Part 7 (1/2)
In the fourteenth century, the estates of Lusignan pa.s.sed into royal possession. Hugues le Brun left in his will great part of the estates to the King of France, Phillippe le Bel. His brother, Guy, irritated at this disposition of the property, cast his will into the fire; on which the king had him accused of treason, and took possession of the county of Lusignan, which became confiscated to the crown. It was on this sad occasion that, for twelve successive nights, the spirit of Melusine appeared on the platform of the castle, wailing and lamenting in a pitiable manner, and making the woods and groves re-echo with her sorrows.
There is another account, that the castle was greatly added to by a powerful lord, called _Geoffrey of the Great Tooth_, son of Melusine, whose effigy might once be seen over the princ.i.p.al entrance of the donjon-tower; but his existence is as great a problem as that of the fairy herself.
Henry II. of England took the castle, and came here in triumph with his warriors. Louis XII. when Duke of Orleans, pa.s.sed several sad years in these walls as a prisoner. It was taken by Admiral de Coligny, in 1569; but it was lost soon after, and again and again retaken, partially destroyed, and rebuilt, and at length swept away altogether, leaving nothing but recollections, a piece of old tower, and Le Trou de Melusine.
It once had three circles of defence, bastions, esplanades, moats, and walls; embattled gates, one called the Gate of Geoffrey of the Great Tooth, one the Gate of the Tour Poitevine, and the gigantic Tour de Melusine in the centre of all; its subterranean ways, strange legends, mysterious pa.s.sages, and enormous strength, made it a marvel in all times, and a subject for romance from the earliest ages.
M. Francisque Michel is the last who has endeavoured to collect its curious records, and throw some light on its strange history.
In this castle was imprisoned, during his iniquitous trial, which is an eternal blot on the name of his ungrateful _friend_, Charles VII. of France, the rich and n.o.ble merchant of Bourges, Jacques Coeur, whose purse had been opened to the dest.i.tute king in his emergencies, and who had devoted all the energies of his mind to save his country from the ruin which the idle favourites who surrounded the throne were a.s.sisting as much as possible. His princely liberality, his foresight, and prompt.i.tude, had rescued Charles from perils which seemed insurmountable. He had come forward with a sum of great magnitude, at the moment when his royal master was so distressed that he could not undertake the conquest of Normandy, then possessed by the English. He paid and supported an army, and Normandy was restored to France. He rescued the country from poverty and misery, placed its finances in a flouris.h.i.+ng condition, drove marauders from the desolated land, and saw the little King of Bourges the powerful monarch of regenerated France.
Then came his reward. His inveterate ”adversary and enemy, the wicked Haman,” who had been for years watching to accomplish his downfal, because his evil was not good in the sight of the right-minded and true-hearted friend of his country,--the detestable Antoine de Chabannes, Count of Dammartin, rightly judging that Charles would be glad to rid himself of so enormous a burthen of grat.i.tude as he owed to Jacques Coeur, concerted with other spirits as wicked as himself, and succeeded but too well.
The first step was to shake the public faith in those at the head of the financial department; but they feared to attack the friend of Charles, and the acknowledged benefactor of France, _at first_. Money they were resolved to have, at any rate, without delay, and their first victim was Jean de Xaincoings, receiver-general. A series of charges were got up against him, which he was unable to overcome; he was convicted, sentenced, imprisoned, and his property confiscated. Great was the exultation of the dissolute lords of the Court, when, in the scramble, each got a share of the spoil. Dunois--_Le Gentil Dunois_!--the hero of so many fights--was one of the first to profit by the downfal of this rich man: his magnificent hotel at Tours was bestowed on the warrior, who did not blush to receive it.
Encouraged by this success, and becoming more greedy as they saw how easy it was to work on the king, when money was in view, the foes of Jacques Coeur set about accomplis.h.i.+ng a similar work, with his colossal fortune in view as their prize.
At first, there seemed danger in proposing to the weak monarch to despoil his friend, and to annihilate a friends.h.i.+p of years, and obligations of such serious moment; but, to their surprise and delight, they found his ears open to any tales they chose to bring; and having, in a lucky hour, fixed on an accusation likely to startle such a mind, they found all ready to their hands.
Dammartin brought forward a woman, base enough to swear that the fair and frail Agnes Sorel had been poisoned by his treasurer. The infamous Jeanne de Vendome, wife of the Lord of Mortagne sur Gironde, was the instrument of Chabannes, and her accusation was believed and acted upon.
A host of enemies, like a pack of wolves eager for prey, came howling on, and the great merchant was dragged from his high seat and hunted to the death.
In this very castle of Lusignan, where the fairy Melusine might well lament over the disgrace of France, in a dungeon, removed from every hope, languished the man who had, till now, held in his hand the destinies of Europe; whose galleys filled every port, whose merchandise crowded every city, who divided with Cosmo de Medici the commerce of the world. Here did Jacques Coeur reflect, with bitter disappointment, on all the selfishness, cruelty, meanness, and ingrat.i.tude, of the man he had mainly a.s.sisted to regain the throne of his ancestors. It was here he was told that the falsehood of the charge against him had been proved; but when he quitted this, the first prison which the grat.i.tude of the king had supplied him with, it was but to inhabit others; while a crowd of new accusations were examined, one of which was enough to crush him. The game was in the hands of his foes; his gold glittered too near their eyes; their clutches were upon his bags; their daggers were ready to force his chests; they were led on by one whose avarice was only equalled by his profligate profusion, and he was a prisoner kept from his own defence.
The wealth of Jacques Coeur was poured into the laps of _Charles_ and his harpy courtiers, and the victim was consigned to oblivion. Of all he had saved and supported, one man alone was grateful--_Jean du Village_, _his clerk_, devoted himself to his master's interests, and his life, and part of his property abroad, were saved.
The fate of the great merchant is still a mystery. His mock trial was decided by the commission appointed to examine him at the castle of Lusignan, in May, 1453, and judgment was p.r.o.nounced by Guillaume Jouvenel des Ursins, chancellor of France, after the king _had taken cognisance of and approved it_![7]
[Footnote 7: For account of Jacques Coeur and his dwelling at Bourges, see ”Pilgrimage to Auvergne.”]
A wedding was going on while we were wandering between the castle and the church, and we met the party on our way, preceded by the usual violin accompaniment. Our young guide was greatly interested in the proceedings, and told us the names and station of the parties concerned.
”What an odd thing it is,” said she, ”to be married. For two or three days everybody runs out of their houses to stare at the bride and bridegroom, as if they were a king and queen, though one has seen them a thousand times before, and, after that, they may pa.s.s in the street and n.o.body thinks of looking at them.”
Marie Poitiers and Rene Blanc were the happy pair on this occasion; the name of the bridegroom amused me, as I was reminded of the perfumer and poisoner of Queen Catherine, Rene Bianco, who had lately furnished me with a _hero_ for a romance. This Rene was, however, a very harmless-looking personage, a daily labourer, but ”bien riche,” as was his bride, who also worked in the fields, but had a very good property near Lusignan. ”All the family are very well off; but, they work like other people. Only you see,” said our guide, ”that the bride's sister, who is so pretty, dresses in silk like a _grande dame_, and does not wear the peasant's cap like the rest.” The cap of the bride was worthy of attention, as were those of most of the party. As they were amongst the first of the kind we had seen, they attracted us extremely, though we afterwards got quite familiar with their strange appearance. In this part of the country, the peasants wear a cap, large, square, and high, of a most inconvenient size, and remarkably ugly shape: they get larger and squarer as you approach La Roch.e.l.le, and cease before you arrive at Bordeaux. The bride's was of thin embroidered muslin, edged with lace, placed in folds over a high, square quilted frame, which supported it as it spread itself out, broad and flaunting, making her head look of a most disproportionate size. Silver ribbon bows and orange flowers were not omitted, and she wore a white satin sash tied behind, which floated over her bright gown and ap.r.o.n. A large silver cross hung on her breast, her handkerchief was richly embroidered, and her stockings very white and smart, though her feet and legs were somewhat ponderous, and did not seem accustomed to their adornment of the day, _sabots_ of course being her ordinary wear. She was led by her father, whom I mistook for the mayor, he was so decorated with coloured ribbons, and strode along with so dignified an air, his large black hat shading his happy, florid face.
The bridegroom closed a very long procession, as he led the bride's mother along: they were going to the Mairie, where, after signing, Made. Blanc would take her husband's arm, and walk back again through the town to hear ma.s.s, when _ses bagues_ would be presented to her by her lord. Great excitement seemed to prevail in Lusignan, in consequence of this event, and smiles and gaiety were the order of the day.
Our hostess proposed accompanying us to a chateau not far distant, in order that we might see the country, and as it was fine and not very damp we set out with her, having stopped in the town at a little chandler's shop for her sister who wished to be of the party.
Their mother--a dignified old lady, who looked as if she had been a housekeeper at some chateau--welcomed us into her shop, and set chairs while her daughter was getting ready, when she resumed her knitting, and conversed on the subject of their metropolis, Poitiers, with which she appeared partially acquainted. She detailed to us several of the miracles of Ste. Radegonde, for whom she had an especial respect, and a.s.sured us there was no saint in the country who had so distinguished herself. I was surprised, after this, that she treated the story of Melusine as a fable, though she believed in the existence of the subterranean way, and told us of the riches supposed still to exist beneath the castle and in the ruins. One man, lately, in taking away stones to build a house, stumbled on a heap of money which had evidently been placed for concealment beneath the walls, and coins of more or less value, and of various dates, are found, from time to time, as the large stones are removed for building, any one being at liberty to demolish whatever ancient wall they find in the neighbourhood.
Our walk was an extremely pleasant one, for the country round is very pretty and rural; it terminated at the Chateau de Mauprier, a private residence, which appears to have been formerly a fortified manor-house, to judge by its moat and the square and round towers which still remain.
The ”park” leading to it is a series of beautiful alleys, some of the trees of which are allowed to grow naturally, others are cut into form, with fine gra.s.sy walks between, covered with rich purple heath here and there in nooks. The walks branch off from s.p.a.ce to s.p.a.ce in stars, leaving open glades of emerald turf between.
As we approached the lodge through the slovenly gate half off its hinges, the sound of wailing reached us from within, and, entering the room whence it proceeded, we became witnesses of a sad scene of desolation. There was no fire on the hearth, all looked dismal and wretched; a great girl of twelve stood sobbing near the table, a younger one sat at the door, and, with her feet on the damp earthen floor, rocking herself backwards and forwards on a low chair, sat a small, thin woman, moaning piteously, and wringing her hands.
Of course we thought she was bewailing some severe domestic bereavement, and our companions, who were full of friendly commiseration, began to question her, but could obtain no answer but tears and cries. At length, by dint of coaxing and remonstrance, we discovered that the tragedy which had happened was as follows:
The gardener-porter was entrusted by his master with the care of the live stock of the farm; his wife had sent a child of about eight years of age into the woods with a flock of turkeys; the young guardian had been seduced by fruit or flowers to wander away, forgetting her charge, and they followed her example, and dispersed themselves in all directions. The consequence was, that an ill-disposed fox, who was lying in wait, took the opportunity of way-laying them, and no less than seven had become his victims: the little girl had returned to tell her loss, was beaten and turned out of doors; the husband's rage had been fearful, and, though a night and day had elapsed, and the second evening was coming on, the disconsolate wife had not risen from her chair, nor ceased her lamentations. The turkeys must be replaced; the little girl was not her own, but an _enfant trouvee_, whom she had nursed and loved as her own--and how was she to be received after her crime! the husband was irate, the children were miserable, neither cookery nor fire were to be seen, and despair reigned triumphant. A small present, and a good deal of reasoning, brought her a little to herself; and we persuaded the eldest girl to light the fire, and give her mother something to revive her; the father was sent for; but the poor woman fainted, and we lifted her into bed; where we at length left her now repentant husband attending her, and promising to reproach no one any more about the fox and the turkeys.