A Pilgrimage to Auvergne/Vol 1/Chapter 12

At length, after a very pleasant journey, we reached the charming town of Auxerre, which deserves all the commendation that the French are too fond in general of lavishing without discrimination.

It is built in the centre of the famous vineyards which produce the wine bearing its name. The town is on the summit and slope of a hill rising from the banks of the broad and clear river Yonne, whose fine port is held in high esteem, and whose quays, planted with luxuriant trees, form delightful promenades. Shady islands of most picturesque form, covered with willows, poplars, acacias, and limes, make the river look as charming as the Thames at Twickenham: the numerous boats gliding on the transparent surface of the water, the woody and verdant banks, ​handsome houses and long avenues, make a picture almost unrivalled for quiet beauty.

The Boulevards on the ancient walls which surround the town on three sides, are unique in the charming variety of prospects they present; they are kept with great neatness, have seats everywhere, and are open to the rich country on every side: the moats are filled with plantations of acacia, gardens, and vines, the fine old towers are covered with festoons of ivy; charming houses standing in the midst of glowing flowers, and all possessing pretty summer-houses with trellises covered with vines, look towards the promenades and enjoy their shade and the far perspective beyond.

Towers and spires of numerous churches appear above the houses, trees, and gardens, without number: the extreme irregularity of the ground allows of continual changes in the views, and in a long walk of half a day round this beautiful town the stranger finds it difficult to decide what part he prefers, and the artist cannot fix on a spot to choose, without difficulty, so inviting and so delicious do they all appear. The perfume of the vines was quite intoxicating when we arrived, brought out by the frequent showers and brilliant gleams of sun: before us fields of red poppies and waving corn spread far away ​towards the hills crowned with rich woods, and our strolls beneath the fragrant rows of lindens,—where, however, we were obliged to shelter ourselves every quarter of an hour from violent rain,—were a great enjoyment, particularly appreciated after a long sojourn in the dark, gloomy, and pent-up city of Troyes, whose boasted Boulevards of enormous extent were like avenues within convent walls, beyond which there was no gazing and no escape.

We lodged at the magnificent Hôtel du Léopard on the quay, which, soit dit en passant, is much less expensive and far better served than any in Champagne or Burgundy, the people extremely civil and obliging, and all ordered in the best possible style. We had suffered so much, in every inn at which we had stopped, from the constant noise of diligences, carts, waggons, and travellers, setting out at all hours of the night, that we entreated not to be placed in apartments which looked as usual towards the stable-yard. All those next the river were already occupied, as Auxerre is a great thoroughfare and this hotel much frequented; we therefore chose rooms which were situated above a small back court bordered with large walnut-trees, where a vine clung in festoons round the windows, and everything seemed as quiet as a ​cloister. The moon, that night of our arrival, was brilliant, and our little, tranquil, shady court looked quite monastic.

Scarcely, however, had day broke the next morning, when the loud shrill note of the bird of "lively din" woke us en sursaut, and, so persevering was his rejoicing, added to the chuckling of his feathered mates, that to sleep was impossible. This charivari was immediately followed by sounds so extraordinary, that we were long in comprehending them. A dozen little voices commenced a gabble which could only be equalled by the poultry who had set the example; it might, indeed, be the language of birds that we were listening to, like the merchant advised by these domestic animals. Presently a voice, loud, deep, and strong, joined the chorus, as it were Gulliver amongst the Lilliputians, and we could distinguish such words as these uttered in a forcible key,—"Eh bien, Messieurs! allons done! ça va! c'est bien, amusez vous! comment donc! ne pleurez pas! ha! ha! ho! ho!"

As this mysterious noise increased instead of diminishing, we rose in despair, and, inquiring of our attendant what it could mean, were told that this part of the hotel was built in amongst other houses, and that our quiet court formed ​a rural school-room, presided over by an old woman, whose coarse bass we had heard so far above the treble of her infant pupils: "ce sont des enfans tout petits—mais bien petits," said our informant; adding, that they were sent there, "seulement pour débarasser leur parens pendant la journée."

So this was our haven of rest—this the place we had chosen, and now we could get no other! As it was fortunately fine that day, we lost no time in leaving the ground clear to our imperative neighbour; but, alas! whenever it rained too hard for us to sally forth, and her temper was not improved by the unpropitious weather,—the harsh sound of "Ho, ho! ha, ha! petit cochon! ha—le méchant!" alone varied the din below our windows, as the crying little victims either sat under the dripping trees, or were driven into the contiguous domicile of the ogress who guarded them.

We soon forgot our domestic troubles when we had climbed the steep streets, within the walls, to the cathedral and the rest of the churches of Auxerre, all of which are full of interest.

The cathedral, dedicated to St. Etienne, is a very venerable edifice, much injured, but possessing still great beauties. It is elaborately ​ornamented, and is looked upon as a chef d'œuvre of the kind; the painted windows are very beautiful, in the style of those at Troyes, but less numerous. On the left of the altar, against a pillar of the lateral door of the choir, is a singular monument, representing an old man with a long beard praying in a pulpit: it is of white marble, and admirably executed. It is to the memory of Jacques Amyot, translator of Plutarch. Another, also fine, is in honour of Nicolas Colbert, bishop of Auxerre, brother of the minister of that name. In the chapel of the Virgin is the very curious and beautiful tomb of the Marshal and Admiral de Chastellux. The two warriors are lying in full armour on the marble, a bas-relief beneath them representing the battle of Cravant, of 1423, when the troops of Charles VII. defeated the English and Burgundians.

The colossal statue of St. Christopher, which was one of the most monstrous of those giants whose enormous proportions were exhibited in so many churches in France, was destroyed in 1768 by the chapter of Auxerre, as it was found that it only served as an object of entertainment to the common people, and in no wise assisted their devotion. It was twenty-nine feet high, one more than the famous St. Christopher of ​Nôtre Dame, in Paris. The saint held the holy infant on his shoulders, and his neck was encircled by its legs. In his hand was a club thirty-two feet long, formed of the trunk of a tree: the people were accustomed to call this sa petite badine. Beneath his feet were represented waves filled with aquatic animals: beside him knelt a hermit, who bore the features of the sculptor, as the inscription on the base of this grotesque performance informed the beholder.

The church of St. Eusèbe, founded in 640, is a mixture of arabesque and Roman architecture, pleasing and picturesque, and its fine stone spire is a striking feature. That of St. Pierre was originally in the same style, and is well restored: the tower is a fine object: the pulpits of both are magnificently carved in wood.

St. Germain is all that remains of the ancient royal abbey founded in 623. The principal part is new, and the height and space alone indicate its former grandeur: it is remarkable for its double subterranean church, one crypt being beneath the other, and both dry, lofty, and of great extent, filled with tombs of saints, martyrs, bishops, and the Counts of Auxerre. The buildings of the abbey are now occupied by the Hôtel Dieu, one of the finest in France. ​Its situation is beautiful, standing on an eminence, and overlooking the Yonne and its woody islands; it is surrounded by luxuriant gardens and vineyards, and is itself a magnificent pile. The lunatic asylum, at some distance from the town, is also a very fine establishment, of great extent, and conducted on principles which seem to have much success. In fact, seen in all directions, the town of Auxerre is pleasing in the extreme: its venerable churches, its Tour Gaillarde, now supporting the great clock, formerly part of the palace of the Dukes of Burgundy, its handsome quays, groves, boulevards and crowding vines, all combine to render it one of the most agreeable places, not only in Burgundy but in France.

We set out from this favourite sojourn for Tonnerre, in a neat little omnibus which held six persons. The road is Macadamised, and as good as any in England the whole way; the country is beautiful, and the coteaux are covered with short clustering vines of the greatest richness; their fresh green delightful to the eye, and their perfume quite delicious. We passed the famous growth of Chablis, whose white wines are known throughout Europe. The town is on the banks of the romantic little river Serain, and is embowered in trees of light foliage, and surround​ed with its golden harvest, the prettiest secluded spot imaginable. Numerous villages, similarly situated, were scattered on our path, and every coteau we came to seemed to rival the last in rural beauty.

The ancient but now insignificant town of Tonnerre is agreeably situated in the midst of fertility on the decline of a hill, at the foot of which flows the Armançon. Its church of St. Pierre stands on a commanding height, and the way to it is so steep that it is almost a service of danger either to ascend or descend it: the view from the meadow ground in which it stands is very fine and singular, from commanding the whole town, with its irregular buildings, and the peculiarly shaped hills which hem it in. The only thing exciting interest is a fine tomb of Marguérite of Burgundy, sister-in-law of St. Louis, who endowed the hospital where her ashes repose. The charming figure of the benevolent princess lies on a couch covered with a drapery, plaited all round like an altar-cloth, so delicately is the marble worked. Her outer short robe fleur-de-lisé, the long inner one is covered with a beautiful little rose-shaped flower in relief exquisitely carved: she wears a coronet, and holds in her hand the charter which she granted to the hospital: her ​face, which looks like a portrait, is very dignified and mild. An angel of charity is supporting her head and leaning over her.

This large hospital appears but little required, for we understood there were only two or three patients there at the time we visited it; and the neglected state of everything about it showed how seldom its wards were used. Another monument to be seen in the chapel of the hospital is that of the Marquis de Louvois, minister of war under Louis XIV. It is extremely magnificent, but does not possess the same simple charm as that of the amiable Sicilian princess.

We passed the château formerly possessed by the Marquis, on our way to Montbard, afterwards. It is one of the very few which still exist in France, and are so rarely to be met with on the high roads: its woods and parks are of enormous extent, and the building is antique and handsome. Ancy le Franc, as it is called, is in fact one of the great lions of this neighbourhood; but we were attracted from it to another château, which lies in an opposite direction.

A pretty drive of two leagues over a good road, but up very steep hills, brought us to the beautiful and secluded Château of Tanlay, one of ​the few really fine habitations of the nobility in France, and which possesses great interest with Protestant Englishmen from its association with the illustrious and unfortunate family of Coligny, to whom this estate belonged in 1535. In the thirteenth century a fortress was constructed here by one of the sons of Louis le Gros. This fortress, swelling into a castle, was long occupied by the illustrious family of Courtenay, part of which race were possessors of the throne of Constantinople. The importance of Tanlay was very great in the fifteenth century. Charles le Téméraire looked upon it as one of the most consequence in Burgundy, and thought it worth his while to bribe the châtelan Aymé to keep it friendly to his cause. A female of the house of Montmorency inherited the possessions of the Courtenays, and brought this château, then dilapidated with frequent sieges, into the family of Coligny. D'Andclot, the younger brother of the Cardinal Odet de Châtillon, and the admiral, had it for his portion; but the friendship which subsisted between the brothers made the inheritance as much the residence of one as the other. The antique walls furnished materials to rebuild the castle in the style of la Renaissance; but the original foundations, too strong to be removed, ​necessitated a degree of irregularity, which the taste of the time would have avoided.

In the midst of his new constructions, François d'Andelot was arrested by the religious wars, which allowed but little peaceable employment, and the large sums of money requisite to continue his plans were obliged to be devoted to other purposes. Much, however, of the present magnificent building was constructed under the direction of the brothers; and the tower, since called De la Ligue, offers many reminiscences of their time. One of the principal is a splendid chimney-piece, entirely uninjured, representing, admirably carved, the head of the admiral, covered with a plumed casque, with two sphinxes reposing on each side: the whole is in a delicately tinted yellow marble, and for boldness and grandeur is unrivalled, except by a similar piece of carving in a chamber adjoining, which is perhaps even more exquisitely executed.

The apartment, however, which is the most singular, is on the second story of the Tour de la Ligue, and deserves particular mention from the inexplicable peculiarities attached to it. It is a circular room, lighted by five windows, each having a deep embrasure, large enough to form ​a small cabinet, from whence an agreeable view of the circling hills may be obtained. This is said to have been the favourite retreat of the Prince de Condé, the Colignys, and their Protestant friends; but it must have been rather for the purpose of entertainment than of serious business that they assembled, for it would appear to be rather an abode of gaiety and festivity than solemn consultation. All that now remains of the adornment of the place are the singular frescoes which appear on the vaulted ceiling, painted in a high style of art, but whether traced with a view to convey a compliment or a satire it is difficult now to decide. The scene represented is Olympus, and the deities wear the well-known features of the too famous Queen-mother, Catherine, and her renowned bande of beauties, accompanied by the chiefs of the party of Navarre. The Prince of Condé appears as Mars, and near him stands Venus, evidently a portrait, but one of the least pleasing as to face: the figure is very fine; the Conseiller de Birague, as Vulcan, looks furtively at the pair; a group of nymphs surround the Queen, amongst whom is conspicuous Mdlle. de Rouet, whose fatal charms drew the weak Prince Anthony of Navarre from his allegiance to his party and his noble-minded wife. He ​stands behind her almost concealed. There is much beauty in the disposition of these groups of females; but the total absence of drapery, and the evidence of their being portraits taken from the life, gives rather an unpleasing as well as constrained air to some of the figures, which are nevertheless admirably painted, and in general well drawn. The Juno of the party, the Minerva, and Urania, alone appear covered with flowing robes; and these represent Marguérite de Valois as the Muse, Catherine as the Queen of all, and who the third may be is doubtful,—perhaps the modest Elizabeth, wife of Charles IX., or more likely, Claude de France. Marguérite is young and beautiful—"belle et bien avisée, et de bonne grace," as she was described by Jeanne of Navarre to her son; but Catherine is the problem of the piece, for she is represented with two faces-one calm, dignified, yet soft, with a sweetness of expression very remarkable, and a benign character sufficiently at variance with that which the back of the head offers: it is masculine, coarse, malignant, and so well expressed, that it is easy to behold in its sinister scowl, hatred, perfidy, and cruelty. It is appalling in its truth, and, though partially in shade, is brought out with wonderful force, which makes it conspicuous at the second glance, the ​first serving only to take in the pleasing aspect of this remarkable figure. Charles IX. stands near his mother—handsome, bold, and spirited: his emblems are those of Pluto. And here begins another mystery, which the unfortunate desire of some later proprietor to clean the walls renders impenetrable; for all the rest of the allegory is a confused mass of colour: tradition says, that the infernal regions opened at the feet of these deities, and numerous portraits were amongst the inhabitants of these abodes of darkness.

Strange allegories were often, at this period, produced both in painting and acting,—witness the play performed by the king and his brothers and friends, on the eve of the massacre of St. Bartholomew; but the clue to this is gone, and conjecture alone is left as to the meaning. The colours are bright and fresh, and the hand of a master is distinguishable in the touches: it is to be regretted that the style in which the subject is treated renders it too disagreeable to be generally exhibited; and in consequence, and from an averseness in the present possessor to destroy so singular a production, this beautiful chamber is left in a neglected state. A temporary ceiling of cloth might be easily placed over the offending pictures, and ​the charming pavilion fitted up with books and ornaments of modern taste, as is the case with the pretty towers at Chenonceau, which delightful abode Tanlay resembles in many particulars. The other parts of the château are accommodated with everything that can be wished for in a comfortable dwelling-house; the choice of the furniture and decorations is in the best possible style—nothing gaudy, and no crowding—all simple, rich, and grand. Occasionally a fine vase or a piece of porcelain ornamented by the hand of Palizzi attracts the eye, and some excellent family portraits give additional value to the collection.

But to return to the three brothers. In the intervals of the desolating civil wars the cardinal, whose purse was more amply filled than those of the others, advanced to François large sums, to enable him to go on with their favourite château, and it advanced by degrees towards its completion. The proximity of Noyers, which belonged to the Prince of Condé, caused Tanlay to be the frequent rendezvous of the Protestant chiefs. There is even a current tradition that a subterranean way existed from one castle to the other, of which, however, there is no means of ascertaining the truth. Another tradition, more likely to be founded in fact, is ​attached to a vineyard, which is pointed out on one of the coteaux to the north-east of the château, as that in which D'Andelot and the admiral concealed themselves, disguised as peasants, with their mattocks in their hands. The occasion was this: shortly before the peace was concluded, on the 2d of March 1568, the admiral and his brother were advised of the orders transmitted by the Queen Mother to Marshal Tavannes, to surprise them and the Prince of Condé, who was then at Noyers. Tavannes, however, disapproving of this plan, was himself the means of saving the Protestant princes; for instead of causing the two thousand troops under his command to advance, he arrested their march, and sent, almost under the very glacis of Noyers, messengers who bore about them letters containing these words "Le cerf est dans les toiles, la chasse est préparée." These messengers were, as Tavannes had expected, taken prisoners and the prince, and the admiral who was also at Noyes, warned in time. He immediately returned by a private way to his brother at Tanlay. They made hasty preparations to quit Burgundy, when newer alarms obliged them to leave their castle in the disguise already mentioned. The next day they joined Condé, and with other gentlemen of the party escaped to ​their friends on the banks of the Loire. War was now renewed with redoubled fury, and the three brothers separated; the cardinal took refuge in England, where he soon after perished, not without suspicion of poison administered by the emissaries of Catherine. The Great Condé fell at Jarnac, after performing miracles of valour. D'Andelot died at Saintes, the 27th of May 1569, poisoned by the same unerring hand, verifying what the Chancellor Birague had said, the "war would finish not by means of arms, but cooks." The admiral, now alone, returned but once to Tanlay after his brother's death. His subsequent fate is well known, but, perhaps, the circumstances of his second marriage are less so.

Coligny was sixty-two when a young and beautiful woman of high birth became devotedly attached to him, whom she looked upon as the greatest hero of the age. Her name was Jacqueline de Montbel, Countess d'Entremonts, widow of the Count du Bouchage, killed at the battle of St. Denis, in 1567. The admiral lost his wife the same year. Finding that he was free as well as herself, she offered him her hand immediately after the conclusion of the peace in 1570. No consideration could oppose her design. Her relation, the Duc de Savoie, violently ​opposed this marriage, and confiscated in consequence her immense fortune. Careless of all, she escaped from Turin, proud, as she expressed herself, of being the Marcia of this second Cato. Their union was celebrated on the 21st of March 1571, only seventeen months before the cruel fate which overtook him she so much loved. She was at Châtillon when the hideous events of the Mâtines de Paris occurred; for, with all his confidence in the good faith of the Court, the admiral had entreated her to stay behind.

D'Andelot's sons had both fallen in battle, and Tanlay was the inheritance of his daughter Anne, who married the Marquis de Mirabeau. He it was who built the unique petit château which exists at the entrance of the great building.

This is, perhaps, one of the most beautiful specimens of art in the sixteenth century, and presents all the graces which characterised the Renaissance. The sculptures are exquisite, the friezes and pilasters extremely graceful, and every part finished with inimitable taste. The daughter of Mirabeau brought Tanlay as a dower to her husband, by whom it was at length sold to Michel Particelli, seigneur D'Hémery, in 1642.

D'Hémery was of obscure origin, but became sufficiently known as Controller-General of Finance under the ministry of Louis XIV. ​He was, in fact, the precursor of Fouquet, and in many respects his model. Previously employed by Louis XIII. as treasurer of the king's plate, his probity had, with much apparent cause, been suspected, and his conduct was more than doubted in the affair of the trousseau of Henrietta of France, Queen of England. He was, however, not to be daunted; and in spite of his defeat, when he sought the position of Maître des Comptes, he contrived to become secretary of council, where his intelligence and quickness, and, above all, the extraordinary faculty he possessed in the memory of numbers, stood him in good stead. Cardinal Richelieu was the first to perceive the real capacity of D'Hémery, and to place it to its right use. He unhesitatingly named him as intendant of the army in the war for the succession of the Duchy of Mantua. To this place was attached a purely diplomatic mission, that of gaining over the Duke of Savoy from the alliance he had formed with Austria, in favour of Charles de Gonzaga, legitimate heir of the duchy.

This scheme failed; but the cardinal, notwithstanding the price he set upon its success, could not but acknowledge the activity, zeal, and dexterity with which D'Hémery had fulfilled his office; and as a mark of his satisfaction, he left him, ​after the peace, as ambassador of France at Turin. He was also Intendant of Finance. The marriage contracted by D'Hémery, long before he had risen to these important employments, proves that his rank was considered of some consequence. His wife was Marie le Camus, daughter of a chancellor of state and Marie Colbert. In 1643 the regency of Anne of Austria began; Mazarin was at the head of affairs; the financial condition of the kingdom was deplorable. The President Bailleul, to whom the queen had confided the superintendence, not because of his talents, but that he was a mere creature devoted to her will, found himself unable to meet the exigencies arising from the maintenance of three armies, in Italy, in Catalonia, and in Alsace. Mazarin, therefore, judged it advisable to cover the nullity of Bailleul by giving him an intelligent adjunct: he chose D'Hémery, as a man full of expedients and fertile in fiscal inventions; and in 1646, when Bailleul retired, D'Hémery assumed his place, but from that time he had to support a constant opposition to the measures he proposed to raise taxes, in a manner as covert as possible, in proportion as the destitution of Government became more and more apparent. In all his struggles he was supported by Mazarin, until, when that minister ​found that his nefarious projects and inhuman measures had raised a cry against him which no subterfuges could turn away, his timidity got the better of his bold intentions, and he saw no way of escape but by sacrificing D'Hémery, who was sent into retirement to his country residence at Tanlay. He was, it is true, afterwards recalled, but only to be again replaced; and from that time he did not quit his domain till his death in 1654.

Whether D'Hémery were more or less culpable, and how he acquired his enormous fortune, is not, however, here the question; he has left the mark of his golden hand on his residence of Tanlay, and thus deserves, if not an honourable one, at least some mention. The arts, at least, owe him some distinction, for of them he was a liberal encourager; he acted according to the advice of Voltaire, who says—

It was between the years 1643 and 1648 that D'Hémery completed, not only the great château begun by D'Andelot, but added the vast buildings attached to it, which made it one of the most magnificent habitations in France at the period, for there were few of the kind in the time which preceded the long and splendid reign of Louis XIV., when they became as universal as ​they were gorgeous. D'Hémery confided to Le Muet, the most celebrated architect of his time, the task of realising his vast projects of construction. Le Muet, besides Tanlay, has left several remarkable edifices of his building; amongst others, those of Chavigni in Touraine, and Pont in Champagne, which latter was once possessed by Madame, mother of the emperor, and till lately belonged to the family of M. Casimir Perier. Anne of Austria chose Muet to finish Val de Grace, left unfinished by Mansard, and he erected several distinguished hotels in Paris.

Nothing can surpass the magnificence with which he has adorned Tanlay, its porticoes, pillars, courts, arcades; the sculptures and forms of all are delicate and grand in the extreme, and the famous château d'eau, at the extremity of the grand canal, which is of extraordinary length, is both magnificent and beautiful. On each side of this fine canal are avenues planted by D'Andelot: here Coligny and Condé have often walked, and a thousand recollections rise as the stranger wanders beneath these shades; the surintendant being the last person thought of, while he admires the ceaseless flow of waters, which rush and foam down the steps of the Doric temple before him. Everywhere the waters are of equal ​magnitude; they leap from mouths into the fosses which surround the mansion, and keep the stream constantly running, as if a river flowed beside the walls. All is bright, sparkling, and grand inside and out; but there is nothing now of the superabundant ornament, which probably appeared at the time when the too-famous Marion Delorme condescended to share the dwelling of the rich financier, for whom she could afford no better praise than "Ce gros homme est d'agréable conversation, et très propre." She, however, allowed him the honour of calling her, during her sojourn under his protection, "Madame la Surintendante." The enormous expense she put him to is almost incredible; and there is a story of a necklace of such ruinous value, which she insisted on his presenting to her, that it exceeds in extravagance all recounted of the munificence or ostentation of a millionaire, resolved to excel all the nobles of the court in heaping riches on a woman, the most famous of her time for profligacy and profusion. The mansion at present belongs to the Marquis de Tanlay, who keeps it up with great propriety and splendour, and appears fond of the place, although less frequently there than previously to the loss of his wife, to whose memory he has erected a beautiful chapel in the best taste, on the site of the ancient one dedicated to Saint ​Emilian. No one in that neighbourhood should neglect to visit this delightful abode, replete with recollections, and one of the finest residences in the kingdom.

While at Tonnerre, as we passed through its quiet deserted streets, and saw its simple market of fruit and vegetables, the recollection of its former importance formed a singular contrast to its present state, and the tranquillity around equally so to its situation in a time when, tradition says, it formerly dealt in merchandise too horrible to imagine, although probably too true.

In the tenth century France was desolated by the feuds of all her potentates, the Normans and Saracens ravaged the country, every petty lord was at war with his neighbour, and rapine and ruin stalked abroad. No remedy could be found for the constantly recurring evils which besieged the land, but by instituting a custom called the Truce of God, which obliged every man, of whatever rank, to discontinue his quarrel for four days in each week. All the productions of the earth were destroyed, no labour could go on, and a general famine was the consequence of this fearful state of things.

The country called le pays Sénonais suffered in particular: rich and poor equally felt the terrors of hunger, food of the most disgusting de​scription was sought for with avidity and devoured, people fled into the woods, and there lived on roots and herbs; but at length these resources failing, they became savage, and lying in wait for travellers issued forth from their retreats and fell upon the wayfarers, whom they murdered, and with cannibal ferocity made the bodies their prey.

Many a wretched traveller, benighted on these now smiling and vine-covered hills, sought hospitality at a cottage, where he was received with apparent welcome, only to be sacrificed in the dead of night to the fury of the famine-wrung inmates.

Many a child was inveigled into these now flowery valleys, and disappeared for ever, having been killed with the same intent; the taste for human flesh appeared to have become general, the horror seemed to have ceased, and at the market of Tonnerre it was exposed for sale and ragerly purchased!

As if by deceiving the eye hunger could be satisfied, numbers of persons mixed chalk with the small quantity of flour, which was sold at more than its weight in gold, and endeavoured to be content with the appearance of bread. Death was seen in every shape, few were left to bury the dead: crime lorded it over misery, ​humanity was expunged from the heart, and treachery and murder had for their object but one end, that of satiating a hideous appetite, which was shared with the wolves, who came in troops to take their part in the general desolation.

A wretched man, who was considered a pious hermit, had built himself a hut near a secluded church in a wood, and there he was long supposed to be miraculously supported: people resorted to him hoping to obtain his prayers; to all he offered hospitality, but at length it was discovered that many who had gone on pilgrimage to his cottage were never afterwards seen. Sinister reports began to spread—justice was awakened, and a party of its officers, repairing to the spot, on searching the abode of the supposed hermit, discovered no less than the heads of forty-eight of his victims, whose bodies this loup-garou had devoured.