A Pilgrimage to Auvergne/Vol 1/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III.
The department of Aisne, in which the town of Laon is situated, is formed of the Soissonnais, the Laonnais, the Tardenais, the Vermandois and the Thiériache, small territories once of great importance, now comprised in southern Picardy; it also claims a portion of Valois belonging to the Île de France and of la Brie Champenoise. Aisne was in the fourteenth century the scene of fierce and obstinate combats between the chivalry of England and France, and not a town or castle but felt the effects of the long contentions which desolated the country throughout its extent. Nature seems to have divided this department into two distinct parts: one a boundless plain, the other covered with chains of high hills of varied aspect.
The mountain of Laon is one of the most remarkable of these, from its isolated position in the midst of the vast plain which surrounds it. Luxuriant vines cover the ground to the very walls of the town; these, at the time we arrived, were in bloom, and their perfume on the air was delicious. Here and there, fields of vetches of a rich deep rose-colour, and the light rye waving with every breath, gave life and animation to the scene, illumined by a warm and brilliant sun. Nothing can be conceived more beautiful than the walk we took, early in the morning after our arrival, round part of the ramparts beneath the avenues which lead towards the ancient abbey of St. Vincent, whose ruins crown an opposite elevation on the same plateau, which is beautifully broken by rich and cultivated ravines, the most important being called La Cuve de St. Vincent, which forms a kind of port. Every here and there an opening in the thick shades disclosed a magnificent, and extensive view over the fertile country; and as we advanced, the four delicate towers of the superb cathedral appeared above the rest of the buildings, as the windings of the way now revealed and now shrouded them from view. A chorus of birds was welcoming the lovely spring, which promised so much happiness; acacias just in bloom shook their clusters over our heads; orchards of cherries and apples, in full blossom, were beneath us. After quitting the broad rampart, we followed a delicious path that brought us to a grove of flowering trees, which we entered and found ourselves amidst the fresh green leaves of the walnut, the snowy and luxuriant alder, the twining wild rose, and innumerable buds of every shape and hue; on one side were banks covered with violet roots, whose flowers, now passed, must indeed have “taken the winds of March with beauty.” Beneath the apple trees was spread a golden carpet of king-cups, and between the soft green vines sprang up lines of fragrant beans. The thrushes warbled loud and sweetly, and the cuckoo kept up an unceasing call as we walked on, almost in a state of enchantment, along the beautiful chemin des creuttes.
We soon found that we had reached an embattled wall which extended for an immense distance beside us; and we began to form some idea of the stupendous strength and enormous extent of the fortified abbey, once the pride and terror of the Laonnais. We traced the deep moat between the luxuriant vegetation and the overhanging trees, aud rested occasionally on blocks of marble and granite, which had formed part of the building, and now, overgrown with flowers, lay scattered in the path. We came at last to two huge round towers,—the same which from the neighbouring heights of Laon had attracted us to the spot,—and found that they formed the entrance lodges to a beautiful garden and modern house, the property of a gentleman of the vicinity, who made this his summer residence. Of all the grand and gorgeous abbey, of its forts and bastions, and towers and cells, and cloisters and spires, nothing remains but les creuttes, i.e. the walls which, extensive as they are, only enclosed the convent gardens. A few towers, at distances along the old and now newly restored wall, indicate the form of part of the building. The situation is exquisite; at every twenty steps new prospects open, new beauties rise; and a whole day might well glide away amongst the shades of St. Vincent,—lonely yet cheerful,—“a populous solitude of bees and birds.”
From the hill of St. Vincent the view of Laon is extremely fine: its spires, domes, and battlements, the towers of its religious edifices still powerful through the wrecks of ages, its venerable groves and picturesquely grouped buildings, all come clearly out in the distance, and strike the beholder with awe and veneration, La Grosse Tour de Louis d’Outremer, once the wonder of centuries, has, alas! lately fallen to give place to a new citadelle which is intended to protect the town from Russian invasion. Numerous workmen are carrying on their destructive operations, and a whole grove of Druidical trees have been felled for the modern defences considered necessary. When we saw this, and climbed with difficulty amongst the ruins and rubbish of the demolished tower, and discovered a party of men busy in making bricks on the spot, we were seized with indignation and ready to weep with regret for the loss of so stupendous a monument of antique grandeur. One of the townspeople, observing our annoyance, encouraged its expression, and began to lament the destruction of all their antiquities. “We are being daily deprived of everything we prize,” said he; “there are to be new fortifications all round the old ramparts, and our beautiful trees are to be cut down without mercy!” We found, however, to our great satisfaction atterwards, that no such intention exists on the part of government; the devoted Grosse Tour is alone to be sacrificed; the barbarians are to be terrified on this side only, and all the treasures of beauty and antiquity which surround Laon are to remain undisturbed. Walls of twenty feet thickness nevertheless still defy the efforts of these modern improvers, as they did, in the year 1794, the rage of revolutionists; and the base of the great tower, the postern door, and some of the windows, firm as the rock itself on which it was built, laugh at all futile efforts to level them with the earth.
As is usual with most ancient towns, Laon asserts its antiquity à toute outrance. Its proper history begins with the period when Christianity was first known to the inhabitants; and the Grotte de Chevrisson, which till lately could be seen in the ancient citadel, attested the fact of the two holy recluses, St. Fortin and St. Beat, having chosen this mountain for their retreat, from whence they issued to perform their pious mission; and about the close of the third century, the first church of Laon was established.
There is no want of fables, both monastic and romantic, attached to the town and neighbourhood of Laon. One tradition of condign vengeance I felt sorry to be obliged to give up, but I fear it cannot be supported on good grounds. It is asserted that Ganelon, the traitor who betrayed the army of Charlemagne at Roneesvalles, was cited to appear before the injured monarch at Laon. Thierri l'Ardennais was the accuser: Piradel, a relation of the accused, undertook his defence. The cause was tried en champ clos, and the victory rested with Thierri. Piradel then not only confessed the treason, but acknowledged himself an accomplice. He was condemned to be hanged, and Ganelon to suffer the fearful punishment, then in use, of being torn by wild horses. This sentence was said to be executed in a square of the faubourg de Leuilly, where the combat took place; and this part is still called le champ de la bataille. In the seventeenth century were still to be seen pillars of ten feet high at the four corners of the square. Unfortunately the whole story of Ganelon and the Moorish king, Marsilio, their interview in the gardens of the latter, when the treason was planned, and their punishment, all belong to the charming romances of the thirteenth century, rather than to historical fact; for Eginhard, the secretary to Charlemagne, mentions not a syllable of the matter! Other historians, immemorial tradition, and even certain monuments,[1] may be brought forward to prove the truth of the legend, which runs as follows:
THE TREACHERY OF GANELON.
A LEGEND OF CHARLEMAGNE.
Aught to exceed thy beauty’s pride!
Valencia! but thy charms to know
Is to forego the world beside![2]
In magic pomp the yielding sky,
By all his gorgeous train attended,
And by his feathered panoply,
And saw no land so fair as thine,
And felt thy pure and perfumed breath
Rise rich with incense all divine.
Her streams of molten gems, her flowers,
Her meads where blessed beings rove,
Where houris, with their eyes of love,
Look from their pearly caverns, bright
With circling rays of living light,—
Not all that Paradise bestows
Can be more pure, more heavenly fair,
And earth—oh earth no region knows
That may in aught with thee compare!
The minstrel’s lay of praise is sweet,
Her aged king his youth recals,
Some welcome, honoured guest to greet.
His years, his cares forgot awhile,
Around him wakes the ready smile,
Obedient to his regal word,
All join the pleasure of their lord;
For when a monarch’s soul is glad
No rebel heart shall dare be sad!
What peer is he, what chief of fame,
Of courage proved, of mighty name,
The first in valour as in place,
Whom thus the monarch loves to grace?
On high behest from Charlemagne
Who seeks the court of Moorish Spain?
Perchance Montalban’s knight is he,[4]
Or one amongst the gallant three,
Renowned for arms and battles won?
Or Ogier from the fairy’s bower[5]
Redeem’d by spells of stronger power,
Or Durandarte, he whose arms
Made deathless bright Belerma’s charms,
Or he whose name all realms revere,
Orlando, of all knights the peer?
Has drawn in aid his conqu’ring sword,
It was to rescue from despair
One little worth their valorous care;
It was from slavery and woe
To save their own, their country’s foe,
To free Maganza’s wily son,—
The subtle traitor Ganelon!
'Tis he whom Charles once more believed,
More fatally to be deceived,
And lightly trusts his kingdom’s weal
To him, an oft detected foe,
Whose soul those deadly frauds conceal
That wrought fair France's overthrow.
How all her matchless heroes fell,
And Fontarabia’s echoes groan
With chivalry’s expiring tone!
And in yon garden’s secret bower
The king his willing guest has led
Where the tall carob’s branches spread
Their shade on the fountain’s waters bright
That struggle to catch the clear moonlight,
And throw their arms of feathery spray
High amidst its dancing ray.
The rich magnolia’s snowy bloom
Fills the air with soft perfume,
The orange glows its leaves between
Shining thro’ their deepen’d green,
And the golden flowers of the aloe close,
And hang their heads in sweet repose,
Like beauty when she veils awhile
The conscious glory of her smile.
Years have stamp'd furrows on my brow,
Tho’ various since has heen our lot,
And all our friendship is forgot,—
'Twas here great Charlemagne when fate
Smiled not as she has smiled of late,
By foes pursued, by friends betrayed,
Found shelter in this secret shade.
And spoke the words of loyal truth;
'Tis given maturer age to prove
A traitor to the vows of youth!
And oh! how dear he was to me!
How like a dream he seemed to be
Of gentle, generous, and bold.
But when he left my fost’ring care,
His friendship melted all to air,
And mighty Charles could soon forget
The welcome feign’d Mainetto met!
But not to him the change I owe,
Tho’ thrice to desolate my land
He comes in arms, a dreadful foe—
And who his warriors may withstand!
No, not to him;—another leads
And urges on the warlike throng,
Through whom my suffering kingdom bleeds,
To whom I owe the deadly wrong.
Though now his words with peace are rife,
I hear them but as words of strife;
Though friendly are the terms you bear,
From him no peace my land shall know
Until the diadem I wear
Shall sparkle on Orlando’s brow!”
An angry flush his cheek suffused:
Meanwhile the cautious traitor sat,
Nor seemed to mark his troubled mien;
But well he read the page of hate
That on the Moslem’s brow was seen.
For now, as wearied with their play,
In placid calm the waters lay,
And in the fountain’s ample breast,
Lit by the moonbeams, slept at rest.
Within, as on a mirror's face,
The monarch’s features he could trace.
And still he gazed, while loud and long
Marsilio spoke and urged his wrong;
His words unwittingly were spoke,
The traitor’s accents, soft and low,
New tempests of his ire awoke;
Till, from his arts no thought conceal'd,
The bold deceiver stood reveal’d.
Which all that gallant host betrayed,
And scal’d the name of Ganelon
Deceit and treachery in one!
Whose semblance graced his falchion’s hilt,
That all the best and noblest blood
Of Christendom should soon be spilt,
And not a single foe remain
To check the tow’ring pride of Spain.
By Aden’s bowers of endless bloom,
By Ali’s soul, by Allah’s throne,
And by the Caaba’s sacred stone,[7]
To grant what mead the wretch might claim
As guerdon of eternal shame.
When sudden horror seized on both;
With pallid fear they stood amazed,
And on the scene before them gazed.
The fountain rose with rushing sound,
And dashed its struggling waters round,
Whose tint of pure and liquid blue;
Was changed to dark and blood-red hue;
The moon shot forth a lurid light,
Which gleamed along the face of night,
While tempest clouds across her path
Seemed big with heaven’s avenging wrath.
And all Valencia’s hills reply;
The lightning’s tongues of livid fire
Dart forth to join th’awakened ire,
And with wild impulse onward driven,
The carob’s trunk its blast has riven,
Has scorched its leaves, its bark has rent.
To earth its blackened branches sent:
Whose drops of bloody sweat distain;
The shuddering earth with crimson rain.
So look’d, so shrank the tree of yore
Whose boughs accursed Judas bore!
By fear and not remorse impell’d,
Unchang’d their schemes of treachery
By heavenly vengeance, still withheld,
That deign’d a warning sign to give,
Bade them in time repent and live,
Or work their evil ways, and die
Tn tortures and in infamy.
Strength for thy weight, revengeful Moor,
Thy limbs shall fester in their chains,
Till the last spark of life be o'er.
And thou, vile Ganelon! a fate
More hideous shall thy crime await;
Though poor amends thy pangs may be
For chivalry destroyed by thee!
The town was formerly divided into three parts. The first comprised, under the name of la Cité, all the buildings surrounding the citadel. The second
was called Le Bourg, and extended from la Grosse Tour to the Abbey of St. Martin. Of the third, called La Vellette, the Creuttes de St. Vincent is all that remains. The mountain itself is of very irregular form, it is narrowed about the centre almost to a neck of land, and the plain advances
upon it as though it were the ocean encroaching on a line of cliffs, thus forming a vast basin like a port. The two abbeys of St. Vincent and St.
Jean, placed on the right and left of this entrance, appear to have defended it. Six faubourgs are elustcred at the foot of the mountain, and have a very pleasing effect; the spires of their parish churches appearing above the trees in which they are embosomed. All these were formerly of importance, and most of them have still some interest attached to them independently of their beauty of position, amongst the vines and orchards which adorn the country.
The vines of Laon are said to be the most ancient in France: they were also, in old times, the most esteemed: at the coronation of Charles IX. wines of the Rémois and Laonnois were presented to him, the latter being much the more expensive. If Champagne was then looked upon as the inferior, it has well revenged itself in later days.
Amongst the holy personages who flourished at Laon, in the 7th century, was a hermit who chose his retreat in the solitary wood of Breuil, then infested by frightful animals who devoured all those who ventured near their haunts. The inspired hermit, however, undismayed by all the catastrophes which were constantly occurring, resolved on fixing himself at the very entrance of their caverns, and succeeded in accomplishing by prayer what mortal force had failed to effect. The animals were exterminated, and in memory of this happy event, on the first day of Rogation week, the clergy of the town of Laon went formerly in procession round the wood of Breuil, preceded by three grotesque figures called by the people la Papoire, le Crocodile, and le Dragon. It is singular how many miracles of this sort were performed in early times: at some of the principal towns in Flanders, St. Quentin, and even Nevers, besides others in the South, the same ceremonies kept in remembrance the wonderful circumstances: these processions in the month of May, common to Pagan nations, may probably be intended to celebrate the return of Spring, and the triumph of the Sun over the season of fogs and frosts.
The Cathedral of Nôtre Dame de Laon is one of the most interesting and unique in France: many may be more perfect and finer in parts, but it is impossible that any can be more stupendous or offer details of greater beauty and delicacy as well as boldness and solidity. Its date is of the 12th century, but it has been built at different epochs, and its architecture is various, but all of the first order. The height of its fine roof, the grace of its apparently innumerable pillars, the two lines of columns with their beautiful capitals, twelve in the nave and eleven in the choir, the singular screens of its chapels with their fine decorations, a work due to the munificence of the Cardinal de Bourbon, all excite the greatest admiration, and compensate in a great degree for the loss of all the tombs which once adorned the walls. There is a good deal of fine painted glass in the choir which terminates square, unlike most other churches. The great rose window is magnificent, both as to colour and shape: the stone-work is as fine as the painting. Its form is a circle surrounded by satellites of smaller circles, cach containing a separate subject, and fortunately all perfect. The principal portal is very fine, and is approached by a high flight of steps: the twisted pillars which support it are singularly fine. The exterior is very grand, the four towers are unique in their beauty; solid and square in their mass, they are composed of a series of the most exquisitely delicate pillars, connected and crowned by a rich cornice. A winding transparent stair of ornamented stone runs through the centre to the top—grotesque figures of animals peep forth from transparent niches at an immense height: the blue sky shines through the numerous openings, defining the forms of the pillars, and their light rich capitals. Seen in all directions, these towers are objects of remarkable beauty, and, looking at them from a distance, the mixture of lightness and stability which they present is surprising in the extreme.
The extent of the building, like all those at Laon, must have been immense, for though so much has been swept away the remains are still very great; the cloisters are almost all gone, which are said to have been treasures of art; a gallery remains on one side of the square of the Palais de Justice, adjoining the Abbey, which presents features of great interest; the massive pillars sunk deep in the ground, and their severe and simple capitals are of extreme antiquity; they contrast well with the parterres of light spring flowers and bushes of yellow roses, which adorn the square and surround the deep large well in the centre.
The next object of admiration in Laon is the church of St. Martin, at the opposite extremity of the town; it is, however, more imposing by its two fine towers which divide the view with those of Nôtre Dame, than for what is to be found now in the interior. Two beautiful statues rescued from the wreck of revolutionary violence are placed on the floor near the grand entrance. They are of white marble and of fine execution: one represents an abbess, the face, hands, drapery, all of extreme beauty, and quite uninjured: her pastoral staff is ornamented with tabernacle work like the finest lace, and the lions at her fect are admirably executed. The other statue is that of a knight in chain armour with sword and belt, elaborately and exquisitely carved, and a triangular shield with the bearings quite clear: who these personages were, is at present unknown; nor has it been ascertained in what church their tombs were originally placed.
It may be forgiven to the imagination, to suppose that the statue of the beautiful abbess might represent the unfortunate Judith, queen of the ill-fated Louis le Débonnaire, whose name answers so little to his fortunes. He had, like Lear, divided his possessions amongst his three sons, Lothaire, Pepin, and Louis; but having afterwards married, and another son being born to him, he considered it but justice that the last should also be provided for, and reclaimed a portion from each to give to their younger brother. A secret league was formed against him by his unnatural children, whose designs were soon but too apparent. They declared their enmity openly, and appeared at the head of numerous armies demanding the restitution of their domains. The emperor, taken by surprise, was chiefly anxious for the safety of his wife, the principal object of their hatred, and by his direction she immediately sought refuge in the Abbey of Nôtre Dame, at Laon. Pepin, discovering where she was concealed, hastened to despatch thither a strong body of troops, commanded by two of his lieutenants. He followed himself with the rest of his army, determined to besiege the town if it offered the slightest resistance to his will. None, however, was made, the gates were opened to him at the first summons. Judith was dragged from the altar of the church with violence, conducted to the camp of Pepin, and forced to take the veil. Her unhappy husband fell into the hands of his enemies, and the same scene of violence took place in the Abbey of St. Medard de Soissons, which monastery they forced him to enter.
Whether the knight represents the son-in-law of Louis le Débonnaire I do not venture to assert, and, indeed, the manner in which he met his death at Laon, might have deprived him of the honour of so fine a tomb as this effigy must have belonged to. Begon, Count of Paris, was of exalted stature: one day as he was entering a chureh at Reims, he struck his head violently against the top of the door, and flew in consequence into such a passion, that he commanded the church te be destroyed. The order was executed at the time when he came to visit his father-in-law at Laon. His punishment soon followed his crime, for the devil took possession of him immediately on his arrival, and tormented him in so dreadful a manner, that it was long before the prayers of the royal family, and a vow he was induced to make to re-establish the destroyed church, procured his deliverance.
The most remarkable of the numerous towers which surround the town of Laon is one near the Porte St. Martin, and not far from that which is called La Tour d’Herbert. The peculiarity of this is that it leans in the same manner as the celebrated towers of Pisa and Bologna, and is said to be the only one of the kind in France. The upper part is destroyed, but the inclination is easily perceived in what remains. It is called, for some reason which has never been explained, La Tour de la Dame Eve. Another, on the descent, is called De Brunehaut, built by that famous queen, who resided for some time at Laon, and founded the Abbey of St. Vincent.
Our hotel of La Hure was one of the most ancient houses at Laon, but so many new apartments had been built over the old ones, so much had been cleared away, painted, papered, and repaired, that it presented few features of antiquity. Everything was clean, though there was the usual appearance of slovenliness that is met with even at the best towns abroad, and the customary mixture of fashion and want of necessaries. For instance, our rooms were neatly and tolerably furnished, and were newly arranged, but they looked out into a dirty stable-yard and court, noisy, and anything but picturesque: there was no better view from any part of the house, but many of the rooms had much worse, so we were obliged to he content. Our pretty waiting-maid, Hyacinthe, had the finest black eyes imaginable, and glossy long black hair, dressed with the greatest care and elegance, though the rest of her dress was not remarkable: her assistant was a fair girl, called Ismerie, whose name we remarked as singular, and when we were told that she was named after the Princess Ismerie, we requested to know who that lady might be. “Is it possible,” was the reply, “that you do not know the shrine of our blessed Lady of Liesse, and have not seen the statue of the Princess Ismerie in the church?” We confessed our ignorance, and were soon informed, that about four leagues from Laon was situated this famous shrine, frequented now, as formerly, by devout pilgrims, who come long journeys on foot to visit it. Three thousand at least had paid their respects this year, and more would arrive before the summer was past. Some women have been known to come from a distance of sixty leagues, scantily clothed, with naked feet and dishevelled hair. The sick and maimed are brought in carts and litters, and never fail to derive benefit from the holy presence.
This appeared so like a fable at the present day, that we had no doubt our simple damsels were either deceived by report, or wished to deceive us. We, however, made particular inquiries in other quarters, and found that the fame of the miraculous Virgin of Liesse stood as high as it could possibly have done at the time when it was by a miracle brought from the Holy Land. To satisfy ourselves and our hostess, who assured us that we should have a charming drive over a good road to a delightful village in the plain, and be infinitely gratified by the sight of a beautiful church and agreeable country, we ordered a small open carriage provided with a hood, for the weather was unusually warm and bright, and set out on a pilgrimage to Nôtre Dame de Liesse.
- ↑ The church of Leuilly was said to have been built in commemoration of the judgment rendered by Charlemagne, Certainly this monarch is represented on a wall of the nave, armed at all points, and holding in his hand a model of the church. An inscription also declares him to have been the founder; but the characters in which it is written are not of very great antiquity, and the building itself could scarcely ever haye been worthy of so illustrious an origin.
- ↑ Here are the strongest silks, the sweetest wine, the excellentent’st almonds, the best oyls, and beautifull’st females of all Spain. The very bruit animals make themselves beds of rosemary and other fragrant flowers hereabouts; and when one is at sea, if the winde blow from the shore he may smell this soyl, before he come in sight of it, many leagues off by the strong odoriferous scent it casts. As it is the most pleasant, so it is also the temperat’st climate of all Spain; and they commonly call it the second Italy, which made the Moors, whereof many thousands were disterr’d and banished hence to Barbary, to think Paradise was in that part of the heavens which hung over this citie—Howell’s Letters.
- ↑ The Eastern writers say Solomon travelled thus: he had a carpet of green silk, on which his throne was placed; it was of prodigious length and breadth, and sufficient for all his forces to stand on, the men on his right, and the spirits on his left hand; and when all were im order, the wind at his command took up the carpet and transported it with all that were upon it whereever he pleased, the army of birds at the same time flying over their heads, and forming a kind of canopy to shade them from the sun.—Sale, Prelim. Dis.
- ↑ Rinaldo of Montalban, eldest of the four sons of Aymon, of chivalrous memory.—See Bibliothèque Bleue, &c.
- ↑ Ogier le Danois was two hundred years in the enchanted regions of the fairy Morgana, who retained him by means of a golden wreath which she had placed on his head. This one day falling into a fountain, he recovers his memory, and wishes to return to Charlemagne’s court. He astonishes every one at the court of Hugues Capet on his arrival, by asking news of his friends. The year passed, during which Morgana in vain strove to regain the coronet; but she at length suceceds in recovering it and her lover together, who returns to her, and remains in her realm eternally.—Romance of Ogier.
- ↑ Gano, or Ganelon of Maganza, was a favourite of Charlemagne, who was quite ruled by him, and his sway caused great dissatisfaction in the court. Orlando and several other knights, unable to endure his insolence, banished themselves from France in disgust. Gano, however, having fallen into one of his own snares of treachery, is taken prisoner by certain giants, and being a knight, Orlando and his friends return from Babylon to rescue him, though they know him to be a villain and traitor. Gano, after his release, plots against his credulous master, and persuades Charlemagne to send him ambassador to king Marsilius of Spain. The old king, after a banquet given to him as ambassador, takes him alone to a fountain shaded with trees. There they sit and talk of old times, of Charlemagne when a young man having taken shelter in Spain under the name of Mainetto, where he was treated by Marsilius as a son, and of his waging war three times, wishing to deprive him of his crown, and give it to his nephew Orlando. While the king spoke, Gano watched the changes of his countenance in the water, trying to discover his real meaning. Marsilius observed this, and at length opened his mind to him, saying, if he would deliver him of Orlando, he should no longer fear Charlemagne. Gano in return made known to him his inveterate hatred to Orlando, Olivier, and the other paladins, and proposed to ensnare them, with the flower of the French army, in the narrow defiles of Roncesvalles, there to be cut to pieces by the Saracens. At the moment the traitorous compact was closed, wonders appeared in the heavens; thunder rolled and burst near the spot, the water of the spring boiled up and became tinged with blood, and a carob tree which overhung it, the same species as that on which Judas hung himself, sweated blood, and dried up suddenly, its leaves and bark falling to the ground. Marsilius was afterwards hung on that very carob tree, and Ganelon suffered a horrible punishment, being torn to pieces by wild horses; but the ruin they contemplated was complete.—Pulci, Morgante Maggiore.
- ↑ The temple of Mecca was a place of worship and singular veneration with the Arabs from great antiquity, and many centuries before Mohammed. Though it was most probably dedicated at first to an idolatrous use, yet the Mohammedans are persuaded that the Caaba is almost coeval with the world; for they say that Adam after his expulsion from Paradise begged of God that he might erect a building like that he had seen there, called Beit al Mâmûr, or the Frequented House, and al Dorâh, to which he might direct his prayers, and which he might compass as the angels did the celestial one. Whereupon God let him down a representation of that house in curtains of light, and set it in Mecca, perpendicularly under its original; (some say it was the real one, taken up to Heaven again at the flood.) In the south-east corner of the Caaba, being that which looks towards Basra, is the celebrated black stone, set in silver, about two cubits and one-third. This stone is kissed by pilgrims with great devotion, and by some called the right hand of God on earth. They say it was at first whiter than milk, but is rendered black by the touches and kisses of the faithful.—Sale’s Koran, Prelim. Dis.