There exists a propensity, it seems, in the people of this part of the country, particularly about Agen, to fix contemptuous epithets on strangers who settle amongst them; it matters not from what land they come,--it is sufficient that the Gascon idiom is unknown to them.

The foreigner is generally called, in derision, _lou Franchiman_;[15]

and is, for a long time after his first arrival, an object of suspicion and dislike.

[Footnote 15: See the Poems of Jasmin.]

This term evidently belongs to the period of the English possession, when a _Frenchman_ was another word for an enemy.

On these sh.o.r.es, traces of the dwellings of the Romans are constantly found in Mosaic pavements, and ruins and coins. At Hures, in particular, some fine specimens have been lately discovered: amongst others, fragments of pillars of _verd-antique_ and fine marbles of different sorts. There is also a marvellous rock at Hures, where an invisible miraculous virgin is still in the habit of performing wonders, though her statue has been long since removed.

A high hill, once crowned with a castle, rises from the river after a series of flat meadows. This was once Meilhan, one of the finest castles in the Garonne, belonging to the Duke de Bouillon, who, suspected of treason, blew up his magnificent abode, destroying with it the abbey and church beneath. An immense forest spread far into the Landes from this point, only a few trees of which remain.

When the castle was destroyed, the clock of the Benedictine church rolled down into the river, and was afterwards raised in the night, and taken possession of by the Marmandais; the Meilhanais even still insist on its being their property.

There are some ruins, in the quarter called La Roque, of a rampart, from whence is a perilous descent to the sh.o.r.e: here once stood a tower, through a breach in which it is said that the Maid of Orleans conducted the soldiers of Charles VII., and took the town. This tower was seen at so great a distance that it gave rise to a proverb: "He who sees Meilhan is not within side it."

Over the princ.i.p.al entrance of the castle was a sculptured stone--still preserved, but in a most ign.o.ble position: it represented a cavalier armed with a lance, with a shield on his left arm; by the form of which it would appear to belong to those used by the ancient Franks. The arms of Meilhan are _three toads_, doubtless the most familiar animal in so damp and marshy a country.

At a village called Couture, a phrase is left from very old times, when _a_ Raymond, Count of Toulouse, happening to stop there to rest, asked for a measure of wine, which he drank off at a draught, though it was no small quant.i.ty; instead, therefore, of saying a bottle of two _litres_, it is usual to say in this country, "_A measure of Count Raymond's_."

The _Roc de Quatalan_ is near this point, whose name has been derived from _quatre-a-l'an_; because it causes so many wrecks in the course of the year.

There is nothing very striking in the appearance of Marmande, once remarkable for its castle and churches and abbeys; but now only a place of commerce connected with Bordeaux. Nevertheless, the Romans, Goths, and Saracens, made it a place of importance, and severally destroyed it in their turn. Richard Coeur de Lion rebuilt and fortified it, only to be again ravaged and pillaged by the party of Montford, and, under the Black Prince, it was taken and retaken. Henry IV. besieged it, and, in 1814, the town of Marmande had to sustain its last attack. It has a good port, and, apparently, some pretty public walks, and is about half-way between Bordeaux and Agen.

Caumont appears next, once not only famous for its castle, but its tyrannical lord; who, in the time of Louis XIII., was governor of this part of the river, and carried on a system of oppression which became unbearable. He cast an iron chain across the river, to prevent the pa.s.sing of vessels, on which he laid his hands in the most unpitying manner, taking possession of all he could meet with. At length, the relation of his cruelties and rapines found a hearing with the King, who, without consulting any one, had the detested lord of Argilimont, as his stronghold was called, arrested and condemned; his sentence was executed at Bordeaux the day after he was taken, and his castle and estates were bestowed on the Sire d'Estourville.

If half the castles which once bordered this river existed now, the scenery would be wonderfully improved; but they live in memory alone, and their sites are all that remain. Gontaud and Tonneins, where proud towers once frowned, are but insignificant villages now; at the first, a _patois_ song is said still to be popular, the chorus of which commemorated the loss of all the people of Gontaud, put to the sword by Biron, in revenge for the death of one of his best officers: it runs thus:--

"Las damos, que soun sul rempart Cridon moun Diou! Bierge Mario!

Adiou, Gountaou, bilo jolio!"

Perhaps that which is most worthy of remark on the Garonne, is the number of _flying bridges_ which cross it, replacing many an old stone or wooden one, or a ferry, with which the inhabitants of these parts were so long contented. It is to the Messrs. Seguin that France is indebted for these beautiful constructions, the hint of which they are said to have taken in England. I had seen few of them when I visited his _family of beauties_ in the valley near Montbard, whose accomplishments and singular attractions furnished me with a romantic chapter in my _last pilgrimage_.[16]

[Footnote 16: "See Pilgrimage to Auvergne," chap. xiii. p. 271.]

A stone bridge, built by Napoleon, however, crosses the river at Aiguillon, which stands at the confluence of the Lot and Garonne, and is famous for its castle, built by the Duke d'Aiguillon--that minister who, protected by Mde. du Barry, gave his aid towards preparing the downfal of France, undermined by the acts of a series of worthless characters, in every department of the state, from the monarch downwards. Marie Antoinette held him in especial odium, and he was exiled, by her desire, to his gorgeous chateau on the Lot, where he was, in fact, a prisoner, not being allowed to sleep out of it; on one occasion, when he visited Agen for two days, word was sent to him that it was expected he should not prolong his stay. The castle, in his time, was a Versailles in miniature, and was not entirely finished at the Revolution.

An ancient Roman tower, of which a few walls only now remain, on the route to Agen, was once a conspicuous object from the river: it was called _La Tourra.s.se_, ("_enormous tower_" in _patois_), and many discoveries prove the importance of this place in the time of the Romans.

The Base is the next river that falls into the Garonne, following whose banks towards Nerac is Barbaste and its old chateau, of which Henri Quatre was fond of calling himself _The Miller_, which t.i.tle, on one occasion, stood him in good stead when a great danger threatened him; a soldier of the opposite party, who came from this part of the country where the prince was always beloved, could not resolve to see the destruction which awaited him if he had advanced a step towards a mine which was just on the point of blowing up. At the critical instant, he called out, in _patois_, which none but Henry understood, "Moulie de Barbaste, pren garde a la gatte que bay gatoua:"--'Millar of Barbaste, beware of the cat' (_gatte_ means, indifferently, _cat_ or _mine_) 'which is going to kitten' (_gatoua_ has the meaning of _blowing up_, as well.) Henry drew back in time, just as the mine exploded. Thanks, therefore, to his readiness, and the expressive nature of the Gascon _patois_, the hero was, for that time, saved; he took care not to lose sight of his deliverer, and, on a future occasion, rewarded him amply for the service he had rendered.

The little port of St. Marie, well known as a safe harbour to the fishermen of the Garonne, once formed part, with the town, of the possessions of Raymond, the last Count of Toulouse; who, after a series of persecutions from the Pope and the King of France, (St. Louis,) to induce him to give up the protection of the Albigenses, was permitted to retain this portion, only on condition of destroying the fortifications of the strong castle which existed there. Guy, Viscount de Cavaillon, his friend and fellow troubadour, on one occasion addressed to him the following lines, to which he returned the answer subjoined; but, nevertheless, was obliged to submit to the power of the Church, like the rest of the world:

"GUY DE CAVAILLON TO THE COUNT OF TOULOUSE.

"Tell me, Count, if you would rather Owe your lands and castles high To the Pope, our holy father, Or to sacred chivalry?

Were it best a knight and n.o.ble Conquer'd by his sword alone, Bearing heat, and cold, and trouble, By his arm to gain his own?"

"ANSWER OF COUNT RAYMOND TO GUY DE CAVAILLON.

"Guy, much sooner would I gain All by valour and my sword, Than by other means obtain What no honour can afford.

Church nor clergy I despise, Neither fear them, as you know; But no towers or castles prize Which their hands alone bestow: Holding honour above all Gifts or conquests, great or small."

The evening was drawing in too much by the time we reached that part of the sh.o.r.e, where the few walls of the once stupendous chateau of the Lusignans appear, and we could see nothing but the shadow--it might be of the wings of the fairy, Melusine, hovering in the dim light over this, one of her numerous castles.

Here lived and contended Hugues de Lusignan, Counte de la Marche, who had married his first love, the beautiful Isabeau d'Angouleme, widow of King John of England; whose effigy so delighted me at Fontevraud, lying beside that of her brother-in-law, Coeur de Lion.[17] But, if that lovely face and delicate form truly represented the princess, her character is singularly at variance with her gentle demeanour. She was the most imperious, restlessly proud, and vindictive woman of her time, and kept up a constant warfare with her husband and the King of France; to whom she could not endure that the Count de Lusignan should be considered a va.s.sal. "I," she cried, "the widow of a king! the mother of a king and an empress! am, then, to be reduced to take rank after a simple countess! to do homage to a count!" This was on the occasion of the marriage of the brother of Louis IX., with Jeanne, Countess and heiress of Toulouse, to whom the Count of Lusignan owed homage. "No,"

she continued, with indignant fury, "you shall not commit so cowardly an action: resist: my son, and my son-in-law, will come to your aid. I will raise the people of Poitou--my allies, my va.s.sals--and, if they are not enough, I have power alone to save you from such disgrace." Hugues, thus excited, agreed to follow her counsel; and a long struggle ensued, sometimes attended with triumph to the haughty countess, sometimes with discomfiture; and ending by the ruin of her husband and children, and the confiscation of much of their domains to the crown of France. This was she to whom the troubadour count addressed these lines, amongst others:

"So full of pleasure is my pain, To me my sorrow is so dear, That, not the universe to gain Would I exchange a single tear.

"What have I said?--I cannot choose, Nor would I seek to have the will; How can I when my soul I lose In thought and sleepless visions still, Yet cannot from her presence fly, Altho' to linger is to die."

[Footnote 17: See "A Summer amongst the Bocages and the Vines," vol. ii.

chap. i. page 15.]

We were seated in the cabin of the steam-boat, resigning ourselves to patience until Agen should be reached--for it was now dark, and a shower had fallen which made the decks wet--when we were summoned to brave all by the promise of a treat above. We had observed, in the course of the day, a party of young women, each wrapped in a large black cloak, the pointed hood of which was either drawn over the head or allowed to fall behind, showing the singular square cap, which at once told they were Roch.e.l.laises. They were at the opposite end of the long vessel; and, as some were below, we had no idea that they mustered so large a party, for it appeared that there were no fewer than twenty-one, all from La Tremblade, or the other islands in the neighbourhood of La Roch.e.l.le.

They were taking their usual autumn voyage up the Garonne, and, from Agen, were destined to various towns as far as the Pyrenees, where they remain all the oyster season, receiving, by the boat, twice a week, a consignment of oysters to be disposed of, on the spot where their residence is fixed. They were generally young, some extremely so, and very well conducted; sitting together in groups, and talking in an under tone; but, at this hour of the evening, they all congregated on deck, and were singing some of their songs as the boat went rapidly on, and the soft breeze caught up their notes.

When I first joined them, it was so dark that I could distinguish their figures with difficulty, and only knew, by the murmurs of applause which followed the close of their chaunt, that they were surrounded by all the crew, who were attentively listening to their strains. When they found some strangers had come amongst them they were seized with a fit of shyness, which I feared would put a stop to the scene altogether; for the chief songstress declared herself hoa.r.s.e, and uttered "her pretty oath, by yea and nay, she could not, would not, durst not" sing again: however, at last the spirit came again, and, after a little persuasion, she agreed to recollect something. "Ah, Ma'amselle Eugenie," said one of the older girls, "if I had such a voice I would not allow myself to be so entreated." Accordingly she began, and the chorus of her song was taken up by all the young voices. I never heard anything more melodious and touching than the song altogether: Eugenie's voice was soft, clear, and full, and had a melancholy thrill in it, which it was impossible to hear without being affected; she seemed to delight in drawing out her last notes, and hearing their sound prolonged on the air. The ballads she chose were _all sad_, in the usual style of the Bretons: one was expressive of sorrow for absence, and was full of tender reproaches, ending in a.s.surances of truth, in spite of fate; and one, "Dis moi! dis moi!" was a lament for a captive, which, as well as I could catch the words,--partly French and partly _patois_--was full of mournful regret, and seemed to run thus at every close:

"The north wind whistles--the night is dark; at the foot of the hill the captive looks forth in vain,--ah! he is weeping still! always at the foot of that hill you may hear his sighs.

"'Alas!' he says, 'what is there in the world that can compare to liberty? and I am a prisoner. I weep alone!'--he sees a bird fly by, and exclaims, 'There is something still left worth living for--I may be one day free!'"

"Helas! le pauvre enfant--il pleure toujours: Il pleure toujours! au fond de la colline."

Perhaps this song might allude to some of those unfortunate patriots of La Vendee, whose fate was as sad as any romance could tell.

I never remember to have heard what seemed to me more real melody than this singing; and was very sorry when the young girls insisted, in return for their compliance, on one of the crew obliging them with a song; for he obeyed, and, in one of the usual cracked voices, which are so common in France, raised peals of laughter by intoning an _English air_--no other than "G.o.d Save the King." This effectually spoilt the pretty romance of the veiled Roch.e.l.laises; not one of whom we could see, in the darkness, and their voices seemed to come from the depths of the Garonne, as if they were the spirits of its waters, who had taken possession of our vessel, and were beguiling us with their sweet voices into their whirlpools and amongst their sands.

I thanked them for my share of the amus.e.m.e.nt, and remarked to one near me how beautiful the voice of Eugenie was. "Yes," said she, "she is celebrated in the country for singing so well; but, even now, her mother sings the best; you never heard such a lovely tone as her's; they are a musical family: every one cannot have such a gift as Eugenie."

This seemed a good beginning for the music and poetry of the south, and promised well for all that was to come; _but that music was the last_, as it had been the first, I had heard in France; where, in general, there is no melody amongst the people, in any part that I have visited.

As for its poetry, we were approaching a place where a celebrated _patois_ poet resided, who is the boast, not only of Agen, but of Gascony, and who has made, of late, a great sensation in this part of France.

CHAPTER XVII.

AGEN--LA BELLE ESTHER--ST. CAPRAIS--THE LITTLE CHERUBS--ZOe AT THE FOUNTAIN--THE HILL--LE GRAVIER--JASMIN, THE POET-BARBER--THE METAPHOR--LAS PAPILLOTAS--FRANcONNETTE--JASMIN'S LINES ON THE OLD LANGUAGE--THE SHEPHERD AND THE GASCON POET--RETURN TO AGEN--JASMIN AND THE KING OF FRANCE--JASMIN AND THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND.

IT was night when we reached Agen, and, amidst a tumult of _patois_, which sounded like Spanish, and was strange to our unaccustomed ears, we landed, and had our goods torn from us by peremptory porters, who, in spite of remonstrance, piled every one's baggage together in carts, and, ordering all the pa.s.sengers to follow as they might, set off with it to some unknown region. The stars were bright, and the night fine, as we scrambled along over a very rugged road for more than a mile--for, the new pier not being yet finished, the boat was obliged to land its cargo at a distance from the town. Up and down, in and out, we pursued our way, guided by the lanthorns of our tyrants, and at last found ourselves in a boulevard, planted with large high trees, which we followed till a shout announced to us that the Hotel de France was reached.

By what seemed little less than a miracle, all our baggage was safely brought after us, our troubles were quickly over, and we took possession of s.p.a.cious and lofty chambers, in a very imposing-looking hotel.

The next morning the weather was magnificent, and Agen came out in great splendour, with its fine promenades, handsome bridge, its beautiful hills and river, and its fine clear fresh air, so different from the dull atmosphere of Bordeaux. The first figure we saw on going out, was one of the Roch.e.l.laises seated at the inn door, installed with her oyster-baskets, and receiving the congratulations of all her friends of the hotel, who hastened to welcome her annual return to Agen. It seems, she takes up her abode at the hotel during her stay, and her arrival is considered quite an event, as we found at breakfast, where numerous Frenchmen were conversing with great animation on the subject. _La Belle Esther_ seemed to be a general favourite, as well as her merchandise, and she was so remarkably pretty, modest and graceful, that I was not surprised at the fact. Every one of her admirers gave her an order as he arrived, and her pretty little hands were busily engaged in opening oysters for some time, which having done, she brought them in herself, on a dish, to each guest. I was sorry to see that she had abandoned her costume, and was dressed merely like any other _grisette_; but this is very much the case everywhere. She told me, on great fete days, however, she occasionally appeared in it; but she seemed to think it more convenient to wear the little flat frilled cap of the town, rather than the square winged machine of her province. I had heard before that she was so well behaved, and so graceful in her manners, that she was occasionally invited to the public b.a.l.l.s of Agen; but she only answered by a deep blush, when I asked if it was so; and said, she _seldom went to soirees_. She is about three or four-and-twenty; and if the rest of her party who sang to us in the boat were as pretty, they must have been as dangerous as Queen Catherine's band of beauties, when their black hoods were thrown back. She was, however, not one of the singers herself; but I recognised, in her voice, the reproving sister who urged Eugenie to sing, and told me of her mother's talent. I afterwards met with more of my acquaintances in the dark, who were scattered through the towns of Gascony.