From the New Monthly Magazine. THE CORDELIER OF SISTERON. BY DUDLEY COSTELLO, ESQ. INTRODUCTI ON. FEW English travelers, unless the conditions of their journey be imperative, are in the habit of taking the route from Grenoble to Marseilles, which passes through the mountainous region of Dauphine, and descends from thence to the scorching plains of Provence; for, though this line be the more direct, it is undoubtedly the most tedious and fatiguing. The invalid on his way to Nice also avoids it carefully; and, except by pilgrims to the Vaudois, or an occasional pedestrian to the precipitous heights of Mont Pelvoux, this part of France is rarely visited, and cities once of importance are now comparatively unknown. Amongst the many places thus forgotten, and neglected alike by industry and curiosity, Sisteron, hemmed in on the frontier of Provence between two torrents-the Buech and the Durance-may be cited as an example. Yet the city of Sisteron can claim an antiquity of two thousand years, from the period of its foundation as the capital of a Roman province to its present obscure condition as the simple sous-préfeture of a department. Until within the last few years it gave its name to a see. It still boasts a Romanesque cathedral; an impregnable citadel, once the prison of Prince John Casimir of Poland, renders it respectable in military estimation; and for picturesqueness of position it is almost unrivaled. Moreover, the annals of Sisteron contain much that is of interest, not only to the antiquarian and the historian, but to the general reader ;-and it was in searching through these that my attention was first attracted toward the peculiar features of a remarkable trial which took place there about eighty years ago. The circumstances connected with it occasioned a great deal of scandal at the time. It appeared to me that an account of them was worthy of being related; and I have, therefore, thrown them into the shape of the following narrative. I. THE CONVENT OF THE CORDELIERS. THE religious establishments of Sisteron, as was generally the case with cities of any note during the middle ages, were at one period very numerous disproportionately so, indeed, to the spiritual wants or worldly necessities of the inhabitants; for although the greater part of them were originally founded from motives of piety or charity, those attributes gradually declined, and the establishments, instead of a relief, became a burden. Absorbing much, and dispensing little, they grew rich as the people became poor, until at length the anomaly presented itself of the wealthiest endowments being possessed by a mere handful of men, the principle of whose association was a vow of poverty and self-denial. With a population of less than 4000 persons, Sisteron contained no less than fourteen ecclesiastical foundations, including most of the principal religious orders: Franciscan, Dominican, Augustine, and Capuchin monks -"black, white, and gray,-with all their trumpery;" Ursuline, Bernardine, and Visitandine sisters; besides priories and abbeys, hospices and maisons de Providence. Of this number some had happily fallen into decay, others had become merged in newer establishments, but one amongst them, the Cordeliers, or Franciscans, still flourished in the last century, though, at the time when the events occurred which form the subject of these pages, the number of brothers was reduced to only three! The Sisteron Cordeliers were founded, it is believed, in the early part of the thirteenth century, by the celebrated Raymond Bérenger, Count of Provence, who richly endowed the convent : an example which was fol Father Ferrier was a weak and infirm old man; dull of intellect, and feeble in health, he was reckoned for nobody in the affairs of the convent, and whether he lived or died seemed to be of no account with the other two. lowed not only by succeeding princes, but | By the middle of the seventeenth century by wealthy individuals of various ranks. their number was reduced to four, and in The family of d'Agout, Seigneurs de Curban, the year 1767, when this narrative comwere liberal benefactors; and during the mences, only three brothers, as I have alpalmy days of the middle ages the coffers of ready remarked, tenanted the convent. The the Cordeliers were filled with gold, and names of these three were Ferrier, Touche, scarcely a year passed without some addition and Laloubière. being made to their extensive landed property. Nor were the pious donors satisfied with giving gold and lands only. Women deprived themselves of their richest ornaments, to deposit them on the shrine of St. Francis; and their jewels, their chains, their collars, their rings, and the frontiers which encircled their heads, were freely given to be converted to holy purposes, in the shape of censers, salvers, and other sacred vessels. It was this material wealth which, at a later period, so highly excited the cupidity of the Huguenot party when the churches became their prey. There is one donation, out of the many, which, from its singularity, is worthy of being noticed. A certain Adam Thibaut, a furrier, who died in 1496, desirous of being buried in the church of the Frères-Mineurs beside his deceased friend Jean Chais, and being, moreover, of a convivial disposition, purchased this favor at the expense of an ample and sumptuous dinner ("bene, decenter et opulenter") to be served in perpetuity on the anniversary of every Fête-Dieu. He left for this purpose a sum of money sufficient to buy a measure of wheat, four-and-twenty bottles of pure wine, and as much mutton, beef, and poultry, as four-and-twenty Franciscan friars could dispose of at a meal. In what manner the jovial Cordeliers reconciled this compulsory feast with their vow of abstinence, is not upon record; in all probability, they ate the dinner under the stimulus of plenary indulgence, granted of course with a view to the encouragement of future donations; or, availing themselves of the casuistry for which they were celebrated, sided with that party among the Franciscans who, in discussing the question of the entire renunciation of all things, imposed upon them by their rule, contended that the aliments which had only a temporary abode in their stomachs could not be looked upon in the light of possessions. Father Touche and Father Laloubière were men of a different kind. Both were young, strong and active of body, acute and vigorous of mind. Each aimed at supremacy, and in their secret endeavors to obtain it, hated each other cordially. There were no opinions to cultivate, no parties to create, no friends to canvass; each relied for support on himself alone, and on his own unassisted energies. But, resembling each other in many respects, they were not alike in all. Father Touche had no less ambition than Father Laloubière, but his course was more open and unreserved; he coveted the direction of the convent, and the control of the property which still belonged to it, but he was not of a temperament "to catch the nearest way" to the end he sought; he would win the game if possible, but by fair means only. Not so Laloubière. Less impetuous on the surface, but of a deeper and darker nature, all means that served his purpose were alike to him. If barefaced power could have sufficed, he would have employed it; but failing that, a sinister and concealed system of action met with his ready and unscrupulous adoption. As far as priority went, Laloubière had the advantage. He was the "gardien" of the establishment; but although this office carried with it a certain degree of responsibility, it entailed no extraordinary authority. The goods of the convent were in common, and could only be alienated or appropriated by common consent. The right to punish and command-so dear to all men, and not undesired in cloisters-was not amongst the privileges of the gardien, who longed for the sway that had been vested in the priors and abbots of former days. There was also another cause for hatred, From what has been said above, it is clear that at the end of the fifteenth century the Cordeliers of Sisteron mustered four-and-which, even more than the desire for supetwenty strong at least Four-and-twenty friars all of a row! riority, engendered feelings of animosity between Laloubière and Touche. Though the rules of their order were of ances. Out of this violation of their duties arose a circumstance which aggravated the ill-will borne toward each other by the two friars, and led in the end to the most deplorable consequences. II. the strictest, the absence of control in an | shaped maidens who, like herself, were conestablishment which, for all practical purpo- stant attendants at the market in the Grande ses, consisted only of two members, afforded Place of Sisteron. Here, as she sat amidst opportunities for relaxation of discipline her wares, surrounded by the glowing fruits which neither of them were slow to take of autumn, a more picturesque object could advantage of; and, with a freedom which scarcely be imagined, and many a male cushad never been dreamt of by the founder, tomer sought out her stall, less for the sake they mingled with the world, not to visit the of the purple grapes, the golden figs, and sick or offer consolation to the suffering, but the deeply-tinted mulberries which she ofto share in its pleasures as far as lay in their fered for sale, than to have an opportunity of power consistently with external appear- exchanging glances with, or making pretty speeches to, the Belle of Bonne Fontaine, as she was generally called. In addition to her beauty, Madeleine had a very agreeable, winning manner, and her ready smile offered no discouragement to such as strove to get into her good graces. But this avenante disposition was united to perfect modesty and propriety of conduct, and when she was twenty years of age-an advanced period of life in Provence for an unmarried girl-her less-favored companions, who had already taken the irrevocable step, began to wonder amongst themselves how it happened that Madeleine Gantelme had not yet bestowed her hand upon some favored lover. They instanced many whom they thought eligible, as, indeed, they were, both from age and station; but the truth was, that Madeleine's heart was still untouched. They predicted the happy lot to several amongst the young men of Sisteron, but she smiled and thought of them no more. It never entered into the minds of her friends to imagine on whom her affections would one day centre; and had they named him, which was next to impossible, the girl herself would have started at the idea as if a scorpion had stung her. Yet the impossible prediction came to pass. THE BEAUTY OF BONNE FONTAINE. Ar the foot of the Rocher de la Baume, and within a stone's throw of the ancient convent of the Dominicans, there stood, at the period we are speaking of, a small vil lage, or rather a cluster of cottages, known by the name of Bonne Fontaine, from a clear, bubbling spring which rose through the crevices of the rocky soil, and sent its tiny stream down the valley, to mingle with. the impetuous waters of the Durance. In one of these cottages dwelt a vigneron named Antoine Gantelme. He was a widower with an only daughter, and chiefly supported himself during the summer and autumn by the produce of his vineyard and a jardin potager, which he sold in the market of Sisteron. In the winter he made nets for the fishermen and sportsmen of the arrondissement, and eked out his means by the manufacture of wooden bowls and spoons, in carving which he showed some ingenuity. His daughter, Madeleine Gantelme, assisted him in his marketing, or rather was herself the sole marchande, and, when the season of fruits and flowers was past, her busy knitting-needles supplied many of the wants of their simple ménage. Beauty is no remarkable attribute of the Provençale women in the upper valley of the Durance, but Madeleine Gantelme was an exception to the general rule. The crimson of her cheek, the lustre of her dark eye, the brilliancy of her teeth, her fine oval face and well-formed head, and her tall and graceful figure, rendered her conspicuous among the sallow, sunburnt, freckled, and awkwardly In his quality of gardien of the convent, the Cordelier Laloubière was a frequenter of the market to make the necessary purchases for the jours gras, which the brothers allowed themselves much oftener than the ordinances of the church permitted. Had these been strictly obeyed, the convent garden would have supplied all that was required; and this he was wont to say was all he needed on his own account; but Father Ferrier was an invalid, certain dispensations had been granted, and, against his will, he was compelled to provide the creature-comforts which he never tasted. An indifferent person who had seen the heavily-laden basket of provisions under which the convent-servant, Jerome, labored when the marketing was over, would have thought that for a sick man the appetite of Father Ferrier was remarkably good. But it was not merely to cater for the con vent-table, or to bargain with the peasants | she paused for a moment on the bridge over for quails and truffles, that Father Laloubière haunted the market of Sisteron. The bright eyes and blooming countenance of the Belle of Bonne Fontaine had fixed his wandering glances, and the impression which her beauty made was one he did not strive to resist. On the contrary, he encouraged it by every means in his power, until it became an absorbing passion. Day after day he came to the accustomed place, first to gaze at the fair girl, and then to speak to her in soft and persuasive accents, his secret desires being masked by words of religious seeming. In the simplicity of her heart, Madeleine listened to one who appeared to feel a sincere interest both in her temporal and spiritual welfare; and the frankness of her air and the confidence which she began to repose in him were readily misinterpreted into a levity of disposition that promised an easy conquest. Laloubière was one of those men who, having no belief in virtue, suppose that the seductions of vice have only to be named to obtain proselytes. He threw off the reserve which he had at first assumed, and, dropping the language of his profession, dared openly to speak of love. Madeliene could scarcely believe her ears.-What! this pious and benevolent man, a member of one of the most rigid orders of the clerical profession, bound alike by his special vow and his general obligation as a Christian minister, to mention a theme so profane, and, in this instance, so revolting! She could not trust herself to reply to him, and for a time her embarrassment was misconstrued by Laloubière as her previous frankness had been. In plainer terms he repeated his wishes and urged her to compliance, but he was not suffered now to remain any longer in doubt. As soon as she could find words to give utterance to her scorn and indignation, she broke through the timidity which had restrained her, and it was well for Father Laloubière's reputation that no one was near when she did so. Like a scared wolf he slunk away, but, with the tenacity of the animal he resembled, resolving still to accomplish the base purpose on which he had set his soul. It was with a heavier heart than had ever before throbbed in her bosom that Madeleine took her way that afternoon to the vesper service in the cathedral, whither she always repaired to pray at the altar of Notre Dame de Pomeriis before she went back to Bonne Fontaine. When she left the church her brow was once more serene, though a shudder involuntarily passed though her frame as the Durance and gazed in the direction of the Cordeliers' convent, in the midst of the Champ l'Abbesse, without the walls of Sisteron. The dark thought of danger weighed for a moment on her mind, but like an ugly dream it vanished as she moved hastily onward to the peace and security of her home. III. THE PEYRIMPI. FATHER LALOUBIERE had reckoned, and not without reason, on Madeleine's silence with regard to his unhallowed proffer. Her modesty secured his immunity as completely as her participation in his guilt would have done. He persisted, consequently, in renewing his addresses whenever the moment seemed favorable, but he was invariably repulsed with coldness, for contempt had now come to her aid in the place of anger. When first she heard his degrading proposal, astonishment at the magnitude of the sin was the strongest feeling in her mind; nor was this diminished on after consideration; but, allied with it, was a sense of the baseness and unworthiness of the man who could make religion the cloak of his wicked designs. As often as he returned to the subject, she gave him some brief answer referring to his sacred calling, by doing which she sought to shame him into reflection on the duties he neglected and the mission he perverted. But this course wrought no change in his purpose, though it awoke a feeling of irritation, which, at every repulse, gradually deepened into a desire for vengeance, and he inwardly vowed her ruin, as much from motives of resentment as from the desire to gratify his passion. For a long time he meditated by what scheme he could manage to get her into his power, and finally decided upon appearing to abandon his pursuit, the better to lull her into security; for, as a means of defence, Madeleine had latterly associated more constantly than before with her companions of the market, and always went in their company_both in leaving and returning to Bonne Fontaine. But in ceasing to annoy her by his presence, Laloubière never lost sight of her for a single day. He became a secret spy on all her actions, hovered about her path when she was least aware of it, and might often have been seen in the dead of night watching beneath her window, had any one besides himself been stirring at that hour. Nor did he confine his measures to personal surveillance. By cautious inquiry he came to the knowledge of all her father's affairs, what were his pursuits, who his employers, who his relatives, and in what part of the country they resided. Arrived at this knowledge, he formed his plans accordingly. Having learnt, amongst other things, that a married sister of Antoine Gantelme, named Philippine Berulle, who resided in the canton of Ribiers, about three leagues from Sisteron, was in a declining state of health, he forged a letter in such handwriting as peasants use when they have acquired the art (and he found no difficulty in doing so, for there is little difference in the form or style of their letters), and caused it to be conveyed to Bonne Fontaine by a strange courier, who was passing through toward Barcelonette. It contained an urgent request that Madeleine would go over to see her aunt, whose malady, it stated, had much increased; and as she had always been a great favorite with his sister, old Antoine very readily consented to her departure. He would himself have accompanied her, but a summons to assist in getting in the vintage on the estate of a proprietor who lived at St. Symphorien, in an exactly opposite direction, wholly prevented him. To neglect his work to gratify his feelings was not a luxury permitted to Gantelme-as, indeed, it rarely is to people of his class; and accordingly, on the following morning, when the mists were slowly rising from the river, and everything promised a fine October day, the father and daughter separated on their different mis sions. The thought of her aunt's illness had, for the moment, obliterated all other considerations, and, her habits of life having accustomed her to make long distances alone, she never thought of the necessity for a protector on the journey. Besides, it was broad day, the market-people and the vignerons were all abroad, the way was well known to her, and the houses of many of her acquaintance were scattered along her route. After skirting the walls of Sisteron and passing beneath the rocky heights of Chambrancon, she pursued the cross-road by Le Virail, which borders the Buech, whose full clear stream swept rapidly past to join the Durance, glancing gaily in the sunlight as the ripple caught it. A short distance from Le Virail the road quitted the banks of the river and wound up the steep side of the Montagne du Collet, for her aunt did not live in the bourg of Ribiers itself, but in a small hamlet called Fraissinnié, distant from it about a league. To reach Fraissinnié it was necessary that she should pass through a narrow gorge, which was rendered remarkable by a lofty rock of singular form, which towers over the valley. It was called in the language of the country the Peyrimpi, a corruption of the term Pierre impie, which name had been bestowed on it as the traditional fortress formed by nature in which the Saracens took refuge at the period of their latest warfare in Provence, somewhere about the close of the tenth century. Without reference to the creed of the invaders, the people generally looked upon the name as significant of the commission of some forgotten crime, and it would not have been an easy matter to induce any of them to pass after dark, alone, through the gloomy glen. It is probable that Madeleine shared in the common feeling, but at this hour of the day, and the object of her journey nearly accomplished, she scarcely gave it a thought. The picturesque character of the scene, where the bare and lofty rocks in the foreground contrasted forcibly with the rich autumnal vegetation in the plain beyond, gave her even a pleasurable sensation, and with a light step and a cheerful spirit she hastened to soothe the couch of sickness. Could she but have known that her evil genius was watching her footsteps as she passed the Pierre impie, the place might well have inspired her with dread! She passed, however, and unmolested. With the sun shining above his head, the watcher seemed to feel that the eye of God was upon him. Besides, he had calculated on her return at a later hour. Fool! to think that it needs a shrouded sky to perpetrate a deed of evil, or that to the Avenger of Wrong the darkness of midnight is not clear as the blaze of noon! IV. THE RESCUE. A WALK of about three-quarters of an hour from the Pierre impie brought Madeleine to the hamlet of Fraissinnié. She proceeded directly to the cottage of Philippine Berulle; but when she tried to lift the latch, she found, to her surprise, that it did not yield to her efforts. She tapped at the door, but all was still; louder, but no one replied to the appeal. What could be the matter? Had her aunt's illness made such rapid progress that her husband should have left her to seek for medical advice, or for the last consolations of the church? Or was she, |