fications
as with a mantle. Issoudun was at that time the seat of the ephemeral
power of the Routiers and the Cottereaux, adventurers and free-lancers,
whom Henry II. sent against his son Richard, at the time of his
rebellion as Comte de Poitou.

The history of Aquitaine, which was not written by the Benedictines,
will probably never be written, because there are no longer
Benedictines: thus we are not able to light up these archaeological
tenebrae in the history of our manners and customs on every occasion
of their appearance. There is another testimony to the ancient
importance of Issoudun in the conversion into a canal of the
Tournemine, a little stream raised several feet above the level of the
Theols which surrounds the town. This is undoubtedly the work of Roman
genius. Moreover, the suburb which extends from the castle in a
northerly direction is intersected by a street which for more than two
thousand years has borne the name of the rue de Rome; and the
inhabitants of this suburb, whose racial characteristics, blood, and
physiognomy have a special stamp of their own, call themselves
descendants of the Romans. They are nearly all vine-growers, and
display a remarkable inflexibility of manners and customs, due,
undoubtedly, to their origin,--perhaps also to their victory over the
Cottereaux and the Routiers, whom they exterminated on the plain of
Charost in the twelfth century.

After the insurrection of 1830, France was too agitated to pay much
attention to the rising of the vine-growers of Issoudun; a terrible
affair, the facts of which have never been made public,--for good
reasons. In the first place, the bourgeois of Issoudun refused to
allow the military to enter the town. They followed the use and wont
of the bourgeoisie of the Middle Ages and declared themselves
responsible for their own city. The government was obliged to yield to
a sturdy people backed up by seven or eight thousand vine-growers, who
had burned all the archives, also the offices of "indirect taxation,"
and had dragged through the streets a customs officer, crying out at
every street lantern, "Let us hang him here!" The poor man's life was
saved by the national guard, who took him to prison on pretext of
drawing up his indictment. The general in command only entered the
town by virtue of a compromise made with the vine-growers; and it
needed some courage to go among them. At the moment when he showed
himself at the hotel-de-ville, a man