Part 9 (1/2)
”Alas!” said the young husband, as he marked their flight, ”those birds bode no good: they are the souls of King Grallon and his daughter, who appear always before a storm; if we escape the perils of the Isle de Sein, we shall be indeed fortunate.”
”Is this coast, then, indeed, so dangerous?” asked the porter.
”It is the abode of spirits,” answered the young man; ”and was the cradle of Merdynn the Bard; the city where he lived, is engulphed below those black rocks yonder, whose spires, like those of churches, are only visible when destruction threatens those who are found on the coast. We have, hitherto, been fortunate in all our undertakings; but there must come an evil day, which generally arrives when one is least prepared.”
”It is too true,” said his companion; ”for me, I thought all my misfortunes were past, and death alone could be the ill left to reach me. I have, of late, felt it _would_ be an ill since I have lived again in you and yours--before that time, I prayed for it in vain.”
A furious gust of wind at this instant swept past them, their frail vessel shook in every timber, and, mounting on a sweeping wave that came howling along, was sent forward with frightful impetuosity to a great distance; when, as if the angry billow disdained its weight, it was precipitated into a gulf of foam which dashed above the sunken rocks whose points received it. ”Oh, Beatrix!” exclaimed the young fisherman; ”it is all over; we shall meet no more; our fate has overtaken us at last! My friend,” he added, grasping the arm of his companion; ”if you survive, promise to protect her. We have suffered much, and borne our fortune as we could. I have brought this wretchedness upon her by my love; but neither she nor I have ever repented the lot we chose. She will tell you our story, and you will continue to comfort and support her when I am no more.”
”Be not cast down,” answered his friend; as, buffeted by the storm, they clung together to the creaking mast; ”I know your story already, and have known it from the first. You are the troubadour, Anselm, once the ornament of the Court of Elionore, and Beatrix de Montlucon is your devoted wife. She was said to have died in the convent of St. Blaise, and you to have perished in the Holy Land.”
The shrieking of the wind, and the roaring of the awakened thunder, drowned the reply of the young man: a crash, a shock, and their boat was split into several parts; they each clung to a piece of wreck, and used every effort to overcome the fury of the elements. Anselm's hold, however, was suddenly loosened by the falling of the mast upon his arm, and his friend saw him no more for several instants; he re-appeared, however, and a returning wave dashed him on a rock, which the porter reaching by a spring, he caught him by the hand and dragged him to the summit. There they stood clasping each other, and expecting every moment to be washed off by the boiling surge. For some time they, nevertheless, kept their stand, and, though not a vestige of their boat was to be seen, they still lived and still hoped, for their hopes rose with the danger, and, as they offered up their fervent prayers to the Mother of mercy, they felt not altogether abandoned. All night were they in this perilous position, hearing the waters around them howling, and climbing to reach the spot where, almost by miracle, they were placed. Day broke, and with morning came a brightened prospect; by degrees the sea sank, the winds subsided, and all trace of the storm was gone. But their situation seemed still little better than before; must they not perish on this barren rock, without food or shelter, if not washed off by the next tide, which might bring back the sleeping vengeance of the enraged elements? While they hung exhausted on the perilous edge of the peak, something in the distance caught their view. It grew more distinct; it came nearer; and they were aware that a sail was pa.s.sing: not one, however, but many; like the glittering of the wings of a flight of sea-birds, sail after sail hove in sight, and a gallant fleet came full in view almost as soon as they had descried the first.
Loud and long were their cries; hope gave them fresh force, and their voices were sent over the now quiet waves, echoing till they reached the ears of those in the foremost vessel.
The mariners, directed by the continued sound of distress, were able to steer towards them; and having at length discovered in the specks at a distance, amidst the waves, the unfortunate friends, a boat was sent through the sea to the rock, and at once received the rescued pair. They were taken on board and tended carefully; and, the wind being fair, the vessels continued their course, which they declared was to La Roch.e.l.le, much to the delight of those they had delivered from death.
The port so much desired was almost reached; and the high towers of the Chateau de Vauclair, of the cathedral, and the Grosse Tour de la Chaine, shone boldly forth against the clear blue sky. The captain walked the deck, and gazed long and anxiously forth; every now and then tears started into his eyes, which he brushed away; at length his feelings appeared to overcome him, and, burying his face in his hands, he sobbed aloud. The two grateful friends whom he had saved were standing by; he raised his head and addressed them; ”You who are of La Roch.e.l.le,” said he, ”can you not, perchance, tell me if one whom I left ten years ago in that town still lives and is well? Fears and forebodings oppress me as I approach the sh.o.r.e, for it is long since I have heard tidings of him, and much does it import me to know that he exists, and that my enforced absence has not caused him misfortune. Is the great merchant, Alexander Auffredy, still, as he once was, the ornament and benefactor of his native town?”
”Alas!” replied the youngest of the s.h.i.+pwrecked men, ”you ask after one long since forgotten in La Roch.e.l.le. It is now ten years since he was a ruined man, and, having nothing more to give to his ungrateful fellow-citizens, was abandoned to his fate, and has been no more heard of.”
”Unhappy destiny!” cried the captain, turning pale and clasping his hands; ”but he was rich, and his stores were immense; not twice ten years' absence of his fleets could have caused him to become bankrupt.”
”But he gave all he had to the knights bound for the Holy Wars; his agent, Herbert de Burgh, was either faithless, or the fleets entrusted to him were lost; he never returned from his last voyage to the East, and the unfortunate merchant, reduced to penury and driven to despair, is said to have destroyed himself.” As Anselm uttered these words the captain became convulsed with agony; his face was livid, his eyes rolled, his teeth were clenched. ”Wretch that I am!” cried he; ”who am the cause of all! I wrote to my dear master and told him of my intention to attempt a new discovery in a new world filled with riches unheard of before; but I waited not his permission; I set out without his leave, and, not content with what I had already gained for him, I resolved to seek more wealth; to what end have I gained it--to what end have I returned with riches enough to purchase Europe; all of which these vessels bear, if he, the generous, trusting, kind, indulgent, and deceived owner is no more? Where shall I hide my head?--where lose my shame?--and how survive his loss!”
They entered the harbour of La Roch.e.l.le; and as the gallant train of s.h.i.+ps swept proudly along, the whole population of the town came forth until they lined the sh.o.r.es in every direction. It was soon known, by the ensigns they bore, that they were the long-lost vessels of Auffredy; and many a conscious cheek turned pale, and many an eye glared with amazement as the gorgeous galleys covered the waters.
But the captain was lying p.r.o.ne on the deck; his face was haggard, his look wild, and he tore his hair in distraction. ”My master, my poor master!” cried he; ”I have murdered thee by my mercenary wickedness; oh, holy Virgin! forgive me, for I am a sinner!” ”Look up, Herbert de Burgh,” said a voice beside him; ”the Mother of mercy is never appealed to in vain; she can restore the dead to life; she can, though late, re-illume joy in the heart; she can revive long-abandoned hope. Look up and say if in this wretched, wasted, meagre form you can recognise one whom you loved; one who loved and trusted you with reason; who never doubted your integrity, and who mourned you lost more than all his wealth, which you restore!”
Herbert de Burgh looked up and beheld, leaning over him, the form of Alexander Auffredy.
A few words sufficed of explanation: joy took the place of despair, exultation of tears, and the minstrel, Anselm, heard, with feelings of emotion difficult to describe, that the wretched man whom he had saved from starvation was the rich merchant of La Roch.e.l.le.
Loud and joyous were the notes of triumph which sounded from every vessel as the news became known; the clarions and trumpets rent the air; wild exclamation of happiness and congratulation rose above the pealing music which ushered in the fleet to its haven; and strange was the revulsion of feeling on sh.o.r.e when the despised porter stepped from his boat, attended by Herbert de Burgh, who proclaimed him as his master.
Those who had shunned and injured the now wealthy merchant were astounded; and who were there, amongst the whole population, who had befriended him, or who deserved aught but contempt and hatred at his hands? There was _but one_, and she is clasped in her husband's arms, and sees, in the man she had protected, her lover, whose songs she had so often sung to her husband!
Auffredy kept their secret, and to none but himself was it ever known that the rich man who afterwards became governor of La Roch.e.l.le, and his beautiful wife, supposed to be a native of some foreign land, were the troubadour, Anselm, and Beatrix of Montlucon.
All the revenge Auffredy took upon his townsmen was to reject their offers of friends.h.i.+p, to refuse to take his place amongst them, and to avoid appearing in their sight. The bulk of his great wealth was dedicated to the foundation of a hospital for naval and military patients, and the rest of his days he pa.s.sed in attendance on the sick.
This is the story of Auffredy, the great merchant, the Jacques Coeur of the thirteenth century; and this is the history of the magnificent Hospital of La Roch.e.l.le, which he founded, and which is to be seen at the present hour, the most conspicuous object in the town.
CHAPTER XI.
TOWERS--RELIGION--MARIA BELANDELLE--STORM--PROTESTANT RETREAT--SOLEMN DINNERS--”HALF-AND-HALF”--GO TO SLEEP!--THE BREWERY--GAS ESTABLISHMENT--CHaTEAU OF LA FONT--THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED--TRIUMPH OF SCENERY OVER APPEt.i.tE--SLAVE TRADE--CHARLES LE BIEN SERVI--LIBERALITY OF LOUIS PHILIPPE--GUITON--HOUSE OP LE MAIRE GUITON--THE FLEETS--THE FIGHT--THE MAYOR AND THE GOVERNOR.
IT appears that, from the position of the town of La Roch.e.l.le, it was not difficult for the vessels of an enemy to reach its walls, and even to penetrate its harbour; the latter was formed outside the town, and the access to it was by numerous gates. The entrance, nevertheless, was defended by two towers, which still exist, if not in all their original strength, yet exhibiting an aspect of defiance, and recalling recollections of times long past, such as few towns in France can now do. These towers, which stand, like Sir Bevis and Sir Ascapart, bold and menacing, and forbidding the entrance to any but a friend, are called La Tour de la Chaine and La Tour de St. Nicolas.
The first is a rugged, round tower of great height and bulk, apparently of Roman construction; it was formerly called La Pet.i.te Tour de la Chaine, because it a.s.sisted its opposite sister, La Grosse Tour, to sustain the enormous chain which still, on occasion, closes the mouth of the harbour. The latter is now called St. Nicolas, and presents a most extraordinary and _old world_ appearance: higher than the first, its form is so irregular, that it would be difficult to decide what shape it could be called: round on one side, square on another, with little round, square, and octagon turrets rising out of it, the whole ma.s.s has the strangest effect imaginable. Within it is just as mysterious, having chambers built up and down, and communicating with each other in the most unexpected manner, so that the whole interior is a perfect labyrinth of galleries, cells, hiding-places, and rooms on different stages. This is just the sort of tower which seemed fitted for that inscrutable tyrant, Louis XI.; who wrote upon one of the windows, with a diamond, these words: ”_O la grande Folie_!” alluding, it was believed, to what he considered his weakness, in having abandoned Guienne to his brother.
The fortifications of La Roch.e.l.le were very extensive formerly, the gates numerous. La Porte Malvaut or Mauleon, La Porte Rambaud, du Pet.i.t Comte, de St. Nicolas, de Verite, des Canards, de Mauclair, de la Vieille Poterie, de la Grande Rue du Port, de la Pet.i.t Rue du Port, de Perot and du Pont-Vert, tell their age by their antique names. There are but few vestiges of any of these gates, except that of Cougnes, of the ancient Porte Neuve, and la Porte Maubec: but, besides all these, there are seven still existing. To complete the defences, there were formerly, _without_ the gates, two forts of great strength, one called St. Louis and Des Deux Moulins, the ruins of which still exist near the fine pyramidal Tour de la Lanterne, the most conspicuous of all, now used as a prison, which raises its head far above every tower and spire of La Roch.e.l.le, and which must show its _pharos_ at a great distance at sea. The architecture of this tower is remarkable, and its ornaments very beautiful: the spire that sustains its lantern is like that of a church adorned with graceful foliage to the top: it dates from 1445, and has been repaired at different periods. Medals were struck at the time of the siege, in 1628, which represent this tower, having the following motto round:--_Lucerna impiorum extinguetur_ (the light of the impious shall be extinguished). It was at this time that Cardinal Richelieu caused the great _digue_, as it is called, to be made to the south-west of the town, with enormous labour and expense, in order to prevent supplies reaching the Roch.e.l.lois who held out against him. At low water this _digue_ is visible, and remains a memorial of the cruelty and harshness of the tyrant priest who ruled France.