal; and at last — since neither could, for shame's sake, give the order for the armies to engage — a kind of chance-medley fray was got up, in which the French had the advantage. Although the domain of Andeli was under the government of Henry, it belonged to the church of Rouen ; and one year (1119), the governor, Ascelin, not having paid his personal dues, the archbishop took possession of the lands without ceremony. Ascelin, dreading, perhaps, that the vengeance of Hemy might be turned against himself for this insult, immediately flew, in a transport of rage and fear, to the French king, and offered to deliver the place into his hands. Louis accordingly sent some men-at-arms with him, whom he introduced into the town. The next day the enemy's army was seen before the place, and the bourgeois ran in consternation to the chateau, which, however, was entered at the same time by the French men-at-arms. A fierce struggle then took place ; but the garrison were unable to contend against treachery and open force at the same time. The place was captured ; and it is a trait in the manners of the age worth notice, that tlie principal officers, having taken refuge in the church of iSotre Dame, after being driven from the chateau, were spared l)y the conrpieror, and allowed to retire unmolested, out of resjjcct to tlieir place of sanctuary. THE VALLEY OF ANDELI. 9 Louis, eager to follow up his success, appeared suddenly before Henry, who was then at Nojeon- sur-Andelle, employed, as historians tell us, in gather- ing in the harvest ; and the latter, nothing loath to meet his enemy, led his forces into the plains of Brenneville, where these two powerful kings engaged in a bloody and gallant fight, with from four to five hundred men each. Here was no " tottering; brido:e" to give them pause. The plain was as pretty a piece of terra firma as heart could wish; and, accordingly, the rival princes, who had been satisfied with bawling to one another across the Epte, came to close quarters. They fought as furiously as any soldier on the field. Henry had his casque cloven by Guillaume Crespin, the ancestor of a powerful family; but, in return, the king clove casque and skull together. The French at length gave way ; the standard was captured ; and Louis himself was in the grasp of an English soldier. "The king is taken!" shouted the victor, over- joyed at the value of his prize. " Rascal!" cried the monarch, writhing himself up against his captor, and at the same instant splitting his head with his battle-axe; " get thee to hell with thy boast ! At chess the king is never taken ! " He then darted into the neiubourin"; forest, and reached Andeli in safety. Still another trait of the times : the day after the battle, Henry returned his riAal's horse, accoutred as it had been taken on the field. We are indebted to ISl. Achille Deville for a striking and perhaps new remark, that the feudal system im- posed upon king? the necessity of appearing in person 10 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. at the head of their armies. The feudal retainers were bound to follow to the wars the banner of their suze- rain ; and this banner could not be displayed, except in cases of captivity or other remarkable exigencies, unless the suzerain was present in person. It is to be observed, that this extraordinary regime extended, without the smallest modification, from the pettiest chief up to the prince himself; and thus the latter, who was the suze- rain of the great barons holding of the crown direct, was obliged to raise his own standard in order to insure the attendance of his vassal-lords. Andeli, soon after the conflict noticed above, was given up by treaty, and in 1161 retaken and burnt by Louis. It is needless to pursue its history further ; for the construction, towards the close of the century, of the Chateau Gaillard at the mouth of the valley, and the consequent erection, by the side of the fortress, of Petit Andeli, relieved the former town altogether from the dangerous character of a frontier strength. The church has a very venerable appearance ; and the stained glass of the windows is said by connoisseurs to be remarkably fine. There is little appearance, how- ever, of opulence in the houses ; and the principal inn is one of the most primitive in this part of the country. We had the pleasure of meeting there with an eldei'ly lady, somewhat turned of fourscore, who was one of the liveliest, pleasantest, and most coquettish persons we have ever seen. Conscious that she looked her age to the last year, she was only anxious to do away with any unfavourable impi'ession the circumstance might produce; and at last she fairly junq)ed from her seat, THE VALLEY OF ANDELI. 11 and executed what was formerly called a high dance, with as much grace and agility as could possibly be exhibited by a damsel of sixteen. In the room there was also an old captain of cavalry, who told us, with a manly and beautiful pride, that, half a century before, he had left that neighbourhood, a little, wooden-shod, peasant boy. Since then he had followed the glorious standard of his country over half the world ; and was now retired, irrecoverably lame, it was true, but strong and healthy, and able to cultivate his little garden with his own hands, and lich enough to treat a friend with a bottle of caj^ital wine. The last-mentioned fact he offered to prove to us, if we would walk with liim to his cottage — asserting, as a further inducement, that the English were hraves gens, that he had known them well both in peace and war, and had always found them to be true friends^ and stern and terrible enemies. 12 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. CHAPTER II. GREAT MEN OF THE VALLEY. Andeli and its neighbourhood have given birth to many persons still more remarkable than our veteran capitaine, and the graceful and coquettish octogenaire. Among the first of these (chronologically speaking) is Henri of Andeli, a successor, it is true, of the trou- verres of Provence and Languedoc, but still a Norman poet of considerable grace and originality. In the latter part of the tenth century, he sung the wines of France in pretty nearly the same manner as Rhedi celebrated those of Italy. Tlie Italian poet has found, in our own day, a congenial translator, (though, alas, no great wine-drinker!) in the amiable and gifted Leigh Hunt ; but the verses of Henri, we fear, are destined to remain for ever in their native French. Tlie plot of the poem is simple, and to the purpose. The couriers of Philippe-Auguste, a sensible prince, who, as the minstrel tells us, " Volontiers mouillait sa pipe Du bon vin qui ctait du blauc," arc despatched throughout the kingdom in search of the best wines. The whole are described seriatim ; and, GREAT MEN OF THE VALLEY. 13 in conclusion, an Euglish priest is introduced, who ex- communicates the had hrewings, and solemnly inter- dicts the king from drinking any hut the hest. The respectahle ecclesiastic, however — zealous in good Avorks — had of course found himself under the necessity of tasting the whole of the samples, in order to avoid countenancing injustice; and the consequence was, that the world was deprived of his services for three days and three nights thereafter, during which space he remained in a profound sleep. The moral of the poem is this : — " Prenons tel vin que Dieu nous doiine;" which means, in plain English — If we cannot get the hest wine to drink, let us drink the hest wine we can get. The "Lai d'Aristote " of Henri is a love-poem; more elegant, more poetical than the former, and yet fully equal to it in real orthodox good sense. The philosopher had been foolish enough to find fault with Alexander for loving too much ; and the mistress of the conqueror determined to prove to this wonderful sage that he was a goose. Concealing her lover near the place, and within sight of the scene intended for him, she approached the window of Aristotle, and began to sing : — " Or la voi, la voi, la voi, La fontaine i sort serie, Or la voi, la voi m'amie, El glaiolai dessous I'aulnoi ; 14 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. Or la voi, la voi, la belle Blonde, or la voi."* The sage, enchanted with this siren voice, looked out of his window, and beheld with profound emotion a most beautiful girl, apparently unconscious of the gaze of naughty man, moving to and fro with all that free grace of nature which is the perfection of art. She at length passed close by the window, with her hands extended behind her back. This was too much for philosophy. Aristotle seized her by the insidious finger, and sung more sweetly than any frog : — " Ci me retient amorettes ; Douce, trop vous aim ; Ci me retient amorettes, Ou je tiens ma main." The fair vision, first with a half scream, then with a sunny smile, then with a bashful sigh, looked up in the face of the sage. He entreated her to enter, swear- ing all the perjuries usual on such occasions ; and the damsel appeared to want only an excuse to yield. She * 111 some editions, a prettier, or at least more significant song is substituted : — " Enfant j'etais et jeunette, Quand a recole on me mit; Mais la one rien m'a})j)ris IJors un seul mot d'amorette ; Et nuit et jour je repete Depuis qu'ai un bel ami." In (lie " X'oyages Pittoresques dans I'Ancienne France," the third line of the aliove is (juoted thus: — " iMais la je n'ai rien appris." GREAT MEN OF THE VALLEY. 15 was not to be won, however, with mere breath ; it was requisite that her lover should give some proof of the reality of his devotion ; and she at length ventured to mention to him, gently and sighingly, a longing which for some time past had haunted her innocent heart like a passion. This was nothing less than to mount the philosopher with saddle and bridle, and thus have the glory of riding the noblest courser in the world ! What was he to do ? A sage to turn himself into a beast ! That mouth which had uttered so many golden sentences, to champ rusty iron ! And yet how sweet a burden ! Could it be dishonourable even for a back like his to carry such baggage ? Aristotle looked, hesitated, melted ; then sprang out of the window like a horse overleaping a five-bar gate. In an instant he was on all-fours, saddled, bridled, and mounted ; and, in another instant, compelled by whip and spur, he was scouring through the garden, — Alexander, (who had emerged from his hiding-place), laughing ready to die; and the malicious damsel skirling in his ear, •' Ainsi va qui li mors mbne Pucelle plus blanche que laine ; Maitre ^Nlusars me soutient. Ainsi va qui a mors mcne, Et ainsi qui le raaintient." Love being thus revenged, and the blushing and pant- ing philosopher acknowledging its jiower, the poem concludes with a sentiment which, even in the days of Aristotle, might have been ranked as a truism : — " Qu'amour vaine tout et tout vaincra Tant com' 11 siccles durera." 16 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. In one of the huts of a hamlet near Andeli, there was born, on the fifteenth of June, 1593, a child who received the baptismal name of Nicolas. This child was accustomed to look into the workshop of a painter called Varin, who lived in the neighbourhood ; and, by degrees, the love of painting possessed itself of his whole heart. This was a bad business for one in his station ; but young Nicolas would paint. When he grew a great lad, he went to Paris, that he might have the pleasure of looking at better pictures than those of his friend Varin ; and there he saw some engravings from Raphael, which he copied with much delight and in- finite exactness. A gentleman from the provinces, an admirer of the arts, took great notice of the friendless youth, encou- raging him to go on in his vocation ; and when he returned to his home in Poitou, he carried the young painter with him. But this gentleman's mother knew nothing about the fine arts, and wondered how people could think of eating who could do nothing but paint. Nicolas was hurt by her manner : he bade his friend adieu ; and turned his face again towards Paris. He had no money to pay his way, but he had now learned to paint. He could paint any thing. He painted saints, as he went along, for a capuchin church, and Bacchantes for a chateau ; and so he wrought his way to Paris. But his hopes had fallen : he felt within him tlic same stirrings of genius as heretofore ; but he had seen the world, and found that there was no place for him. His heart grew sick — his health declined — and he went back to Andeli. GREAT MEN OF THE VALLEY. 17 There was one great, absorbing idea, that filled the dreams of his sick-bed. This Avas Rome. Every lin- gering desire of his mind fastened upon this " city of the soul," with all the fondness and intensity of youthful love. If he could but see Rome ! It was impossible to die without seeing; Rome! The thought was worth the whole pharmacopoeia of the faculty, lie got better ; he set out for Rome : but neither industry nor genius could carry him beyond Florence. He returned to Paris, and there met with a patron who encouraged him once more to take the journey to Italy. In the thirtieth year of his age, and the sixteen hundred and twenty-fourth of the era, he arrived at Rome. Here Isicolas lived for a long time, miserably poor, but supremely happy ; starving his body, and ban- queting his mind. He fell in with a sculptor called Frangois Flamand, whose circumstances were similar to his own, and these two lived and laboui'ed in a corner together, surrounded by the dreams and monu- ments of genius, and stealing out, every now and then, to sell their woi'ks for any pittance that ignorance Avould bid or avarice afford. But the pictures of ?sieolas at leno-th beu'an to attract attention ; and the humble artist was drawn from his solitude. This change of fortune went on ; for although poverty or envy may retard the rise of genius for a time, when once risen, any attempt to repress it, however powerful, is like opposing a tempest with a fan. Every tongue was now busy with the new painter's name ; every eye was fixed upon his face, or his works ; all Rome was shaken with his fame. c 18 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. This was soon told at Paris ; and he who, on former occasions, had travelled thither a lonely, friendless, half-starving youth, was led to the capital of France in triumph, and overwhelmed by Cardinal Richelieu and the king with honours and distinctions. After the minister's death he returned to Rome, and died there in the seventy-first year of his age, leaving the illus- trious name of Nicolas Poussin a rich and gloi'ious legacy to his country. We remember reading, when a boy, an immense folio romance, called " Pharamond, or the History of France ;" and when we saw, at Andeli, the place where the author lived in retirement, it had the air, to us, of classic ground. Gautier de Costes, the lord of Calprenede, lies buried beneath his own abundance. Would it be worth while for any inhabitant of Grub Street (we beg pardon, of Milton Street*), to abridge Silvandre, or Cassandre, or Cleopatre, or Pharamond, and thus afford us a specimen of the fictions which delighted our great gi'andames of the seventeenth cen- tury ? The style of Calprenede, Madame Sevigne allows, is " maudit" and " detestable" — " et cependantje ne laisse pas de m'y prendre comme ii de la glu. La beaute des sentiinens, la violence des passions, la gran- deur des cvcncmens, et le succes miraculeux de leurs redoutables cpces, tout cela m'entraine comme une petite fille." Calprenede died at Andeli in 1G63 ; and i^ucli was his reputation, that the news of his death no * Tlie bast! wrotcLes who have dared to transino^rifii, in tliis manner, tlie venerable iiunie of Grub Street, deserve to be nailed l)y their lony ears to one of its uarrets. GREAT MEN OF THE VALLEY. 19 sooner reached Paris, than an eminent bookseller took post-horses and rushed down to the Vexin to collect his manuscripts. Andeli had also the honour of receiving the last sighs of the Pantagruel of llabelais — Antoine de Bour- bon, king of Navarre, who was mortally wounded, M'hile little thinking about the matter, at the siege of Rouen. This prince seemed to be born for the sole purpose of making the world laugh. The manner of his death was as absurd as can well be imagined, and it is impossible to read his epitaph without a smile. Unfortunately, the verses are a little too coarse for that portion of our readers whose smiles we are the most ambitious of obtainino;. Leaving Grand Andeli, we walked down to the entrance of the valley, which is closed by the town of Petit Andeli and the Seine. This little place is only remarkable by its situation, which we shall notice pre- sently, and by an hospital, attended by the Sisters of Charity, which is perhaps the largest and finest that any town of its size in Europe can boast. It was founded in the latter part of the last century, by the Uuke de Penthievre, who endowed it with a yearly lental of twelve thousand francs, which it still enjoys. About the period of this foundation, a native of Petit Andeli began to be famous in the neighbourhood for contriving spring-guns, by means of which such rats as thought proper had an opportunity of killing themselves unawares. He was the son of very indigent parents, and, liaving nothing better to do, had spun cotton with them from his childhood. At last he uot 20 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. married to a girl as pennyless as himself, and not very good-looking, nor very witty — for what can a poor devil expect ? And then a chikl came popping in upon him every year, till his brain whirled round at such a rate, that all the lurking ideas were stirred up from the bottom, and came dancing to the surface. It was then he began to make the rats demolish themselves ; then he built a carriage which could go alone without horses ; and then he contrived a machine to make the water of the Seine play upon the naked rocks two hundred feet above the level of the town. All was imavailing. The stupid Andelians did not think the rats worth powder and shot ; the self-moving vehicle was of no use in their agricultural affairs ; and as for the rocks, they were watered well enough with the rain of heaven. Blanchard — for that was the poor man's name — was in despair; when just then he heard that Mont- golfier had made public his invention of the balloon at Paris. This was a terrible blow to our self-taught con- triver ; for he had long ago hit upon the idea of this aerial vessel himself, and only delayed announcing it to the world till he should fall upon some means of navigating his balloon through the air. What was the origin of Blanchard's idea, it is hai'd to say. As for Montgolfier, he was one day boiling his own coffee, and chancing to cover the pot, when the liquid was in a state of ebullition, with a conical piece of paper, the hollow lid was carried up, and supported in the air, )jy the force of the steam. This was the simple fact from which his system proceeded. lie GREAT AIEX OF THE VALLEY. 2] immediately constructed a car of painted cloth, above which he attached an immense globe of oiled taffeta, connnunicating with a chafing dish below the car. After a few experiments, he seated himself in the car, with a courage which was nothing less than sublime, and then set fire to the substance in the chafing-dish. As the vapour ascended into the globe of taffeta, it became gradually distended, and at length, rising from the earth, the whole machine soared up into the clouds. Blanchard's mortification at the success of his rival was somewhat alleviated by the consideration, that this success was only of a partial nature. Montgolfier, it was true, had ascended into the air ; but any body could do that. The cjuestion Avas, how^ to navigate the balloon like a ship? This idea, certain authors tell us, was the consequence of his want of education, which prcA'ented him from recognising the difference in the nature of the two elements of air and water. For our part, we humbly opine, that the analogy between these two elements is much more strict than such writers suppose. The difference, as regards balloons, does not lie in the circumstance of currents and counter- cur- rents being peculiar to air; for, in fact, they are com- mon, in a greater or less degree, to both ; but it consists in the ship being propelled on the surface of the sea, while the air-vessel is liable to the varying tides of the whole body of the atmos[)here. Whether the secret of air-navigation Avill ever be discovered, or whether there be such a secret at all, Ave cannot say; but no person, it is to be presumed, Avho has lived in the nineteenth 22 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. century will venture to say that any thirif) is im- possible. Blanchard, however, contrived to get to Paris with his vaisseau volant, and made as much clamour as he could about his right to the invention. The thing was new in those days, and surrounded with a mystery similar to that which once enveloped the philosopher's stone and the elixir vitce. All the world, therefore, listened to him ; and when he appointed a day in tlie month of November 1783 for his first ascent, all the world ran eagerly to gaze on the spectacle. Every thing was ready ; the public expectation was at its height, when, suddenly, a youth of fourteen or fifteen years of age, a pupil of the military school, rushed through the crowd, and leaped into the car. The haste of the intruder was fatal to the experi- ment ; for he broke one of the wings by means of which the balloon was to have been navioated, and the expedition was at an end. The name of this young enthusiast was Napoleon Buonaparte. His subsequent attempts to soar were more successful ; but his fate was very different from that of the aeronaut. Blanchard ascended seventy times, and died victorious — ''the idol," as an awkward fool of a poet has said, " and Archimedes of the French." Napoleon took one High t too many, and fell — to rise no more ! Blanchard repaired his vuisseau volant, and, three months afterwards, ascended from the Champ de Mars, in the midst of an immense concourse of spectatoi'S. Soon ai'ter, he crossed the Channel in his balloon, and arrived in England. He then recrossed it, and i-eturned GREAT MEN OF THE VALLEY. 23 safely to France. This was the merit of his fortune, and of the winds, for he never could find out how to direct his aerial vessel. Nevertheless, he was a brave and illustrious man ; riches and honours were showered upon him wherever he went ; and when, at last, the poor cotton-twister • — ■ the despised rat-trapper — the famished genius — (for this is the climax of ridicule and contempt!) — returned to his native place, the bells were rung, and he was led in triumphant procession through the streets. Great God, what a moment was that! What insignificant creatures must the princes of the earth have appeared that day in the eyes of Blanchard ! 24 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. CHAPTER III. CASTLE INSOLENT. The Norman conquest of England had the effect of placing France in a very extraordinary and critical position. The latter country, in fact, was at one time almost surrounded, except on the Ilhineward side, by the dependencies of the new power ; while Normandy, divided only by a narrow channel from the seat of empire, served as a point d'appui for the continental enemies of France. Normandy was the key to the English possessions on the mainland of Europe ; it was therefore an object of intense interest to the French kings ; and, more especially, its frontier line towards Fi-ance was watched with all the feverish pertinacity of terror, jealousy, and inextinguishable hate. In this state of affairs it is difficult to imagine how so politic a prince as Philippe-Auguste allowed himself to give up, as the dowry of his sister Alix, whom he married to Richard Coeur de Lion, the strong fortress of Gisors, a place which seemed intended, both by nature and art, for one of the most important bar- riers of Normandy. At any rate, he was not slow in redeeming his false step. No sooner did the intelli- gence; reach him that " the Lion was chained," than he mustered an army, and marched direct upon Gisors. CASTLE INSOLENT. 25 Mere his policy stood him in more stead than his arms. He gained the governor, and entered the redoubted fortress without striking a blow. This barrier once cleared, all Normandy seemed on the point of falling into his power ; but the gallant Earl of Leicester threw himself into Rouen, and made such a determined stand, that the French, setting fire to their machines of war, retired to seek an easier conquest. In the meantime a new piece of intelligence came, like a thunderbolt, upon Philippe-Auguste and his ally, John Sans-Terre, the unworthy brother of Richard — the Lion had broken his chain. John Sans-Terre was at Evreux when the warning reached him from the King of France, to the effect, as an old chi'onicle relates, vt ipai s'lhl caveat, quia diabolus jam solutus erat, " that he must take care of himself, for the devil was loose." If we are to believe Guillaume-le-Breton, the caitiff no sooner received this intimation than he invited the French officers of the garrison to dinner, and cut their throats, in order to endeavour to appease his brother with the blood-offer- ing I Both Richard and Philippe were horror-struck ; and thev took instant veno-tance, in the manner of kings, which is to say, on the innocent. The latter burnt down the town which had been the scene of the frightfid tragedy : and the former, while lie pardoned the murderer, skinned his seneschal alive. The struggle now commenced in earnest. There is no part of the bloody annals of the ^Middle Ages more filled with atrocities and horrors of all kinds than this ; and as the cause is intimately connected, as 26 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. will presently be seen, with our immediate subject, the famous valley of Andeli, and, besides, very little, if at all, noticed in this eifect by historians, we shall stop for an instant to explain it. Previous to the epoch of which we treat, the national armies consisted exclusively of the various bands which followed their suzerain banner to the wars. This force was not required, by the feudal compact, to serve for more than a very short period, generally forty days ; and it sometimes happened that the troops dis- banded suddenly the moment this term of service expired, and left the king to finish his conquests with his own sword. This is the true reason why we find the history of so long a period presenting a chaos of struggles ending in nothing ; and it was not till the twelfth century that the princes devised an expedient for releasing themselves, at least in some measure, from so awkward and dependent a situation. This expedient was the obvious one of getting men to fight for hire; and the solidati, soudarts, soldats, soldiers, were simply persons who were soldts or sou- doyes — paid. As yet, however, these bravos were by no means numerous, and their calling was far from being reputable.* At the end of the war they returned into the body of the people, without profession, without resources, without character. The consequence was, * Somo nations were too liigli-spirited to intrust tlie sacred tliity of cutting- fliroats to Tuorcenary liands. Xearly four centuries after the date in the text, the l)ar(' mention of such a tiling hy INIarv of Guise set the wliiih' of tlie Scottish harons in a tuimdt. CASTLE INSOLENT. 27 that they betook themselves, almost of necessity, to their original and only trade of blood, and became, in the words of an excomunication fulminated against them and their protectors in 1179, by the third council of Latran, such terrific vagabonds '' ut nee ecclesiis nee monasteriis deferant, nee viduis ac pupillis, non pueris aut senibus, non cuilibet parcant aitati aut sexui, sed more paganorum omnia perdant et vastant." These wi'etches were at length hunted like wolves by the very princes who had made them what they were — and who were always ready, on the occasion of a new war, to open their ranks to them again. The cause, then, of the atrocities which disgraced the wars of Philippe -Auguste and Coeur de Lion is apparent. Tlie former was the first French prince who employed mercenary troops ; and the latter, after in vain attempting — perhaps from the more generous leaning in his nature — to extend the term of feudal service from forty days to a year, had recourse to the same unhappy expedient. The desperadoes thus admitted into the body of the army M'ere not only cruel themselves, but the cause of cruelty in others — they polluted the whole mass ; and the character of the very chiefs themselves received, in all probability, some tinge of the contami- nation. This system, it may be remarked in passing, con- tributed, in process of time, perhaps as much as any thing else, to the dissolution of the feudal regime. The whole army was at length composed of mercenaries ; and these men, partaking in the general movement of civilisation, became gradually more human. A factitious 28 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. honour was industriously spread over the profession of arms, and this, by degrees became a real one ; till, in our own day, we find the name of military officers and gentlemen nearly synonymous, and the soldier retaining little more than his original appellation to remind us that he is a hired trafficker in blood. It happened, in the midst of this sanguinary war, that the English Lion was one da_y pacing to and fro on the summit of a ridge of rock which guards, like a tower, tlie mouth of the valley of Andeli on the south- east. The valley, as we have said, is shut in by the Seine, which liere makes such a sweep as to form a perfect peninsula, known by the name of tlie Presqu'ile de Bernieres. Looking upwards from the peninsula, the tower-like rock on your right hand is not greatly different, except by its immense height, from several others on the left; in fact, the valley looks like a sudden opening in the ground made by an earthquake. The rock, however, on which Richard stood is a giant compared to its comrades. It is three hundred feet above the level of the Seine, six hundred feet long, and two hundred broad. In many places it is almost per- pendicular; in others indented with deep gorges; and behind, where alone it is accessilde without extreme difficulty, it is connected with the hills which form the sides of the valley only by a narrow tongue of land. From the summit of this rock Richard witnessed a conflict between the French and several thousand Welshmen whom he had brought with him from Eng- land, which took place in the valley below. Tlic latter were beaten, and l)etween two and tliree thousand slain. CASTLE INSOLENT. 29 The monarch, wild with fury, instantly commanded tlii'ee jDrisoners to be brought to him, and, seizing them by the throat with his own hands, whirled them over the precipice. Tlie miserable wretches, bounding fi'om point to point of the jagged rock, reached the bottom mangled out of the human fonn — " Ossibus et nervis toto cum corpore fractis." The reprisals of Philippe were not less terrible ; but at length the excess of the horror alarmed the very actors themselves. All Christendom cried shame ; Pope Celestine interceded and commanded; and, finally, on the field of Issoudun in Berry, when the two armies met for the wholesale slaughter promised by a general enjiaiiement, the scora'ed monarchs laid down their swords by mutual consent. Hitherto success had been pretty equally divided ; but when it came to an affair of pai'ch- ment, the superior tact of Philippe-Auguste was not slow in gaining the mastery. By the treaty of peace, Richard found himself deprived of Gisors and the Xor- man Vexin, while another article forbade him to fortify Andeli. The highway was therefore open from France into the heart of his dominions; and in any future dis- pute, Philippe, by means of a forced march, might appear, with the suddenness of an apparition, before the gates of Rouen. Richard now remembered the rock of Andeli — its connnand of the navigation of the Seine — its all-im- portant situation on the frontiers of Xormandy — its natural form pointing it out as the seat of a fortress. Even the dreadful deed he had himself performed, 30 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. unworthy alike of a warrior and a man, perhaps rivetted his thoughts yet more closely upon the spot. The scent of blood was still in the nostrils of the Lion- King ! " Andellacum non j)otc7'it ivfortiari!" So said the article. ^' Andeli shall be fortified!" So said, and swore, the impetuous prince. What cared he whether he or his rival were the first to break the treaty ? In reality it was nothing more than a question of priority ; for broken it would be by one of them — the war be- tween France and Normandy being no affair of politics and tactics, but a war to the knife. Andeli, indeed, was the property of the Archbishop of Rouen ; but this was a frivolous objection. Let the churchman growl, he could not bite ; and if he could, Richard of the lion- heart feared not his teeth. After this brief self-consultation, wall upon wall, fortification upon fortification, began to rise upon the rock of Andeli with the suddenness of magic. The first storm directed against the darine; builder came from the church. The archbishop remonstrated, begged, menaced, but nil in vain : at length the thunder burst — Normandy was put under interdict. Tliis was far from being an imaginary revenge. When the pious went into the temples, they found them deserted, except by devotees like themselves, clamorous for the bread of life, which was denied to their spiritual Inmger. They saw the images of the saints covered with veils, which concealed salvation from their eyes. Tlie statues of the blessed mother of God were laid ])rone u|)on tlie earth, sui-roundcd by a hedge of thorns CASTLE INSOLENT. 31 impassable even by the soul of the excommunicated. The weight of sin lay blackening and burning upon the heart, for no priest would receive confession. There was neither marrying nor giving in marriage. The dying, unanointed, unaneled, passed away into outer darkness. The dead, without a coffin, without a grave, without a knell, without a prayer, lay rotting in the streets and public places of the towns. The bodies were forbidden to be buried, either on, or under, the earth ; either in plaster, in wood, or in stone. They were expressly denied a resting-place even on the trees of the cemetery. INIatthew Paris, avIio affords a portion of this picture, says that Richard himself was in consternation. He sent ambassadors to Rome, and the cause was pleaded before the pope, which at length both parties gained. The king was permitted to fortify his own territories as he pleased ; and the archbishop received in compen- sation several towns and estates many times the value of Andeli. Richard, in the meantime, had shewn the same zeal in building as in pleading, and during the whole negotiation he did not relax his labours in the smallest degree. He superintended the work in per- son, according to William of Newbridge, urging and encouraging the men, and seeming to take an ex- treme pleasure in watching their progress. Nothing- could stop his kingly ardour, his regia anhnositas, as the Chronicle of Normandy calls it, neither the remon- strances of man, nor the thunders of the church, nor tlie threatenings even of heaven itself. One day a shower of 32 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. blood, or, according to another authority, a torrent of blood (phiit sa/ifjvis tindathn) descended upon him and his workmen ; but Coeur de Lion was unmoved. " If an angel of God," says William of Newbridge, " had come down to j^ersuade him to desist, he would have cursed him to his face." The result of this enthusiasm was the production of one of the most extraordinary specimens of military architecture in Europe ; for the folloAving brief descrip- tion of which we are in hopes of receiving the thanks of some of our readers. Our own inspection, although sufficiently minute, would perhaps have been very insuf- ficient for this purpose, so complete is the ruin of the fortress ; but we are happily assisted by the researches of a much better observer, M. Achille Deville, whose " Histoire du Chateau Gaillard" we look upon as one of the finest pieces of local history extant. Any one who glances, in the meantime, at the vignette at the commencement of this volume, repi'esenting the present aspect of the rock, with the church-spire of Petit- Andeli beyond, will be able to form a good idea of at least a portion of the localities. Richard commenced his operations by erecting an octagonal fort on an island of the Seine opposite the town. This fort was flanked by towers, and protected by a ditcli and a lofty palisade. The walls are still entire, except at the top, and traces of the ditch are still to be seen. He then carried a wooden bridge across from both sides ; thus connecting the island with the town and the great peninsula of the Seine before it. Tiie town of Petit-Andeii, of wliich pei'liaps only the CASTLE INSOLENT. 'S3 rudiments then existed, now began to rise. It was protected by the river and fortified island before, by a lake behind, and at either side by a deep stream issuing from the lake, and discharging itself into the river. The lake has now disappeared, either from natural causes, or dried up by the ingenuity of man. It lay between the two towns of Grand and Petit Andeli ; and the road which runs along- the meadow once filled by its waters is still called the CJiausste. Besides deepening the streams, which thus answered the pur- pose of ditches, Richard defended the town with a wall flanked with towers of wood and stone, furnished with parapets and loop-holes. He then continued the line of fortifications on the mountain-rock. The rock, as we have said, was connected with the hills beyond only by a narrow tongue of land. Had it ]jeen possible to destroy this connexion, the fortress, perhaps, would have been impregnable till the inven- tion of cannon ; but Richard, unable to remove the only avenue existing, contented himself with deepening and rendering more frightful tlie gulfs which every wliere else isolated the rock from the rest of the earth. He then commenced his fortifications at the avenue. The avant-corps was of a triangular form, the angles terminating in strong and lofty towers, and the sides defended by smaller towers. This inclosure Avas a hun- di'ed and forty feet long, and a hundred feet at the base of the triangle. The apex pointed to the avenue ; and the tower at the extremity, being the head and fi'ont of the fortress, was constructed with extraordinarv D 34 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE, care. The courtine walls,* as well as those of the towers, were from ten to fourteen feet thick. The whole triangle was surrounded by a ditch thirty feet wide at the bottom, dug in the solid rock. The coun- terscarp (or side of the ditch opposite the rampart) was perpendicular ; but on the other side the rock sloped backward, and thus the fortress appeared rising from a depth of at least fifty feet in an attitude of ex- traordinary power and solidity, f Opposite the base of the triangle, a rampart nearly corresponding with it in appearance, being strength- ened at the angles with two large towers, commenced the second inclosure, which embraced the whole of the rest of the rock. Within this line John Sans-Terre afterwards built a strong edifice, containing a chapel and magazines , and here also was the well of the fortress, descending, it is said, to the level of the Seine. Then came a ditch, dug in the living rock, nearly twenty feet wide ; and within this, crowning the crest of the cliff, the ramparts of the citadel, resembling a multitude of round towers, with their segments con- nected together by a courtine wall of about two feet. This rampart was defended at the extreme point of the cliff by a tower and two bastions; and, being carried along the edge of the precipice, had no need of other defence. Within the inclosure was the dwellino-house * The walls runnin<^ from tower to tower. f The (litcli is still forty feet deep in one place, notwithstanding the fragments ofthc walls, which are lieajicd upon one anotlier at tlie bottom. CASTLE INSOLENT. 35 of the governor, communicating with the external world by a staircase cut through the rock from its sum- mit to its base. Here also the ruins of a series of crypts, or subterranean vaults, astonish the traveller. They follow the line of the rampart for about eighty feet, and Avere entered from the ditch of the citadel. The enormous pillars which support their vaulted roofs are fashioned with a care that is truly extraordi- nary ; and their dark and narrow passages — never yet explored — excite the imagination to such a pitch that it willingly lends itself to the wildest traditions of the place. But there was still another fortification — the Donjon Tower. This massive fort, the last retreat of the garrison, raised its walls (from twelve to twenty feet thick) on the loftiest pinnacle of the rock w'ithin the citadel, in two, or perhaps three stages. This was the heart of the mystery — the single spot round which so many defences of nature and art had been thrown ; and it was in all probability standing on its ramparts, that the lion-hearted king uttered the excla- mation of pride and delight — " Qu'elle est belle ma iille d'un an !" To obtain even a faint idea of this remarkable place, it is necessary to pursue laboriously the traces of vanished towers, and even to conjecture, by ana- logy, the course of walls, the ruins of which are now entirely covered by the successive deposits of the soil. Standing on the loftier hill behind, the scene of min- gled grandeur and desolation is inconceivably line. It is from this point that Turner has taken his view. 36 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. The principal portion of the ruins in front consists of the walls of the citadel ; and, within this circle, those of the donjon tower. On the right below is the town of Petit Andeli, and the course of the Seine ; while on the left a similar sweep of the river assists in form- ing the peninsula of Bernieres. The chateau was known at first merely by the name of the Rock of Andeli ; although Richard and his brother, John Sans-Terre, sometimes called it in their charters, the New Chateau of the Rock, and the Beautiful Chateau of the Rock. Richard, how- ever, had unwittingly given it a name which was destined to cling to it, and, in the course of time, to render the others obsolete. The first public deed in which it is mentioned as the Chateau Gaillard, M. De- ville imagines to be one proceeding from Saint Louis, in 1270: but this cognomen, pertinaciously adhered to by the people, had long been recorded by the histo- rians contemporary with the founder. The word had been caught from one of the exulting exclamations of Coeur de Lion as he contemplated the fierce, proud, daring beauty of his " daughter of a year:" '■' C'est un chateau gaillard!" cried he; and the name, re- peated from soldier to soldiei', from serf to serf, took inextricable hold of their memory. There is no corre- sponding word in English to this (" quod sonat in Gal- lico," as William the Breton tells us, '■^ petulcntiain'), but we come, perhaps, as near the meaning as may be, in naming the fortress, in our own language. Castle Insolent. THE SIEGE. 37 CHAPTER IV. THE SIEGE. The erection of the Chateau Gaillard, in violation of the treaty of peace, was of course the occasion of a new war ; but Philippe-Auguste, contenting himself Avith stooping at meanei' prey, took good care to keep far aloof from Castle Insolent. During the life of Richard, his '' daughter of a year" never opened her gates to French soldiers, except when they were loaded with fetters ; hut no sooner was the Lion of England chained once more, and for ever, by the hand of death, than the scene changed. "God hath visited his people of France!" cries the chaplain of Philippe, in a transport of joy, — " King- Richard is dead !" " Solvitur in mortem rex invictissimus!" says the same author, of his dead enemy. " Statim eo mortuo," writes William the Breton, unconscious of the burning satire, "■ Philippus Magna- nimus capit Eburovicum" : " Richard dead- — ^Philippe the Magnanimous immediately takes Evreux !" Philippe the Magnanimous soon after marched upon the Chateau Gaillard ; and his army was seen fi"om the turrets covering the peninsula of Bernieres. John Sans-Terre, in the meantime, whose hand was more apt 38 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. at the use of the dagger than of the sword, not daring to shew himself in a fair field of war, left the result to fortune. The deserted garrison, therefore, had only their own resources to look to ; while the most power- ful army in Christendom was before their walls, led on in person by the most skilful stratagist of his age. Roger de Lacy, however, was the governor — the mag- iianitmis, tlie heUlcosus, the audacissimus, the armipo- tens, as he is called by contemporary historians ; his comrades were a chosen band of the bravest knights of the time ; and, confident in their own valour, and in the prestige which encompassed the towers of their lion-king, they saw, " With the stern joy which warriors feel, In foemen worthy of their steel," the standards of the French army floating proudly over the plain below. Philippe commenced operations by throwing a bridge of boats across the river, over which the greater part of his forces passed to the right bank, and pitched their tents under the Avails of Petit Andeli. The rest, together with the machines of war, remained on the other side, in a camp defended by entrench- ments ; and it was owing, soon after, to these wise arrangements, as much as to good fortune, that the whole army was not cut off at a blow. John Sans-Tcrre, waking from his lethargy, sent a strong force, under the Earl of Pembroke, to take advanlitgc of tlie disunited state of the French army. They were to attack the peninsular camp l)y land ; THE SIEGE. 39 while a numerous fleet, carrying upwards of three thousand men, commanded by the pirate Alanus, bore down upon the beleaguered island for the purpose of throwing in supplies. The approaches of Pembroke were to be made as stealthily as possible, and in the middle of the night ; and he was strictly forbidden to commence the attack till the signal was given of the arrival of the fleet. The Eno'lish general was so far successful. He reached the confines of the enemy's camp without dis- covery ; the night was intensely dark, and the autum- nal wind, blowing in fitful gusts towards him, conveyed to his ear the sounds of the city of war, without carrying- back the alarm in return. On the right, the towers of the Chateau Gaillard were hardly distinguishable from the black and heavy sky behind ; before, a few flashing- lights, spotting the gloom, pointed out the enemy's en- trenchments, the beleaguered island, and the course of the Seine, with the camp beyond, spread under the Avails of Petit Andeli. Between the entrenchments and the English forces some confused and heterogeneous sounds denoted the lair of that liytBua-crowd, wlio follow the footsteps of war to gorge upon the leavings of its prey. Pembroke and his comrades had sufficient time to mark the details of this shadoAvy scene. Hour after hour passed away, and no signal from the river told of the arrival of their friends. The soldiers grew impa- tient ; and more especially three companies among them of those terrible mercenaries whose ti'ade was blood, could not be pei'suaded to foi'sake the scent of the 40 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. quarry. It was at last determined to wait no longer. Every trumpet in the host brayed forth its ominous voice at the same instant ; a thousand Avar-cries rose simultaneously upon the night, and the English rushed, amidst the din, into the crowd of wretches sleeping like dogs before the entrenchments of the camp. The terrific noise that ensued of shrieks, curses, groans, and shouts, mingling with the censeless clang of the trumpet, struck the French with such astonishment and dismay, that, without thinking of defence, they fled in a body to the bridge of boats — which gave way under the tumultuous mass. This was the very con- summation of the enemy's plan, and yet the enterprise failed. The entrenchments of the camp, undefended though they were, were not easily surmounted in the midst of such confusion, and in utter darkness. The English, therefore, reached the flying foe only individually, or in small detached parties ; the time lost by them was gained by the French; thousands of torches blazed up into the night, and seemed tens of thousands reflected in the dark mirror of the Seine. The nature and ex- tent of the danger was thus discovered ; the fugitives, ashamed of their terrors, turned to bay; while the bridge being promptly repaired, battalion after battalion pressed across the river to their support in a continuous flood. The English, in fine, were driven back, put to flight, and followed with great slaughter. The defeat of the fleet, which arrived soon after, was as signal, and the scene still more picturesque ; and, in consequence, the ludeous Latin verses of the THE SIEGE. 41 author of the '' Philippidos" rise, in the description, almost to poetry. Alain, detained by accidental cir- cumstances, Avas yet unwilling' to abandon the enter- prise ; uncertain as he was of the proceedings and fate of the land forces. He pressed steadily on ; and even when, on nearer approach, he saw both banks of the river lined with enemies, and the bridge and its towers crowded with crossbow-men and engineers, he deter- mined to attempt to execute his mission. Keeping the middle of the stream, and thus in some measure safe from the deadly force of the stones and arrows showered upon him from either bank, he ad- vanced to the bridge, and his two largest vessels grap- pled with the foundation-boats with singular audacity, while the rest crowded round to support them. Some of his comrades climbed up, and engaged their enemies swoi-d in hand ; others coolly set to work with the hatchet, hewing in pieces the ropes which connected the boats, and the cables which moored them ; and, in the meantime, sustaining a friglitful shower of heavy stones, logs of wood, masses of iron, globes of fire, and boihng oil and pitch. The gallant Anglo-Normans, notwithstanding their terrific reception, continued to keep hold of the l)ridge, which promised speedily to yield to their efforts : but, at length, the fall of an enor- mous log of oak upon the two leading vessels detached their fastenings ; when the rest of the fleet, seeing them drift, took to their oars without waiting for another look, and, in an instant, the whole cortege was seen tundjiinii' and whirliu"; down the I'iver. It nuiv be conceived that the liari'ison of the little 42 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. fortified island witnessed these events with profound interest. Their own time of trial was now come. The French troops on the bridge, and more particularly on its wooden towers, opened upon them so brisk a fire of stones, arrows, and other machines of war, that the place would, perhaps, have been taken at once, but for a strong palisade which ran round the walls and in- terrupted the missiles in their flight. This palisade, however, was set fire to by a daring swimmer ; the flames caught the wooden work of the fort itself, and the defenders, after an attempt to escape, were under the necessity of surrendering. The fire used by the swimmer was conveyed in pots, covered in such a man- ner as to be impervious to the water. This fire was simply braise ardeiite, according to the translation of Guillaume Guiart, " Cil mist brese ardent toute pure.'' M. Deville cannot easily conceive how '' live coal," could be carried for ten or fifteen minutes deprived of the air ; but the substance, in our opinion, was turf, or perhaps wood, and either of them would remain a-light for that space of time if covered up with its ashes, and could then be easily blown into flame by the breath. Philippe was now in full possession of the river ; and the fears of tlie inhabitants of Petit Andeli soon delivered the town into his hands. They were seized, it seems, with a panic, on witnessing from their ram- l);irts the fall of tlio island-fortress ; and men, women, anil cliilih'cii, lo the nuinbor of sixteen or seventeen THE SIEGE. 43 hundred, fled up the steep to the Chateau Gaillard. They were received without scruple by the governor; and Philippe, astonished, no doubt, at the easiness of his conquest, quartered in the deserted town his mercenary troops, and called in from the neighbourhood a new population, willing to risk something for free houses and strong walls. Still he seemed loath to commence the siege of the Chateau Gaillard. Tall, grim, and threatening, it appeared to look down upon him from its inaccessible rock with a frown of scorn and defiance. Philippe gazed and pondered ; but though his eye kindled with wistfulness, his sword remained in the scabbard. He at length suddenly withdrew the greater part of his troops, to make easier conquests in the neighbourhood ; and, having effected these, he returned as suddenly to gaze again upon the Chateau Gaillard. During; his brief absence, the chivalrous game had been going on which, in those days, made the space between a beleaguered castle and the enemy's line a field of honour and adventure. The French knights remaining in Petit Andeli could not scale the precipice to meet their antagonists in the stern lists of war ; and, besides, there was no room upon the rock for a formal combat: the English, therefore, clambered down, day after day, to measure swords in the plain ; and those who returned alive had no reason to complain of the lack either of courtesy or courage on the part of their hosts. The return of Philippe put an end to this species of amusement, so characteristic of the time ; and the cautious })rince, after much deliberation and many 44 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. circuits of observation round the fortress, at length fixed upon his plan of attack. He resolved to take the place neither by stratagem, nor escalade, nor open storm — but by hunger. He began by draM^ing lines of circumvallation and countervallation round the fortress. A double ditch was dug in the mountain behind, and descended on one side to the Seine, and on the other to the lake of Petit Andeli. The lines were strengthened by fourteen wooden forts, garrisoned by the elite of his soldiers ; while the rest of the army, extending from fort to fort, established themselves permanently on the spot, by building above their heads such rude dwellings as might be formed by branches of trees, turf, and thatch. The winter then set in ; and Philippe-Auguste returned home, leaving his army thus encamped in blockade round the walls of the castle. It was not without some inquietude that the gover- nor, Roger de Lacy, saw from his ramparts the opera- tions of the French. He now repented having received from Petit Andeli so many useless mouths, to devour the provisions which, soon or late, must come to an end ; and, after the necessary calculations, he selected five hundred of both sexes, the oldest and feeblest, and sent them out of the gates. Nor did he reckon falsely on the courtesy or humanity of the French ; for they permitted the helpless wretches to pass their lines un- molested. A second time, in renewed fears at the rapid consumption of his stores, he sent out the same number, and the ranks of the enemy once more opened at their approach. Upwards of four hundred of tlie inhabitants THE SIEGE. 45 of Petit Andeli still remained — men, women, and little children ; and the governor, having ascertained that if delivered from the burden of their support, the fortress could stand a blockade of twelve months, turned them all out at once. In the meantime, however, an order had been received from Philippe, bitterly reproaching his gene- rals with their ill-timed humanity, and commanding that, for the future, neither man, woman, nor child, should be permitted to pass the line. The outcasts of the castle, therefore, who ran gaily towards the enemy's ranks — the youno- children screamine; with deli""ht at having escaped from prison, and the eyes of the women glistening as they looked towards the chimneys of their homes in the valley below — were received with a shower of arrows. Amazed and terrified, they flew back to the castle — -but the gates were shut. The commands of the garrison to keep back were followed by threats, and then by stones and arrows ; and the outcasts, rejected alike by friend and foe, retired to an equal distance between both, and sat down upon the cliff in their desolation and despair. The night came down upon them dark, damp, and bitterly cold. Another — another — another! A week — -a month — a quarter of a year! They burrowed in the interstices of the rock ; they devoured the blades of vegetation ; they dug up the roots and lichens with their long, lean fingers ; they hunted the clammy worm into his winter retreat — and feasted. The lover was glad when his mistress died of want, for lie in- herited her clothes ; tlie mother held the corpse of her 40 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. child to her shivering bosom only so long as some warmth remained. At length the dogs of the garrison Avere turned out, not in mercy to the outcasts, but to save provisions. What a joy ! What a providence ! Hark to the halloo of the famished hunters ! Some throw themselves on their prey, and attempt to strangle him l)y main force. Miscalculating their strength, and received with howl for howl, they can only clasp the victim with a death- grip ; and, locked in the fatal embrace, tearing and torn, they roll over the rock, till dog and man are dashed down the precipice together. Some, less bold, or more artful — they are women — have recourse to stratagem. They call the animal with a voice as sweet as famine can utter ; they fix their hungry eyes upon him with a stare of fascination ; they caress him, with their skeleton hands trembling with eagerness, and their breasts rattling with a wild, hollow, broken laugh. He is theirs. The blow de- scends, although too feebly to extinguish life, or end his struggles ; and the happy murderess, leering in his face, half coaxingly, half in triumph, fastens eagerly upon the yet living meal. Some time after the dogs had been devoured, a chicken escaped from the enemy's intrenchments, and flew among the miserable group. It was eaten before it touched the ground, skin and bone, entrails and feathers. A woman was then de- livered of a child. It was torn in pieces by the sur- roundino; crowd, and devoured before the mother's eyes ! All this, be it observed, took place under the obscr- THE STEGE. 47 vation of the two armies. It is fortunate that tlie souls of Philippe-Auguste and Roger de Lacy have been delivered long ago, by the chanting of priests and the burning of wax-candles, from the power of fiends almost as horrible as themselves ! When half the number of the outcasts had died of cold and hunger, the former licro had the credit of giving the pleasanter death of repletion to the remainder. He commanded them to be fed ; and, feeding with the frantic eagerness of starvation, most of them died of the meal. When the blockade had continued seven months, Philippe determined to combine with this mode of siege more active operations. With great labour and loss of men, he constructed, on the tongue of land which we have described as the only avenue to the fortress, a covered way, through wdiich he conveyed, to the brink of the ditch, the necessary materials for con- structing a " beffroi." This was a lofty tower, con- structed, in several stages, of rough wood, and moving upon wheels. It was covered over with damp leather, to prevent fire ; and when drawn near the walls, and manned with crossbow-men, it created a formidable diversion in favour of the miners, or others, below. In the pi'esent case it w^as so well served with cross- bows, that the besieged could hardly hold their footing for an instant on the ramparts ; and the engineers beneath wxre able, with little interruption, to proceed Avith their grand object of filling up the ditch, that a passage might be made to the walls for the miners. This was at last so far accomplished, that, with the aid of ladders to descend the counterscarp, and get yp 48 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. the opposite slope to the inason-work of the tower, a sufficient force crossed the ditch, and began to dig, with pickaxe and crow-bar, into the foundations of the wall. While thus occupied, stones and arrows fell in a continuous shower from the ramparts, and resounded against the targets with which their heads were covered, in that order which the military art of the day very expressively called the " tortoise." They succeeded, notwithstanding, in making a breach of considerable extent, the roof of which they propped up with posts of wood, as they cut deeper into the interior. They were now able to work, completely sheltered from annoyance ; and the consequence was, that in a brief space of time they had entirely undermined the ram- parts. It was time, therefore, to retire ; and setting fire hastily to the stanchions, which were now the only support of the wall, they fled across the ditch covered with their bucklers. A moment of suspense ensued ; but as the posts blackened, shrunk, and crackled under the action of tlie fire, the wall began to totter, and at length fell with a shock like that of an earthquake. The French rushed into the breach with all the impetuosity of their nation, before the cloud of dust and smoke had dissi- pated ; and here tliey were met, with equal desperation, l)y a portion of the English, while the rest were occu- pied in setting fire to the buildings within the enclo- sure. The whole of the besieged then retreated from the avant-corps into what may be called the main body of the fortress. Thus was the first enclosure lost and W^lJ. THE FALL OF CHATEAU GAILLARD. 49 CHAPTER V THE FALL OF CHATEAU GAILLARU. The French and the English now stood looking at one another from their opposite walls. The space between was inconsiderable ; but a deep ditch defended the ramparts of the chateau: and Philippe, in spite of all his kingly impatience, must construct anew his covered way, raise painfully tlie several stages of his beffi-oi- tower, fill gradually up the chasm which separated him from his enemies, and undermine again, with lever and pickaxe, the obstinate walls. In the present case, his operations would be still more difficult than in the other; for the courtine wall before him, running be- tween its two corner towers, presented a deadly array upon the ramparts, whence his slightest motion could be observed, and where the whole garrison of the fortress might fight at one moment. In the meantime, a young French knight, sur- named Bogis (on account of a certain quality of nose not supposed to be predominant in persons of uuin- trusive disposition), busied himself in prying about the ditcb. Bogis, in spite of his curiosity, had not a long nose, but a flat nose — the word which formed his so- briquet being equivalent to camus. At the same time, M'e would not have our fair readers understand that E 50 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. this peculiarity was carried to any disagreeable extent ; it amounted, in fact, to nothing more than a certain modest exiguity of an organ that is only too apt to thrust itself forward. If Bogis had no superabundance of nose, he had at least plenty of eyes ; and the king had hardly determined on his operations, when the knight discovered a small window at the bottom of the ram- part, a little way above the talus, or sloj)e of the rock on which the wall was raised. This window was not in the courtine wall against which the operations of the siege were to be directed ; but in the side-wall which ran along the precipice, where there Avas no room for an attack. It gave light to the lower part of those buildings which we have mentioned were constructed by John Sans-Terre ; and which contained the chapel and cellars, as well as some other conveniences not likely to intrude themselves, in a particular manner, upon Bogis, but which Wil- liam the Breton considers inconsistent with the sanctity of the place: " Juxta foricas, quod quidem religioni contrariuni videbatur." Bogis no sooner saw the little window, than his curiosity Avas excited to know what was contained M'ithin. He mentioned the affair to four of his com- rades — wild, thoughtless, harum-scarum desperadoes; and it was soon known in the French army that these young fellows were about to take the Chateau Gail- lard by surprise ! Some soldiers followed him in this forlorn hope ; and stealing along the brink of the ditch to a place so well defended by the precipice that pre- cautions had been thought almost useless, and where THE FALL OF CHATEAU GAILLARD. 51 in consequence the counterscarp was neither so steep nor so deep as elsewhere — they glided to the bottom. To climb the talus, or slope of the rock on which the fortress was built, was more difficult, but this also they effected ; and at length they stood, clinging to the cliff, under the little window. Here, however, they found that they had committed a mistake. They had measui^ed the height of the aper- ture from the rock rather with their hopes than their eyes ; and they now found that it was far beyond arm's length. But our hero was not a man to be daunted by trifling difficulties — or great ones; and, getting one of his comrades to stand upright, and hold as firmly to the rock as circumstances permitted, he climbed upon his shoulders, and so entered the window. He then let down a cord to the others, and the whole party speedily found themselves in the cellars of the fortress. The question was now what further they were to do. The cellars, being meant for securing stores, were of course well locked and barred ; and Bogis and his companions found themselves in the predicament of so many tuns of brandy, whose fire and spirit could be of no use till they were let out. Under these circum- stances they resolved to make a noise, if they could make nothing else ; and, thumping upon the cellar- door with the hilts of their swords, and shouting at the same time all manner of war-cries, they raised so frightful a din, that the English imagined they had the whole French army under lock and key. The governor, well knowing that neither door nor walls could hold out Ions: before so formidable a force, innne- 52 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. diately gave orders to set fire to the buildings in the inclosure, and to retreat into the citadel. Piles of fagots, -which lay ready for such a necessity, were accordingly placed against the doors, windows, and walls ; the smoke rose in clouds to the heavens ; the flames caught with amazing rapidity ; and in a few minutes, cellar, chapel, et ceteras and all, were wrap- ped in a mantle of fire. The retreat of the garrison into the citadel was conducted with equal speed ; for, in fact, no human being could live in the heated atmosphere. Tlie build- inirs at len":th came tumbling; down one after another ; the whole area was a scene of ruin and desolation, blackness and burning — and yet no trace of the cause of this sudden catastrophe could be seen ! The French, less puzzled, were still more exasperated than the English. Some of their most desperate vagabonds had been burnt alive — and to no purpose. The walls were still standing, as secure as ever ; the drawbiidge, which afforded access to them, was still up ; their covered way and beffroi must still be constructed, and their entrance gained at the creeping pace of the engi- neers, just as if nothing had happened. Roger de Lacy, in the meantime, perceiving his error, although hardly yet aware of the manner in which he had been deceived, was already occupied in withdrawing his men again from the citadel ; when, rising up from, under the earth, some armed figures stood Ijefore him, like demons in the midst of the smoke find flame. To spring over the burning ruins, to throw open tlie gate and flino; down the drawljridge, were l)Ut THE FALL OF CHATEAU GAILLARD. 53 the work of an instant for Bogis and liis comrades. At this sight a shout from the besiegers rent the air ; " Bogis! Bogis !" came in thunder from every tongue ; they poured in a resistless flood into the fortress, and swept the Anglo-Normans into the citadel, as with a besom. The escape of Bogis from the flames, and his ascent from under the earth, will only be understood by those readers who remember our description of the fortress in the third chapter. When he and his com- panions had been smoked and baked to their entire satisfaction, they naturally sought an exit from the infernal oven : but, whether owing to their being unable to find their way back to the window in the darkness and confusion, or to their determination to follow out tlie desperate adventure, they explored in the agony of heat — and perhaps of terror — other parts of the building. In the course of this research they stumbled upon one of the entrances to the sub- teri'anean vaults ; and in these mysterious recesses they remained, in comparative comfort, till the atmosphere of the upper woi'ld became fit for reception into the lungs of living men. The English garrison was reduced to one hun- dred and eighty men! — yet, so far from despaii'ing, they were now more obstinate than ever. The i-am- parts of the citadel were composed of a sei'ies of towei's, chained, as it were, together, and presenting, even in their ruins of to-day, a spectacle which strikes the traveller Avith astonishment. This enclosure was car- ried, like a diadem, round the crest of tlie rock ; on 54 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. three sides it overlooked abysses inaccessible even to the hardiest foot; and on the fourth, its bosselated walls were defended, like the former inclosures, by a ditch cut in the living rock. The only gate to this almost perfect fortress did not communicate directly with the other fortifications, now in the hands of the French. Richard Coeur de Lion, by a refinement of policy, had placed the access on the north-east side, where there was room only for a very small body of besiegers between the ditch and the precipice. The precaution was, no doubt, ad- mirable ; but it was neutralised in its effect by the substitution of a permanent, though narrow, bridge, for a drawbridge. Here, therefore, Philippe deter- mined, notwithstanding the confined nature of the ground, to make his advances ; and having plenty of soldiers to spare, v/hose lives he valued no more than they did themselves, he sent on party after party, as if he had intended to fill up the ditch with their dead bodies. The miners advanced under cover of a machine called a cat, which they moved themselves ; and set to work l)cneath the stone frame of the gate. Tlie bridge, however, was so narrow, that only two men could use the pickaxe at a time ; and the operation, it may be conceived, went slowly on, while the work- men fell fast under the missiles of the English above, lioger de l-^acy saw that every thing depended upon the success of the French in this point ; and he imme- diately set himself to countermine. Some say that lie carried liis sul)terranean gallery into the heart of THE FALL OF CHATEAU GAILLARD. 55 the bridge itself, which he thus caused to swallow up the enemy ; hut at all events the ardour of Philij)pe now brought on the crisis with the suddenness of an earthquake. On the sixth of ]M arch 1204, he brought forward a cahalns, which seems to have been a sort of gigantic perricre, or machine for throwing stones ; and, hurling against the wall, already shaken by the mine, immense pieces of rock, he speedily forced a passage for his troops. Roger de Lacy, at the head of his sur- viving knights and men, met the enemy in the breach, and a furious but brief struggle ensued. The French entered in torrents, till they filled the whole area of the citadel ; and when at length the governor shouted to his friends to retire, and make their last stand in the donjon-tower, they found it impossible to penetrate the crowd, but were surrounded and overwhelmed. So fell the Chateau Gaillard, after a siege, in some respects, one of the most memorable on record. When John Sans-Terre heard the result, in his chapel at Cliinon, he rushed, blaspheming, up to the altar, and struck the crucifix. Guiart, who relates the circum- stance, adds, that blood flowed from the sacred symbol after the blow. M. Deville doubts the fact. Why so ? It was, no doubt, the blood of John's fingers. It may be proper to add, that Roger de Lacy was treated by Philippe the ]Magnanimous with great cour- tesy ; and that, according to some authors (contra- dicted, however, by others), he was sent home to Enffland without ransom. 56 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. The Chateau Gaillard was the scene of many other deeds of arms, which we have no room to relate ; and it received within its walls, from time to time, many of the most illustrious persons of the age. Among the latter, a few words may he accorded to two very young and very lovely women. The three sons of Philippe le Bel were married to three ladies, among the most high-horn in Europe, mere girls in age, and of extraordinary heauty. These three young persons. Marguerite, Jeanne, and Blanche the sister of the latter, on coming suddenly into the full hlaze of the most dissipated court in Europe, allowed them- selves to he dazzled and bewildered. There was nothino- in the character of the three princes to engage the affections of tlieir youthful spouses. Louis, the husband of Marguerite, afterwards surnamed Le Hutin, was of a cold, stern, and pitiless nature ; Charles, the lord of Blanche, loved not his wife, and that is saying enough ; Philippe was a tranquil and philosophical personage, who, knowing the mannei's of the age, came to the conclusion, that his partner Jeanne could not possibly conduct herself worse than tlie other ladies of the court. The thi-ee princesses, if we may believe historians, loved and were beloved. Jeanne, after a year's confinement, was tried by the parliament, and acquitted, and after- wards became (^ueen of France ; while Marguerite and Blanclie were imprisoned in the Chateau Gaillard. Tiieir lovers, PhiHppe and Gautier d'Aulnay, two TSor- niau brothers, wei'e executed on the public square of Pontoise witli circumstances of horrible bai-barity. 'I'hey were first skinned alive, then nnitilated and THE FALL OF CHATEAU GAILLARD. 57 beheaded, and their bodies hung up by the shoulders on the common gibbet. The usher of the chamber, ^vho had been privy to their fatal loves, was hung beside them : and many of the lords who were most attached to the criminals were put to horrible tortures, on pre- text of eliciting a confession, while others were seci'etly drowned in the night. As for the young princesses, they lived together for a year in the Chateau Gaillard, and on the summit of that dreadful and secluded rock, formed a fiiendship far closer and more lasting than they could have done in the crowd and naiety of the world. We have few facts to assist us in speculating upon their characters, but these few are touching in the extreme, and yet have been passed over without observation even by those writers who appear most interested in their fate. A year after their imprisonment commenced, the solitude of these sisters in guilt and misery was broken in upon by messengers from the king. The men, per- haps, were moved by tlie youth and beauty of the captives ; perhaps they paused in confusion ; perhaps they disclosed the nature of their commission slowly and hesitatingly ; or, perhaps, to conceal their shame and almost terror, thundered it forth with the abrupt and discordant voice of the raven. Death I death I — this was their errand. The voung women rushed into one another's arms ; they clung i-ound one another's neck ; they gazed into one another's eyes. They were ready to die, so that they died together. But this was not in the bond. Marguerite was torn from the arms of Blanche ; and the latter consoled with 58 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE, the information that she was not to die. Consoled ! They held her with difficuUy, young, frail, and fragile as she was ; for friendship in woman, that rarest of her qualities, partaking of the enthusiasm of her nature, resembles a passion. She saw her beautiful and be- loved friend in the grasp of the ruffians ; she saw them unbuckle the tangles of her long hair, and twist them round her queenly neck. And she — she could but writhe the while in the arms that withheld her, till her blood sprang from beneath the gauntlets ; she could but pray and curse by turns, now invoking a miracle, now blasphemously reproaching the cold unheeding- heavens ; she could but scream, till her voice startled the fishermen far below on the -placid waters of the Seine. It was at length over. The face of Marguerite, turned towards her to the last, became black ; her limbs were convulsed — she was dead ! Blanche lived alone on the same spot for eight years. The history of her mind during that space of time is not altogether a blank, such as can only be filled up l)y conjecture. In the sixth year of her soli- tude she was visited by Eticime, bishop of Paris, who came to her on business concerning the dissolution of her marriage. This prelate has given an account of her appearance and manners, as well as of her words. She Mas c/tcerfnl. lie asked her -whether she did not wish to descend from this dreadful cliff — whether anotber abode, even if a prison, with more room and more society, with walks, and gardens, and amuse- ments, would not be more agreeable to her. She answered — A'o. We would not destroy, with words THE FALL OF CHATEAU GAILLARD. 59 of ours, the effect of an anecdote which we look upon as one of the most affecting in history. This poor Blanche still lived in the society of [Marguerite. Time had taken away the horrors of her death, and only left behind the remembrance of her beauty and her love. Blanche cluno- to her memorv as the onlv thino; which was now her own in the world. She would not forsake for a paradise the lonely and sterile rock which had once been the home, and was now the grave, of her murdered friend. The good Bishop of Paris went back to his masters, and told them that the princess was in high spirits, and very well pleased with her abode ! The predilection of Blanche, however, was not con- sulted in the choice of an abiding-place. After the dissolution of her marriage, she was removed to the abbey of 3Iaubuisson, where she took the veil, and lived, as the chronicles of the time inform us, devoted to her religious duties, and without exhibiting the smallest regret that her destiny had thus cut her off, at so early an age, from the enjoyments of the world. At the beginning of the seventeenth centurv the Chateau Gaillard was still entire, and was then consi- dered the most complete, as well as the most magni- ficent specimen of military architecture in Eui'ope. W hen at length the fiat for its destruction had gone forth, it took more tlian a dozen years to demolish the " fillc dun an" of Richard Coeur de Lion. Tlie work of destruction was commenced by Henri Quatrc in 1603, from the dread that it might fall into 60 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. the hands of some enemy powerful enough to set him at defiance in such a stronghold. In the same year, he allowed the capuchins of Grand Andeli to repair their convent with the stones, wood, and tiles of the fortress; and in 1610 granted letters-patent of the same hind to the Penitents of the order of Saint Francis in Petit Andeli. Louis XIII. followed in the steps of Henri Quatre in this respect, if in no other ; and the two con- gregations we have mentioned not only made use of these nohle materials at home, hut sold them to others. Notwithstanding all, however, the Chateau, threat- ening in its very ruin, remained still an object of won- der and dread. It resembled a wild beast mortally wounded by the hunters, and yet fascinating them with terror by the glare of its dying eye. In 1616, Louis XIII., in a transport of alarm, sent off lettrcs cle cachet to the Duke de Montbazon, commanding him to com- plete the destruction of this renowned fortress ! " Since this epoch," says M. Deville, " the ruins of the Chateau Gaillard, deserted and abandoned, seem hardly to have felt the ravages of years. The battle- ments, the tower, the walls, which lie in fragments upon the rock, accuse only the hand of man : time has spared every thing which remained after the work of liiiman destruction. From whatever point these noble ruins are beheld — whether you scale the hill to the east, on which the tent of Philippe-Auguste was pitched, or descend to tlie south, even to the banks of the Seine — the view is imposing and majestic. It is even difficult (and tlus feeling I have myself experienced) to avoitl a certain sensation of fear, when the sun, rising over the THE FALL OF CHATEAU GAILLARD. 61 ruins, still erect, of the citadel, flings over you their gigantic shadow. " All is now solitude and desolation on this rock, once the witness of so many events, once crowded with so many warring squadrons. To the battle-cries of the soldiers, the voices of the knights, the noise of the engines, the groans of the wounded, have succeeded silence and tranquillity ; yet a silence and tranquilHfy not without terrors of their own. Hardly is this still- ness disturbed by the hoarse scream of the falcon, descending upon these ancient ramparts, which lie alone has not abandoned, or by the footsteps of the shepherd- boy, who gathers wild carnations on their suumiit, the flowers of Chateau Gaillard." It onlv remains for us to mention a considerable excavation in the side of the rock opposite the Seine, and some distance Ijelow the walls of the fortress, the origin and nature of which remain in obscurity. It is commonly said to have been the chapel ; but no one would have thought of constructing a chapel without the walls, and in a place so diflicult of access. It bears, however, a strong general resemblance to a place of Catholic worship, and the niches in the walls were evidently intended for statues of the saints. Our own opinion is, that it was in early times, perhaps anterior to the erection of the Chateau, the cell of a hermit. There lived lately in this singular grotto an aged woman, who inspired the simple inhabitants of Petit Andeli both with fear and reverence. Xo living man remembered the period of her advent. The children grew up in awe of her, and the old people knew that 62 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. she had been there when they were children. She was so completely identified with the place, that they only knew her by the name of Mother Gaillard ; and at last it was supposed that she was co-existent with the chateau, and would live as long as one stone of the ruins remained upon another. This desolate old woman, however, whatever miglit be her origin and history, submitted at length to the fate of mortality. Mother Gaillard died ; and we found her place occupied by a wandering Pole, who, driven from the homes of his race, had sought there an asylum, amidst the recol- lections of the great and brave of other times. VERXoy. 63 CHAPTER VI. Having spent much time, less fruitlessly to ourselves, perhaps, than to our readers, among* the ruins of the fortress of Coeur de Lion, we at length retraced our wandering steps to Grand Andeli, and there mounted a country vehicle just starting for Vernon. In com- mencing this route we did not cross the Seine, but circling round the peninsula of Bernieres, pursued the line of the river. We have rarely enjoyed a more agreeable ride. The scenery was diversified by hill and dale, rock and forest, although seldom adorned by even a peep of the river, which was concealed by the foliage. The earth seemed rich to prodigality ; and the shrubs and waving grain wore a deep, warm tint, which one would have imagined to be peculiar to the place rather than the season. The apple-trees were painfully loaded with fruit, their lower branches being in general bent down to the ground, and ready to break under the weight. They reminded us of the lover of the Cote des Deux Amans, on the opposite side of the peninsula, who, in the act of carrying his mistress up the hill, sunk under the sweet burden. There were no villafies, and but few hamlets. The 64 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. denizens of this French Arcadia came out, one by one, from their shady groves, where just a peep of a cottage was cauo'ht amonir the trees, and then lost. We could have sworn the women were pretty, and we are still determined to believe it. Their cheeks were like a pair of russet apples, which the coldest hermit might have longed to taste. Pei'haps, after all, on nearer approach, these same russets might have proved crabs. What of that? To us they were what they appeared to be — component parts of one of the most pleasing landscapes in tlie world. At a little distance from the road we observed a man climbing up to the very top branches of a tall poplar, with little more effort than is required in mounting a steep stair. The spectacle, when seen for the first time, is strange, and almost terrifying ; for the climber embraces the tree slightly with his arms, and instead of cliniiin"' with his lesis, and so Avrithino- himself up, marches leisurely on, with a grave, formal, uniform pace. As he thus literally stejjs up the bare, smooth trunk, he looks like a being who is not amenable to the common laws of gravitation. Unfortunately, how- ever, we had frequently before watched the operation in the royal foi'ests ; and our admiration was decreased by the knowledge that the man had sharp iron spikes fixed to his legs, and projecting below his feet, which he inserted in the wood as he ascended. It was near this place that an opening in the -wood was pointed out to us as a spot where the fairies of the Seine delight to assemble, after bathing in the I'iver. This ])oetieal superstition is either not common in VERNOX. 65 France, or at least there are fewer traces of it in the traditions of the country than in those of Engkmd or Scotland. The French fairies, perhaps, were scared away by the Revolution ; and instead of merely flitting from hill to hill, or from river to river, at the period of their quarterly migrations, they may have emigrated in a body. The name of Good People, we are informed by a reverend minister of the kirk of Scotland, was given to the elves on the principle of propitiating the wicked by flattery. In the same way, we have heard a wor- thy bailie, of the secular state, address a pilferer in these words, while patting her affectionately on the shoulder : "■ Gang up the quay, honest woman, and diuna steal ony mair coffee ! " The account of the fairies given by the minister alluded to is so curious, and his book, the " Secret Commonwealth," so little known, that we are induced to present the I'eader with a brief extract or two, in the idea that the Good People, however their customs may differ in different countries, are all of the same race and origin. '' They are said to be of a middle nature, betwixt man and angel, as were demons thought to be of old; of intelligent studious spirits, and light changeable bodies (lyke those called astral), somewhat of the na- ture of a condensed cloud, and best seen in twilight. Their bodies be so pliable, through the subtilty of the s})irits that agitate them, that they can make them appear or disappear at pleasure. Some have bodies or vehicles so spongious, thin, and defecate, that they are fed by only sucking into some fine spirituous F 66 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. liquors, that pierce lyke pure air and oil : others feed more gross, on the foyson or substance of corns and liquors, or corne itself that grows on the surface of the earth, which these fairies steall away, partly invisible, partly preying on the grain, as do crows and mice ; wherefore, in this same age, they are sometimes heard to bake bread, strike hammers, and to do such like services within the little hillocks they most haunt : some whereof of old, before the Gospell dispell'd pa- ganism, and in some barbarous places as yet, enter houses after all are at rest, and set the kitchens in order, cleansing all the vessels. Such drags go under the name of Brownies. * * * # " Their bodies of congealled air are sometimes carried aloft ; others which grovell in different schapes, and enter into any cranie or clift of the earth, where air enters, to their ordinary dwellings. # # # " They remove to other lodgings at the beginning of each quarter of the year, so traversing till dooms- day, being impotent of staying in one place, and finding some ease by so journeying and changing habitations. Their chameleon-lyke bodies swim in the air near the earth, with bag and bagadge ; and at such revolution of time, seers, or men of the second sight (females being seldom so qualified), have very terrifying en- counters with them, even on highways. * * * " Their houses are called large and fair, and (unless att some odd occasions) unperceavable by vulgar eyes, like Rachland and other inchanted islands, having fir- lights, continual lamps, and fires often seen without fuel 1o sustain tiiem. Women are yet alive who tell VERNON. 67 they were taken away, when in childbed, to nurse fairy children, a lingering voracious image of them being left in their place (like their reflection in a niirrour), which (as if it were some insatiable spirit in an assumed bodic) made first semblance to devour the meats that it carried by, and then left the carcase, as if it expired and departed thence by a naturall and com- mon death." After a ride of a few hours we arrived at Vernonnet, the fauxbouro; of Vernon. Just before crossing; the Seine, we passed, on the right hand, an old castellated mansion, whose round towers and warlike appearance prepared us to enter into the associations of history. This, however, proved to be nothing more than a deserted mill. On the bridge there are some other manufactories, which take advantage of the stream of water, and, when viewed at a little distance, add much to the picturesque appearance of the Seine. Of this fact the reader is enabled to judge by the annexed view. The spectator is supposed to stand looking up the river; and on the left hand, at the corner, he catches a glimpse of the castellated mill, while on the riglit appear the spires of the small town of Vernon. The bridge is worth notice ; but we could not learn to what era its construction is referred. In the south of France, they owed their bridges as well as their cathe- drals to the monks. Saint Benedict instituted the order of Fratres Pontis, whose business of building bridges formed a part of their religious duties. They wore a white fjown, with a brid<2;e embroidered on it in coloured worsted. In the more noi'thern parts of the country. 68 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. it was sometimes the Jews who performed this good work, or at least it was their confiscated estates which paid for it. On entering the town, we find little to admire except its boulevards with double rows of trees. These give an aristrocratic air to the place — more especially in the evening, when groups of ladies are sauntering through the walks, to listen to the military music in the place d'armes. The streets, however, are narrow and shapeless ; and the most interesting monument of the town — a portion of its ancient chateau called the Tour aux Archives, is shut up from approach by lofty walls. This consists of a single square tower, apparently of great strength; although the building, if our memory serves us well, never acted any conspicuous part in the troubled history of the middle ages. It was purchased by Philippe-Auguste from our Richard, and united to the crown of France. Among the few particulars of any interest which it is possible to gather respecting the town, we may men- tion, that in 1255 a lord of Vernon was convicted of robbing a merchant in open day who chanced to pass through his territories, and condemned to — make re- stitution. There is also remembered in tradition the feat of a knight who entered the town on his way to join Duguesclin before the battle of Cocherel. The gates were shut upon him by the adverse faction ; but the gallant stranger, spurring his horse through the streets, gained the bridge, leaped the parapet, and got clear off by swimming the river. Tlie pnriph church, and the chui"ch of tlie Hotel VERNON. 69 Dieu, are worth a visit. In the former, there is a marble effigy of a young- lady who died in 1610: the costuiiie is minute, and the whole well executed. In the hitter, originally a hospital founded by Saint Louis, tlie tribune is supported by wooden columns curiously carved. We do not know whether the circumstance was accidental, but we did not observe a single beggar in A ernon ; although the town contains several thousand inhabitants. In France, there seems to be no medium observed in this respect ; the towns either swarming with beggars, or being wholly clear of them. Early in the sixteenth century a system of public charity was commenced, which was intended wholly to supersede the sometimes mischievous practice of pri- vate relief. At Lyons, during the great famine of 1531, the poor were registered and classed, and an allowance of bread and money given to each. After this, any one found begging was immediatlely sent to prison. Poor- boxes were set up in churches and other public build- ings, at the entrances of bridges, and in wealthy shops ; and the revenue was soon found to be equal to the necessary disbursements. At the fairs, a grand pro- cession of the poor, and of the numerous officers of public charity, paraded among the stalls to touch the heart of both seller and buyer. At Pai'is, the system of charity was, if possible, still more public and com- ])lete. At Mentz, it was ecpially criminal to give pri- vate alms, and to beg. In the town, a stranger with- out money received hospitality for only one night, and 70 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. was then turned forth. All the poor of the place wore a uniform dress. At Lille, similar regulations were in force; and here it is supposed this public administration of charity took its rise, the edict for the institution being dated in 1527, four years previous to the famine of Lille. We have farther to remark in favour of Vernon, that, judging by the charges in the inn — we think the Lion d'Or, on the Paris side of the town, and not the diligence inn — it must be the cheapest place in France. For dinner, consisting chiefly of a roast fowl, with a bottle of the country wine, a little brandy and water in the evening, an excellent bed, coffee in the morning as good as ever we drank in Paris, with eggs, &c., we paid just half-a-crown ! The fastidious reader, however, must remember, that the house was a common country inn, to which we were conducted by the accident of the voiture from Andeli stopping at the door. '■' Vernon," says M. de Villiers, " affords an agree- able place of abode, as well by the salubrity of the air, the good society, and the low price of living — a very remarkable advantage in a quarter where the neigbour- hood of Paris on one side, and Rouen on the other, might be expected to render animal life dearer than elsewhere." The subject of prices is a very important one, not only to the economist, but to the student of history. When we meet with the statement of any particular sum, for instance, unless we have a general idea of the expense of living at the period, we cannot form the remotest idea of its value. The following table, em- VERNON. bracing three centuries, and which we have constructed with some care from various authorities, more pai'- ticularly the " Moeurs des Frangais des divers Etats," will, perhaps, be considered useful, as well as curious. The articles are given almost without classification, just as we could get hold of the prices. FOURTEENTH CENTURY. Livres. Wheat, by the setier, a measure of twelve busliels Rice Oats Beans Peas Wine, hogshead 6 Hay, wagon 2 A horse 15 A mule 5 An ox 9 A calf 1 A sheep A fat pig 2 A gosling A fowl Eggs, a hundred Butter, pound Wax, do Substantial boarding, for a month 4 Boarding in a house appropriated for scholars, per day Boarding in an inferior establishment . . Linen for a shirt Making the same Sous. Denier^ 15 7 5 10 13 8 12 9 12 2 8 3 8 2 8 1 6 1 10 1 10 72 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. Livres. Rose-water, per flagon A wine-glass Bread, pound Wine, quart Beer, do Herrings, hundred Cheese, pound Salt, do Fepper, do Ginger, do Cinnamon, do Rice, do Sugar, do Almonds, do Figs, do Raisins, do A carp Apples, hundred Pears, do A beaver hat A coffin, from 8 to A galley, 120 feet long 1000 FIFTEENTH CENTURY. Wheat, setier 1 Rice Barley Oats Beans Wine, hogshead 6 An ox 12 A cow 5 A slieep A fat pig 3 Sous. Deniers. 10 6 1 3 2 12 2 2 4 5 14 8 3 1 6 10 10 3 1 1 2 6 15 10 7 6 5 16 10 VERNON. Livres. Sous. DOniers. A gosling 3 A duck 8 A hen 10 A capon 15 Eggs, a hundred 3 Butter, pound 8 Turnips, bushel 4 Walnuts, a hundred 2 Wax, pound 4 Bread, do 3 Wine, quart 4 Salt, bushel 5 Pepper, pound 4 Cinnamon, do 1 10 Bacon, do 10 Partridges, pair 5 Charcoal, sack 2 WAGES, PER AXNUM. ]Man-cook 5 Valet 2 10 Servant 1 10 SIXTEENTH CENTURY. Setier of wheat 5 12 rye 4 oats 3 Wine, hogshead 12 A horse, fine 200 , draught 150 An ox 50 A cow 20 A sheep 4 A pig 15 74 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. Livres. Sous. Ddniers. A fowl A capon A turkey Butter, pound Cheese, do Eggs, dozen Wax, pound 5 7 1 5 2 2 12 THE CHATEAU AND THE SHOP. 75 CHAPTER VII. THE CHATEAU AND THE SHOP. At Vernon we already find ourselves half-way to Paris ; but before proceeding further in the same direction, it is necessary to trace backwards to Rouen the sinuosities of the Seine, which escaped us in our anxiety to see the famous chateau of Andeli. On making our exit from the town, we leave to the left an avenue, bordered with a double row of elms, which conducts to a country-house built on the site of the chateau de Bisy, formerly one of the most beautiful in France, The stables of the ancient building, the park, and the wall, are still left ; but the edifice itself has vanished — ruined neither by time nor war, but by the avarice or stupidity of modern speculators. Many other chateaux crown the eminences on both banks of the river, along which the road leads, and heighten the effect of a picture, that, even without these adjuncts, would be reckoned beautiful. An avenue of walnut-trees leads into the bourg of Gaillon, in ancient times the frontier town of Normandy. The view from this place, embracing on the north- north-east the Chateau Gaillard, is varied and exten- 76 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. sive ; but, with the exception of the remains of a beau- tiful chartreuse, converted into a country-house, there is nothing worthy of remark but the prison. This stands on the site, and embraces a small por- tion, of a magnificent palace, built in 1505 by the Cardinal Georg-es d'Amboise. The walls of this edifice — some fragments of which were removed to the Mu- seum of the Augustins at Paris— were covered with the most exquisite arabesques, rich medallions, and every kind of precious sculpture. The chapel was supported by jasper columns, and ornamented with statues of the most elaborate workmanship. All this vanished at the Revolution, when the orangery was converted into a cotton manufactory, and a vast prison raised its sombre walls on the site of the palace itself. But long before the time of this splendid cardinal, an important chateau occupied the spot. This was destroyed by the Duke of Bedford in 1423 ; and about a century afterwards, its gaunt ruins afforded materials for realising the ambitious conceptions of Georges d'Amboise. This castle was probably erected for the express purpose of guarding the frontiers, as its situation presents little analogy with that of the other fortresses of the period. The superb sites of the ancient chateaux would have given an imposing aspect to almost any building, if viewed at a little distance ; but the vast piles which the taste of the middle ages constructed in such situations, were so admirably in consonance with the scene, that their ruins appear to this day like original portions of the rock itself. THE CHATEAU AND THE SHOP. 77 A chateau, in the days when all chateaux were fortresses, was, in general, built either on the slope of a steep hill, or on the brink of a precipice. It was surrounded by lofty walls flanked with towers, and the turreted gate, sculptured in every direction with the arms of the family — was surmounted by a lofty corps- de-garde. Sometimes so many as three fences and three ditches were still before you, and three draw- bridges still to pass before you entered the grand square, the sides of which were formed by the buildings of the chateau. Beneath were the cellars and dun- geons ; above, the apartments, the stores, the larders, the arsenals. The roofs were bordered all round with machecoulls and parapets, and studded with sentry- boxes. You were still, however, by no means at the heart of the mystery. In the centre of the square stood an eiioi'mous tower, the loftiest and most im- portant part of the fortress. This was the donjon, which contained the records, the treasury, and the halls of state. It was surrounded by a wall half its own height ; and if you desired to enter, it was first necessary to pass a deep and wide moat, by a bridge let down on purpose for you to cross, and withdrawn the moment your feet had quitted the planks. In fine, when, with beating heart and thickened breath, you begged leave to retire from this abode of terror, you were perhaps hurried through a subterranean passage, till, having lost all recollection in darkness and dismay, you found yourself again in the open air — and in the open country, with the distant chateau painted like a cloud upon the sky. 78 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. You, no doubt, had time, however, to collect some details of the picture presented by the interior. You noted the vaulted chambers, and their ogive windows, (for this was in the fourteenth century), affording a dim, religious light through innumerable small panes of painted glass. The floors were paved with square tiles of different colours. Among the furniture you saw immense candlesticks, covered with bas reliefs ; ward- robes sculptured to represent a church window, and almost as large ; mirrors of glass or metal, nearly a foot square, — an enormous size at that period; arm- chairs covered with tapestry, and ornamented with fringes ; benches twenty feet long, with trailing dra- pery ; and beds of a dozen feet and more wide. Many of the state apartments were hung with storied tapestry, and received their names from the prevailing colours — such as the red, blue, or green chamber. In others, the pillars which supported the joists were encrusted with tin ornaments, which looked like silver ; and in others the walls were adorned with portraits of the saints or heroes (painted on the plaster) who held a roll of parchment in their hands or mouths, inscribed with some moral sentence for the amusement and edification of the visitors. In time of peace the life of the chateau was suffi- ciently agreeable. The square, or court, was the grand scene of amusement for the early part of the day ; and there the younger portion of the community exercised their horses with leaping, and themselves in the feats of war, till mid-day, the hour of dinner. After dinner, quoits, nine-pins, pitching the bar, and shooting at THE CHATEAU AND THE SHOP. 79 the popinjay, with the assistance of a cunning ape, or the family buffoon, wiled away the time till the evening. Then came the dance, the oft-repeated story, the tricks of the jongleur, the concert of trumpets, flutes, pipes, drums, lutes, harps, cymbals, and re- becks. Besides the numerous garrison of the chateau, there were always coming and going relatives, connexions, allies, neighbours, travellers, pilgrims ; and every new arrival made a holyday. The buffet stood always, loaded with its plate, in the middle of the hall. Wine and provisions were served without stint and without measure. The kitchen chimney, it may be supposed, was of no modern magnitude. In decent chateaux, it "was in fact twelve feet wide ; and you might have seen and heard, twirling and hissing, at the same fire, for the same meal, several calves and sheep at the same moment. To keep up this abundant housekeeping, the tenants were of course proportionably racked. Their taxes, always great, were doubled on the occasion of their lord being dubbed a knight — of his being taken in Avar — of his setting out on a crusade — and of the marriao-e of his eldest dauo-hter. When seated on the Table of Stone receiving his dues, the earth before him was covered with fowls, hams, butter, eggs, wax, honey, corn, fruits, vegetables, capons, bouquets, and garlands. Sometimes, indeed, a grimace, a song, or a caper, acquittanced the tenant ; some had their ears pulled by the major-domo ; some came forward to kiss the bolt of tlieir lord's jrate. 80 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. Thefts, quarrels, blows, insults — all were punished by fines ; and almost all fines were paid in kind. Every pig that was sold presented three deniers to the baron ; every ox or cow that was killed left him, as a legacy, its tongue and feet ; every field that remained fallow for more than three years, he seized upon, and cultivated for his own behoof. The tenants were obliged to rise in arms at the sound of his trumpet, and go forth to beat the enemy ; they were obliged to rise, too, with batons, to beat the ditches of the chateau, if the frogs made too much noise at night. The crime of disobedience was punished by the delinquent having a cord passed under his arms, and being thus let down into a subterranean dungeon. Sometimes the cord was passed round his neck, and he was thus hoisted up to the gibbet of the fief. A serf was in every respect the property of his lord, and could be sold like an ox. It is mentioned by M. Marchangy, that Hugues de Chamfleury desiring to possess a beautiful horse, that he might make his entrance into his bishoprick with more eclat, exchanged for one Jive serfs of his estate. Thus we arrive at the value of a man in that age, which was just the fifth part of that of a horse. The same author preserves the verses sung by the vassals, while beating at night the ditches of the Chateau du Luxeuil. They were as follow : — " Pa, pa, reinotte ! pa ; Voici monsieur, L'abbc de Luxeu, (^ue Dieu ga, ga, ga!" THE CHATEAU AND THE SHOP. bl In English, literally : — " Peace, peace, frog ! peace ; Here is monsieur The abbot of Luxeuil, Whom God guard, guard, guard !" But let us turn from these shadowy recollections — the musings inspired by the place — and pursue our wanderings. We have already left the valley of the Seine, or rather the river has left us, to make one of those sudden turnings, as regular in form as the folds of a serpent, which give so frequently a peninsular character to the land. Between Gaillon and Louviers, the traveller sees apple-trees take the place of the vines to which his eye was accustomed, with a sudden- ness which makes him think he has entered another country. Wine grows dear ; cider becomes the com- mon drink of the people ; and the hardy Norman appears to thrive on the change. Louviers, beautifully situated on, in, and around the river Eure, is a thriving town, devoted to manu- factures. In the time of Froissart, it was already celebrated for its trade in cloths ; and Arthur Youns: describes it as containing the first woollen manufactory in the world. The inhabitants consist chiefly of ma- nufactui'ers and their workmen ; and the swarms of the latter that buzz along the streets give a very peculiar character to the place. No one is idle; the children are as busy as their fathers ; and every drop of the waters of the Eure, as they run through the town to plunge into the Seine, is made to pay toll, in the G 82 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. shape of personal service, before being permitted to pass. The history of the Trades, if it is ever written, will be one of the most curious and interesting books in existence. In France, it must commence with the fourteenth century, for there are few earlier materials. Having little to do in Louvain, we amused ourselves, as we Avandered out of it, with recalling a few facts, which may perhaps be of some use as manoires ponr servir. The Armourer of the fourteenth century was not only an important personage because of the importance of his manufacture, but he was, in the highest sense of the word, an artist. His trade comprehended that of the smith, the cutler, the furbisher, the goldsmith, the carver and gilder, and the painter. In France, the arms of Toulouse and Poictiers were the best ; but IVlilan carried oil' the j^alm from all Europe. The Turner was in greater demand than to-day ; wooden porringers, dishes, plates, spoons, &c. being* in constant use among the people. He usually kept his workshop on the borders of forests, especially those where beeches, willows, and alders, grew in gi^eatest plenty. The Butcher, whose art seems an exceedingly simple one, was hedged roimd with such innumerable inter- dicts and regulations, that he had hardly room for the sweep of his ai'm in knocking down a bullock. The law cautioned him so severely, that every sheep he bought appeared to his terrified eyes to liave the leprosy; and tlie cleaning of his abattoir was a ]a])C)ur THE CHATEAU A>'D THE SHOP. 83 as hard as that of the stable of Augeas. He was for- bidden to buy cattle except in the public market ; pigs fed by barbers or oil-makers were an abomination wliich he dared not touch ; he could not kill animals less than fifteen days old ; he could not sell at all on the evening of maigre days. He could not kill by candle-light ; and he could not keep his meat longer than two days in winter, and thirty-six hours in summer. Baking was a mystery, as it is to this day, when the bread of no two towns is alike, and when the bread of France (speaking generally) is nauseous to the taste, and unsightly to the eye. The baker went through the gradations of winnower, sifter, kneader, and foreman ; and then, on paying a certain duty to tlie king, he was permitted to exercise the profession on his own account, although as yet he was not received into the corporation of the trade. Four years elapsed before he could enjoy this honour ; and at the end of the probation, he repaired publicly to the house of the master of the bakers, and presenting him with a new pot filled with walnuts, addressed him in these words: — "Master, I have fulfilled and accomplished my four years — behold, my pot is full!"' Whereupon the master, having ascertained that he had spoken the truth, retui'ned him the pot, which the aspirant forth- with smashed against the wall, and so liecame, to all intents and purposes, a baker. Fine bread in England is called French bread ; in France it is called English bread. In France the " staff' of life" was formerly measured by the ell-wand. 84 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. not weighed by the pound ; and at the present day, the common four-pound loaf of Paris and the environs is as nearly as possible a yard long. The different kinds of bread in the fourteenth cen- tury were these : — Pain ordinaire ; made of meal, cold water, salt, and leaven. Pain echaude ; the dough made with hot water. Pain broye ; made of flour, long and well beaten with clubs. Pain mollet ; lightly baked, and made of the finest flower. Pain de mouton ; kneaded with butter, and sprinkled with grains of wheat. Pain de Noel ; flour, eggs, and milk. Pain d'epice • rye-flour, kneaded with spices, honey, and sugar. We may add, that it was customary to send flour to the baker to be made into bread ; and that some- times he was required to go for the materials, and prepare them before the eyes of his customer. This ought to be done at the present day in England, as well as France. At any rate, all those who value their health should grind their own flour, and send it to the baker. The diff"erence it makes in the general health would not be believed by those who have not tried it. Brewers at the same period were in great request, one half of France drinking beer, and the other wine. J t is to be hoped that they were not so chary of their malt as at present. The beer of these last days is fine THE CHATEAU AND THE SHOP. 85 in colour, strong in effervescence, and good — for nothing. The Candlemaker was always in request in France, his manufacture being indispensable in the offices of religion. At Candlemas it was necessary to pray by the light of a taper at least as thick as the arm. Candles were all dipped, whether in wax or tallow ; and sometimes the cunning artist changed the liquid into a finer when he came to the last dip. They were sold by measure instead of weight; and whenever night came on, the candle-maker went abroad, crying "Chan- delle ! chandelle ! " The Confectioners were deprived of some customers whom their descendants found very good ones. Monks, nuns, and clerks of all kinds, were forbidden by law to intromit in any way whatever with confections. They were, notwithstanding, introduced habitually at the end of dinner ; and being sold in general by the grocers, the expression was, " Servez les epices." All we have to say of the Cooks is to notice with deserved reprobation the conduct of a cordelier, who took it into his head that what was pleasing to the palate must be hurtful to the soul. In cooking for his con- vent, accordingly, he cooked in such a way as would have made Mrs. Glasse's hair stand on end. A chapter was of course immediately held, and the indignant bretliren adjudged fifty stripes to the sinner. Needles and Pins were sold in packets of six tiiou- sand. The common people, at least those of the country, used thorns. The Furrier was the greatest of all tradesmen. An 86 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. outfit for a nobleman, if rich and complete, cost a fortune. It consisted of tlie large cloak — the robe of ceremony — the niglit-gown — the cloche — the close surcoat — the open surcoat — the chaperon. All these together required the skins of between eight and nine thousand of the little animals whose spoils were worn by the chivalry of the time. The Cheeses of Brie and Roquefort were the most esteemed ; as to-day they are the most popular. Roque- fort resembles very much our English Stilton ; yet the district whence it derives its name is a lofty, dry, and stony country. Gloves varied in price from four deniers to the enormous sum of nine livres, or about eighteen pounds sterling.* The expensive kinds, richly furred, em- broidered, and ornamented, were worn for the purpose of holding the sparrow-hawk, falcon, &c., and were considered as much an article of luxury and magni- ficence as the birds themselves. Tlie Oublieur was the manufacturer and peripatetic vender of little cakes called oublies. According: to the statutes of the trade, no one could be a master-oublieur who was unable to manufacture one thousand in the day. They were so numerous that they were forbidden to establish their stalls in the market within thirteen feet of each other. The Oyer, so called because he at first dealt ex- * The price of tlie pound of bread wiis at that time one denier, and in nine francs (or livres) there are two thousand one hundred and sixty de- niers. liiis (|uantity of bread would cost in London at the present day about eighteen jiounds sterling. THE CHATEAU AND THE SHOP. 87 clusively in roasted oies (geese), was a restaurant. He was forbidden by law to roast old geese, or to " warm up " cold meat more than once. The Bookbinder, as well as the Bookseller, the Book- writer, the Parchment -maker, and the Illuminator, was exempted from the duty of guarding the town. Books (which were sometimes four feet long and three wide) were usually bound in wood, covered with leather or silk, and occasionally enriched with plates of sculp- tured ivory or copper, and even of gold and silver, set with precious stones. Tailors were punished for a misfit by being obliged to pay the price of the cloth to the disappointed cus- tomer. The first Glass manufactory in France was esta- blished in 1333, by permission of Philippe de Valois, granted to Philippe de Caqueray. This new art was supposed to be so much superior to all the others, that persons of good family were able to pursue the calling without derogating from their gentility. The govern- ment itself confirmed the popular opinion, by desig- nating, in public deeds, the fabricators of glass as ''gentlemen of the art and science of glass-making ; " and the privilege of forming one of these establish- ments was conferred upon an individual near Lions, expressly as a reward for military services rendered at the battle of Azincourt. The glass manufactured at that period was used only for windows. It was in round plates, with a houcUiic, or eye, in tlie middle ; and atfording, at the utmost, a scpuire of six or eight inches. The colour 88 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. was yellowish, disturbed here and there with bubbles ; and it is supposed that it was in order to conceal these deformities that the small squares, framed in lead, which foi"med the church windows, were painted. Fern was tirst used in the manufacture; then ashes washed in lie ; then the sea-weed of Cherbourg, and after- wards that of Fecamp, with a great deal of sand and but little ashes.* At this period, towards the middle of the sixteenth century, the substance became half white ; and in the following century, when they used the ashes of Sicily and Alicant, a still greater refine- ment took place. At length the use of ashes was abandoned altogether; sand alone was employed, and the glass ran forth as clear as crystal. After a league and a half of nearly the same descrip- tion of scenery, we enter the forest of Pont de I'Arche, and having climbed the hill which it clothes, descend again to the banks of the Seine. The forest, the town, the remarkable bridge, and the neighbourhood of Pont de I'Arche, are so well desci'ibed in their general appear- ance by Turner, that we have nothing left for us to do. Pont de I'Arche is memorable in history as the first place which declared for Henri Quatre after the murder of Henri III. To-day it is remarkable as the first place where the traveller from Paris obtains a distinct view of the Cote des Deux Amans. Looking • Potasli is still manufuctured from sea-weed at Fecamp ; but in gene- ral, since the later discoveries in chemistry, this tribute of the ocean is gathered only for its virtue as manure. THE CHATEAU AND THE SHOP. 89 to tiie right, after passing the bridge, he sees, in the midst of a fine picturesque country, two hills near the banks of the Seine, which rise abruptly, like the avant-corps of a large range behind. This is the Cote des Deux Amans. A country-house rises on the site of the priory of the two lovers, which was built by the cruel father in expiation of his fault. Not one stone of the original building remains ; but the story lives in the pages of a hundred authors. We have read somewhere that an electuary which the young girl took with her to sustain her lover's strength, spilling on the ground in the midst of her grief and terror, gave its virtue to a balsamic plant which is gathered to this day on the spot. The next place to Pont de I'Arche is the village of Igouville, near the point of meeting of the department of the Eure and Seine Inferieure. A steep hill succeeds, from which a view is obtained of the valley of the Seine, richer, perhaps, and more extensive than any other on the route. Islands, villages, and hamlets, now appear in rapid and beautiful succession. The road follows the course of the river, with a steep bank to the right, excavated in some places like the borders of the Loire. In this range rises the rock St. Adrien, Avhere the love- maniac Nina, whose story has been repeated in a well- known opera, came for so many years to watch in vain for her lover. IM. de Yilliers increases the melancholy, but without diminishing, as he supposes, the romance of the circumstance, by stating that he has often seen poor Nina, unregarding and unregarded, wandering 90 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. about the streets of Rouen in a state of destitution and imbecility. From this point the houses become so numerous that we may ah'eady consider ourselves in the fauxbourgs of Rouen ; and, after a few minutes' rapid descent, we see spread out before us the splendid picture presented by the ancient capital of Normandy. LA ROCHE-GUYON AND ROSNY. 91 CHAPTER VIII. LA ROCHE-GUYON AND ROSNY. While retracing our steps rapidly to Vernon, we saw, between LouYiers and Gaillon, for the first time in France, a band of gipsies — or at least of some houseless vagabonds, crouching from the rain under tents of rag- ged canvass. Whether we shall ever penetrate the mystery which hangs over the origin of the singular people we have named, may be a matter of doubt ; but all must feel that it is a question of far more interest than their historical importance as a body would seem to command. For our part, we are partial to vagabonds of all kinds. We have watched a gipsy encampment with much more eafi'erness than we ever felt on witnessino- the meetino's of the House of Lords. Such wanderers are the comets of society ; whose orbit, however extravagant it may seem, is yet a component part of the vast system of humanity. The gipsies, or those calling themselves such, dif- fered greatly in manners and avocations in the French provinces. In Provence, they leaped, danced, and played the tambourine, and spoke withal an unintelli- gible gibberisli. In Normandy they roamed the coun- try in bands commanded by captains ; sleeping in 92 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. barns, and stealing poultry, or any thing that came to their hand. They affected to have the high tribunal of Little Egypt ; but they hung their criminals only in make-believe, by way of a spectacle for the country- people. In Gascony they were physiognomists and interpreters of dreams. The genuine gipsies were indignant at the name of Bohemians, which the French gave them. They pro- fessed to be the only legitimate descendants of Abraham and Sarah, and said that their wanderings in Chris- tian countries were but the accomplishment of a peni- tence to which they had been condemned. Their knowledge was derived by tradition from their great progenitors, who possessed all the secrets of the Egyptian priesthood ; and in this manner, they themselves might justly be termed, in their professional character — Egyptians. The science of chiromancy which they professed is well known ; but some of our readers will no doubt be happy to know the leading rules of metopos- copy. The brow, if spacious, indicates timidity ; if small, cruelty ; if wide, voluptuousness ; if prominent, vanity ; if bald, irritability ; if wrinkled, servility. This feature, when square, pure, beautiful, and well-proportioned, announces its jjossessor to be prudent, wise, brave, liberal, and generous. The gipsies of France never attained to the celebrity which they enjoyed in Scotland ; where, in the six- teenth century, they formed a commonwealth, or rather a monarchy, under the celebrated Johnnie Faa. This LA ROCHE-GUYON AND ROSNY. 93 adventurer claimed to be sovereign of a territory on the banks of the ?sile, and assumed the style of Lord and Earl of Little Egypt. His authority over his subjects was supported by the Scottish government ; and a proclamation of James V. calls upon all sheriffs and magistrates to lend him the use of their stocks and prisons -whenever he demanded them. James, how- ever, who disliked " a brother near the throne" as much as any man who ever lived, became at length desirous of getting rid of the Egyptian chief and his whole tribe ; and a covenant was entered into between him and Johnnie, whereby the latter undertook to carry home his subjects to their own country of Little Effvpt, on the king i:)roviding him with vessels for the purpose. Whether Johnnie meant to keep his engagement as religiously as James, may be a matter of doubt ; but, at any rate, his honour was saved, although at the expense of his authority. A rebellion, headed by a gipsy called Sebastian Lalow, broke out against the lord earl, and raged for several years, notwithstanding the interference of the government. A proclamation was issued in 1553 in the name of James, duke of Chatelherault, earl of Arran, the governor of Scotland, commanding all sheriffs, magistrates, and other officers, to assist Jolm Faa, Earl of Little Egypt, in appre- hending his rebellious subjects, and compelling them to Ibllow him into their own country. The proclamation unfortunately had no eftect, and the Egyptians, of course, were treated as outlaws. 94 WANDER[NOS BY THE SEINE. Johnnie Faa appears to have been a prince of exem- plary character ; for when his subjects were banished from the town of Aberdeen for stealing silver spoons, a special exemption was made in favour of the lord earl, and his wife and sister. The road which we are now traversing is perhaps one of the best in France, where almost all roads are good. In our last volume, we sn^gested that steam- carriages should be tried on common roads before going to the expense of constructing railways ; and, from all we have since learned on the subject, we feel confident that it will come to this at last. When the vast changes, however, which are even now in operation, both in France and England, have been accomplished, what will become of Guides, and Itineraries, and Wan- derings, such as ours ? Mrs. Starke has driven all the old cicerones off the Italian roads, and M. Reichard is every body's courier in France and Germany. They in turn will experience the same fate themselves, and their Avorks will only be found in the collections of the lovers of the obsolete and curious. Itineraries on the old principle would not do even now, when the change has as yet only commenced in the aspect of the roads and their neighbourhood. A French author has remarked, that a collection of those works would form a complete picture of France ; and he is right. In the olden time all things were more stable than with us. The good part of the roads lasted longer, because their construction was better, and the l)ad, because they were never mended. An abuse, of LA ROCnE-GUYON AND ROSNY. 95 whatever kind, took at least a century to correct; and even tlie host? and hostesses of the wayside inns lived three times as long as they do now. The itinerary, therefore, ran no risk of speedily getting out of date, when it informed you that a certain part of the road was paved as far as such a house ; that there was no highway at all between this town and that ; that here you must turn to the right, and there to the left — wheel round the top or bottom of the village — ascend or descend the hill — cut through the meadow, or coast along the ditch. It continued to be true, also, for several generations, when it advised you that the ferm'ums of sepai'ation between two provinces was a cei'tain oak-tree ; that it was necessarv to chano-e vour money at such a frontier town, in order to enable you to get on ; that the i"oad you now came to was a cliembi de diahle, a rue d'enfer ; that the wood through which you meant to pass was two leagues long, and had been infested with robbers from all antiquity — " Passe vite ! passe vite!" It told also, with enduring veracity, that this side of the road was cultivated, and the other in a state of nature ; that here were vines, there meadows, orchards, fields, groves ; that the country of bears or boars came next, and then a district equally celebrated for wolves. It atmounced to travellers whose sires were yet unborn, as well as to the living, the places where they might pui'chase good walnuts, melons, capons, or whei'e a sword of capital temper Avas to be had, or a hautboy to wile away the time on the journey. And, in fine, it had no chance of deceiving, for three-score 96 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. and ten years at the very least, when it assured the traveller, that in a particular road-side inn, graced, by the same token, with the sign of the Holy Virgin, he would find a jovial host and a comfortable hostess. The roads, in these times, were in general long beds of flint and gravel, varying in depth, bordered with ditches and rough blocks of stone, and planted along the sides with fruit or forest-trees. Those near Paris and other great towns were constructed in imitation of the vies ferratcB of the Homans — • a foundation being made, en clos cTane, with sand, gravel, and pebbles, and a cemented pavement of solid blocks of granite laid over all. The levtes on the banks of rivers, which served both for dike and road, were elevated like ram- parts, and their sides bound either with turf or stones, forming (as we have seen in our Wanderings by the Loire) a magnificent terrace carried along the water- side. The road beyond Vernon is carried for three leagues, without interruption, almost on the brink of the Seine. It forms a magnificent alley of ash and walnut-trees ; and the branches of the latter, loaded with fruit, overhang the outside traveller with a tenjptation which is not always resisted. About two miles from the town, a stream runs beneath the road which a poteau informs us is the limit between the departments of the Yawg and the Seine-et-Oise, and Avhich was formerly the frontier line of France and Normandy. On the other side of the river we see the embouchure of the rapid Epte. Port-Villez, at the bottom of a sterile hill, is the LA HOCIIE-GUYON AND ROSNY. 97 first village on the route. Tt boasts of a camp of Caesar, surrounded by deep ditches, where medals of Antoninus Pius have been found ; and of an ancient oak, which grows green the first in the forest, and " qui donne aux promeneurs cinq ares vingt-cinq cen- tiares d'ombrages." The next is Jeufosse, equally miserable in appearance, yet possessing also its lion. This is the church of Notre Dame de la Mere, where pilgrims come all the way from Rouen to put their mites into a box at the foot of the cross. We then arrive at the bourg of Bonnieres, remarkable for no- thing at all ; although Mesnil-Regnard (now a paltry hamlet), of which it was formerly a dependant, exhibits the ruins of a tower of the tenth century, surrounded by deep ditches. The Seine here throws out one of its sudden serpen- tine folds; and the curious traveller, instead of following the road, which avoids the sinuosity, should by all means make the circuit, and by water, if the weather invites. In the course of this little tour, he will arrive at a castle thus described in old French, translated from the older Latin of Sup-er : '^ Sor le riva<>'e de Seine est uns tertre mervelox, sor quoi fut jadis fermez uns chastiau trop fort et trcs orguelous, et est apelez La Roche-Guiom ; si est si haut encroez et fermez que a peines puet on veoir jusques ou sommet dou tertre." The Chateau of la Roche-Giiyon was built in the tenth century, by a lord named Guy, on a conical rock rising from the banks of the Seine. The tower which surmounts the present edifice, perched on the lofty and apparently inaccessible peak of the cone, is probably all H 98 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE, that remains of the original fortress ; but a portion of the main buildings below boasts a considerable antiquity. A bed-chamber, once occupied by Henri Quatre is among the curiosities of the chateau. The same bed, the same curtains, the same arm-chair, remain in the room to this day ; and we are also shewn another arm- chair which had the honour of receiving the bulkier weight of Louis Quatorze. The chapel, dug in the solid rock, where Saint Nicaise celebrated the holy mysteries ; the cavern beyond, containing the graves of the family, which never opens its solemn gate but to receive the dead ; the subterranean gallery, traversed by the light of torches ; and the reservoir to which it leads, sunk in the body of the cliff, and containing more than two thousand hogsheads of water — all are objects which must excite the interest of persons capable of abstracting themselves from the world of to-day, in order to plunge into the ages of the past. La lloche-Guyon was the scene of the assassination of Guy, its lord, in 1122, by his father-in-law — a crime which was avenged by the troops of Louis VL in the terrible spirit of the age. The account of the murder, and of the heroic grief of the lady of the Rock, is nobly translated fi'om the Latin chronicle of Sugei', in the Annales Manuscrites de France. Although in some- what antiquated French, we trust to I'eceive the reader's pardon, if not thanks, for copying it. "^ Quand sa femme, qui tant etoit prude femme et vaillante, vist ceci, elle se prit par les cheveux, comme ebai'e, comme femme hors de sens; aprcs courut a son maii, suns paour de mort, sur lui se laissa cheoir et le LA ROCHE-GUYON AND ROSNY. 99 couvrit de soi-meme centre les coups d'cpee, et com- raenga a crier en telle sorte et maniere : ' jNIoi,' dit- elle, ' trcs dcloyal meurtrier, occis qui t'ai desservi, et laisse mon seigneur! Doux ami, doux epoux, qu'as tu fait a ces gens dont ne soyez-vous bons amis ensemble, comme gendre doit-etre vers son seig- neur, et sire vers son gendre ? Quelle fourcenerie est-ce ? Yous etes tons enragies et hors de sens • — ' Quand elle connut son seigneur qui ja etoit mort et gisoit tout depicce parmi la salle, si s'efForca tant par son amour qu'elle vint a lui, si depicce comme elle etoit, toute rampante a guise de serpent." La Roche-Guyon was frequently visited by Henri Quatre Avhen lie resided at Mantes ; and it is the scene of that fine reply of the beautiful Duchess of Guercheville to the amorous monarch : "^ No, sire, never ! I am not well enough born to be your wife ; but I am too well born to be your mistress ! " The chateau belonged, at an early period, to the house of La Rochefoucauld ; and after changing hands several times, it is now in possession of the head of the same family, the present duke. It is said that the manu- script of some poems by the author of the " jNIaximes" has been found in the library, and that these pieces are altogether unworthy of his fame. After winding round the sweep of the Seine, we arrived at Rolleboise, on the direct road ; between which and Bonnieres, the place we last noticed on the highway, there is nothing worthy of observation. Rolleboise stands against a ridge of the hill, down which the steep line of its single street is carried. 100 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. Some stones of the tower and some dungeon-cells still remain of its chateau, which, in 1364, sustained gal- lantly a siege by Bertrand Du Guesclin, although it fell at last under the aiuns of the hero. A subterra- nean stair descended from the chateau through the body of the hill to the banks of the river. A galiote, or coche d'eau, leaves Rolleboise for Poissy ; in which the curious traveller, who conde- scends to travel in so cheap and tedious a way, may have an opportunity of seeing the manners of the humbler riverains of the Seine. These we shall attempt to describe in the next chapter, but, for the present, we pursue the route of terra jirma. The road continues still picturesque, bordered by hills sometimes covered with vines, and ever and anon affording an enchanting view of the valley of the Seine. The village and chateau of Rosny are the first objects among the works of man which attract the traveller's attention. They are situated in the midst of immense woods, where the wild boar and the wolf still linger in the ancient retreats of their ancestoi's. The village is perhaps the neatest and cleanest we have as yet met on the route ; and the chateau, although not more striking in appearance than many gentlemen's houses in Eng- land, has yet a certain air of grandeur, the effect of the manifest presence of wealth and power. The Chateau de Rosny passed by marriage, in the year 1529, into the family of Bethune, in the person of the grandfather of the famous Marquis de Rosny, Duke de Sully, who was born within its walls. It was near this tliat the famous interview took place between LA ROCHE- GI'YON AND ROSXV. 101 Henri Quatre and his faithful minister, after Sully had proved himself to be not less valiant in the field than skilful in the cabinet. There is no doubt something- interesting, nay affecting, in the interview ; although ■sve are not disjDOsed to exclaim, with the excellent his- torian of ]Mantes (whose book we shall notice presently with the praise it deserves), " II n'y a rien qui approche dans les vies de Plutarque ! " On the contrary, whe- ther owing or not to a natural levity of character, we found it impossible to repress a smile at the proces- sional pomp with which the wounded minister ap- proached his sovereign. Carried on a litter of green branches, which was covered with the black velvet cloaks of his prisoners, embroidered in silver with numberless crowns of Lor- raine, Sully descended the heights of Beuron, reclining under his laui^els. He was preceded by two grooms leading two of his war-horses ; and these by two pages leading the grey courser which had carried him into his first battle. This superb animal had his right side and shoulder laid open for three feet by the stroke of a lance, which, at the same time, had cari'ied away the boot of its master, and a portion of the calf of his leg. The pages carried his cuirass, his brassards, the stand- ard taken from the enemy, and his shattered casque supported on the end of his broken spear. On one side of the litter came ^Maignan, his esquire, with his head bandaged, and his arm in a sling ; and, on the other, iNIoreines, his valet-de-chambre, bearing the orange velvet cloak of the hero, embroidered with silver lace, and the fragments of his sword and of his plume of 102 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. feathers. Behind marched his three prisoners, and all that the battle had spared of his gendarmes and arque- busiers. In 1709 the estate of Rosny passed into the family of the Count de Senozan, in which it descended to a lady who became the wife of the present Duke de Talleyrand. Her son, the Duke de Dino, sold it, in 1817, to a Parisian merchant, who resold it in the following year to the Duchess de Berri. It is now the property of Mr. Stone, a London banker, whom it cost (as we were told) five million francs. The Duchess de Berri, while she resided here, was very much beloved by her neighbours, and with good cause. The character of this very remarkable person is not yet well known. In all the high and splendid qualities which distinguished the age of chivalry rather than ours, she might serve as a perfect model for a heroine of romance. The time approaches, however, when the royal fugitive of La Vendee will be better understood ; for we have reason to believe, that, at this moment, there are authentic and interesting materials for an original Memoir exclusively in the hands of the Countess of Blessington. We shall hardly be accused of any affection for the cause of an obsolete legitimacy ; and yet we confess it is with much impatience we wait for such a work from such a writer. THE RIVERAINS OF THE SEINE. 103 CHAPTER IX. THE RIVERAINS OF THE SEINE. From Rosny to Mantes the Seine is invisible, although close at hand. The latter place stands on the side of a gentle eminence, sloping to the water's edge. In the engraving, the town, with the towers of Notre Dame, and the tower of Saint Maclou, are seen rising in an imposing manner from the left bank of the river. The bridge conducts to an island, whence another is thrown to the bourg of Limai on the right bank, which may be considered the fauxbourg of iVIantes. This town has received the epithet of " la jolie," which makes some travellers smile, and induces others of the graver class to inquire seriously into the origin of a term which seems so inapplicable. The truth appears to us to be, that at the time the name was given the town in all probability deserved it. Its streets, indeed, were then, as they are now, neither straight nor broad ; but if in cleanliness, neatness of architecture, and a certain air of opulence, they resem- bled those of the present day, the implied praise could hardly have been undeserved. The building with two towers which dominates the town, is the church of Notre Dame, an object des- cried by the traveller at nine leagues' distance. The 104 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. vault of the nave is singularly lofty ; and Avith us it lost nothing of its effect, from the circumstance of there being several men, when we entered, swinging in barrels near the roof, like so many spiders. These men were whistling, hallooing, and singing jovial songs, with all their might, while engaged in white- washing the vault ; and it was some time before we discovered whence those anomalous and distant sounds proceeded. To whitewash a church is, in our eyes, a profanity ; but Notre Dame has besides been the victim of a similar crime, amounting in degree to sacrilege. When its windows lost their ancient stained glass, through which only a dim, religious light was admitted into the temple, the full glare of day was found to be unsuit- able to its character. A coloured glass, therefore, was substituted, of all possible shades of yelloio, which it was supposed — probably from some autumnal asso- ciations — would produce an effect consistent with the awful solemnity of the place. The effect is indeed awful, and melancholy to boot. The church looks as gay and gaudy as a summer-house in a garden ; while the lady- worshippers resemble a crowd of ghastly phan- toms, condemned to revisit, for their sins, the haunts of their unhallowed joys. It is related of Eudes de Montreuil, the architect of the present church, that after he had finished, he was so confounded by the boldness of the vaults, that he did not dare to look on while their central supports were withdrawn. He deputed his nephew to this task, and awaited the result at home in fearful agitation. THE RIVERAINS OF THE SEINE. 105 The nephew returned — his hasty stej) was on the stair — he rushed into the room — " It stands! — it stands! — an eternal monument of your fame!" The architect fell on his knees, and relieved his full heart by a burst of passionate weeping. This great work was carried into execution under the patronage of the beautiful Blanche of Provence, the same avIio was loved so well by the minstrel Count of Champagne. He followed his lady wherever she went, singing her praises, and basking in her eyes. W hile at Mantes, he composed several of his songs and pastorals ; and among others, an address to the Mrgin, in which the poetical mingling of religion and gallantry has an inexpressible charm : " Dame des cieux, grans roine poissanz, Au grant besoig me soiez secorranz, De vos ainer puisse avoir droite flame ; Quant dame perc, dame me soil aidanz !" The tower more to the rio-ht in the engraving be- longed to the church of Saint IMaclou, and after the destruction of the parent edifice was preserved as a monument. It is distin";uished bv its lightness of con- struction ; and also by the peculiar nature of the funds by Avliich it was built. These were raised from the mites of the poor people *vho assisted in dragging vessels past the bridge of the town. In 1087, the presence here of William the Con- queror was fatal to Mantes, and to himself. He was on his way to Paris to celebrate his releva'dles, as he 106 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. had sworn " by the splendour and the birth of God," and unfortunately he paused for a moment to destroy the town. One of his generals preceded him, laying waste the standing corn, rooting up the vines, and cutting down the trees ; and when the people were without the walls, gazing in horror and amazement at the scene of devastation, William himself dashed through the gates, and set fire to the town. " As he galloped proudly through the streets," says a chronicler, " his horse made a sudden stumble, and threw him upon the saddle-bow, wounding him in the belly." The enormous prominence of this part of his body (the object of the indecent jest of the king of France, which it was William's present mission to avenge) rendered the injury fatal. He was carried to the monastery of Saint Germains at Rouen, where he died, after languishing for six weeks. In 1364, the famous Du Guesclin captured the town of Mantes, by sending De Lannoy before him, preceded by thirty men, disguised as vine-dressers, to take possession of the gates. When these masqueraders were already before the town, — ^' It came to pass," says a chronicle, " that the said Guillaume de Lannoy arose after midnight, and armed his people ; and when they came near Mantes, they left their horses and approached on foot. The night was very dark, and they could see but little ; till at length the sun rose. Now the men of Mantes had the custom of gathering together all the cattle at the gates, and sending them out to pasture in the fields ; and the gates were opened by four citizens, who kept the keys. When these THE RIVERAIXS OF THE SEINE. 107 bourgeois saw the aforesaid, they took them for ti'ue vine-dressers coming for their day's work ; and they opened the gates therefore, and set all the barriers wide open ; then went into the guard-house to put on their armour, while the cattle went out. " Then there came to the gate four vine-dressers, who entered therein ; and then six, who took posses- sion of the gate. Tlien each man drcAv his sword, and in another instant the whole were assembled. Then one of them blew a blast upon a horn with all his might, to the end that the ambuscade might hear which was close by ; and the citizens, in alarm, began to shout, ''Treason! treason!" The vine-dressers, how- ever, placed a wagon upon the bridge, so that they could not raise it. How that town was astonished ! when, Ijefore the greater part of the inhalntants were out of tlieir beds, Guillaume de Lannoy and his forces entered therein, and, unitino- with the others, beo-an to shout, ' Lannoy! Lannoy!' " Then the citizens fled towards the church of Notre Dame ; while Du Guesclin, Avith the Count d'Auxerre, and numerous knights in his company, who led on with them many followers, entered the town, all crying, " Lannoy! Lannoy!" for so it was ordered. While they were galloping through the streets, the people threw at them, one a pestle, another a mortar, to avenge their disgrace ; and the cry of ' treason I treason ! ' became louder and louder. The women clasped their cliildren in their arms, and began to cry, too, most hideously ; but Du (iuesclin went straight on to the church (already occupied by the 108 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. bourgeois) with a strong body of crossbow-men, who behaved themselves so well, that they entered therein to the number of five hundred. " Then some of those who were in the town began the pillage mercilessly ; when the bourgeois, who had retired to the tower of the church, seeing their misad- venture, called out to the French that they would render, and accordingly ceased lighting. Then Du Guesclin spoke to the bourgeois of the town after this manner : — " ' Lords,' said he, ' do you render to the Duke of Normandy, who is regent, and eldest son of the king ? If you wish so to do, and will give hostages and oath of loyalty, your goods and inheritance will be spared. To those who are of another mind, I freely grant leave to depart ; but not to take with them either jewels or money, or any thing of value beyond what is at this moment on their backs. Now, give me your answer at once ; for you see our people will lose no time in pillaging ! ' And when the bourgeois heard Du Guesclin speak thus, they feared to lose their goods and inheritance ; and they consented to become loyal subjects of the king their sire, and of their said lord the regent." We have said, that in the galiote from Rolleboise to Poissy the traveller may have an opportunity of studying the manners of the humbler riverains of the Seine ; but in the meantime, in the absence of such personal experience, we offer him the result of our own. We are moi'e particularly induced to detain him for THE RIVERAINS OF THE SEINE. 109 this purpose at Mantes ; for there we have the assist- ance of M. Cassan, the sous-prefet of the arrondisse- uient, whose book (ah'eady referred to) the " Statis- tique de Mantes," although wanting in scenic descrip- tive details, is a very excellent, and, even to the stran- ger, a very interesting performance. The abodes of the poorer classes inhabiting this district of the Seine, consist frequently of a hut com- prising only a single apartment ; in which husband, wife, and children, eat and sleep. Tliis, when the circumstances of the family are a little better, is divided into two unequal parts by a partition, gene- rally of boards. In addition, they have a cellar, sometimes dug in the rock, a pig-house, a poultry- house, and occasionally a cow-house, and a stable — at least for asses, and almost always a little court in front, and a little garden behind.'^' Advancing In riches, another floor is added to this for the sleeping apart- ments ; the roof is covered with tiles or slates, instead of thatch ; the walls of the rez-de-cliaussee are pa- pered ; the rude mantel-pieces are changed into marble ; and, aljove all things, a lai'ge mirror reflects the image of conqKirative Avealth, and prosperity. * ]M. Cassan nialves a very acute remark on tlic improvidence of tlio poor with regard to their liabitations. He says, that if they were pro- tected from tlie cold, damp air of winter, by the door, (See. being- properly fitted, their saving in fuel alone for a single year (not to talk of the addi- tional comfort), would abundanth' cover tlio expense. If those benevo- lent persons who are in the habit of sending- coals to the country poor in England, would diminish the ([uantity by one half, and lay out the value of tlie remainder in carpenters' and masons' work, they would perhaps ren- der a still greater service to the objects of their beneficence. no WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. The inhabitant of the cottage gets up at the sound of the angehis, at four o'clock in summer, when he begins the day by breakfasting on bread and cheese. At eight o'clock another meal of the same kind, perhaps with the addition of a bunch of grapes, or an apple, if these are in season, keeps up the system. At midday he dhies, generally on soup made of vegetables, with a little cheese or fruit ; at four or five o'clock comes a luncheon of bread and cheese ; and at seven, eight, nine, or ten o'clock, according to the time of the year, the soup left at dinner is reproduced for supper, with the addition of a salad dressed with oil and vineg-ar. It is not on the fire, however — extinguished long ago — that they seek the soup-kettle for their last meal ; but in the hed, where, covered up with the pillow, it has preserved a kind of memory of the chimney. Eggs, milk, or herrings, serve as an occasional variety in the above fare ; and more frequently beans, lentils, cab- bages, turnips, and potatoes. As for butcher-meat, our riverain eats it when he is sick, by w^ay of a delicacy, or on the fete-day of his village, by way of a feast. Pork is the most within his reach, as he fattens a pig liimself; but mutton, too, is come-at-able in the month of November, when the farmers are getting rid of their old sheep. On high family festivals a fricasseed rabbit smokes upon the board, and fills the atmosphere for half-a- mile round with the seducing odour of garlic. To this is added a salad, garnished with hard eggs, and seasoned with cream, fried bacon, sausages, pudding, and fiour-cakes. The bread is brown, and made of rye THE RIVERAINS OF THE SEINE. HI and barley, wheat and rye, or all three together. Before the Revolution it was either of barley alone, or of barley mixed with wheat. He rarely drinks the simple element. When cider is beyond his reach, he manufactures a " boisson" of apples, pears, sloes, or the refuse of grapes, which he puts into a barrel of water. Wine he drinks, just as he eats beef, when he is sick, or when he wishes to do special honour to a guest, or a fete-day. A riverain of this arrondissement is rarely known either by his family or baptismal name. His neigh- bours at an early period confer upon him a sobriquet which sticks to him through life ; and at length his orio-inal name becomes nothing more than a tradition preserved by the curious. A soldier was lately billeted on an individual called INIichel . Pierre ; but after a whole day's search, no such person could be found. Had the soldier inquired for Berlurette, every man, woman, and child in the commune would have pointed him out. The worst of this is, that it is a system more likely to spread than to diminish. Nobody but affected persons likes to be singular ; and sobriquets, more especially, are a species of compliment which one feels bound in honour to return. Whether the women come in for their share indi- vidually we do not know ; whether a girl marries a sobriquet, is, in like manner, a subject of doubt : we cannot take upon us to state, with an absolute convic- tion of the fact, that there exists at this moment a Madame Berlurette. 112 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. When a damsel lias consented to " change her name," the fortunate lover leads her to church on the next Sunday, mix accords. This is a beautiful custom. The youthful pair, who have exchanged their plighted faith, renew and sanctify the compact by kneeling side by side at the same altar. This is better than mar- riage ; for there is no prescribed form, no compulsion, no interference of the priest, or of the laws. This is the marriage that is sanctified in heaven, and the one, we will venture to say, which is considered most bind- ing on earth. On this occasion, the lover presents to his affiancee a chain, a cross of gold, or a silver cup, as the " corbeille de mariage," and the wedding-day is fixed. In some places, when the wedding-party are as- sembled in the house of the parents, and are just ready to set out for the church, the bride is reminded of a ceremony which she has to perform. It is no ceremony to her. She is about to tear away, at one wrench, all the ties that have hitherto bound her young life to the world ; to forsake father and mother, brother and sister, and to cling for evermore to the fortunes of one who is comparatively a stranger. This she would, perhaps, have forgotten, in the agitation of the moment, or in the enthusiasm of early love ; but the customs of her native village force it upon her recollection. She falls upon her knees before her father and mother, in the midst of the assembled company ; kisses, with (piivering lips, their hands ; and in a passion of tears, imploi-es their pardon for all the faults she has com- THE RIVERAINS OF THE SEINE. 1 13 mitted since her infancy. The parents, with choked voices, forgive and bless their child ; while the rest of the family stand round them weeping. In certain villages, when the nuptial procession comes out of the church, the bride is presented with a basin of soup and a spoon drilled with holes ; an em- blem, perhaps, of the disappointments and vexations of life, and a hint that patience, temperance, and for- titude, are the virtues more particularly demanded in her new situation. In the same spirit of a wise and grave philosophy, the bride is married in a mourning gown. The girl is dead, and all her happy, heedless dreams departed. It is the woman who now comes upon the scene, mourning for the past, and looking forward in fear or faith to the future ; it is the heiress of the curse of Eve who, lovely in her grief, and smiling through her tears, now enters upon her fatal inheritance. An hour after the young couple have retired to their apartment, they are roused by a knocking at the door, and the voices of their comrades, of both sexes, who sing the following song. We do not know Avhat the age of this morceau may be ; but we con- sider it a gem of antique simplicity. " Sur le pont d'Avignon, j'ai ouT chanter la belle, Qui dans son chant disait une chanson nouvelle — Qui dans son chant disait une chanson nouvelle : Ouviez la porte, ouvrez, nouvelle marice ! Nos amours sout sur I'eau dans un bateau de verre ; Le bateau s'cst cassc, nos amours sout par terre. i 114 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. Le bateau s'est casse, nos amours sont par terre — Ouvrez la porte, ouvrez, nouvelle mariee ! " The lady replies in a similar strain, excusing her- self from opening the door, and bidding them wait till the mornlno;. The song concludes thus: " Attendez a demain la fraiche matinee, Pour que mon lit soit fait, ma chambre balayee ; Pour que mon lit soit fait, ma chambre balayee, Et que mon mari soit a gagner sa journee." The visitors, however, persist, and the door is at length opened ; when the young couple receive the cJiaudeau, consisting of mulled wine and toasted bread. Besides the songs bearing immediate reference to the business on hand, there are many others sung pre- scriptively, or by custom, at nuptials. Of these we present the reader with the following as a favourable specimen : — " Uier, sur le pont d'Avignon, Ilier, sur le pont d'Avignon, Jai oui chanter la belle, Lon lu, Jai ou'i chanter la belle ; Elle chantait d'un ton si doux, Elle chantait d'un ton si doux, Comme une demoiselle, Lon la, Comme une demoiselle, THE RIVERAINS OF THE SEINE. 115 Que le fils du roi Tentendit, Que le fils du roi I'entendit, Du logis de son pfere, Lon la, Du logis de son pere. II appela ses servileurs, II appela ses serviteurs, Valets, et chambriferes, Lon la, \'alets et cliambriferes. Ca, que Ton bride mon cheval, Ca, que I'on bride mon cheval, Et lui mette sa selle, Lon la, Et lui mette sa selle. Monsieur, ou voulez-vous aller ? Monsieur, ou voulez-vous aller ? Ce n'est qu'une bergbre, Lon la, Ce n'est qu'une bergfere. Bergbre ou non, je veux la voir, Bergere ou non, je veux la voir, Ou que mon cheval crbve ! Lon la, Ou que mon cheval crbve!" It would not be proper, while on the subject of marriages, to omit mentioning a custom which exists in some conniiunes. The morning after the nuptials, the bride is carried on the shoulders of the young men of the village to the nearest cross, and there she is 116 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. compelled to swear anew fidelity to her husband. The lay-priest then approaches her with a solemn air, and the assembled multitude are as still as death, while he delivers, in awe-inspiring tones, the following com- mand : "■ Stretch forth your hand, madame, and promise, in the presence of God, never to go after your husband to the public-house !" She swears — Perjured wife ! Years flow by ; and for the holy bonds of nature, which were at least loosened by marriage, others are substituted that bind her by the very heart-strings to the earth. The wife is a mother ; and her breast is agitated by all a mother's hopes and fears. Her child is ill, or well — joyful, or unhappy; and the mother smiles, or watches, or weeps. He is absent : he has been called to the battles of his country; her fair-haired boy is tossing on the vasty deep : and the mother, looking wildly around, through the tears that blind her vision, demands of all things, in nature and out of nature, tidings of her son. She prepares a cake — this mother of the banks of the beautiful Seine — and having lighted the Chandelle des Rois,* divides it into as many parts as there are persons present, leaving three additional, one for the B6n-Dieu,t another for the Bonne-Vierge, and the third for the absent child. The youngest of the com- pany then, after reciting the " Benedicite," delivei'S to each his part, beginning with the Saviour and the * On the Fete des Ilois. t Tliis is the second, not tlit> first person in the Trinity. The cruciiix is called, in common parlance, the Bon-Dieu. THE RIVERAINS OF THE SEINE. 117 Viro"in, and endino; with the father of the family, savino- always, as he takes up the pieces individually, " Plicehe, clomine, ponr qui ?"* The morning after this ceremony the portions of the Bon- Dieu and the Bonne-Vierge are given to the poor; that of the ahsent child has heen already locked up by the mother in her safest and most secret recess. This is a talisman by which her heart is warned of the fortunes of her wandering boy. She examines it every day. If it begins to decay, he is unwell ; if it resumes its freshness, he is recovering ; if it moulders away, he is dead. Does Heaven accept the pagan offering, in the persons of the poor ? Yes, infidel priest, it is worth moi'e to the giver's soul than a thousand of your litanies! The mother's talisman, too, is made holy by a mother's love ; and the angels of God themselves descend to whisper a reply to the cease- less question of her unquiet bosom — " My son? my son c * " For whom, O Lord Phoebus V or Apollo, the sun. This is hig:hly curious. ]M. Cassan, howerer, thinks " Fabae, domine, pour qui ? " " O Lord, for whom the beanV more " vraisemblable." W hv so, 31. Cassan 1 118 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. CHAPTER X. The road from Mantes leads across its two bridges to the rio-ht bank of the Seine, when we find ourselves in the ancient bourg of Limay. The origin of this place is carried by some authors as far back as the time of the Celts ; but, at any rate, its name occurs in historical documents from the tenth to the fourteenth century. In 1376 Charles V. founded here the convent of the Cclestins, which, at a later date, became still more famous for wine than for devotion, Tlie holy brethren, at the sacrifice of much money, labour, and ingenuity, at length arrived at the pitch of equalling the finest produce of Burgundy ; and their total disinterestedness is proved by the fact, that the wine grown on their own hill-sides, owing to the expensive process of manufac- turing it, cost them quite as much as Burgundy itself. The poet Regnard, in his " Voyage de Normandie," celebrates this capital wine, and cries out in ecstasy : " Que sur le clos Cclestiii Toinbe a jamais la rosee !" " These poor Cclestins," says he, " made a vow, I know not for what reason, to drink the wine that grew in their own fields ; and at length, out of obedience and mortification of the fiesh, they contrive to swallow THE BAL. 119 it without grimacing*. God grant the patience requi- site to enable them to bear such a penance!" The hermitage of Saint Sauveur is also in this neighbourhood, dug out of the rock, to which a pil- grimage is made twice a-year. On our right hand is the Seine, with a considerable extent of view beyond ; and on our left a line of hills, dotted here and there with chateaux and their depend- ent villages and hamlets. The first is the very hand- some chateau of Issou ; then appears that of Hanen- court, which belonged, till the fatal coup d'etat, to INI. Casinur Pcrier ; and then the chateau of Juziers, with its village and ancient church. In the year 1245, when Louis IX. was king, a procession took place at Juziers strangely characteristic of the manners of the time. Two individuals, Robert de Villette and Guillaume Perier, had been banished from the kingdom for the murder of the prior of the ancient church mentioned above; but, longing to return to their native country, they offered caution that they would undergo whatever sentence might be pronounced against them in lieu of exile. They were accordingly condemned to various expiatory processions, which they performed on Sundays and high festivals, barefoot, and wearing trousers and shirts of coarse cloth, a rod in their hand, and their cloaks hanfjino; torn about their necks. In this state they marched from the spot which was the scene of the nmrder to the prior's tomb, proclaiming aloud : " We do this, because we are the authoi's of the death of John, prior of Juziers, and we do it in order to obtain grace and I'emission." In pur- 120 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. suance of this sentence, they made similar processions to various churches in Normandy, to Notre Dame at Paris, and to the cathedral church at Chartres; and one of them set out on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where he was condemned to remain, at Jerusalem, three years. It appears, however, that murderers were also allowed to make this kind of compromise with the relations of their victim, in order to shun the sentence of the puhlic law. Such was the case, towards the close of the following century, with a lord of Hacqueville, who had assassinated his wife. Her friends prosecuted him for the crime ; and, to avoid judgment, he consented to found a mass in perpetuity for the repose of her soul, to divide certain lands among the four daughters of his marriage, and to banish himself for three years from the kingdom, performing, in the meanwhile, the pilgrimages of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, of Saint Catherine of Mount Sinai, of Saint Pascal, and of Saint Anthony of the Desert. We pass the chateau and village of Mezy next, and then arrive at JVIeulan, a little town upon the Seine, partly built on an island called the Fort, which with- stood successfully the arms of Mayenne in the wars of the League. The principal business here is tannery ; but the current of the river runnino- with oreat force under the arches of the bridge, many of the poorer classes obtain employment in assisting their fouz'-legged compeers to drag heavy barges against the stream. Opposite Meulan is the He-Belle, where Louis XV. was accustomed to visit his librarian Bic'non. " Is the THE BAL. r21 aLbc on the island?" said his majesty to the boatman, as he came alone one day to the ferry. " The ahhiV replied the indignant Charon — " Monsieur I'abbe, me- thinks, would become one o^ your appearance better!" Following the route, we pass the village of Vaux, in a commanding and beautiful situation ; and then the bourg of Triel, where the traveller, if he arrive at the proper season, may have the satisfaction of eating deli- cious apricots. Between this and Poissy, the birth-place of Saint Louis, there is nothing remarkable; and the latter town is so only by its historical associations. So early as 868 Charles-le-Chauve held there an assembly of the nobles and prelates of the kingdom ; and it was till comparatively late times the Saint Germain of the French kings. The chateau, however, disappeared long ago, and Philippe-le-IIardi replaced it by a church, the position of which differs from that of almost all other Catholic temples. The rule is to place the altar to the east ; but the royal founder of the church of Poissy deter- mined that it should stand in the identical spot where Saint Louis was brought forth. The situation of the town is fine ; and from its old bridge, and the chaussee beside it, the richest views are obtained of the banks and islands of the Seine. But all this natural beauty is destroyed by the mean and dirty appearance of the town, and by a cattle-market which is held here for the supply of Paris. " I know no spectacle in the Avorld," says the Hermite en Provence, " more proper to make one adopt the system of Pythagoras. For myself, I 122 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. want words to express the feelings of horror and dis- gust with which I remembered that this prodigious multitude of animals, which saw, breathed, walked, bellowed, and bleated around me, before the end of the week would have their throats cut, and be mutilated, hewn in pieces, and hung up in bleeding fragments in all the streets of the metropolis." M. Jouy, perhaps, had never heard the reply of the butcher to the senti- mental lady who reproved him for his inhumanity in killing a sheep. " What the devil would the woman have?" growled he ; " v)ould she eat it alive'?" The river here makes another circular sweep ; but as we found nothing of particular interest on the way, we shall conduct the reader by the highway, across the neck of the peninsula, to Saint Germain. Before entering this famous place, however, we must take a retrospective peep as far as Mantes. The road by which we have travelled follows, as nearly as may be, with the exception of the last sweep, the windings of the river ; but thei'e is another, almost in a straight line from iNIantes to Saint Germain, which will be preferred by those travellers who patronise short cuts, and which, moreover, will be found not inferior to the other in beauty and variety. The first village after leaving Mantes, is Mezieres, a village of an origin at least as early as the sixteenth century. The church was repaired by Francis 1., and contains to this day some beautiful stained glass. In the neighbourhood, near the wood of Mezerolles, are the remains of a commandery of Templars. Farther on is Fpone, a village prettily situated on the slope of a THE BAL. r23 hill. This place, as well as IMezicres, was frequently visited by ^Saint Germain ; and here he performed the miracle of reducing a dislocation of the jaw-bone. Lest it should be said, however, that this could have been done as well by any old woman of the hamlet, it is necessary to mention another feat of the saint — performed after his death. AVhen they Avere transporting the body for in- terment, it stopped at every prison it came to ; and no human force or art could jorevail upon it to proceed, till the prisoners were set at liberty. Near Epone is a field called the Trou aux Anglais, the scene of a bloody battle between the French and English. This took place at the commencement of the fifteenth century, when the little village of to-day was a fortified town. It sustained gallantly many sieges of our countrymen, who at last carried it by assault. Besides several monuments of the middle ati-es, this commune, less explored, perhaps, than it deserves, presents numerous antiquities both of the Celtic and Gallo-Romanic epochs. The route crosses the little river Maudre, when we leave to the right the chateau of La Falaise, sung by Delille and lloucher. The village of Aubergenville then appears, and next that of Flins, both with their chateaux, and neither worthy of remark. Through orchards of cherry-trees we are conducted by the ham- let of Chambourcy to Saint Germain ; having found this direct route to involve a saving of about two leagues. Somewhere on the road we observed an old tower rising from the summit of a hill ; and although a vil- 124 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. lage and a country-seat were close by, its incongruity with the rest of the scene gave it an appearance of strange isolation. The chateaux we had passed were, in general, trim and cozy abodes ; the • middle ages seemed to have gone out of fashion ; and we amused our imagination with thinking that the Genius of Chivalry had retired to make his last stand in that little lonely tower. At a much earlier period, however, the physical monuments of the knightly age were all which remained. Even in the fourteenth century, chivalry in France was little better than a memory. Many of the forms, it is true, remained, but the substance was gone. Even a prince of the royal house, till he had received the acco- lade, could not wear gold on his vestments ; and his wife, besides being under the same restriction, was addressed only as '* mademoiselle." Such were the honours paid to an institution which might already be said, in all its essentials, to have passed away. Chivalry existed only in show ; in the splendid tourney, with its circle of ladies radiant in their beauty, their golden cinctures, their jewels, their scarfs, their waving plumes; and its crowd of gallant knights, glittering in steel, and glorious in all the pride of strength and all the vanity of youth. It existed, also, in the errant knight, the relic of a former age, who still vowed his vow — to eat only with one side of his mouth, and see only with one eye, till the accomplishment of his entei'prise. When he sounded the horn at the gate, the trumpet of the warder made haste to answer; for in case of delay, the THE BAL. 125 knifrlit was bound to turn his horse, and seek adventures elsewhere. When his advent was announced, the old ladies, agitated with a thousand heart-stirring recol- lections, arrayed themselves in the gown, stiff with gold, which had been the pride of the heroines of their race for more than a century ; and the young ladies, with eyes sparkling with curiosity, bosoms swelling with expectation, and cheeks full and flushed with suppressed mirth, awaited anxiously his approach. A noise is heard, resembling a hundred pieces of metal jingling and ringing against one another ,• and knight and esquire at length bow themselves into the room, covered from head to heel with plates of brass. The Wanderer flings himself at the feet of the fair, and swears an eternal love to all and each of them, young and old ; he tells of his enterprise and his vow, and begs them to observe his left eye covered with a patch of cloth corresponding in colour with his doublet. He laments his fate in being thrown under the influence of eyes which even armour like his cannot resist ; and laments it the more that his unhappy destiny compels him to tear himself instantly away from a beauty which must all his after-life haunt him like an enchantment. Having finished his speech, the ringing and jingling re-commences ; the knight-errant bows himself out, and the delighted ladies enter into a fierce debate as to whether they should admire most his person, his man- ners, or his brass. While indulging in these recollections, the merry tones of a violin — neither from a cabai'et nor a barn — but from an open field by the side of the road, called 126 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. our attention to a more interesting scene. The rustics of the village had retired hither to dance. We English have no idea of what this means. Dancing in France is not so much an amusement as a business; not so much a luxury as a necessary. The faces before us exhibit nothing of the excitement of mirth or joy ; but an air of entire satisfaction tranquillises the features and regulates the motions. There is no shouting, no running, no leaping, no flinging up, in, and out, of toes and heels, — all is done gently, gracefully. When the peasants of England dance, it is something altogether out of the usual routine of their lives ; they feel a kind of boistei'ous intoxication ; they dance with passion : the French dance with sentiment. The dance in France is not a mere re-union of the sexes ; it is an essential per se. The damsels of the Seine dance with one another when they cannot get male partners ; but as for returning home on a Sunday evening without having danced at all, it is a calamity which plunges them in gloom for the whole week. What had they been toiling for during the six days? why for the Sunday dance. It is the object and reward of their labour, the aim and attainment of their lives. It is associated even in the common speech of the villageoise with all that is all-important in her avocations. When, pursued by an unhappy fatality, she returns home dis- appointed, in tears and agitation, her pitying friends perceive at once — that she has not sold iier butter! The history of French dancing proves that the fine arts are not to be repressed by the tyranny of the laws. Dfmci)ig was discouraged in France by various kings THE BAL. 127 and states-general ; but the enthusiasm of its professors only rose the higher. It was expressly forbidden by the ordonnances of Orleans and of Blois, in 1560 and 1579 ; and the parliament of Provence, in 1542, me- naced with the scourge such zealots as presumed to teach or to dance the pilher or the voulte. All was un- availing. The brave dancing-masters continued to teach fiercely ; and the people to a man, or a woman, kept dancing, dancing. The pilgrims danced in the pro- cession at Rheims ; the mourners round the bier of Cardinal Birague danced weeping; Henri III. himself danced in the archiepiscopal palace, and at the hour of matins. At the moment in Avhich we write, Louis- Philippe, in order to celebrate the anniversary of the Three Days, has stationed bands of music in sundry places of the metropolis, that his faithful subjects may dance gratis. It may be supposed that where there was so much practice, theory was not neglected. Signs of dancing were invented like the signs of music ; and a friend in town sent to his friend in the country the last new dance, as well as the last new air, or the last new novel. These signs were formed of the letters of the alphabet — the simple and familiar being always the engines of really philosophical minds. The right hand step, for instance, was represented by a a ; the left by b b ; a, spring with joined feet by cc; the adieu by c; the return by r. The honour of this invention is due to the sixteenth century. The inventor, Thoinot-Arbeau, established for ever his own right by the publication of his immortal " Orchesographie." Two thousand years 128 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. ago, if Anacharsis be as veracious as other travellers, the signs of music were invented. Two thousand years more were required to produce the signs of dancing. The voulte, or volte, persecuted as we have said above, by the parliament of Provence, was a dance in which the gentleman caught up the lady in his arms, and danced away with her. It was not the parliament of Provence, however, which had the power to put down so pleasant a proceeding. The fact is, the women of the present day are heavier than those of former times; and it has now become an impossibility to carry off a lady otherwise than by means of a post- chaise and four. As for the dances that permitted, or rather enjoined, a kiss upon the cheek at stated intervals, they have become obsolete : at least they are not danced in public. These may be called the dances of reality, for there was no make-believe about them ; but the dances of imitation were more curious. In the branle des lavandicres, the dancers imitated with their liands and feet the sound of washing or beating hnen ; in the branle des chevaux, you heard the pawing and prancing of horses ; in the branle des matliematiques, you saw Euclid problematising on compasses ; in the branle des ermites, three recluses were tempted and tormented almost out of their sanctity, by as many incarnate fiends in the form of pretty girls. But the courante was the most dramatic of these dances. Three lovers danced in with their mistresses. The latter are coy ; they retire ; they adjust their toilet, their laces, their ruffs, still dancing, and keeping time with each other THE RAL. 129 with hand and foot. They return ; the young men meet them ; all bow, and pirouette, and languish, and despair; but at length the fair ones soften, melt, are reconciled, and all is joy and briskness — in the feet. On these banks of the Seine we recognised a dance familiar to us in Scotland. It is performed by the young girls when the scarcity of cavaliers throws them upon their own resources. They form a ring by joining- hands, and dance round one of their companions whom they have placed in the middle. In Scotland this simple movement is accompanied by as simple an air, which the dancers sing in chorus. Often have we sat at the windoAv in the evening, listening to it for hours together ; and the concluding w^ords, or rather their general sound, for we are not sure of the articulation, haunts our ear to this day — Marij Matanzy ! The French hal, however, — but the word is unin- telligible to the English — "ball," like most literal translations, is wide of the meaning. The latter is full of evil communications : it comes off the tongue with a sonorous twang, like that of the string of a violon- cello ; — it breathes of hot skins, unwholesome atmo- sphei-e, and mutton suet. Bed, on the other hand, is as iimocent, in itself, as a butterfly. Its locality is not described by the Avord room ; for it is independent of place, and heated air, and candle-light, and almost of music. It simply implies a reunion, no matter when or where, of men and women, lads and lasses, youths and girls, in which the harmonious vivacity of the soul manifests itself in the feet. But the bal, Ave say, hoAA'ever innocent in itself, K 130 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. occasions frequently the loss, not only of hearts, but lives. It often takes place under a thin canopy, and the tired dansense sits down to look on at the others, unconscious of her danger. If the scene has been a room, she lingers in the cold air on coming out, to bid good night. We have often ourselves seen a company of young girls crouching under a canvass roof, loath to be driven away by a shower, receiving the rain-drops as they fell upon their glowing bosoms with a playful scream, and inhaling, with the unconsciousness of lambs in the steaming den of the butcher, that damp, chill, heavy atmosphere, in which the germs of con- sumption were as thick as motes in the sunbeam ! In the arrondissement of Mantes alone three hun- dred and seventeen unmarried girls, from the age of sixteen to twenty-two, die every year, and tAvo hundred and forty young married women, from the age of twenty to thirty-two! These, with comparatively few exceptions, are the victims of the hal! " (J'est alors que souvent la danseuse ingenue Sentit, en frissoniiant, sur son (Bpaule nue Glisser le souffle de matin. Quels tristes lendemains laisse le bal folatre ! Adievi parure, et danse, et vires enfantins ! Aux chansons succedait la toux opiniatre ; Aux plaisir, rose et frais, la fibvre au teint bleuatre, Aux yeux brillans les yeux cteints. l",lle est niorte. A quiuze ans, belle, heureuse, ador^e ! THE BAL. 131 Joyeuso, et d'une main ravie, EUe allait moissonnant les roses de la vie, Beaule, plaisir, jeunesse, amour ! La pauvre enfant, de fete en fete promenee, De ce bouquet cliarmant arrangeait les couleurs! Mais qu'elle a passee vite ; helas ! rinfortunee, Ainsi qu'Ophelia, par le fleuve entrainee, Elle est morte en cueillant des fleurs ! " It is liardly necessary to affix the name of Victor Hugo to these exquisitely graceful and pathetic lines. 132 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. CHAPTER XI. SAINT GERMAIN. The view from the terrace of Saint Germain is one of the finest in France. In the annexed engraving, the spectator is supposed to stand upon the terrace, a small portion of which is seen — but only a very small portion, this superb promenade being seven thousand two hun- dred feet long, and ninety broad. Below the wall are rich vineyards, sloping down a steep bank till they join the meadows of the valley ; and beyond these is the graceful Seine, waving in picturesque folds round one of its innumerable peninsulas. On the left, far beyond the range taken in by the engraved view, the landscape is shut in by the vine-covered hills behind the fine chateau of the INlaisons, and on the I'ight by the wooded heights of Marly. Before, the eye traversing immea- surable plains, loses itself in the distance. The vast metropolis itself is only a small and indistinct portion of the expanse. To persons acquainted with the loca- lities, a filmy object rises afar off, which they recognise as the magnificent barrier of the city, the triumphal arch of L'Etoile; beyond that, some see the tower of Saint Denis and the heights of Montmartre ; while otiiers are al)le to point out, or imagine they do, the dome of llie Invalides or of Saint Genevieve. SAINT GERMAIX. 133 This view, and a shady walk in the forest behind, are the only attractions of Saint Germain ; for the old palace of the kings of France presents the appearance of nothing- more than a huge, irregular, unsightly brick building. It is true, a great portion of the walls is of cut stone ; but this is the idea which the whole conveys to the spectator. The edifice stands on the site of a chateau built by Louis-le-Gros, which, having been burnt down by the English, was thus raised anew from its ruins. Charles V., Frangois I., Henri IV., Louis XIII., and Louis XIV., all exercised their taste upon it, and all added to its general deformity. Near this Henri Quatre built another chateau, which fell into ruins forty or fifty years ago. These ruins were altogether effaced by Charles X., who had formed the project of raising another structure upon the spot, entirely his own. The project, however, failed, like that of the coup d'etat ; but this is of no consequence. The Neuf Chateau exists in various books of travels, written by eye-witnesses, cpiite as palpably as the enormous bulk of the Vieux Chateau. It is a true Chateau en Espagne. Among the sights to be seen in the palace is the chamber of Mademoiselle de la Valliere, and the trap- door by which she was visited by Louis Quatorze. There are also the chamber and oratory of our James II. ; for the reader is aware, that " Cost ici que Jacques Second, Sans ministres et sans maitresse, Le matin alloit a la niesse, Jit le soir allait au sermon." 134 WANDERII^GS BY THE SEINE. But SO much ridicule has already been thrown upon this unhappy king, that a Scot may be pardoned — were it only for the sake of variety — for citing here one of his few wise speeches, and that the last. " If ever," said he, addressing his son from his death-bed ; " if ever you ascend the throne of your ancestors, pai'don all my enemies, love your people, preserve the Catholic religion, and prefer always the hope of eternal happiness to a perishable kingdom ! " James died at Saint Germain on the 16th September, 1701. Tlie forest of Saint Germain is seven leagues in circumference, pierced in every direction by roads and patlis, and containing various edifices that were used as hunting-lodges — the Chateau du Val, the Pavilion de la Meute, and the Monastere des Logis, formerly a convent of Augustins, and now a chapel of ease of the royal house of Saint Denis. This vast wood affords no view, except along the seemingly interminable path in which the spectator stands, the vista of which, carried on with mathematical regularity, terminates in a point. This is the case with all the great forests of Fi'ancc whicdi we have visited, except that of Fontaine- bleau, where Nature is sometimes seen in her most picturesque form. In the more remote and unfre- quented parts of Saint Germain, the wild boar still makes his savage lair ; and still the loiterer, in these lengtliencd alleys, is startled by a roe-buck or a deer springing across the patli. The forest is frequented by three classes of persons : invalids, duellists, and suicides. It is said that lhere SAINT GEJOIAIN. 135 are more old men, of eighty, ninety, and even a hun- dred years, to he met with here than elsewhere in France. A suicide took place here in 1812, which presents some points of rather unusual interest. The hero and heroine were a young couple who liad I'e- soived to die together, since destiny, and the will of their parents, had forbidden them to live together. They came to the forest of Saint Germain, armed each with a pistol, which, while embracing, they presented at each otlier's head. The youth shot his mistress dead ; but the unsteady hand of the young girl having failed in its object, he hung himself upon a tree beside lier, with a handkerchief which he took for the pur- pose from her beloved bosom. The ceaseless crowd of carriages passing to and from Paris keeps the main street of the town in a perpetual bustle ; but, except on the market-days, every where else there is the stilhiess of slumber. The bi'illiant days of Saint Germain are over — when the throng of nobihty could hardly find accommodation. The numerous creations of this privileged body, although only fairly commenced in the fifteenth cen- tury, went on so rapidly that at length the whole country was covered witli nol)lesse. The cost of a common patent in tlie fifteentli cen- tury was at one time only a hundred hvres ; but at that early period there wei'e many disagreeable things subsequent to the payment of this sum. When the influence; used by the aspirant had at length prevailed upon the king to })ocket the hunch'ed livres, his letters, in order to l^e valid, nuist l^e registered by the 136 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. Chamber of Accounts. The chamber, before regis- tering, demanded cause to be shewn why such an honour shoukl be extended. A man must prove that he had performed some valiant or meritorious action ; a woman that she had become famous by her virtue. The fortune and estate of the applicant were then strictly investigated, his parentage, and number of children ; and, finally, the inhabitants of his neigh- bourhood were required to come forward, to state whether they knew of any thing which ought to pre- vent his being ennobled. But when this ordeal was past, the new noble found that his privileges were not all imaginary. He was entitled to dress himself in red. In processions, and communal assemblies, he walked, or spoke, after the clergy, and before the tiers-ctut. He was exempted from certain taxes and subsidies. In crossing a ferry, he did not pay. He was not called upon guard like the other citizens. He was exempted from feudal ser- vices and feudal gifts. In a law process, he applied at once to the royal judge, without going through the inferior courts. If he came under mutual bond with a bourgeois, the latter was imprisoned in case of failure — the noble was not. His furniture might be seized by his creditors, but not his horse. If he committed a crime in conjunction witli a bourgeois, the latter in some towns suffered corporal punishment, while the noble was only fined. If condemned to death in similar society, the boui'geois was hanged, while the noble lost his head by the axe. liefore these creations came into fashion, it may SAINT GERMAIN. 137 easily be imagined that the decline of the French nobility had commenced. There wei'e then eighteen dukes instead of three ; and the additional number of counts, visconnts, and barons, was in proportion. The proud niottos of the feudal lords only existed on their shields. In vain the house of Rohan declared in its heraldic device — " Due je ne daigne ; roi je ne puis ; Rohan je suis." In vain the legend of Mont- morenci still ran — " Dieu aide au premier baron Chretien!" — the decline had commenced, and the period became inevitable, however distant, when a patent of nobility would no longer be worth even a hundred francs. Independently of the noble satellites attached to the court, the infinite number of official persons made its removal to Saint Germain, or the other royal seats, seem like the emigration of a whole people. Forty- nine physicians, thirty-eight surgeons, six apothecaries, thirteen preachers, one hundred and forty maitres d'hotel, ninety ladies of honour to the queen, in the sixteenth century ! There wei'e also an usher of the kitchen, a coureur de vin (who took the charge of carrying provisions for the king when he went to the chase), a sutler of the court, a conductor of the sump- ter-horse, a lackey of the chariot, a captain of the mules, an overseer of roasts, a chair-bearer, a palmer (to provide branches for Eastei'), a valet of the fire- wood, a paillassier of the Scotch guard, a yeoman of the mouth, and a hundrt>d more for whose offices we have no names in English. The grand maiti'e d'hotel was the chief officer of 138 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. the court. The royal orders came through him ; he regulated the expenses ; and was, m short, to the rest of the functionaries, what the general is to the army. The maitre des requetes was at the head of civil jus- tice ; the prevot de I'hotel at the head of criminal justice. When the migratory court arrived at the town where it was the pleasure of majesty to reside, and where there was a royal residence, the first thing to be done was to secure lodgings, the chateau being in- capable of holding all. This was a simple business. The fourrier, or harbinger, went round the streets marking such doors as found favour in his sight, with white chalk if destined for the people of the king, with yellow chalk if for those of the princes. At this sign of power the lodgers instantly decamped, and the courtly travellers established themselves in their places. At former and ruder periods of the monarchy, certain houses possessed brevets of excep- tion ; but at the time we write of, all indiscriminately were at the mercy of the fourrier and his chalk. If any one, however, usurped the functions of this officer, and took the liberty of marking a door for himself, his audacious hand was cut off; while the same punish- ment awaited the wretch who effaced the chalk-marks of the fourrier. For these lodgings the lords of the court paid thi-ee sous a-day, and for each horse one sous ; and persons of inferior quality two sous for themselves, and six deniei's for their horses. iSo matter what the previous lodgers liad paid, what tlic landlord was accustomed SAINT (iERMAIN, 139 to expect, or what was the relative value of the dif- ferent houses — this was the established rule. The next thing- Avas to provide food — for your travellers are always hungry ; and here again much trouble of haggling and chaffering was saved by the intervention of a little wholesome authority. The prevot de I'hotel merely went round the markets, pro- claiming — such is the price of a pound of bread ! of a pound of beef, mutton, bacon, and so forth ! And thus the dealers knew at once the real value of their goods, and the purchasers what price they w^ere to pay. If any individual, however, presumed to cook his own dinner at home, it was considered, as the regulation says (Tst January, 1585), " pour estre chose trop des- honnete et indigne du respect que Ton doibt porter a sa majestc;" and the offender was justly punished for his want of sociality by expulsion from the court, — " la honte d'estre dcloge du dit chasteau." When the courtiers presented themselves at the chateau, some in chariots, some on horseback, with their wives mounted behind them, (the ladies all masked,) they were subjected to the scrutiny of the captain of the gate. The greater number he compelled to dismount ; but the princes and princesses, and a select few who had lirevets of entrance, wei'e })ermitted to ride within the walls. At court the men wore sword and dagger ; but to be found with a gun or pistol in the palace, or even in the town, sul)jected them to a sentence of death. To wear a casque or cuirass was punished by impi'i- sonment. The laws of politeness were equally strict. 140 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. If one man used insulting words to another, the offence was construed as being given to the king ; and the offender was obliged to solicit pardon of his majesty. If one threatened another by clapping his hand to the hilt of his sword, he was to be assommc according to the ordonnance ; which may either mean knocked down, or soundly mauled — or the two together. If two men came to blows, they were both assommc. A still more serious breach of politeness, however, was the impor- tunity of petitioners. The king would not hear, any more than God, for much speaking; and Francis II. at length erected a gallows in terrorem, as high, we take it, as that of Hainan, it being higher than the tower of the parish-church. Since the reign of Henri II. every body was un- covered in the presence of the king ; but in other respects a falling-off was observable in jioint of courtly magnifi- cence. At dinner, for instance, the beak and claws of grey partridges were not plated with silver, nor those of red partridges with gold ; nor were birds of all kinds stuffed, as formerly, with musk, amber, and other joer- fuines. The dress of the courtiers, however, could not well be richer at any period. The men, indeed, mounted on their shoes a eric, with ruffs round their necks spread out on plates of wood or tin, and their powdered hair frizzled in small curls, may have looked a little queer; but the ladies ! — with a petticoat of silver tissue swoln out like a balloon, and confined at the waist by their whalebone boddice covered with cloth of gold, and the train of their gown supported by one lackey in the middle and another at the em\ — 'nothing could SAINT GERMAIN. 141 liave heen finer — no, nothing! Fancy one of these gorgeous creatures so attended, sweeping into the room, like a procession, and plunging upon her knees before the king to ask a favour ! When the king hunted, he was accompanied by a hundred pages, two hundred esquires, and often four or five hundred gentlemen ; sometimes by the queen and princesses, with their hundreds of ladies and maids of honour, mounted on palfreys saddled with black velvet. When the king c/ZecZ (" Did you think I was im- mortal?" said Louis XIV.), the body was exposed in state, and then embalmed and placed in a leaden coffin. The mighty monarch being thus shut up, played the remainder of his part in effigy. A figure, composed of wax and white lead, modelled from the body, was placed in tlie grand hall of feasting, and served with dinner and supper, at the usual hours, for forty days ! This custom — the very sublime of proud imbecility — was also observed with the queen, and in at least one other instance with a lady of inferior rank. This lady was the beautiful Gabrielle. She lay in state at the deanery of Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois, dressed in a mantle of white satin. The bed, drapei-ied and covered with crimson velvet, was surrounded by six immense tapers, planted at regular distances, and eight priests, singing psalms without intermission. When at length ])laced in the coffin, her elHgy was served by a gentleman-waiter with dinner and supper for three days, with all the forms which she would have exacted if living. The meal was blessed by the 142 WANDEIilNGS BY THE SEINE. almoner ; the meat was carved as usual, wine filled out, and presented at the times when she had been accustomed to drink; and, finally, thanks were re- turned, and the repast concluded with washing hands. When the king had been thus feasted in effigy for the prescribed time, the coffin was carried to the church of Notre Dame, and thence to Saint Denis. This last procession was magnificently mournful. The streets through which it passed were hung with black, and before every house was planted a lighted torch of white wax. First came the capuchins, with their coarse mantles, girdled with ropes, and bearing the immense wooden cross of their order, nearly a foot thick, and crowned with a chaplet of thorns. Then five hundred poor, marshalled by their bailiff, all in mourning; then the magistrates and the courts of justice ; then the par- liament, clothed with rich furs ; then the high clergy, in purple and gold ; and then the funeral car, drawn by horses, covered with black velvet crossed with white satin, and followed by the long train of officers of tiie household. Onward flowed the mighty procession, voiceless, breathless ; while ever and anon a wild and melancholy swell of music arose from the royal band, whose in- struments were hung with black crape. Arrived at the church of Saint Denis, which blazed with the light of innumerable lamps and tapers, the bier was set down in the middle of the choir, and a service com- menced which lasted for several days. At the end of this time the body was let down into the vault, and Xoi'uiandy, the most ancient king of arms, summoned. SAINT GERMAIN. 143 with a loud voice, the liigh dignitaries of the state to deposit therein their ensigns and truncheons of com- mand. When this was done, and when at length the l)anner of France had been laid down upon the coffin, the king of arms cried three times, while the tones echoed wailingly through the recesses of the vault — " The king is dead ! The kin<>- is dead ! The kino- is dead ! " After a pause of deep and awful silence, the same voice proclaimed — '■'■ Long live the king !" and all the other heralds repeated — " Long live the king!" The ceremony was finished. The queen could not stir out of the chamber in which she received the intelligence of the king's death for an entire year. During the first six weeks of this time she was not permitted to see the light of day ; funereal lamps burnt dindy around her, and reminded her of the darkness of the o-rave. 144 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. CHAPTER XII. APPROACH TO THE CAPITAL. The distance from Saint Germain to Paris, by the direct road, is only five or six leagues ; but it is our business to follow the eccentric windings of the Seine, which become more extravagant as we approach the capital. We leave Marly at some distance to the right. The road leading to it is bordered with genteel houses ; and the view, opening at every step, is so varied and so beautiful, that the traveller thinks for a moment he is really approaching the paradise of Louis XIV., and prepares to exclaim with Delille — " C'est le palais d'Armide I C'est le jardin d'Alcine !" " What detestable spirit of avarice," demands M. de Villiers, " brought down the hammer of destruction upon this enchanted palace ? What Vandal dared to attack these twelve magnificent pavilions^ — these twelve temples of trees, by which they were separated — this multitude of statues, bowers, terraces, cascades — and all those clicf.s-d'a'uvrc of painting and sculpture which adorned this abode of delight ? The speculator, I am informed, who committed such a sacrilege, unmindful APPROACH TO THE CAPITAL. 145 of the memory of the greatest of kings, while thus heaping ruin upon ruin, at length ruined himself. O that it Avould please God to inflict a similar ven- g-eance on every demolisher of our davs!" By the " greatest of kings," jM. de Villiers probably means the " most splendid of kings." Ho^vever, he would have been just as eloquent, in the fulness of his legi- timacy, on the baby-houses and play-grounds of the " Children of France" — for so he loves to call the little shoots of French royalty. Next to ]Marly, as we go along, and at the same distance from the river, is Lucienne, Avhere a delicious retreat was built for Dubarry, which is now, although stripped of most of its magnificence, the property of INI. Lafitte tlie banker. Then comes Bougival, near which is one of the innumerable chateaux pointed out by tradition as the residence of Gabrielle d'Estrt'es ; and this leads us to IVIalmaison, the abode in her married widowhood of the amiable Josephine. " Placed in the midst of contending parties," savs IVI. Jouy, " yet conciliating all ; and called by desliny to temper rather than partake a despotic power, she was never cursed by the reproaches of the people. History will describe her agony, Avhen, with generous devotion, she sacrificed her affections and her crown U) the ambition of that prodigious man whose liappi- ness Avas dearer to her than her own. It Avill shew tlie star of this inconceivable being growing pale, from the day on whicli he tore asunder the ties which bound him to so angelic a woman ; and it will present her dying at the same moment when liis madness L 146 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. dashed him from the throne — like those tutelary genii who abandon the objects of their protection when, unfaithful to their inspiration, and deaf to their coun- sels, they forsake the path of duty and virtue. History, also, will remark, that at the epoch at which the idols of twenty years — once basely adored — were broken to pieces with an ignoble rage, the memory of Josephine was still respected, and her tomb was a sanctuary which the fury of parties dared not penetrate." On the left, as we sweep round the turning of the river, at unequal distances from the banks, are the villages of Montessou and the Carrieres-Saint-Denis — the latter famous for its stone quarries, and for an ancient fortress which does not exist. We then reach Besons, where the kings of the first race had a mint, and Ai'genteuil, where we still see a portion of the walls with which it was surrounded by Francis I. This was the retreat of Heloise, which she only left to become abbess of the Paraclet, in the diocese of Troyes. In this stretch of the river we have passed Nan- terre, surrounded by fields of roses, where Saint Gene- vieve, the holy patroness of Paris, once fed her sheep. The well which supplied her family with water still possesses certain miraculous attributes, which con- ducted thither Louis XIII. Here the traveller is offered cakes and bouquets, by hands which destroy whatever romantic charm might have possessed his imagination. Through plantations of vines and roses, we reach Coi-b(;voie, and regard for a moment the ma/'iiificent barracks of Louis XV.: but aware oftbe APPROACH TO THE CAPITAL. 147 utter impossibility of giving" more, in a work like this, than a mere catalogue of names sufficient to point out the line of route through the crowded environs of the capital, we press forward. La Guarenne comes next ; and then Colombes, seated under her own vine and her own fig-tree, where Henrietta of England, daughter of Henry IV., died in 16G0 ; and then Genevilliers leads us towards the end of the present stretch of the river, the water of Y\diicli sometimes inundates its fields. Crossino" ao'ain to the rio'ht bank of the Seine, we find ourselves at Epinay, where the kings of the first race had a palace, in which Dagobert died. Farther on, in the hamlet of La Bridie, there is another of the chateaux of Gabrille d'Estrees ; and immediately after, we enter Saint Denis, a view of which, from the oppo- site bank, is presented to the reader. The abbot Saint Denis, as we are informed by a chronicler of the ninth century, having been decapi- tated on ]Montmartre, took up his head in his hands, and walked off with it, accompanied by a train of angels singing a duet, composed of the Gloria t'lbi Domine, and the response Alleluia. The saint stopped at a village called Catolicam, where a basilicon was raised on the spot, commenced, it is said, by Saint Genevieve ; and the place itself, in process of time, was called Saint Denis. Dagobert has the credit, among the early historians, of elevating the chapel built by the holy shepherdess into a great temple ; and when he died, in 638, his body was deposited therein. The example was followed ou behalf of his 148 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. successors ; and the place remains the tomb of the French kings to this day. The church was thrown down and rebuilt several times, from the epoch of Pepin-le-Bref till that of Saint Louis. It was at one time fortified, and surrounded with walls and ditches by the monks, to defend them- selves from the English ; and a portion of the ancient battlements is yet seen on the two towers. Several of its abbots play a conspicuous part in the political history of their time, and particularly Suger, the famous minister of Louis-le-Gros and Louis-le-Jeune. It was in the time of this prelate that the Oriflamme was displayed at the head of the French armies, in- stead of the more ancient standard — the cope of Saint Denis. A place like this, consecrated by the bones of mar- tyrs, and filled with the dust of royalty, could not escape the terrors of the Revolution. In the year 1793 the fiat went forth from the Convention for the destruction of the tombs of Saint Denis ; and in three days the remains of sixty kings were torn fi'om their graves, and thi-own in a mass into one pit. The body of Henri Quatre was found almost entire ; and even in such times of republican fanaticism, there wei'e those who preserved, with religious veneration, hairs plucked from the moustaches and from the grey beard of the people's king. The church was afterwards converted into a store- house ; but by degrees its leaden roof, its stained glass, and every thing else of value, vanished ; and it would j)r(>l)ably liave fallen into utter ruin, but for that con- APPROACH TO THE CAPITAL, 149 tradiction in the character of Napoleon wliich every one calls so strange, and which every one knows and feels to be so common. The emperor, who had stepped to his throne on the ruins of legitimacy and the bleeding trunks of princes, was yet the perfect slave of all the prestiges of hereditary royalty. Among his other fancies, he desired that the ashes of the Bonapartes should descend into the same soil wliich had received, for so many ages, those of the Merovingian, the Carlo- vingian, and the Capetian kings. For this purpose he ordered the vault of the Bourbons to be re-opened, and the wliole church to be repaired ; but the events of 1814 transferred the completion of the task to other hands. The vault of the Bourbons is situated beneath the master-altai', in a subterranean gallery, to which access is obtained by two openings shut by means of iron gratings. In the last chapter, we alluded to the fune- ral rites with which the roval bodies were consioned to their ancestral asylum. One, however, still remains at the door, a candidate for entrance, at the foot of the ladder which leads to this dark, still, and dreadful abode. It is the corpse of Louis XVIII., which, according to transmitted custom, must remain on that spot till its successor comes to relieve its silent watch at the gate. The scene, when it takes jdace, will be curious. Tlie abbey is now occupied by the '' Maison royale de Saint Denis," an institution founded by Napoleon for educating five hundred giids, daughters of the mem- bers of the Leu-ion of Houinii'. 150 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. The direct road from Saint Denis to Paris leads to Montniartre, and there, perhaps, is obtained the finest view of this magnificent capital. We must ourselves, however, keep close to the Seine, although we cannot refrain from pausing here for a moment to notice a very extraordinary circumstance connected with the neighbourhood of Montmartre. This is the existence, on the very skirts of the metropolis, of a most daring, nnited, and unclean horde of depredators, amounting, at Montfaugon alone, to more than a hundred thousand. The following is the substance of a report which was drawn up by a public commission. Tliese wretches dig subterranean galleries, in such a manner as to bring down every building raised in the neighbourhood ; and it is only by means of particular precautions, such as strengthening and defending their foundations, that a small house near the clos d'equar- rissage* has been kept standing. All the neighbouring eminences, the Buttes de Belleville, have been under- mined by them to such a degree, that the earth shakes under tlie foot of the passers-by; while the steeper parts liave entirely fallen into the plain, leaving open to view innumerable galleries conducting to tlieir secret abodes. They are so voracious, that if the carcass of a slaugh- tered horse is left for a single night in the cquarrissage, it is found next morning stripped of skin and flesh to the bone. During tlie winter, when work has been suspended on account of the cold, a horse is sometimes left where he fell, till the next thaw ; and the workmen, when they return, on raising the skin of the animal, * Wlicrc liorses ure Hliiuy'literecl. APPROACH TO THE CAPITAL. 151 find nothing beneath but a skeleton, bettei- stripped and prepared than if it had been in the hands of the most skilful anatomists. They do not all dwell upon the spot -whei'e they find their subsistence ; but many are established at four or five hundred yards distance, as is proved by the numerous paths across the fields leading to their sub- terranean abodes. The increase of their population is absolutely frightful, their females having five or six births in the year. Nay, the dead bodies of some have been opened, and from fourteen to eighteen foeti disco- vered I The ferocity of these monsters is equal to their voracity ; and both surpass evei-y thing the imagination can conceive. This is proved by a single fact. Twelve of them had been taken prisoners, and were sent to ^I. ^lagendie for examination. They were shut up all together in one vehicle, and sent to his house ; but when the door was opened to let them out, only three out of the twelve were found. These three had de- voured the rest, and of the victims there remained nothing more than the tails. One would think that the spirit of the French Revolution had descended to the RATS, when they thus live upon blood and rapine, and after overturning all the edifices of society within their reach, finish by devouring one another! Following the ^eine from Saint Denis, we pass through Saint Ouen, and then the ancient village of (Jllchy-la-(jarenne, only separated from Anicres by the I'iver; and, arriving at Neuilly, linger for a moment on tlie magnificent bi'idge built over the spot whei'e Henry 1\'. and his queen were nearly drowned in 152 WANDERITv^GS BY THE SEINE. crossing the feny. At this bridge may be said to com- mence the finest avenue of Paris. The road leads in a straight line to the centre of the palace of the Tuileries. JN early midway is the grand arch of L'Etoile, forming one of the gates of the city, where the eye, carried through a long descending vista of trees, passes succes- sively, at the bottom, the Egyptian monument in the Place Louis Seize, and the gardens and palace of the Frencli kings, and rests at length upon the dark roofs and towers and domes of the metropolis. The line of the Seine, however, makes a wide and distant sweep round the Bois de Boulogne ; and, wan- dering along its banks, instead of progressing towards Paris, we find ourselves getting farther oft' at every pace. It must be remembered that we are now ascending the stream ; for tliis truly French river, when approaching the city, rolls down in an almost unbroken line, as if in haste to reach its destination. It is only when it leaves these beloved precincts, forced on by an irresistible destiny, that its imwilling waters describe a thousand serpentine turns before directing their course in earnest towards the ocean. On the right hand Mont Valerien rises, like a stupendous rock, crowned by the conventual house of Calvaire. A single carriage-road winds laboriously up the steep ascent, on which is placed, at every turning, a little chapel, exhibiting, in groups of statues, some circumstances of the Passion. On the summit, the mass of building is by no means worth the trouble of climbing ; ]jut it contains an accurate representation of the Holy Se})ulchre at .Jerusalem, the dismal vault APPROACH TO THE CAPITAL. 153 lighted by gilded lamps. The view, however, is the principal attraction of the spot ; for the days are gone by when Charles X. used to crawl upon his face, like some unclean thing, from idol to idol, A little further on, the annexed view presents itself, containing the biidge of Saint Cloud, and beyond it that of Sevres. Saint Cloud is said to have derived its name from a son of Clodomir, who founded a monas- tery there ; but it occupies hardly any space in history till the time of Henri III. who was assassinated on the spot. It was afterwards the personal property of Marie Antoinette ; and in the orangery, built by the Duke of Orleans as a tennis-court, the famous meeting of the Conseil des Anciens and the Cinq-Cents took place in 1799, which suppressed the Directory, and elevated Napoleon to the Consulate. The chateau is bj' no means equal to that of Versailles, either inside or out ; but the park and wood, occupying a surface of four leagues, afford the finest promenade in the neighbour- hood of Paris. Basins and jets d'eau, groves, bowers, and grottos, form some of the details of the scene, while the long- shady vistas through the wood, broken here and there by the inequalities of the ground, are picturesque even in their rectangular monotony. These very irregulari- ties were thought, no doubt, an obstacle which nature had interposed in the way of the operations of taste ; but Lenotre, regarding them with the eye of genius, only saw in them a still I'icher scope for the exei'cise of an art which the Fi'cncli writers delight to charac- terise by the word " magicpie." 154 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. On the loftiest part of the park, on an eminence dominating the valley of the Seine, there is an obelisk constructed in imitation of the monument of Lysi- cratus at Athens, and called the Lanterne de Demos- thcne. It is here where the citizens resort in the greatest crowds, to eat, drink, and sing, to loll on the grass, to whisper tales of love, and, in short, to enjoy those to them inestimable blessing* of fine weather and open air. It is here where we have often wit- nessed such scenes as that presented in the engraving, and where, wandering like a spirit, lonely and silent, through the throng, we have often wished that we could exchange the taciturn, meditative manner of our country for the restless happy buoyancy of the Parisian. In the month of September, when all the fountains are set playing in honour of the annual fair, the crowd of promenaders is immense. Then is the time to see the metropolitans in their glory. In our epoch, when every day is a fair in every street, these periodi- cal assendjlages preserve little of the character which formerly distinguished them. Pleasure is the grand pursuit, not business. Toys, trinkets, sweetmeats, are the staple connnodities ; and the country lass who walks in from her farm at lialf-a-dozen leagues' dis- tance, instead of sitting down weary and anxious in the market, stands up fresh, vigorous, and buoyant, at the bed. Very different were the fairs of lier an- cestors, VV lien France had faii'ly aA\akened from the lethargy of her iron age, the security and extension of commerce occu])ic(l a high place in the speculation;? of every man APPROACH TO THE CAPITAL. 155 capable of thought. Fah's were supposed to be the grand panacea for all the evils of the country ; and they were then the only important channels for the circulation of money and merchandise. The kingdom, however, had been drained of its gold by the crusades, and the legal interest of silver, fifteen per cent, was far below its real value. The want of a plentiful medium, therefore, was severely felt ; and the more so that almost every province had its own money, wdiich Avas unknown elsewhere. The infinite variety of weights and measures, also, was an endless source of annoy- ance and confusion, which they attempted frecpiently, but in vain, to remove, by the introduction of a standard. The baronial rights of the forty, or fifty, or sixtv thousand lords who divided the kingdom* served as another great check ; and the monopolies enjoyed by certain towns, although a vast evil in it- self, by no means completed the list of grievances. The roads were barely passable, and so unsafe that the travelling merchant was obliged to journey to the fair with his ell-wand in one hand and his sword in the other. If rifled, it was often by the connivance, or actual agency, of the baron through whose territory he passed ; and his only recourse was to a ruinous law- suit. The guides, established for his advantage, to lead him across the mountains, or wildernesses, which separated one province from another, were sometimes * III tlie fourteentli centurv, there were forty thousand communes, or jvtiiishes, in Frunce. The miainmm of the iuiml)er of lords must therefore have l)i'('n forls' thousand. 156 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE, less guides than robbei's ; and, in many cases, he might think himself happy if he reached the rendezvous without the loss of blood as well as money. These evils were partly checked by the establish- ment of leagues of protection, or defence, among neighbouring burghs, in imitation of the great combi- nation of the Hanse towns ; and answering, although on a larger scale, to what were called bonds of man- rent in Scotland. They existed with Paris and the other principal towns of the north, and Montpelier (at that time the Paris of the south) and the other principal towns of the south. The church, besides, going foremost, as usual, in good as well as bad, caused the fair to take place on days of religious festival; and thus all the three great motives of piety, pleasure, and gain, wrought together in attracting a crowd to the spot. The confluence of foreign mer- cliants was, above all things, a desideratum ; and to obtain this, innumerable privileges and immunities were showei'ed u])on strangers. By way of shewing the manners and spirit of the age, we may be per- mitted to mention that, among other inducements held forth, gallantry was legalised, by the removal of the customary fine! The fair, in some places, was opened by the prior and monks, mounted on great horses. In Champagne, more especially, the regulations were carried to what was su])posed to be a degree of perfection. No workman there was allowed to expose his manufactures till they liad first apj)eare(l at the fair. Each kind of mer- cbandisc iiad its own day of exposition ; and the last ArPROACH TO THE CAPITAL. 157 M'as appropriated to the show of horses, which were not permitted to enter upon the scene till all the stalls had been removed. Officers were appointed to inspect the goods exposed, that no faulty or fraudulent article might bring discredit upon the fair. Forty notaries attended, at each of the seventeen principal towns of the province, to write the contract between buyer and seller, without which ceremony the bargain was void. A tribunal sat upon the spot, for the pur- pose of settling, on the instant, every dispute that might arise ; and a hundred sergeants were in readiness to carry its directions into execution, and to preserve the peace of the fair. The merchants were admitted with- out fine or charge, and all persons were called upon to lend them aid and assistance. These I'eo-ulations insured such re])utation to the fairs of this province, that they were resorted to by dealers from all parts of Europe ; and for a long time the silver mark of Cham- pagne was a standard and universal coin. At other great fairs, although each s])ecies of goods had not its own day, yet each possessed its own place in the market. The money-changers, whose merchan- dise represented all the rest, commonly held the post of honour. Linens, woollens, silks, laces, all had their sej^arate avenues. The Avines of the different provinces held carouse together ; hams, Imcons, her- rings, cheeses, sat at the same table ; dishes rung and clattered together ; glasses hobnobbed ; and the dried fruits, genteel and exclusive, formed their own des- sert. When the necessity for pei'iodical fairs had been 158 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE, done away with by the general diffusion of commerce incident to the construction of good roads, the establish- ment of an efficient police, the introduction of a na- tional currency, and the other improvements which accompany the progress of civilisation, — the heavier description of goods no longer thought it worth while to travel. The people, however, although they might now buy in the town, or even in the single street of their own village, could not consent to lose the traffic of pleasure, or that amiable and natural enjoyment which human beings take in gazing at crowds of their own species. The fairs, in parting with real and im- portant business, soon lost also their religious cha- racter; but the lottery still remained, in which sous might be ventured for a china cup, or liards for a cake — the whirligig, where, seated in the clasp of her lover, the happy paysanne might feel her soul and senses grow giddy at the same time — and the hal, that happy concentration of all human enjoyments, in which every particle of the frame jiarlakes, in which head and heels, mind and body, dance, dance ! The next place, pursuing the line of the river, is Sevres, so well known to English visitors by its manu- facture of porcelain. The bridge here was gallantly defended by the inhabitants in 1815, against the Prussians ; who revenged their loss by pillaging the bourg for three days. Looking back towards Saint Cloud, the view is singularly fine — and yet not more so than looking forwards. The river, clustered with islands, makes a magnificent sweej) round the bottom of tlie bills on Avhich stands the Chateau de Meudon. APPROACH TO THE CAPITAL. 159 The next village is Issy; then Vaugirard ; and we enter tlie suburbs of Paris. On our left hand, in the meantime, ever since passing Neuilly, we have had the Bois de Boulogne, with its villages of Boulogne, Auteuil, Passy ; the last, which should be called a town rather than a village, extending to the walls of Paris. In the wood itself, there is nothing more remarkable than the endless vistas of trees, which we have noticed at Saint Ger- main. The Bois de Boulogne, from its contiguity to tlie capital, is a favourite Sunday liauut of the Pari- sians ; and it is even more renowned than the other for its duels. M. De Millers tells a very remarkable story of a debtor of his own, who shot himself in this wood with his mistress. He went to the unhappy man's house, and found there (inotltcr mistress tearino- her hair, and bitterly reproaching the memory of her lover. " It was with me," she exclaimed, " he should have done this ! It was with me he swore to end his life — and yet the ti'aitor loved another, and died with another !" " How!" said j\I. De Villiers ; " had you, also, f jrmed a similar design ?" " Yes, sir," was the reply, " qucst-ce que hi vie? W(; were weary of existence ; we resolved to enjoy all tliat remained of it; — to go to the play, the ball, the concert, the promenade; and then, when our money was spent — to die, as we had lived, loved, and 160 WANDERINGS UY THE SEINE. enjoyed, together!" Bruant, the object of this attach- ment, had neither talent nor education; he was far from heing handsome; and he was naturally of a pusillanimous character. Who can fathom the heart of woman ? PARIS AND ITS RELIGION. 161 CHAPTER XIII. PARIS AND ITS RELIGION. Having reached the Barricre de Passy, we enter Paris by tlie banks of the Seine. The view of the city, as will be seen by the opposite engraving, comprehends little more than the towers and domes of the loftier buildings, with the hill of Montmartre behind ; yet the general effect — assisted prodigiously, no doubt, by the broad and beautiful river — is grantl and imposing. Our own nros'ress throuii'h this wilderness of men must be as swift as that of the river itself; and a glance on either bank is all we can bestow upon the wonders of the metropolis, as we breast the current of the Seine. At present, we feel only a kind of dim conscious- ness that we have entered Paris ; for as yet there are few houses, and nothin J i~-\ w ..Tw^^r^nc-rv r»F rAf IFORNIA LIBRARY University of California on.^r?""'""^"'^ REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY ?nQ^AS,Pn/lo ^^"^'"9 •-°* ^7 • Box 951388 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. m^ ^ jut 41584 3 1158 01148 6700 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 000144 831 5 S( I