ON THE WAY TO LOURDES.
CONCLUDED.
Leaving Lectoure, the railway keeps along the valley of the Gers, a branch of the Garonne several shades yellower than the Tiber. The sides of the road are covered with genêt, or broom, loaded with yellow blossoms—the emblem of the Plantagenets, to whom this part of France was once subject. It is not long before we come to Mount St. Cricq at the left, where, in the IVth century, the glorious S. Oren, the apostle of the country, demolished a temple of Apollo-Belen, and set up an altar to the only true and uncreated Light under the invocation of S. Quiricus (S. Cyr) and S. Julitta. The church is now gone. A windmill stands near its site, the only prominent object on the hill, which is as bald and parched as if Apollo had claimed it for his own again.
Auch now comes in sight, built on a height, and crowned with the towers of its noble cathedral. The sides of the hill are covered with houses, whose arched galleries are open to the sun and pure mountain air, and gay with vines and flowers. The terraces before them look like hanging gardens, which give a charming freshness to the picturesque old city. The Gers flows along at the foot of the hill as quietly as when Fortunatus sang of its sluggishness centuries ago. We cross it, and gain access to the city by one of the long, narrow, steep, sunless staircases of stone, called pousterles, which remind us of Naples and Perugia. The place, in fact, is quite Italian in its whole aspect. As we ascend one of these flights we see, away up at the top, a large iron cross with all the emblems of the Passion in the centre of the landing-place, and we feel as if we were ascending some Calvaire. There is a broad modern staircase, much more grand and elegant, but not so interesting, dignified by the imposing term of escalier monumental, which takes one up a more gradual and less weary way of two hundred and thirty-two steps—something rather formidable, however, for the fat and scant o’ breath!
These old cities, built on heights for greater security, were powerful holds in the Middle Ages, and all have their history. Their towers are all scarred over with fearful tragedies, relieved here and there by some flower of sweet romance or saintly legend.
Auch was in ancient times called Climberris, the stronghold of the Ausci, who dwelt here before the Roman conquest—descendants of the Iberians from the Caucasian regions, who left their country and settled in Spain and this side of the Pyrenees. The chief city of the most civilized people of the country, a Roman settlement under the Cæsars, the most important place in Novempopulania, the capital of the Counts of Fezensac and Armagnac in the Middle Ages, and a wealthy influential see, whose archbishops took part in all the great movements of the day, Auch was from early times a place of no small importance, however insignificant now.
When Cæsar’s lieutenant, Publius Crassus, took possession of the country, he established a Roman colony on the banks of the Algersius, and the Ausci, descending from their heights, it became so flourishing that it received the imperial name of Augusta Auscorum, and was one of the few cities of the land to which the Roman emperors accorded the Latin right—that is, the power of governing itself. In the year 211, Caracalla allowed it the privilege of having a forum, gymnasium, theatre, baths, etc., and it became the seat of a senate, the head of which was a Roman officer called comes. Roman domination was at first submitted to reluctantly, but it proved an advantage to the city. Literature and the arts were cultivated with success, the people enriched by new sources of industry, sumptuous villas were built in the environs, and roads opened to Toulouse and various parts of Novempopulania. The pre-eminence of the schools here is evident from the poet Ausonius, tutor of the Emperor Gratian, who spent part of his youth at Auch, pursuing his studies under Staphylius and Arborius, both of whom he eulogizes for their learning. Arborius, the brother of Ausonius’ mother, was the son of an astrologer, from a distant part of Gaul, who married a lady of rank in this country and settled here. He taught rhetoric, not only at Auch, but at Toulouse, where he became the confidential friend of Constantine’s brothers, then in a kind of exile. This led to his fortune. The emperor afterward called him to Constantinople, where he was loaded with riches and honors.
Ausonius’ friend, Eutropius, a celebrated Latin author who held offices under Julian the Apostate, had a seat in the vicinity of Auch.
The women, too, of this country were inspired with a taste for mental cultivation, as is shown by Sylvia, sister of the illustrious Rufinus of Elusa, one of the best-versed women of her day in Greek literature, and who rivalled the noble Roman matrons of the time of S. Jerome in her knowledge of sacred science. Sylvia died at Brescia, where her name is still honored, while her native land has nearly forgotten her memory.
The prosperity of Auch was put an end to in the Vth century by the invasion of the Goths and Vandals, and the city was only saved from destruction by the mediation of S. Oren, its bishop. In the VIIIth century the country was overrun by the Moors, who destroyed the whole city, with the exception of a faubourg still known, after more than a thousand years, as the Place de la Maure.
Two centuries after, the Counts of Armagnac built a castle on the summit of the hill where stood the ancient Climberris, and gathered their vassals around them. Here they held a brilliant court which attracted gallant knights and the gayest troubadours of the south. We read that one of the counts, whose stout heart yielded for a time to the softening influences of the poetic muse, went to Toulouse to breathe out his tender lays at the feet of a certain fair lady, Lombarda, but prudence getting the better of his gallantry, he abruptly brought them to an end, and hurried back to the defence of his castle, suddenly besieged by the enemy.
It was also in the Xth century Auch became a metropolitan see, which was so generously endowed by the barons of the country that it became one of the wealthiest and most powerful in the kingdom. Its archbishops were to the great lords of the province what the popes then were to the sovereigns of Europe. They were the lords spiritual, not only of Novempopulania, but the two Navarres. Kings of England wrote them to secure their influence, which was so great that there was a rivalry among the leading families desirous of securing the see for their children. When the Counts of Armagnac transferred their capital to Lectoure, the archbishops became sole lords of the city, and in them centred its history from that time. They bore the proudest names in the land, and maintained all the state to which their birth and the importance of their office entitled them. We read that when they came to take possession of their see, the Baron de Montaut, at the head of all the neighboring gentry, met them at the entrance to the city, and with bared head and knee took the archbishop’s mule by the bridle and led him to the castle. This was in accordance with the customs of feudal times, when vassals offered homage to their liege lords by bending the bared knee to the ground, an extension, we suppose, of the Oriental practice of baring the feet. We learn from Andres de Poça, in his work, De la Antigua Lenga y Comarcas de las Españas, that the lords of Biscay took their oaths of fealty in the sanctuary in this way—a custom derived, perhaps, from the ancient Cantabrians, who, as Strabo tells us, went to battle with one foot shod and the other bare, reminding one of the touching nursery rhyme of “My son John,” or the French ditty which is more to the point:
“Un pied chaussé et l’autre nu,
Pauvre soldat, que feras-tu?”
There were two other bishops in the south of France who received a similar mark of homage at taking possession of their sees. At Lectoure, it was the Seigneur de Castelnau, and at Cahors the Baron de Ceissac, whose duty it was to offer it. At Auch, the Baron de Montaut afterwards served the archbishop at dinner and received the silver plate on the table as his perquisite. Dom Brugelles, in his Chronicles of the diocese, gives a ludicrous account of the disappointment of a Baron of Montaut at the arrival of a cardinal-archbishop of simple habits, whose service was of glass, though of fine workmanship, which so disappointed the baron that he forgot his loyalty and smashed all the dishes, to the great disgust of the cardinal, who left the city and never returned.
One of the Archbishops of Auch, Geraud de Labarthe, went with Richard the Lion-Hearted to the Holy Land, and had command of an armament. He knew also, it seems, how to wield his spiritual weapons, for on the way he stopped in Sicily for a theological encounter with the celebrated abbot Joachim, in which he proved himself worthy of his descent from the Lords of the Four Valleys. He died in the Holy Land in 1191, leaving a foundation for the repose of his mother’s soul, a touching incident in the life of this valorous churchman.
Another archbishop established the Truce of God in his province, issued indulgences to encourage his people to go to the aid of the Spanish in their crusade against the Moors, and finally placed himself at the head of those who responded to his appeal and went to the assistance of Don Alfonso of Aragon, where he distinguished himself by his bravery and religious zeal.
Other prelates have a simpler record which it is pleasant to come upon in such rude times. Of one we read he granted an indulgence of three days to all who should bow the head at hearing the Holy Name of Jesus. This was in 1383, when S. Bernardin of Sienna, the great propagator of this devotion, was still a child.
In the XIVth century we find Cardinal Philip d’Alençon, of the blood royal of France, among the archbishops of Auch. He died in Rome in the odor of sanctity, and was buried in the church of Santa Maria in Trastevere, where his beautiful Gothic tomb—a chef-d’œuvre of the XIVth century—may be seen in the left transept. In the arch is a fresco of the martyrdom of his patron, S. Philip, who was crucified with his head downward, like S. Peter; and beneath lies the cardinal on his tomb, sculptured in marble, with hands folded in eternal prayer. Above are his cardinal’s hat and the fleurs-de-lis of France, and below is the epitaph:
“Francorum genitus Regia de stirpe Philippus
Alenconiadus Ostiæ titulatus ab urbe
Ecclesiæ cardo, tanta virtute reluxit
Ut sua supplicibus cumulentur marmora votis.”
This prelate was the nephew and godson of Philippe le Bel, the destroyer of the Knights-Templars and persecutor of Pope Boniface VIII., who merited the stigma Dante casts on him in his Purgatorio:
“Lo! the flower-de-luce
Enters Alagna: in his vicar, Christ
Himself a captive, and his mockery
Acted again. Lo! to his holy lip
The vinegar and gall once more applied,
And he ’twixt living robbers doomed to bleed.”
“When, O Lord! shall I behold that vengeance accomplished which, being already determined in thy secret judgment, thy retributive justice even now contemplates with delight?” continues the spirit met by the Divine Poet in the place of expiation—words that might be echoed in these days, when
“The new Pilate, of whose cruelty
Such violence cannot fill the measure up,
With no decree to sanction, pushes on
Into the temple his yet eager sails.”
We are here reminded it was at Auch all the Knights-Templars of Bigorre, with their commander, Bernard de Montagu, were executed. M. Martin, in his History of France, observes that all the traditions of this region are favorable to the Templars. There is not one that is not to their credit. The old saying, “Drink like a Templar,” has no echo in the mountains of Bigorre. Many of their churches are still standing, objects of interest to the archæologist, and of devotion to the pious. There are six or seven skulls shown at Gavarnie, said to be of the martyred Templars, and every year, on the anniversary of the destruction of the Order, a knight armed from top to toe, and wearing the great white mantle of the Order, appears in the churchyard and cries three times: “Who will defend the Holy Temple? Who will deliver the Sepulchre of the Lord?” Then the seven heads come to life and reply: “No one! no one! The Temple is destroyed!” How earnestly these unfortunate knights begged to be tried by the Inquisition is well known. They felt there was some chance for justice at a tribunal in which there was a religious element.
A Cardinal d’Armagnac was Archbishop of Auch when the tragedy of Rodèle took place, which rivals that of the Torre della Fame at Pisa in horror. Geraud, brother of Count Bernard VII. of Armagnac, having married his son to Margaret of Comminges, took up arms against her for forsaking her youthful husband and withdrawing to the castle of Muret. Count Bernard took advantage of this to make war on Geraud for holding the county of Pardiac, on which he himself had claims, and pursued his brother from one castle to another. Finally taking him captive, he carried him to the fortress of Rodèle, and threw him into a deep pit, where he died of hunger and cold in four or five days.
Geraud’s two sons, John and Guilhem, alarmed at his captivity, but unaware of his fate, were induced to come to Auch to implore the clemency of their ferocious uncle, and on Good Friday, 1403, the Count de l’Isle Jourdain, kneeling with the poor children at his feet, besought him to pardon them, in memory of the Divine Passion that day celebrated; but neither the day nor the helplessness of the children, so touchingly alluded to by their advocate, softened the inflexible count. He had them imprisoned in the castle of Lavardens, and shortly after, Guilhem, a lad of barely fifteen, was tied to a horse and taken to the fortress of Rodèle. There he was shown the horrible pit into which his father had been let down alive to incur so fearful a death. The poor boy looked into the fatal pit, fell senseless to the ground, and was never restored to life. His brother John, the unhappy husband of the faithless Margaret of Comminges, was carried to the castle of Brugens, where horrid tortures awaited him. He had only escaped from the hatred of his wife to fall into the hands of Bonne de Berri, Count Bernard’s wife, a woman of insatiable ambition and relentless purpose. This new Frédégonde put his eyes out by passing a red-hot brazier before them, and then, remembering the strength God gave the blind Samson to take vengeance on his enemies, she had him thrown into a deep moat, where he died of hunger.
Never was there a family that reflected more faithfully than the Armagnacs all the vices and defects as well as the virtues of the Middle Ages. Its history contains every element to fix the attention, with its tragedies, its examples of brutal power, its prodigies of valor and heroism, its struggles in the cause of liberty, and, finally, in its marvels of faith. Religious influence sooner or later asserted its triumph in the heart. Many of the counts laid aside their armor for the cowl and scapular, and atoned for their sins in the cloister. They were benefactors to the Church, they founded monasteries, they fought in the holy wars. We find them with Godfrey of Bouillon under the walls of Jerusalem, and fighting against the Moors with the Kings of Castile and Aragon. Among the most renowned members of the race, we must not forget Count John I., a native of Auch, whose valor placed him on a level with Du Guesclin, the greatest captain of the age. For a time they fought on the same side, but they met as opponents on the plain of Navarrete, where Count John fought for Don Pedro and greatly contributed to the victory. Du Guesclin was taken prisoner. For more than thirty years Count John was one of the strongest supporters of the King of France. After the battle of Crécy, he stopped the tide of English invasion, and when the Black Prince was covering Aquitaine with blood and ruins in 1355, he alone ventured to resist him and obstruct his victorious march.
After the defeat at Poitiers, he veiled the humiliation of the king with the splendor of his munificence. He sent the king all kinds of provisions, as well as silver utensils, for his table. He convoked the Etats-Généraux to organize forces to avert calamities that threatened the country. He fought beside the Duke of Anjou and Du Guesclin in the immortal campaigns of 1369 and 1370. This was the period in which the grandeur of the house of Armagnac culminated. John I. married Reine de Got, niece of Pope Clement V., whom Dante thrusts lower than Simon Magus. She was buried in the choir of the Cordeliers at Auch, now, alas! a granary. The count’s second wife was Beatrice de Clermont, great-granddaughter of S. Louis IX., king of France, and one of his daughters married the brother of Charles V., and the other the oldest son of Don Pedro of Aragon.
Such were the royal pretensions of this great house. Descended from the Merovingian race of kings through Sanche Mitarra, the terrible scourge of the Moors, who lies buried at S. Oren’s Priory, founded by the first Count of Armagnac, on the banks of the Gers, the Counts of Auch, as they were sometimes called, bore themselves right royally. They acknowledged no suzerain. They were the first to call themselves counts by the grace of God, a formula then used to express the divine right, but in the sense of S. Paul and of the Middle Ages, which was simply acknowledging that all power comes from God, and that the right of exercising it has for its true source not the force of arms, but in God alone. We must come down to the XVth century to find the jealous susceptibility that only interpreted, in the sense of absolute independence of all human power, such expressions as Dei gratiâ; per Dei gratiam; Dei dono, etc., which had been used with the sole intention of expressing a truth of the Christian faith, a profound sentiment of subordination to divine authority. This intention is nowhere so explicit as in the legend on the ancient money of Béarn, where its rulers used almost the words of the apostle: Gratia autem Dei sumus id quod sumus.
Charles VII. thought it worth while to forbid John IV. of Armagnac, in 1442, the use of such formulas. Seven years after, he obliged the Dukes of Burgundy to declare they bore no prejudice to the crown of France. Louis XI. vainly tried to prevent the Duke of Brittany from using them. Since that time it has been claimed as the exclusive right of sovereigns. Bishops, however, retain the formula Dei gratia in their public acts of diocesan administration, with the addition: et apostolicæ sedis, which dates from the end of the XIIIth century only.
It was the independence and royal pretensions of such great vassals that determined the kings of France to destroy their power. Under the sons of Philip le Bel began the great struggle between the crown and the feudal aristocracy. In order to incorporate their provinces with the royal domains, they availed themselves of every pretext to crush them, and such pretexts were by no means wanting in the case of the Armagnacs, where they could claim the necessity of protecting the eternal laws on which are based all family and social rights and the principles of true religion. History is full of the cruelty of the last counts, and forgets all it could offer by way of contrast. It forgets to speak of Count John III., who put an end to the brigandage of the great bands in southern France, and went to find a premature death under the walls of Alessandria, in an expedition too chivalrous not to be glorious. It insists on the brutal ferocity and excessive ambition of Bernard VII., the great constable, and passes over all that could palliate his offences in so rude an age—his fine qualities, his zeal for the maintenance of legitimate authority, and his interest in the welfare of the Church. It lays bare the criminal passion of Count John V., and forgets his repentance and reparation, as well as the holy austerities of Isabella in the obscure cell of a Spanish monastery, where she effaced the scandal she had given the world.
Count John was the last real lord of Armagnac. He filled up the cup of wrath, and his humiliations and frightful death, the long, unjust captivity of his brother Charles, the scaffold on which perished Jacques de Nemours, and the abjection into which his children were plunged, are fearful examples of divine retribution.
The spoils of the counts of Armagnac were given as a dowry to Margaret of Valois when she married Henry II. of Navarre, who, as well as her first husband, the Duc d’Alençon, descended from the Armagnacs. Henry and Margaret made their solemn entry into Auch in 1527, and the latter, as Countess of Armagnac, took her seat as honorary canon in the cathedral. Her arms are still over the first stall at the left, beneath the lion rampant of the Armagnacs—a stall assigned those lords as lay canons, in the time of Bernard III., who was the first to pay homage to S. Mary of Auch.
Margaret’s grandson, Henry IV., united the title of Armagnac to the crown of France, and Louis XIV., on his way from St. Jean-de-Luz, where he was married to Maria Theresa, the Infanta of Spain, passed through Auch, and, attending divine service in the cathedral, took his seat in the choir as Count of Armagnac.
Napoleon III. accepted the title of honorary canon of this church.
The cathedral at Auch is remarkable for the stained glass windows of the time of the Renaissance, which Catherine de Medicis wished to carry off to Paris, and the one hundred and thirteen stalls of the choir, the wonderful carvings of which rival those of Amiens. Napoleon I., on his return from Spain, admired and coveted these beautiful stalls, and wished to remove the old rood-loft which concealed them from the public. He endowed the church with an annual sum, and expressed his regret so fair a Sposa should be bereaved of its lord—the hierarchy not being fully restored in France at that time.
The canons of the cathedral were formerly required to be nobilis sanguine vel litteris—noble of birth or distinguished in letters. That they keep up to their standard in learning seems evident from the reputation of one of their number, the savant Abbé Canéto, one of the most distinguished archæologists of the country, whose works are indispensable to the visitor to Auch and the surrounding places.
It is quite impressive to see these venerable canons seated in their carved stalls, worthy of princes, singing the divine Office. Their capes, we noticed, are trimmed with ermine, probably a mark of their dignity. To wear furs of any kind was in the Middle Ages an indication of rank, or, at least, wealth. The English Parliament made a statute in 1334 forbidding all persons wearing furs that had not an income of one hundred pounds a year.
In this church is the altar of Notre Dame d’Auch, the oldest shrine of the Virgin in the province, first set up at ancient Elusa by S. Saturninus, the Apostle of Toulouse, and brought here by S. Taurin in the IVth century, when that place was destroyed by the barbarians.
The similarity of S. Saturninus’ devotion to that of the present day is remarkable—devotion to Mary and the Chair of Peter. Everywhere he erected churches in their honor, as at Elusa, now the town of Eauze. At Auch he dedicated a church to the Prince of the Apostles, where now stands the little church of S. Pierre, on the other side of the Gers, once burned down by the Huguenots.
The paintings of the Stations of the Cross in the cathedral were given by a poor servant girl, whose heart at the hour of death turned towards the sanctuary where she had so often experienced the benefit of meditating on the Sacred Passion that she was desirous of inciting others to so salutary a devotion.
In one of the chapels is a monument to the memory of M. d’Etigny, whose statue is on the public promenade—the last Intendant of the province, who employed a part of his immense fortune in building the fine roads that lead to the watering-places in the Pyrenees, which have added so much to the prosperity of the country. But he was one of those cui bono men who always sacrifice the picturesque and the interesting on some plea of public utility. He destroyed the mediæval character of the city, with its narrow streets, curious overhanging houses—of which a few specimens are left—and ancient walls with low arched gateways, made when mules alone were used for bringing in merchandise. When any sacrifice is to be made, why must it always fall on what appeals to the eye and the imagination? Why must some people insist on effacing the venerable records of past ages to make room for their own utilitarian views? There are too many of such palimpsests. Is not the world large enough for all human tastes to find room to express themselves?
We had, however, no reason to grumble at M. d’Etigny’s fine roads among the mountains, which saved us, in many instances, from being transported like the ancient merchandise of Auch, and we nearly forgot his enormities when we found ourselves at Bagnères-de-Luchon under the shade of the fine trees he planted in the Cours d’Etigny, where tourists and invalids love to gather in the evening.
M. d’Etigny also took an interest in the religious prosperity of the country. On the corner-stone of a church at Vic Fezensac is the inscription: Dominus d’Etigny me posuit, 1760. This church was built by Père Pascal, a Franciscan, out of the ruins of the old castle of the Counts of Fezensac, which he obtained permission to use in spite of the town authorities, by applying to Mme. de Pompadour, then all-powerful at court. Do not suppose the good friar paid the least homage to wickedness in high places by so doing. On the contrary, he boldly began his petition: “Madame, redeem your sins by your alms.” Instead of taking offence, the duchess profited by the counsel. The père, returning from Auch with the royal permission, met some of his opponents, wholly unsuspicious of the truth, to whose pleasantries he replied: “Let me pass. I am exhausted, for I carry in my cowl the ruins of the castle of Vic.”
Auch in those days was only lighted by the lamps that hung before the niches of the Virgin, and the only night-watchman up to the last century was the crier, who went about the streets at midnight calling aloud on the people to be mindful of their soul’s salvation and pray for the dead. This practice was called the miseremini, because the crier sometimes made use of the words of Job sung in the Mass for the Dead: Miseremini, miseremini mei, vos saltem amici mei, quia manus Domini tetigit me—“Have pity on me, have pity on me, O ye my friends! for the hand of the Lord hath touched me.” It was also called the Reveillé, from the beginning of the verses he sometimes chanted:
“Réveille-toi, peuple Chrétien,
Réveille-toi, c’est pour ton bien.
Quitte ton lit, prend tes habits,
Pense à la mort de Jésus Christ.
A la mort, à la mort, il faut tous venir,
Tout doit enfin finir.
Quand de ce monde tu partiras,
Rien qu’un linceul n’emporteras
Ton corps sera mangé des vers
Et peut-être ton âme aux enfers.
A la mort, à la mort, etc.
Tu passeras le long d’un bois,
Là tu trouveras une croix,
Sur cette croix il y a un écrit
C’est le doux nom de Jésus Christ,
A la mort, à la mort, etc.”
This crier acted the part of a policeman, keeping an eye on the evil-doer, and watching over the safety of the town. If he discovered a door ajar, he entered and aroused the inmates. A startling apparition he must have been to the offenders of the law. He wore a death’s head and cross-bones embroidered before and behind, and carried a small bell in his hand, which he rang from time to time as he passed through the narrow streets with his lugubrious cry. Of course he was a public functionary of importance. He figured in full costume in the great religious processions and took a part in all the public festivities.
On the sunny terraces of Auch grow the seedless pears which have been so renowned from time immemorial that they have their place in the annals of the city. We have fully tested the qualities of these unrivalled pears, and can sincerely echo all that has been said in their praise. Duchesne, the physician of Henry IV., an empiric of the school of Paracelsus, and a famous person in his day, does not forget in his Diæteticon to mention them among the most famous productions of his country. He places them in the first rank, and those of Tours in the second. According to him, they originated in the town of Crustumerium in Italy, and their name, derived therefrom, was softened by the Italians into Cristiano, whence that of Bon Chrétien, as they are sometimes called, though not their right name. Others call them Pompéienne, because, as they say, introduced by Pompidian, an ancient bishop of Eauze. But everybody with a proper sense of the case will stoutly attribute them, in accordance with the popular tradition, to the great S. Oren, whose blessing gave them their rare qualities, especially the peculiarity of being seedless when the trees grow within the limit of the city, though this is by no means the case with those that grow in the environs.
Dom Brugelles, a Benedictine of last century, mentions this peculiarity in his Chronicles of the diocese, and says they were in such demand in his time as to be worth sometimes thirty-six francs a dozen.
Père Aubéry, in his Latin poem of Augusta Auscorum, is enthusiastic in their praise: “How I love the aspect of these fair gardens enclosed among sumptuous dwellings! What a wealth of flowers! And the trees bear a fruit still more worthy of your admiration. The Pompéienne pear, delicious as the ambrosia of the gods, was reserved for the soil of this city alone. The trees without its walls, even those that grow close to its trenches, do not produce the like. This most glorious of fruit is an inappreciable gift of heaven and earth, which is praised throughout the kingdom and sold at a great price in distant lands.[145]
“The pears of the fertile gardens of Touraine cannot be compared to those whose old name of Pompéienne is now lost in that of Bon Chrétien. The pears at Tours are as inferior to those of Auch as other honey in sweetness to that of Hybla. Nay, should the gods themselves by chance know of these trees, should they taste of these Auscitain pears so delicious to the palate, they would despise the dishes served at their celestial banquets—yes, scorn the flowing nectar and sweet ambrosia that feed their immortality.
“And as the admirable name of Bon Chrétien is only given the pears that grow in the gardens of the city, and belongs not to those produced elsewhere; as it is only within these walls they acquire so agreeable and appetizing a flavor, their name is a presage that the inhabitants shall never be infected by the contagion and venom of heresy—a scourge that has attacked almost all the towns of Armagnac—and that the Mother of Christ, patroness of Auch, by averting this poison, shall keep them faithful to the rites of their ancestors, and fill them with eternal love for the ancient religion.”
M. Lafforgue, in his History of Auch, says these pears are so prized that they are often presented to princes, governors, and other distinguished characters. When Elizabeth Farnese, Queen of Spain, passed through Auch on her way to join her husband Philip V., in Nov., 1714, the city consuls offered her, as they had done the Dukes of Berry and Burgundy in 1701, some of the poires d’Auch. Twenty dozen, which cost one hundred and forty-three livres, were presented her in straw boxes made by the Ursuline nuns.[146]
When Mr. Laplagne, a native of this part of the country, and Minister of Finance under Louis Philippe, boasted in M. Guizot’s presence, with true Gascon expansiveness, of the seedless pears that grow on the terraces of Auch, the latter, with the distrust of certain great minds, expressed some incredulity. M. Laplagne resolved to convince the President of the Council publicly, and procured at some expense an enormous pear, ripened on the very terrace which a century before had produced the fruit so vaunted by Dom Brugelles. Fifty guests were invited to witness the result. They assembled around the table, in the centre of which was displayed the wonderful pear from Auch. M. Guizot could hardly believe his eyes at such a prodigy, and declared himself convinced. The dessert was impatiently awaited. The Minister of Finance, certain of victory, insisted on M. Guizot’s opening the pear. It was set before him. He cut it in two with some difficulty—it contained four large seeds!
In spite of this exceptional case, the poires d’Auch (their right name, by the way) that grow within the limits of the city are generally without seeds. The superabundant pulp seems to stifle them. They are still the pride of the place, and it was only a year or two ago a number were sent to his Holiness Pius IX.
Père Aubéry, whom I have quoted, was connected with the college at Auch, formerly under the direction of the Jesuits. S. Francis Regis was also for some time one of its professors. Among the eminent men educated here may be mentioned Cardinal d’Ossat, who, when chargé d’affaires at Rome, succeeded in obtaining the absolution of Henry IV. from the Holy See. He was a poor country lad, whose condition, exciting the pity of the canons of Trie, they made him a choirboy, and sent him to school. He became successively a charity scholar of the Jesuits at Auch, the protégé of Cardinal de Foix and his secretary of embassy at Rome, and, finally, chargé d’affaires at the Papal court and Cardinal-bishop of Bayeux. He died at Rome in 1604, bequeathing the little he possessed to the poor and his two secretaries. This celebrated diplomatist was an honor to his country and the church that developed his talents.
The famous Nostradamus was another pupil of this college.
Bernard du Poey, a disciple of Buchanan, and a poet of some note, was professor here when the college was under the direction of laymen. We give one of his epigrams, written while connected with this institution:
“Lucis amore simul fœdam protrudimus omnem
Barbariem: tenebris nec patet ista domus.”
“The love of light makes us cast away every vestige of barbarism: this house opens not to darkness.”
“Barbarism”—“light”—“darkness”—a jargon often heard in our day also, and it still finds its dupes. The would-be metaphysicians and theologians who use it should meditate on this sentence of Berkeley’s: “We first raise a dust, and then complain we cannot see!”
Once more on the way. It is not till we approach Rabastens we see an opening in the outer range of the Pyrenees, and behold Mt. Maladetta raising heavenward its glittering diadem of glaciers. Behind is Spain, religious Spain, “land of an eternal crusade” and wondrous saints. Rabastens is one of the most ancient towns in Bigorre, and celebrated in the religious wars: It was here Blaise de Monluc received the frightful wound in his face which obliged him to wear a mask the rest of his life, and gave him the leisure to write his Commentaries, which Henry IV. called the Soldier’s Bible. This old warrior, deprived of nearly all his limbs, coolly relates a thousand incidents of incredible bravery in the boasting manner of a true Gascon, that does not ill become a book written for the defenders of Gascony.
Twelve miles or so further on is Tarbes, the chef-lieu of the Hautes Pyrénées—“gentille Reine.”
“Bigourdaine,” as Jasmin says, “splendidement assise au milieu de la plaine la plus fraiche, la plus fertile et la plus variée.” The water from the Adour, first brought here to fill the moat that surrounded the city, is now used to turn mills and fertilize the meadows, which are wonderfully fresh, affording a charming contrast to the mountains in the background.
The foundation of Tarbes is lost in the remoteness of time. Its occupation by the Romans is evident from the camp still pointed out in the vicinity. Bigorre, of which it was the principal city, was made a comté in the VIIIth century, and its succession of counts was uninterrupted till Henry IV. ascended the throne of France. Its first count was Enéco (or Inigo) Arista, or The Bold, who became King of Navarre, and rivalled the Cid in prowess.
Bigorre was ceded to the English by the treaty of Brittany, but when war again broke out between England and France two great barons of the province, Menaud de Barbazan and the Sire d’Anchin, as Froissart relates, seized the city and castle of Tarbes, and all Bigorre rose to expel the English, who only continued to hold for a time the impregnable fortresses of Lourdes and Mauvezin. This Lord of Barbazan was a companion in arms of Du Guesclin and took sides with the Armagnacs, his kinsmen, in their famous contest with the house of Foix. His son, Arnauld Guilhem de Barbazan, was the valiant knight who wore so worthily the fair flower of a blameless life that he received the title, which he was the first to bear, of the chevalier sans peur et sans reproche, conferred on him by his contemporaries. Monstrelet says he was a noble knight, prompt in action, fertile in expedients, and renowned in arms. He was the leader in the famous encounter between seven French and seven English knights at Saintonge in 1402, when the latter challenged the French to a trial of arms out of love for les dames de leurs pensées. The French knights began the day by devoutly hearing Mass and receiving the Holy Body of the Lord. Jouvenel des Ursins depicts the fearful encounter, which took place in presence of a vast number of spectators, among whom was the Count of Armagnac. Lances were shivered and terrible blows given with sword and battle-axe, but it was Barbazan who decided the day, and the English were forced to acknowledge themselves defeated. The conquerors, clothed in white, were led in triumph to the King, who loaded them with presents. To the Chevalier de Barbazan he gave a purse of gold and a sword on one side of which was graven, Barbazan sans reproche, in letters of gold; and on the other, Ut lapsu graviore ruant. This sword is still preserved in the Château de Faudoas by the descendants of Barbazan’s sister. The chivalric deeds that won it were commemorated not only in the chronicles of the time, but in three ballads of Christine de Pisan.
Barbazan was as noble in heart as heroic in action. He took sides with Count Bernard VII. of Armagnac against the Duke of Burgundy, but, when the latter fell a victim to treachery, he indignantly condemned the crime, and said he would rather have died than had a hand in it. He fought side by side with Dunois, Lahire, and La Trémouille, at Orleans, Auxerre, and many another battle-field. His last exploit was to rout eight thousand English and Burgundian troops near Chalons, with only three thousand, a few months after the atrocious murder of Joan of Arc, under whose white banner he had fought.
So valuable were his services that the king conferred on him the magnificent title of “Restaurateur du royaume et de la couronne de France,” and added the fleurs-de-lis to his arms. Soldiers received knighthood from his hands as if he were a king. When he died, he was buried at St. Denis among the kings of France with all the honors of royalty—a supreme honor, of which there are only two other instances in French history—Du Guesclin and Turenne.
The feudal castle of Barbazan is on a steep hill a few miles southeast of Tarbes. The Roman inscriptions found there show it to be of extreme antiquity. On the summit of the hill is the chapel of Notre Dame de Piétat, built by Anne de Bourbon, Lord of Barbazan, to receive a miraculous Madonna that had long been an object of veneration to the people around. He founded two weekly Masses here, one in honor of the holy name of God, and the other of the Virgin, and he bequeathed lands for the support of the chapel, which is still a pious resort for pilgrims.
The Cathedral of Tarbes is built on the ruins of the ancient fortress of Bigorre, which gave its name to the surrounding province. The bishops have an important place in the annals of the country. Under the Merovingian race of kings they held the rank of princes, and were the peers of the proudest barons in the land. We find several saints in the list—S. Justin, S. Faustus, and S. Landeol, whose venerable forms look down from the windows of the chancel in the cathedral. Gregory of Tours mentions S. Justin, and speaks of a lily on his tomb that bloomed every year on the day of his martyrdom.
Bernard II., a bishop of Tarbes in the year 1009, merits the admiration of posterity for his efforts to relieve his flock during a terrible famine of three years, in which people devoured one another to such an extent that a law was made condemning those who ate human flesh to be burned alive. The holy bishop, like S. Exuperius of Toulouse, sold all the vessels and ornaments of the church, and gave all he possessed, to alleviate the wants of his people.
His successor stayed a civil war that broke out, to add to the distress of the country, by assembling the chief lords of the land and conjuring them not to add fire and pillage to the horrors of famine, but rather seek to disarm the vengeance of heaven by their prayers. He established the Truce of God in his diocese, and had the happiness of seeing peace and abundance restored to the land. These old bishops seemed to have some correct notions of their obligations, though they did live in the darkest of the Middle Ages!
In the time of a bishop who belonged to the house of Foix appeared a comet which alarmed all Europe. The Pope profited by the universal terror to recommend a stricter practice of the Christian virtues, in order, as he said, if any danger were at hand, that the faithful might be saved. The Bishop of Tarbes instituted public processions on the occasion.
It was a Bishop of Tarbes, the Cardinal Gabriel de Gramont, who in the XVIth century played so important a part in the negotiations between Henry VIII. of England and the Pope to dissolve the marriage of the former with Catherine of Aragon. The king pretended to act from conscientious motives, and said the Bishop of Tarbes confirmed his scruples. We need something more than the mere word of a monarch who violated the most solemn promises and obligations to induce us to believe in the complicity of the bishop, though, deceived by the representations of the king, and alarmed at the consequences of a rupture with the Holy See, he may have endeavored to temporize, that the crisis might be delayed.
Tarbes was taken by the Huguenots under the ferocious Count de Montgomery in the XVIth century. He devastated the cathedral, and burned its fine organ, its altars, vestments, choral books, library, and chapter-house. The bells were melted down, the bishop’s house pillaged and burned, as well as the residences of the canons, the convents of the Cordeliers, Carmelites, etc. The bishop was forced to retreat to the mountains, where, charmed by the picturesque heights above the valley of Luz, he re-established the springs of S. Sauveur, and built a little chapel with the inscription: Vos haurietis aquas de fontibus Salvatoris; whence the name since given this watering-place was derived.
It is recorded of a bishop in the XVIIth century, as something extraordinary, that, contrary to custom, he allowed his flock, in a time of famine, to eat meat during Lent on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. He probably had the liberal proclivities of Bishop Hébert of Agen, already mentioned!
Finally, it was a Bishop of Tarbes who, in these days, restored four devout chapels of the Virgin, of ancient renown in the country, but profaned at the Revolution and left desolate, and gave them back to Mary with priests to minister at their altars: Notre Dame de Garaison, in a valley of the Hautes Pyrénées; Notre Dame de Piétat, overlooking the plain of Tarbes; Notre Dame de Poueylahun, on a picturesque peak that rises from the valley of Azun; and Notre Dame de Héas, the Madonna of shepherds, in a hollow of the wild mountains near the Spanish frontier—a powerful quadrilateral for the defence of this diocese of Mary. The memory of Bishop Lawrence will likewise be for ever associated with the church of Notre Dame de Lourdes, for it was he who, by his zeal, prudence, and spiritual insight contributed so greatly to its foundation. It became the cherished object of interest in his old age. He begged for it, labored for it, and watched over the progress of the work. His last act before attending the Council of the Vatican was a pilgrimage to the sacred Grotto, and while at Rome his heart was constantly turning to this new altar in Mary’s honor, and testifying great joy at the splendor of the solemnities. He died at Rome in January, 1870, and his remains were brought back to Tarbes for burial.
At Tarbes we changed cars for Lourdes. Here we received our first impressions of the great religious movement in the country, manifested by the immense pilgrimages, which rival those of the Middle Ages. We encountered a train of pilgrims with red crosses on their breasts and huge rosaries around their necks. There were gentlemen and ladies, and priests and sisters of different religious orders. Among them was a cardinal, whose hand people knelt to kiss as he issued from the cars. They all had radiant faces, as if they had been on some joyful mission instead of a penitential pilgrimage. But one of the fruits of penitence and faith is joy in the highest sense of the word. Spenser wisely makes the proud Sansfoy the father of Sansjoy.
Leaving them behind, we kept on in full view of the mountains along a fine plateau called Lanne Maurine, or the Land of the Moors. The Moorish invasion, though more than a thousand years ago, has left ineffaceable traces all through this country. The traveller is always coming across them. In one place is the Fountain of the Moors; in another the Castle of the Moors; and there are many families who still bear the names of Maure and Mouret. The Lanne Maurine is so called from a bloody combat which took place here to dispute the possession of the plain. It was a priest who roused the people to arms and led them against the infidel, whom they smote hip and thigh. A grateful people have erected an equestrian statue to his memory at the entrance of his village church.
We were now rapidly approaching Lourdes. Already the Pic du Gers rose out of the valley sacred to Mary, and the heart instinctively turns from everything else to hail the new star that has risen in these favored heavens to diffuse the pure radiance of the Immaculate Conception!