{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_46689/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_46689","id":"gutenberg_46689","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46689","summary":null,"tags":["Burgundy (France) -- Description and travel","Category: History - European","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Travel Writing"],"text":"BURGUNDY: THE\n SPLENDID DUCHY\n\n\n\n\n BY THE SAME AUTHOR\n\n IMPRESSIONS OF PROVENCE. FOOLSCAP QUARTO, 12/6 NET\n\n SONGS OF OLD FRANCE. CROWN 8VO. 6/- NET\n\n LONDON: FRANCIS GRIFFITHS\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: MONT BEUVRAY\n _Frontispiece_]\n\n\n\n\n BURGUNDY: THE\n SPLENDID DUCHY\n\n STORIES AND SKETCHES IN SOUTH BURGUNDY\n\n\n BY\n\n PERCY ALLEN\n\n AUTHOR OF \"IMPRESSIONS OF PROVENCE\" ETC.\n\n\n Fully illustrated with eight water-colour and 86 line drawings\n by Miss Marjorie Nash\n\n\n LONDON\n\n FRANCIS GRIFFITHS\n\n 34 MAIDEN LANE, STRAND, W.C.\n\n 1912\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Lion]\n\n\n\n\n TO M.\n\n\n TANT L VAUT, the Virgin name,\n Five hundred years ago,\n On stately hall and tower aflame,\n Blazoned in gold, bade all acclaim\n Her worth in high Rochepot.\n\n Here above London's roar I sit,\n To watch the splendour flow\n O'er myriad roof-trees glory-lit,\n And read,--with golden fingers writ--\n A sunset's TANT L VAUT.\n\n Darkness and stars begin to be,\n Light leaves the world below;\n Turning, a gracious form I see,\n And vesper music wakes in me--\n Ma deboinaire, tr\u00e8s doulce amie,\n Seule Etoile, TANT L VAUT.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Grapes]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nI have to thank very cordially my friend, Monsieur Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault,\nfor his kindness in permitting me to make use of the valuable material\ncomprised in his charming books upon rural Burgundy; and I have also\nto thank M. A. de Charmasse and his publisher, M. Dejussieu, of Autun,\nfor placing at my disposal the information contained in that author's\nPr\u00e9cis Historique to \"Autun et ses Monuments\" and in the archeological\nportion of the same work, written by the late M. H. de Fontenay, a book\nwhich I recommend to those who wish to study fully the stones of that\ninteresting city.\n\nI have also to acknowledge the kindness of Mm. Mame & Fils, of Tours,\nin granting permission to translate the Burgundian legends, \"Le\nCreux du Diable,\" \"Le Puits de St. Martin,\" and \"L'Abbaye de St^{e.}\nMarguerite,\" by the late Abb\u00e9 B----, published by that house: also the\ncourtesy of M. Gabriel Hanotaux, of the French Academy, and of his\npublishers, Messrs. Hachette, of Paris, in permitting the reproduction\nof a portrait of Philippe le Bon (p. 191) from his recent work on\nJeanne d'Arc. My thanks are due, too, to M. Perrault-Dabot, who kindly\nallows me to make use of the engraving of Cluny (p. 72) from his work\n\"L'Art en Bourgogne.\"\n\nIf the support given to this volume on South Burgundy justifies me in\ndoing so, I hope, before very long, to follow it by a second, dealing\nwith the northern part of the duchy.\n\nAmong the works consulted in writing this book are the following:--\n\n\nLIST OF WORKS CONSULTED\n\nTHE DATES REFER TO THE EDITION MADE USE OF\n\n Olivier de la Marche \"M\u00e9moires\" 1819\n\n Olivier de la Marche \"Le Chevalier d\u00e9lib\u00e8re.\" 1842\n\n C. R. de Caumont de\n la Force \"Histoire secr\u00e8te de la Bourgogne\" 1694\n\n Brugi\u00e8re de Barante \"Histoire des Ducs de Bourgogne\n de la Maison de Valois\" 1825-6\n\n Ernest Petit \"Histoire des Ducs de Bourgogne,\n de la Race Cap\u00e9tienne\" 9 vols. 1835-1905\n\n\n Dom Urbain Plancher \"Histoire G\u00e9n\u00e9rale de la\n Bourgogne.\" 4 vols. 1739-81\n\n Philippe de Comines \"Chroniques,\" etc. 5 vols.\n\n Claude Court\u00e9p\u00e9e \"Voyages en Bourgogne\" 1905\n\n Claude Court\u00e9p\u00e9e \"Description du Duch\u00e9 de\n Bourgogne\" 1775-85\n\n A. Kleinclausz \"Histoire de la Bourgogne.\" 1909\n\n A. Kleinclausz \"R\u00e9gions de la France; La Bourgogne\"\n\n Francis Miltoun \"Castles and Ch\u00e2teaux of Old\n Burgundy\" 1909\n\n Sir G. F. Duckett (Bart.) \"Abbey of Cluny\"; 1839 \"Charters\n and Records\" 1888\n\n P. Lorrain \"Essai Historique sur L'Abbaye de\n Cluny\" 1839\n\n J. Pignot \"Histoire de L'Ordre de Cluny\"\n 3 vols. 1868\n\n A. Penjon \"Cluny; La Ville et L'Abbaye\"\n\n Cistercian Monk \"A Concise History of the Cistercian\n Order\" 1852\n\n H. Collins \"The Cistercian Fathers\"\n\n M. T. Ratisbonne \"Histoire de Saint Bernard\" 1843\n\n G. Chevallier \"Histoire de St. Bernard\" 1888\n\n Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault \"Rimes Bourguignonnes\" 1899\n\n Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault \"Histoire d'un Chant Populaire\n Bourguignon\" 1883\n\n Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault \"En Bourgogne; R\u00e9cits Villageois\" 1898\n\n Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault \"Une Noce d'Autrefois en Bourgogne\" 1892\n\n Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault \"Le Cher Petit Pays\" 1903\n\n A. Perrault-Dabot \"L'Art en Bourgogne\" 1897\n\n A. Perrault-Dabot \"Le Patois Bourguignon\"\n\n P. G. Hamerton \"Round my House\"\n\n P. G. Hamerton \"The Mount\" 1897\n\n H. de Fontenay } \"Autun et ses Monuments\" 1889\n\n and }\n\n A de Charmasse } \"Autun et ses Monuments, Pr\u00e9cis\n Historique\" 1889\n\n Joseph D\u00e9chelette \"Guide des Monuments D'Autun\" 1907\n\n Joseph D\u00e9chelette \"L'Oppidum de Bibracte\"\n\n Alphonse Germain \"Les N\u00e9erlandais en Bourgogne\" 1909\n\n M. L'Abb\u00e9 B---- \"L\u00e9gendes Bourguignonnes\" 1872\n\n M. L'Abb\u00e9 B---- \"Tebsima\" 1872\n\n Lettres d'Abailard et d'H\u00e9loise; Nouveau receuil, etc. 1720\n\n Matthew Arnold's Poems 1885\n\n Jules Baux \"Richesses Historiques et\n Arch\u00e9ologiques sur L'Eglise de Brou\" 1844.\n\n Camille Jullian \"Vercingetorix\" 1902\n\n Camille Jullian \"Histoire de Gaule\" 1908\n\n Camille Jullian \"Tableau sommaire de la Gaule sous\n la domination romaine.\" 1892\n\n S. Cambray \"Lamartine; A Study\" 1890\n\n Lamartine \"Confidences\" \" 1849\n\n Lamartine \"Le Tailleur de Pierre de Saint\n Point\" \" 1851\n\n Michelet \"Histoire de France\"\n\n Viollet-le-Duc \"Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9\"\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nAlthough the history of Burgundy is intimately connected with that\nof England--the policy of the Valois Dukes, for example, affected\nprofoundly our national destinies during the hundred years' war--the\naverage English reader's knowledge of the subject is contained within\nthe four corners of a wine list. He knows Beaune--knows the name well,\nas that of a drinkable brand, may have blessed it in his heart, when\na ray from the shaded lamp shot through its ruby depths. If by any\nchance he loves Meredith, he may, even, under its kindly influence,\nhave whispered to his fair partner, Dr. Middleton's phrase: \"Burgundy\nhas great genius; Burgundy sings the inspired ode.\" But should his lady\nslip in a question concerning this ruddy heartener of man, he could not\nanswer; he would stumble between the C\u00f4te d'Azur and the C\u00f4te d'Or.\n\nNot another town of Burgundy could he name. Dijon he knows, and\nremembers; because there he scalded his throat with hot coffee, gulped\ndown, at three in the morning, on the way home from the Riviera; or,\nbound for Switzerland, he may have passed through the town. But he does\nnot know Dijon as a Burgundian Capital, nor as a proud city of royal\npalaces and unrivalled sculpture. At most, when he hears the duchy\nnamed, there floats through his mind a shadowy memory of Henry V., or\nof King Lear.[1]\n\nYet Burgundy was the scene of events vital in the making of Europe. It\nwas one of the strongholds of Roman civilization. It saw the genesis\nof a religious movement that was the greatest feature of eleventh and\ntwelfth century history. Cluny was a nursery of popes; Citeaux became\na breeding ground of saints; their abbots lorded it over mighty kings;\nthey dictated to potentates and princes; they bent all western Europe\nbeneath their sway. Bernard's eloquence fired three nations with\nenthusiasm for the second crusade.\n\nThat Power, when it had passed from the great monastic houses, fell\nlater, in a modified form, to the Valois Dukes. Safely housed in Dijon,\nor in Bruges, ruling a people sheltered, to some extent, from the\nappalling disasters that were transforming the fair kingdom of France\ninto a howling wilderness, they kept a more than royal state. Gathering\nabout their persons a great company of distinguished artists and\nvaliant knights, they established a school of sculpture unmatched in\ntheir time; they held pageants and tournaments the most brilliant that\nchivalry had ever seen.\n\nHeadstrong and ambitious, they challenged the crown of France, and\ndefied it; they dreamed dreams of a Burgundian empire extending\neastward beyond the Alps and northward to the Channel.\n\n'Tis true that these ambitions were never sated. The house of Valois\nhad not the constructive mind of which empire is begotten: moreover,\nDestiny, and Louis XI., were too strong for them. But the glorious\ntale of ducal efforts towards that goal outshines all other sunset\nsplendours of dying medi\u00e6valism.\n\nWhen I think of what might be made of such a theme, I could tear these\npages, because my best is not better.\n\nYet history does not end the attractions of Burgundy. It only begins\nthem. Nature, too, has her pageant \"in this best garden of the\nworld,\" she will hold you here, whether you choose the delicious,\npoplar-fringed plains of the Sa\u00f4ne, the \"waterish\" Burgundy that the\nFrench king sneers at in \"Lear\"--he would have gloried in the land had\nit been his own--or the stern and silent hills of the Jura and the\nMorvan; or the vine-clad slopes of sunny C\u00f4te d'Or.\n\nBut, best of all, this land and its people have a character wholly\ntheir own. You will not feel here the twilight melancholy of Celtic\nBrittany; the quivering, electric atmosphere of romantic Provence; nor\nthe passionate intensity of dark Languedoc; but you will find a country\nwell typified by its wines, its sculpture, its architecture--a solid,\nample, full-bodied, full-blooded land; a people strong and vivacious,\nconcealing, beneath a somewhat harsh and stern exterior, a cheerful\nheart and an abundant generosity; comfortable, courageous, eloquent,\nsonorous folk, that love a good dinner, and a good story to follow,\nthat have produced a Bernard, a Bossuet, and a Lamartine.\n\nThe key to this Burgundian character, with its blend of Gallic,\nLatin, and German elements, the key to Burgundian history, too, is\nthe geographical position of the country. Its great water-ways flow\nnorthward, by the Yonne, to the English Channel, and southward, by the\nSa\u00f4ne, to the Mediterranean and the traffic of the East; along its\nvalleys run the great trading roads and railways connecting northern\nand southern, eastern and western Europe. With the exception of the\nJura, no natural barriers exist between Burgundy and the adjoining\nlands. It was open at all quarters; from every point of the compass it\nborrowed, and it lent. Michelet's visionary thought has summed up, in\na splendid phrase, the secret of Burgundy. He says, speaking of the\ncountry round Dijon: \"La France n'a pas d'\u00e9l\u00e9ment plus liant, plus\ncapable de r\u00e9concilier le nord et le midi.\"\n\nThere you have it. To reconcile the bitter antagonisms of north and\nsouth, and, in a lesser degree, of east and west, was Burgundy's\ndestiny; the geographical position that enabled her to do so was at\nonce the source of her greatness, and the cause of her fall. While she\nremained independent, unity was impossible for France; and England's\npeace was imperilled by irresistible temptations to attack a weakened\nneighbour.\n\nIn writing this book, I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to\npreserve historical continuity. That must be my excuse for geographical\nflights which, else, might bewilder my readers.\n\nMy hope is that these pages may awaken, here and there, lasting\ninterest in a land that, whether for varied scenery, sunny climate,\ngood living, characteristic architecture, or, above all, historical\nassociations of the first importance, can hold its own with any other\nancient province of France.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Henry V., Act V., Scene 2; King Lear, Act I., Scene 1.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n CHAPTER I\n\n BENEATH THE MOUNT\n PAGE\n\n The Hiring at St. L\u00e9ger--Distant Beuvray--Fun of the Fair--A\n mad wolf--Legends of the Mount--Gaulish Bibracte--St. Martin at\n Beuvray--La Pierre de la Wivre--Legend of the Wivern--The Cur\u00e9\n of Monthelon 1\n\n\n CHAPTER II\n\n THE ROMAN CITY\n\n A Suffering Cow--Temple of Janus--The Aedui--Druids--Divitiacus\n and Dumnorix--Vercingetorix--The Founding of Augustodunum--Pierre\n de Couhard--Francis I. at Couhard--The Plan of\n Augustodunum--Temple of Janus--Restoration--Origin of the\n Name--Roman Gates--Porte d'Arroux--Porte St. Andr\u00e9--Date of\n Construction--Porte des Marbres--Vagaries of Peasant guides 11\n\n\n CHAPTER III\n\n THE ROMAN CITY (CONTINUED)\n\n French Passion for Statues--Roman Temple at Autun--Ecoles\n M\u00e9niennes--The Capitol--The Roman Theatre--Two Ways of\n Lunching--Promenade des Marbres--The Amphitheatre 31\n\n\n CHAPTER IV\n\n THE ROMAN CITY (CONTINUED)\n\n Christian Autun--Relics of Lazarus--Translation of the\n Relics--Tomb of Lazarus--Exterior of Cathedral St. Lazare--The\n Porch--The Interior--Romanesque and Gothic--The East\n End--Imbecile Restorations--The Capital--St. Symphorien by\n Ingres--Story of St. Symphorien--Fontaine St. Lazare--Hotel\n Rolin--The Museums--Napoleon at the Hotel St. Louis--No charge\n for Moonlight 41\n\n\n CHAPTER V\n\n THE MOTHER ABBEY\n\n Cluny and Citeaux--Cluny still the Abbey--The Birth of\n Cluny--Duke William's Anathema--Odon--Legend of the\n Crumbs--Legend of the Boar--Growth of Cluny--Birth of Hugues--St.\n Odilon--Hildebrand--Glory of Cluny--The Monk's Vision--The new\n Abbey--Consecration--Gifts--Description of New Cluny--The\n Narthex--The Interior--Conventual Buildings--Ambulatorium\n Angelorum--The Rule of Cluny--Monkish life at Cluny--Pierre\n Damien--Death of St. Hugues--Luxury and Decadence 59\n\n\n CHAPTER VI\n\n THE MOTHER ABBEY (CONTINUED)\n\n Cluny of To-day--Palace of Pope G\u00e9lase--The remaining\n Transept--Chapelle Bourbon--Tour du Moulin--Tour des\n Fromages--Gate of the Narthex--The Abbey Gate--Notable Visitors\n to Cluny--Palais abbatial--Mus\u00e9e--Hotel de Ville--Romanesque\n Houses--Hotel des Monnaies--Eglise St. Marcel--Hotel\n Dieu--Bouillon Monument--Prud'hon--Women of Burgundy--Hotel de\n Bourgogne--An amusing Evening--A Dream--Berz\u00e9-le-Ch\u00e2tel--Castle\n of Lourdon--St. Point--A Poet's Garden--Lamartine's Home--Tramaye 86\n\n\n CHAPTER VII\n\n MORE POPE THAN YOU\n\n Decadent Cluny--Birth of St. Robert--Abbey of Mol\u00eame--The Founding\n of Citeaux--White Robes--Black Scapular--Stephen's Vision--The\n Coming of St. Bernard--His Appearance--Legend of His\n Birth--Bernard converts his Family--Bernard a Cistercian--His\n Austerities--Rise of Citeaux--Daughter Abbeys--Ceremony of\n Foundation--Character of Bernard--Cistercian\n Ideals--Self-sacrifice--Simplicity--Bernard's Letter to Pierre le\n V\u00e9n\u00e9rable--Visitors to Citeaux--Albigensian Crusade--Citeaux's\n Crime--A Cistercian Site--Citeaux to-day--The Chapter--My Flemish\n Guide 111\n\n\n CHAPTER VIII\n\n CLUNY'S DAUGHTER\n\n Monkish Paray--\"Une Simple Formalit\u00e9\"--Burgundian\n Manners--Clothes and the Woman--Hotel de Ville--Church of\n Paray--Splendid Example of Clunisian\n School--\"Diorama-Mus\u00e9e\"--Burgundian English--North\n Door--Porch--Interior--Blasphemy and kindred Matters--A very\n young Mule--A Snake-charmer 127\n\n\n CHAPTER IX\n\n HER THREE CROWNS\n\n Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne--River Pageants--Gontran--Abbey of St.\n Marcel--The Story of Bertille 136\n\n\n CHAPTER X\n\n ABELARD AND HELOISE\n\n Church of St. Marcel--Story of Ab\u00e9lard and H\u00e9loise--Olivier de\n la Marche--Tournament of la Dame des Pleurs--Tournament of\n 1273--Modern Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne--Eglise St. Vincent 145\n\n\n CHAPTER XI\n\n TOURNUS BY THE SAONE\n\n Abbey of St. Philibert--Oldest Clunisian Porch--Interior of St.\n Philibert--A Change of Author--The Record of Raoul\n Glaber--Raoul's Visions--Famine in Burgundy--Human Vampires--In\n a Tournusian Caf\u00e9--\"Au Point du Jour\"--Greuze--Morning and\n Evening on the Sa\u00f4ne--M\u00e2con 160\n\n\n CHAPTER XII\n\n THE VALLEY OF THE OUCHE\n\n A Page of Dialogue--Castle of Marigny--Legend of\n Tebsima--Alb\u00e9ric--Labussi\u00e8re--Alb\u00e9ric's Dream--Aid from\n Citeaux--The new Church--Modern Labussi\u00e8re--A magnificent\n Mansion--Antigny-le-Chatel--A Vigneron's\n Wedding--Arnay-le-Duc--Study in Roofs and Colours--A charming\n Town--The Goats--The Poor Man--The Hotel Chr\u00e9tien--Around Arnay 173\n\n\n CHAPTER XIII\n\n THE CITY OF THE DUKES\n\n Unknown Dijon--The City in 1364--Philip le Hardi--His jewelled\n Coats--The Madness of the Period--Costume of that Day--Madness of\n King Charles--Philip's Patronage of Art--Chartreuse de\n Champmol--Puits de Moise--Portal of the Chapel--Claus Slater and\n his Nephew--Tombs of Philip le Hardi and Jean sans Peur--The\n Pleurants--Character of Jean sans Peur--Murder of Duke of\n Orleans--Whitewashing--Armagnacs and Burgundians Revenge 184\n\n\n CHAPTER XIV\n\n CITY OF THE DUKES (CONTINUED)\n\n Salle des Gardes--Dijon Castle--A new Post-Office--Final Struggle\n between Charles le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire and Louis XI--Characters of both\n Men--Defeats and Death of Charles--Discovery of the\n Body--Victorious Ren\u00e9--Louis' Joy--New Castles--Entry into\n Dijon--End of Burgundian Dreams--Modern Dijon--St.\n B\u00e9nigne--St. Michel--Notre Dame Jacquemart--Ducal Palace and\n Kitchen--Sketching--Palais de\n Justice--Plombi\u00e8res--Talant--Fontaine-lez-Dijon--Memories of\n Bernard--Tournament of Tree of Charlemagne 203\n\n\n CHAPTER XV\n\n THE DEVIL'S PIT\n\n Easter Morning--Lux--The Devil's Pit--Dialogue--The\n Legend--Serve him right! 221\n\n\n CHAPTER XVI\n\n BEAUNE AND THE COTE D'OR\n\n \"Bits\" in Beaune--Notre Dame--Hotel Dieu--An Earthly\n Paradise--Exterior--Courtyard--Chapel--Devices--Roger Van der\n Weyden's \"Last Judgment\"--Nicholas Rolin--Guigonne 230\n\n\n CHAPTER XVII\n\n SAINT MARTIN'S WELL AND THE LEGEND OF SAINT MARGUERITE\n\n Bouilland--Abbey of Sainte Marguerite--The Legend--Vineyards\n of the C\u00f4te d'Or--Meursault--Rochepot--Story of Philippe\n Pot--Crusader's Return--His Marriage at Dijon--Tant L\n Vaut--A Talk at Auxey-le-Grand--Through C\u00f4te d'Or by\n Train--Cussy-la-Colonne--Bewitched--The Column--A Democratic\n Journey--St. Martin's Well--Legend of St. Martin's Well 237\n\n\n CHAPTER XVIII\n\n IN RURAL BURGUNDY\n\n The Road to Verdun--Burgundian Folk-song, \"Eho!\"--Its\n Story--Verdun sur le Doubs--The First of March--Burgundian\n Folk-Lore--Teillage--Winter Scene--An old-time Burgundian\n Wedding--The Patois--Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault 258\n\n\n CHAPTER XIX\n\n A LAKE IN THE JURA\n\n Swiss Burgundy--Scenes in the Jura--Nantua from the Hills--Real\n Burgundy--A capable Woman--Church of Nantua 272\n\n\n CHAPTER XX\n\n PRINCESS MARGARET'S CHURCH\n\n Bourg-en-Bresse--Signs of the South--Conveyances--Monument\n Historique--Cezenat--Princess Margaret's\n Church--Exterior--Interior--Story of Princess Margaret---Loys\n von Boghen--Death of Margaret--The Meaning of her Church--The\n Tombs--Paradin's Chronique de Savoie--Francis I. at Bourg 276\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n PAGE\n\n Mont Beuvray Frontispiece\n\n A Gaulish Soldier 1\n\n On Mont Beuvray 7\n\n The Wivern 10\n\n The Porte St. Andr\u00e9 11\n\n Autun; shewing Cathedral and Medi\u00e6val Towers 17\n\n Autun; Pierre de Couhard 19\n\n Autun; Temple of Janus 23\n\n Autun; Porte d'Arroux 25\n\n Burgundian Peasant 30\n\n Head of Augustus 31\n\n Autun; Medi\u00e6val Towers 35\n\n A Burgundian Welcome 38\n\n Masks of Comedy and Tragedy 40\n\n Roman Vine Ornament 41\n\n St. Lazarus; from the Porch of Autun Cathedral 46\n\n Autun; Fontaine St. Lazare Facing 50\n\n Autun; Tour des Ursulines 52\n\n Cluny Abbey and Gateway, as they were 59\n\n Cluny; Valley of the Grosne and part of the Abbey Grounds 62\n\n Cluny; Tour Fabri 64\n\n Clunisian Ornament 67\n\n God reproving Adam; from a capital of the Abbey of Cluny 70\n\n Cluny Abbey, as it was at the beginning of XIXth Century (by\n permission of M. Perrault-Dabot) 72\n\n Cluny; Clocher de l'Eau B\u00e9nite 78\n\n Cluny; ruined Gate of the Narthex 81\n\n A Jewelled Crucifix 85\n\n Early Clunisian Ornament 86\n\n Cluny; Tour des Fromages 87\n\n Cluny; Gateway of the Abbey 90\n\n Cluny; Hotel de Ville 92\n\n Cluny; Pascal Lamb; twelfth century 93\n\n Cluny; H\u00f4tel des Monnaies, twelfth century 96\n\n Ornament 99\n\n Cluny; a Capital from the Abbey 102\n\n Ch\u00e2teau de Berz\u00e9 104\n\n Ch\u00e2teau de Lourdon 106\n\n House of Lamartine 110\n\n St. Bernard 111\n\n St. John: Burgundian School 119\n\n Justice and Truth 126\n\n Paray-le-Monial; the Church 127\n\n Two Priests 128\n\n Paray-le-Monial; North Door of the Church 132\n\n Gontran and Bertille 136\n\n Her Three Crowns 144\n\n Ab\u00e9lard and H\u00e9lo\u00efse 145\n\n Beaune; Maison Colombier Facing 150\n\n Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne; Maison de Bois. 159\n\n The Sa\u00f4ne near Tournus 160\n\n A Street in Tournus 162\n\n Tournus; the Abbey 170\n\n By the Sa\u00f4ne 172\n\n Antigny-le-Chatel 173\n\n Arnay-le-Duc; Corner House, sixteenth century 181\n\n Arnay-le-Duc; Tour de la Motte Forte Facing 182\n\n Dijon 184\n\n Dijon: at the Caf\u00e9 187\n\n Moses; from the Puits de Mo\u00efse, Dijon 189\n\n Philippe le Bon, Duke of Burgundy 191\n\n A Corner of the Tomb of Philippe le Hardi 193\n\n Pleurants from the Tomb of Philippe le Hardi 194\n\n Dijon; Corner of the Place des Ducs 197\n\n Pleurant 199\n\n Ornament 200\n\n Sword 202\n\n Dijon: Decorated windows of the Maison Milsand 203\n\n Dijon Museum; Woman at Prayer 204\n\n Dijon; a Street Facing 208\n\n Dijon; Door of Eglise St. Michel 211\n\n Dijon; A Font in the Eglise St. Michel 212\n\n Sculpture; Notre Dame de Dijon 213\n\n Dijon; Well outside the Duke's Kitchen 214\n\n Vine Ornament 215\n\n Dijon; a fifteenth century Window 218\n\n Ornament 219\n\n Arbre Charlemagne 220\n\n The Three Huntsmen 221\n\n Through the Forest 225\n\n Vine Ornament 230\n\n Beaune; Belfry of the Hospice de la Charit\u00e9 231\n\n Beaune; Porch of Notre Dame Facing 232\n\n Beaune; Courtyard of the H\u00f4tel Dieu 235\n\n Star Ornament 236\n\n Saint Martin and Saint Margaret 237\n\n Ruins of St. Margaret's Abbey 239\n\n La Rochepot 241\n\n Beaune: Porch of the H\u00f4tel-Dieu Facing 242\n\n Tomb of Philippe Pot 245\n\n Taking his Ease 247\n\n Roman Column at Cussy 251\n\n Valley of Nantoux 254\n\n St. Martin Preaching 257\n\n Burgundian Ox-cart 258\n\n In Rural Burgundy 261\n\n Junction of Rivers Doubs and Sa\u00f4ne 261\n\n Oxen ploughing Facing 264\n\n Burgundian Cottage 267\n\n Ch\u00e2teau de Moux 270\n\n Nantua and the Lake 272\n\n Nantua from the Hill 274\n\n Princess Margaret's Tomb 276\n\n Bourg; in the Street 278\n\n Eglise de Brou: Ste. Madeleine from the Tomb of Marguerite\n d'Autriche 287\n\n Eglise de Brou: Ornament from the Tomb of Marguerite d'Autriche 290\n\n Princess Marguerite d'Autriche 292\n\n Sketch Map of South Burgundy 293\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter I]\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nBENEATH THE MOUNT\n\n\nWe had expected quiet, rural times in this far-away village of\nSt.-L\u00e9ger-sous-Beuvray; but I doubt whether we shall get them. The\nvillage green in front of the Hotel du Morvan shows signs of unusual\nanimation; it is dotted with carts, which are discharging tent-poles,\ncanvas, golden cars, and other paraphernalia of a country festival;\nand, surer sign still, through the door of an open shed, I can see\nhanging, headless and lamentable, the gaping corpse of a fatted calf.\nYes! there is his tawny countenance and two mild eyes looking down,\nlike those of a martyred saint, from the cruel hook. The odour of him,\nwafted in succulent puffs, from the dead-house door, has cheered with\na splendid hope half the dogs in the village, and awakened from torpor\ntwo ancient hounds, who prowl, almost youthfully, sniffing fragrant\nmemories in the air.\n\n\"What is going to happen?\" I asked the landlord, who was sharpening\ntools on a bench.\n\n\"'Tis the Lou\u00e9e, Monsieur, the hiring that takes place every year. All\nin the neighbourhood who want farm-hands, or domestic servants, and\nthose who want places, come to-morrow morning and make bargains. And\nthe Directeur of Enfants Assist\u00e9s (Foundlings) is coming, too; he is to\nstop here at my hotel, and so his children get work.\"\n\nWe were up early the next morning. Only deaf men, or dead ones, sleep\nthrough a Lou\u00e9e. There came to us in our bedroom, with the sunshine, an\nindescribable babel of sounds--babble of voices, braying of trumpets,\nbanging of drums. To a Londoner, strange methods of doing business!\n\nWe went out into the din and the sunshine to find the transformation\ncomplete. All the green was dotted with booths bright with gaudy\ntrinkets of every imaginable colour; shooting galleries, and a hundred\nother sou-trapping devices. Before every inn had sprung up, as if by\nmagic, a salle de bal, with a real wooden floor, and a little balcony\nfor the musicians. There was a gipsy encampment, too, where, heedless\nof the din, a Romany sat upon the trunk of a fallen tree, methodically\nskinning hedgehogs with a knife; while his two small sons were\nunmethodically currey-combing the yellow pony, and dusting him down\nwith his own tail, cut off and tied to a stick! The door of the caravan\nopened; there was a glimpse of a woman's arm, and a pailful of slops\nshot out, sparkling in the sun, to alight where fate might decree.\nBrown drops splashed up into the hollow eyes of Grandmother, dreaming\non a chair by the steps. Meanwhile the peasants went on hiring and\nbeing hired; some sealing the bargain with a glass of red wine, in the\nCaf\u00e9; some, if the maid were comely, with a kiss. Peasants I call them,\nthough, at first sight, this array of black blouses and black squash\nhats suggests a meeting of nonconformist parsons, rather than farmers\nof the Morvan. Yet one learns to accept them so, and to enjoy the deep,\nblack shadows that lurk in the folds of the garments. Straw hats are\nfew; but the white caps of the old ladies are there for contrast.\n\nWearied of the buzzing crowd, the nerve-racking crack of the rifles, we\nwandered out of the village, and sat by the edge of a ploughed field,\nwhere we watched, above a rampart of firs shot with spring greens,\nthe purple mass of dark Beuvray lifting its crested summit into the\ncloudless sky,--mysterious Beuvray, whence of old, as darkness closed\nupon their homes, the wondering peasants in the valley, heard, from the\nmysterious mountain city above their heads, the sound of great gates\ncreaking harshly upon their hinges.\n\nBut to-morrow is for Beuvray. To-day we will watch the long stream of\npeasants coming to the Fair, by the lanes that wind, up and down,\namong the buttress hills of the mount. They come on foot, in farm\ncarts, on bicycles; but most of them come in little, trim donkey-carts;\nhusband and wife sitting primly side by side, their tanned faces\nshewing strongly above the silently twitching, brown ears of the\n\"baudet.\" Here is a family in a donkey-drawn washing-basket, three\ngenerations of them, packed like sardines. After d\u00e9jeuner, when the\nhiring is done, the older ones leave; the turn of the younger is come.\nThen the fillettes begin to appear--Fifines made fine for the Fair--all\ncut after the same pattern, with white blouses below much be-ribboned\nstraw hats; each carrying, because of the mid-day sun, a grey jacket\nlined with light blue. These come tripping from village and hamlet,\nclinging to each other, with little toddlers holding their hands; all\nchattering, smiling, sweltering, happy. The fiddlers will be tuning up\nin the Salles de Bal.\n\nSo we followed the maids back to the village, and wandered again among\nthe booths. An old, old lady, beside a not less ancient friend was\nnursing a tin mug. They were discussing bargains and their budget. \"I\ngot this for three sous; et je trouve que c'est bien solide.\" On that\npoint she was cruelly deceived. But what matter? Thinking makes it so.\nWhat a popping of corks comes from the Caf\u00e9!\n\nBang! Bang!! Bang!! Bang!! Bang!!! The crowd surges toward a compelling\ndin. Before the largest of the tents a half-naked, muscular ruffian\nstands silent upon a tub; beside him another, clad in shiny velveteens,\nshouts himself hoarse.\n\n\"Gentlemen, you all know that the 'lutte est le premier gymnastique du\nmonde.' Come in then, and see. Our professor challenges all comers. He\nwill wrestle with a great bear. Now for la lutte aux ours! Entrez; we\nwill show you the v\u00e9ritable gorille, and the most terrible beast in the\nworld, the Monstre du Pole Nord.\" And, indeed, above his head was writ\nin gold letters, the fearsome legend: \"MONSTRE DU POLE NORD.\"\n\nWe went in, with other youths and maidens. The baby that followed us,\nshewing signs of strong emotion, was hastily removed by its mother.\n\n\"Up against the canvas, please gentlemen. La s\u00e9ance va commencer au\nmilieu!\"\n\nWe watched while, before the bars that held the four-legged animals,\nthe naked bipeds struggled furiously; clutching, writhing, rolling,\ntill the bare, oily skins were dark with perspiration and sawdust.\nTheir eyes were so full of it, that, between the rounds, they were\ngouging it out with their knuckles. \"Ca y est! Ca y est!\" \"At it again!\"\n\n\"Bravo monsieur l'amateur, un petit bravo pour l'amateur\"--with arms\nlike telegraph posts--\"le plus fort du pays.\" So it went on--the \"lutte\naux hommes,\" the \"lutte aux ours.\"\n\nFor a full five minutes the sanded professor leant up against and\npushed the furry mass of Jean Pierre, the feebly scratching, tangled\nbear, who was too bored to be m\u00e9chant. From behind their bars the\nMonstre Du Pole Nord (a sloth bear) and \"le v\u00e9ritable gorille\" (a\nBarbary ape) grunted approval of their companion's efforts.\n\nThrough the crowded entrance we pushed our way into the largest of the\nSalles de Bal, bright with lit lamps and coloured ribbons. In a scarlet\nand green box, with a yellow diamond, slung to the roof of the tent,\nthe fiddlers and viol players, sitting in their shirt-sleeves, squeaked\nand ground lustily. There was babble of voices and rhythmic scuffle of\nfeet. A young soldier, fair and close-cropped, in uniform, crossed the\nsalle, bowed to my wife, and asked for a dance. A moment's hesitation,\nand she was whirling round with the others. As he said to her at\nparting; \"You are not in France every day.\" It was three in the morning\nbefore darkness and silence settled down upon St.-L\u00e9ger-sous-Beuvray.\n\nThe next morning we rode to the Mount by a lane that, undulating,\nclimbs, through pasture, arable, and woodland, among the buttress hills\nof Beuvray, to the Poirier aux Chiens, a lonely farmhouse, where we\nleft our bicycles. Cyclists are rather worried hereabout by excitable\ndogs and hysterical sheep; but the former are not dangerous, as they\nare in Languedoc and other parts of the south of France; and we are\nhappily free to-day from the dangers of two hundred years ago; as when,\non the 18th of June, 1718, at nightfall, St. L\u00e9ger was visited by a\nmad wolf from the top of Beuvray, that wounded and disfigured sixteen\npeople, of whom all but one died of hydrophobia. The single exception\nwas a woman, who had only been scratched by the animal's claws.\nAfter this incident a Confraternity of St. Hubert was established in\nconnection with the Church, and by the authority of the bishop, for the\ndestruction of wild beasts.[2]\n\nThe easiest path by which those who are not familiar with the locality\ncan climb Beuvray, is from the Croix du Rebout, nearly two kilometres\nbeyond the Poirier aux Chiens, at the top of the col, just where the\ndescent begins. Several other paths lead up to it; but as there are\nmore than twenty miles of Gaulish roads intersecting on the tree-clad\nslopes of the Mount, it is very easy to lose yourself completely, as I\ndid on my first visit; until there was nothing for it but to descend to\nthe road and seek another path. My only consolation for those two hours\nof wasted energy was that, while lunching beside the forest path, I\nmet, face to face, a red fox ambling jauntily on his way. How we stared\nat one another; and how I wished that, for once, he could talk.\n\nBut, \"after all,\" the reader may ask, \"Why climb Beuvray? When you are\nup there, what is to be seen but a view; and what mean these twenty\nmiles of Gaulish roads through a wilderness of boughs?\" To which\npertinent question I reply, that in all France there is but one Beuvray.\n\nYou will find more romantic peaks in the Alpines of Provence, you will\nfind grander, more striking mountains in volcanic Auvergne; in the Alps\nyou will see summits, clothed in eternal snow, beside which the Mount\nis but a molehill; but nowhere will you find such a hill as this, whose\nflanks have echoed to the tramp of C\u00e6sar's legions, whose crest, the\ncouncil chamber of kings and generals, has flamed through long nights\nwith the beacon fires of a great city. Nowhere else will you find a\nhill that the centuries have so peopled with dragon and saint, with\nphantom hound and spectre horseman, and have made as harmonious with\nlegendary poetry and immemorial voices, as nature has made her woods\nvocal with whispering fern and wandering wind, with the ripple of the\nbrook, and the stir of creeping things in the grass.[3]\n\nFor this Beuvray is no other than Bibracte, the Gaulish oppidum that\nC\u00e6sar speaks of as \"Oppido Aeduorum longe maximo et copiosissimo.\"[4]\nTradition, as I have said, had rumoured it for centuries as the site\nof an ancient city; but many had supposed that Autun was the place\nreferred to, until the researches of M. Bulliot, the Antiquary of\nHamerton's delightful work \"The Mount,\" settled the problem once for\nall. Of the history of the last days of the town I will say something\nin the next chapter; for the present, let us be content to mount the\nrocky, rain-washed, Gaulish road that leads up, through interlacing\nboughs, to the \"Grand Hotel des Gaulois,\" or, in other words, the\nlittle house and sheds near the summit, which the antiquary occupied\nwhile making his researches and excavations.\n\nThe path runs beside many of the most interesting discoveries, though\nnothing of the remains is to be seen, the owner having stipulated that\nall \"fouilles\" should be covered up, a precaution necessary in any\nevent, if the primitive Gaulish homes of stones and wood, with mud for\nmortar, are ever to be preserved to a later posterity.[5]\n\nAfter passing the huts, you come, by a grassy woodland path winding up\nthrough ferns and bracken, to the terrace on the summit of the hill,\nnow mercifully clear of the ubiquitous trees. Here, on the site of\nthe ancient temple to the Dea Bibracte, one of the many Gaulish gods,\nM. Bulliot has erected a little chapel in Romanesque style, dedicated\nto St. Martin. Here, also, is a granite cross, with a carving of St.\nMartin performing an act of charity at the gate of Amiens; not far away\nis a memorial to M. Bulliot himself.\n\nTradition has given much prominence to the doings of St. Martin here,\nas elsewhere in France, and it seems probable that the saint did visit\nBibracte, about the year 377, on his way to Autun. M. Bulliot, and\nother authorities, agree that he preached on the plateau of Beuvray,\npossibly from the Pierre de la Wivre; and the legend has it that here\nhe overthrew a pagan temple, arousing thereby such fierce anger among\nthe inhabitants, that he escaped only by a miraculous leap of his ass\nacross the gorge of Malvaux (Mauvaise vall\u00e9e) to the south-west of the\nMount, where the animal's hoof-prints are still to be seen. Later I\nshall give fully a precisely similar legend concerning St. Martin in\nthe valley of Nantoux.\n\nWhen once we had got our bearings, and accustomed ourselves to the\nsilence and solitude of the spot, we began to feel the charm of the\nlonely plateau, and to realize its attractions for those who would live\nclose to nature and to the past. When I first visited it, on a bright\nautumn afternoon, not a leaf was astir upon the golden oaks, not a\nspray of the bramble trembled, not a rustle was heard among the dead\nferns in the grass; only, from far away in the valley below, came the\nrumble of a cart-wheel, the crack of a sportsman's rifle in the distant\nwoods.\n\n [Illustration: ON MONT BEUVRAY]\n\n \"So still it was that I could almost hear\n The sigh of all the sleepers in the world;\n And all the rivers running to the sea.\"\n\nI looked down through the fringing trees. For mile after mile the\ncountry lay golden before me, fields rising and falling, till they were\nlost in the eastern sky. There was little St. L\u00e9ger, a toy village\namong tiny hills; there was the Etang de Poisson, a sapphire set in\nemeralds, and far away the evening sun flashing upon the spires of\nAutun Cathedral.[6] The sound of a footstep broke the stillness. A\nyouth was approaching me--a ch\u00e9tif, mis-shapen, shaking thing. He gazed\non me with drooping jaw, and passed muttering--an idiot wandering\nthrough a night-mare world.\n\nThen I, too, began to dream fantastic dreams, and to see spectres of\nthe past, such as--the peasants tell you--still flit over the crest of\nBeuvray,--a white horse galloping at midnight, a loud voice commanding\nghostly legions in Latin; shadowy riders, moving shades of medi\u00e6val\nknights and barons still climbing the stony paths to this their airy\ntilting ground. Winged gabble raches passed screaming over my head,\nand, from afar, baying in deep-mouthed thunder, I heard the hounds of\nthe phantom hunter of Touleur.[7]\n\nBut that was a thundery day last autumn, and this is a soft April\nevening, with a breeze in the leaves, and silver clouds afloat in a\nblue sky. Moreover, I am not alone.\n\nWe wandered back by the path along which we had come, and made our way\nto the Pierre de la Wivre, a curious, pointed rock rising from the\nplateau. Its sulphurous yellow colour is due to the lichen with which\nit is covered. From the green headland, surrounded with holly-bushes,\non which it stands, you have magnificent views over rounded,\nvillage-dotted hills, whose brown-green upland fields nestle up to the\ndark forests that crown every summit. Up from the valleys come the\nshouts of the teamsters urging on the slow, pale oxen.\n\nThis Pierre de la Wivre shows signs of man's handling, and has\nprobably been the scene of human sacrifices, and of other ancient\nreligious rites. We asked ourselves whether there may not have been\nsome religious significance in the surrounding belt of holly bushes,\nsince there are indications of a similar belt round the chapel of St.\nMartin. Perhaps the holly tree was sacred to the Gauls. Sitting upon\nthe stone we recalled the legend as told by Hamerton.[8]\n\n\"The peasants believe that the Wivern dwells near it in a hidden cavern\nguarding its treasure, but that once a year the cavern opens and the\nWivern goes out, leaving the treasure unguarded. As to the time of\nyear when this happens the narrators differ. Some say that it is at\nmidnight on Christmas Eve, others fix it for Easter Day during High\nMass; in either case it is during Mass, as there is a midnight service\nat Christmas. The popular legend in its present form goes on to recount\nhow a certain woman, accompanied by her child, went to the stone of\nthe Wivern, instead of going to Mass, intending to take his treasure.\nShe found the cave open, entered, and took as much gold as she could\ncarry, and came out just in time to escape the Wivern on his return.\nOn looking round for her child, she could not find him anywhere. The\ncavern being now closed again, she knew not what to do, and went in\ndespair to the priest, who told her to go to the place every day and\npour milk and honey on the stone till the expiration of twelve months,\nand then, when the day came for the opening of the cave, to take her\ntreasure back to it undiminished, and she would find her child. So she\nwent day by day without fail, in heat and cold, in fine weather and\nfoul, and poured milk and honey on the stone. At last the day came\nwhen the Wivern left the cave, and the mother found her child within,\nsitting quite unhurt, and in perfect health, with an apple before him\non a stone table. So she restored the treasure gladly, and took away\nher child.\"\n\nM. Bulliot thinks that the legend was originally one of some Gaulish\nsacrilege and reparatory oblation, the Gaulish priests requiring\na daily offering (perhaps of milk and honey) until certain stolen\ntreasure was restored. The Catholic character of the legend he looks\nupon as nothing but an aftergrowth; and the apple has, in his opinion,\na distinct though undiscoverable significance.\n\nFrom the Pierre de la Wivre we could see, on the next headland to our\nleft, the ridge of Pierre Salv\u00e9e sharply serrated against the sky.\nThere, half an hour later, we found ourselves rewarded by a glorious\nsight. Westward we could see extending mile upon mile, ridge after\nridge, the glowing mountains of Auvergne, and the valley of the Loire,\nveiled in a shimmering mist, through whose mysterious wreaths flashed,\nhere and there, in diamond splendour, the sun-touched roof of a humble\ncottage and the tower of a lordly chateau.[9]\n\nWith all the thousand other interesting details concerning\nBibracte--the Gaulish roads, the ramparts, the remains, the\ndescriptions and industries of the town, the visits of C\u00e6sar--I have\nno space to deal here; but I recommend particularly to the reader\nHamerton's book, from which I have quoted, and M. Dechelette's handy\nguide, \"L'Oppidum de Bibracte.\"\n\nWe cycled from St. L\u00e9ger to Autun, by way of La Grand Verri\u00e8re\nMonthelon, and the Valley of the Arroux. Monthelon, some seven\nkilometres from Autun, is a place famous in French Ecclesiastical\nhistory. It has, as is common in Burgundian villages, a delightful\nlittle Romanesque Church, concerning one of whose cur\u00e9s Hamerton tells\na good story which I cannot refrain from giving in the original tongue.\n\nThis old cur\u00e9, then, was fond of putting Latin into his sermons, a\nlittle bit at a time, his own Latin; not of the best. \"'Lorsque je\npara\u00eetrai devant Notre Seigneur, il me demandera; 'Cur\u00e9 Monthelonius,\nubi sunt brebetis meis'--ce qui veut dire; 'Cur\u00e9 de Monthelon, o\u00f9 sont\nme brebis?' Et moi je lui r\u00e9pondrai; 'b\u00eates je les ai trouv\u00e9es, b\u00eates\nje les ai laiss\u00e9es, et b\u00eates elles sont tr\u00e8s probablement encore.'\"\n\nCan you refrain from reading \"The Mount\" after that?\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter I; dragon]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] Hamerton's \"The Mount,\" p. 26.\n\n[3] Alesia, though intensely interesting, lacks the mysterious\n quality of Beuvray.\n\n[4] De Bello Gallico, lib. 1, cap. 23: \"By far the finest and largest\n town of the Aedui.\"\n\n[5] I am told that the fouilles are open every year during a part of\n the month of August.\n\n[6] Hamerton says, that, on a clear day you can see Mont Blanc,\n 157 miles as the crow flies. It is the distance from London to\n Scarborough.\n\n[7] \"The Mount,\" pp. 54-56.\n\n[8] \"The Mount,\" pp. 103-4.\n\n[9] The Pierre Salv\u00e9e has no legend; the name is probably\n derived from some ancient divinity.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter II; The Porte St. Andr\u00e9]\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE ROMAN CITY\n\n\nIn the railway station of Autun we had waited long for our bicycles to\nbe taken out of the train. They did not appear. The porters were all\nbusy with a cattle-truck that they were pushing casually down a siding,\ntill it was stopped in mid-career by the buffers of another truck.\n\nBang!! Rattle! Bang!! The thicket of horns, visible from without, shook\nlike a wood in a winter gale. A mild white head was thrust over the\nlime-washed barrier, mutely protesting. We echo the animal's protest,\nand our own.\n\n\"Do you always keep travellers waiting like this?\"\n\n\"You see, Monsieur, it is because of the cow, she is bien souffrante.\"\n\n\"Then why treat her so?\" I pointed to the still trembling truck; \"but\nin any case, are we of less importance than a cow? Are not we, too,\nbien souffrant?\"\n\n\"Yes, but you see, Monsieur, if the cow died, the _patron_ would lose\nfour hundred francs; but, had I known, I would have brought your\nbicycles earlier.\" We reached the Hotel St. Louis at last.\n\nThen, wishing to escape, until dinner-time, from the still glowing\nstreets, we crossed the Place du Champs de Mars, followed the gentle\ndescent of the Faubourg d'Arroux, and passed beneath the Roman gate\nthat leads northward from the city of Augustus into the open plain.\nA hundred yards or so further on, a sharp turn to the left brought\nus to two bridges crossing the tributary streams that wind among\nthe whispering poplars, beneath which, all day long, the kneeling\nblanchisseuses have been pounding mercilessly their unoffending\nwashing. Continuing our walk between the dusty green hedges of the lane\nmeandering through the fertile plain of Autun, we saw, rising before\nus, a building whose mysterious, alluring aspect at once rivetted\nour attention, as it must that of all who have an eye for the spirit\nof the past, and an ear for her call. We entered boldly by the gate\nin the hedge, and shared possession of the field with the pale cows,\nwho, placid as the stones, and not unlike them in colour, lifted to us\nquestioning eyes.\n\nThe monument,--all that remains of it, rather,--consists of two great\nstone walls, adjacent sides of a building, ruined and roofless. It\nrises in the midst of the meadow, from among the grasses and brambles\nabout its base, a huge, weird, Caliban-like thing, shattered, yet\nstill massive, pierced with great tortured openings, and many smaller\nones above. The golden light of evening, gilding it, casts into the\nholes and crevices, between the weather-worn masonry, pitchy shadows\nfrom which the stones bristle out defiantly, as though challenging the\ncenturies to undo them, if man will but hold his hand.\n\nThis relic of Roman times, called by the peasants, \"The Temple of\nJanus\"--though some antiquarians deny that it was ever a temple, and\nthat the three headed god was ever worshipped there--is not the only\nstriking object in the landscape. Away to the north-west, behind\nthe tossing boughs of the poplars, the setting sun is adorning with\nchanging purples the flanks of the distant hills. The broadest of those\npeaks, crested with dark foliage, is none other than our old friend the\nMount.\n\nWe turned to the opposite side of the valley. Before us were symbols of\ntwo later periods of Burgundy's prosperity--the modern city of Autun,\nseated proudly upon the lower slopes of a mountain throne, and, high\nabove the roofs, the great mass of the cathedral of St. Lazare lifting\nher Gothic spire to the sky.\n\nThe peculiar interest of the spot, the reason why we chose it as a\nstarting point in our travel through Southern Burgundy, is that here\nwe have, before our very eyes, visible symbols of four clearly marked\nstages in the history of the Duchy; the Gallic, Roman, Gothic, and\nmodern periods.\n\nWe will begin with the Gallic period, in the days when C\u00e6sar wrote of\nthat city, there upon Mont Beuvray; \"Bibracte, oppido Aeduorum longe\nmaximo et copiosissimo\";[10] and tell, very shortly, the story of the\ntribe, in their relations with the Roman conquerors.[11]\n\nThe Aedui, concerning whom all our available information comes from\nthe Latin writers, were a Gallic tribe, inhabiting, approximately,\nthe space of country bounded on the east by the Sa\u00f4ne, on the south\nby the chain of mountains between the Lyonnais and Auvergne, on the\nwest by the Loire, and on the north by the valleys of the Vouge, the\nOze, the Brenne and the Yonne. They were a virile, warlike race,\nthat, from a very early period, had been recognised as the superior\nof the neighbouring races, among which the strongest were, perhaps,\ntheir enemies and rivals, the Arverni of mountainous Auvergne.\nFor very many years before the Roman invasion, there had been\nintercommunication--often of an aggressive nature--between the Aedui\nand the Italian races; but it was not until the year 123 B.C. that\nanything in the nature of a direct alliance was formed between the\nformer and the Romans, although Tacitus and Cicero both allude to them\nas \"Brothers of the Roman Nation\"; and the weaker people naturally\nwould not be slow to take advantage of the great military strength of\nthe new-comers, if it could be exercised on their behalf. The occasion\nsoon came to put that strength to the test, when, after a series of\nquarrels with the Arverni and other neighbouring tribes, the latter\nsummoned the Germans to their assistance. The Aedui, feeling that their\nindependence was threatened, sent their chief Druid priest, Divitiacus,\nto appeal unto C\u00e6sar.\n\nBefore we see how he fared, let us glance at this leader, whose\nstatue stands to-day in the Promenade des Marbres at Autun. The\nDruids were the magistrate-priests of their respective cities, where,\nby the right of knowledge, riches, birth--for all were of noble\nblood--they exercised almost despotic power. They were the theologians,\nphilosophers, jurists, astronomers, physicians, and moralists of their\ntimes; they were the educators of youth, the depositaries of the holy\nmysteries of their religion, and of the supernatural forces; the\narbitors of life and death--since no human sacrifice might be offered\nwithout their sanction.\n\nThey were also superintendents of the observance of religious rites,\nof the practice of the ritual demanded by the gods. Still subject\nto those gods, the people would fear the priest not less than the\nmagistrate. Kings, even, were awed by these mouthpieces of the most\nhigh. Such was he whom the Aedui chose for their ambassador.\n\nDivitiacus went to Rome, and there, in person, pleaded his cause before\nthe senate. His embassy seems to have been of little apparent effect;\nbut, though he lost his suit, he gained a friend--Cicero.\n\nIn spite of the Druid's failure, C\u00e6sar's legions were, nevertheless,\nsoon on their way to Gaul. The Helvetii, coveting the fertile land\nthat lay beside theirs, decided to attempt its conquest. C\u00e6sar, aided\nby some Aeduen troops, who now fought for the first time beneath the\neagle, met the invaders on the banks of the Sa\u00f4ne,[12] and annihilated\nthem in the first great battle of his life. Henceforth, for a time, the\ntwo nations are brothers. \"Aeduii, fratres nostri, pugnant.\"[13] Such\nthey remained; until the next nation that threatened them--Ariovistus\nand his German hordes--had suffered the fate of the Helvetii.\n\nIt was, however, inevitable that the warlike tribes of Gaul should\nendeavour, sooner or later, to throw off the yoke of an alien\ncivilization, which, while it brought them material blessings of\ninestimable value--of which not the least was the introduction of\nthe vine,--was, nevertheless, galling to their spirit of sturdy\nindependence. Soon the Aedui were being stirred to revolt. Foremost\namong the discontents, was the leader of the Aeduen cavalry, Dumnorix,\nbrother to Divitiacus, though his opposite in character. The trusted\nally of C\u00e6sar, and the friend of Cicero, Divitiacus the Druid\naccepted philosophically the Roman dominion; his brother, turbulent,\nadventurous, restless--a Prince Rupert of his day--had other dreams\nfor his country. C\u00e6sar was about to embark on his second expedition\nto Britain, when the news came that Dumnorix, who was under orders to\naccompany him, had withdrawn, followed by the Aeduen cavalry. C\u00e6sar,\ndelaying his embarkation, sent his own cavalry in pursuit, with orders\nto kill or capture the rebel, if he refused to submit.\n\nSoon overtaken, Dumnorix defended himself valiantly, and fell, sword\nin hand, with the cry on his lips: \"I die a free citizen of a free\ncountry.\"[14] One is tempted to wish that the people of Autun had\nraised in the \"Place des Marbres,\" beside that of his more philosophic\nbrother, a statue to this gallant leader of a forlorn hope.\n\nThe example of Dumnorix was followed, before long, by almost the whole\nof Roman Gaul; the principal cities being quite unable to resist the\ntemptation offered by the long absence of their enemy at the capital.\nC\u00e6sar, writing from Rome, protested vigorously against the ingratitude\nof the Aedui. He reminded them of their grievous plight before his\nlegions freed them; of their decimated armies, of their ravaged land,\nof the heavy tributes, the noble hostages wrung from them. But he spoke\nin deaf ears. The Aedui had definitely linked their destiny with that\nof their nation. Only the final arbitrament of force could be appealed\nto.\n\nThey summoned to a council of war, Vercingetorix, the ablest general\nof his day, chief of their hereditary enemies, the Arverni; but,\naccustomed for long to regard themselves as the dominant tribe of the\nGauls, they offered him only a subordinate command. His refusal of any\ncommand, other than the highest, was followed by an assembly general\nof the Gallic tribes at Bibracte, when, on the matter being put to the\nvote, the great meeting, with one voice, proclaimed Vercingetorix their\nleader.[15] The story of his last desperate struggle against the Romans\nat Alesia, and of his defeat and death, do not properly belong to the\nhistory of Autun, nor to that of Bibracte.\n\nGaul had become a province of the great Roman Empire. A higher\ncivilisation, already familiar to the conquered tribes, is to impose\nits dominion, its architecture, its art, upon the conquered land.\nBibracte, the oppidum on the wooded hills, will echo no more to the\nshouts of Gauls acclaiming their general or their victory. Deserted,\nprobably in the first years of the Christian era, silence reigns\nhenceforth over the hills; silence broken only by the patter of rain\ndrops, by the moan of the wind, or the weird howl of the wolf, roaming,\nat midnight, among the ruins of the abandoned city.\n\nMeanwhile, here, upon the plain below, another and fairer city was\narising--Augustodunum, the Roman capital of Gaul, now known as Autun.\nIt has often been asserted that the location of Bibracte upon Mont\nBeuvray is merely legendary, and that Autun is the historic site of\nthe great city of the Aedui. But this theory, as we have seen, has\nbeen finally exploded by the researches of M. Bulliot. He proves\nconclusively, not only that Bibracte was situate on the summit of\nBeuvray, but also that Autun was built upon virgin soil, and not\nupon the site of a Gallic city, which would inevitably have yielded\ntangible proof of its existence in Gaulish coins and other remains. The\nproportion of Gaulish to Roman coins found in Autun, up to the present\ntime, is about one to fifteen hundred.[16] Further evidence is offered\nby the fact that the city conforms to the requirements mentioned by\nVitruvius at the time of its erection--about fifteen to ten years\nbefore the Christian era--that, in building a town, the first necessity\nis to choose a healthy site, elevated, not subject to fogs, of good\ntemperature, not exposed to extremes of heat and cold, away from\nmarshy land, and facing south or west.[17] One of the chief features\nof Burgundian towns is the excellence of their sites. This feature,\ndue no doubt, to Roman example, is nowhere more noticeable than at\nAutun, which remains to-day one of the best situate, and among the most\ninteresting, of all the cities of France.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe first thing to be done, it seems to me, in exploring such a place\nas Autun, which comprises a medi\u00e6val and a modern town within the\nEnceinte of a Roman city, is to get your bearings, to orient yourself,\nas the French say.\n\nOn the previous evening, looking up from our sunset seat on the grass,\nbeside that mysterious pile known as the Temple of Janus, we had seen,\nfar above the city, to the south-east, on the slope of the hills which\nenthrone Autun, a gaunt, grey stone lifting its head over the village\nroofs of Couhard. The next morning found us descending the Rue St.\nPancras, into the hollow that lies between the village and the town. As\nwe climbed the ascent, the rising sun gave us alluring glimpses of the\nmysterious stone, seen through the curling mists of an autumn morning;\nyet, many a time, we turned from it, to watch the light playing upon\nancient wall and tower, and gilding the spire of the cathedral of St.\nLazare.\n\n [Illustration: AUTUN; shewing Cathedral and Medi\u00e6val Towers]\n\nA bend to the left brought us into Couhard, a straggling group of\ndishevelled cottages and huts lining the Ruisseau de la Toison, that\nbubbles merrily along the side of the hill. It is a dilapidated,\npicturesque, tangled village, given over to ducks and dirt, and to\nwasherwomen, who, like flies in summer, settle upon the running waters\nof France, to wash their toisons d'or.\n\n\"Quite an ancient, conservative, stagnant village,\" we were saying to\nourselves; \"built beside a Roman burial ground, and itself going its\ndirty way to death\"--when, suddenly, we made a discovery. Couhard is\nnot conservative. On the contrary, it is advanced. Before us, on a\nplacard, we read: \"Association des Femmes de Sa\u00f4ne et Loire. Les Femmes\ndoivent Voter.\" And they tell you there is no feminist movement in\nFrance!\n\nHere is the Pierre de Couhard; a gaunt, uncouth, pointed mass of\nrubble, rising from the hillside, in the midst of a little tangled\nisland--the dust bin of the village--where every ill weed grows. 'Tis a\ncharacteristic setting for a Burgundian monument.\n\nBut the stone is impressive. Inchoate, formless, it yet suggests\na lost form, that of a corpse long-exposed, or of the mysterious,\nhuman-inhuman figure, that the mad sculptor, in Andreev's story, hewed\nout, after he had talked with one returned from the dead, and had gazed\ndeep into death's basilisk eyes.[18]\n\nA close inspection reveals the truth--that the Pierre de Couhard was\nin the form of a quadrangular pyramid upon a cubical base--the lower\npart faced with large blocks of sandstone, the pyramidal portion with\nlimestone. All the facing has suffered the usual fate of similar work\nin France--it formed the quarry from which the peasants of Couhard\nbuilt and maintained their village. On the south-east side of the\npyramid are two holes, bored about the year 1640, with the intention\nof discovering whether the monument was hollow within.[19] It is now\nbelieved to be solid throughout. The Aeduen Society, and others, have\nundertaken excavations at various times; but local antiquaries have not\nyet discovered any cella containing coins or relics that determine the\ndate of erection, which, however, M. de Fontenay, with good reason,\nassigns to the reign of Vespasian (A.D. 69-79).\n\n [Illustration: PIERRE DE COUARD \u00b7 AUTUN \u00b7]\n\nAs to the purpose of the Pierre, there is now little reason to doubt\nthat it was a memorial stone; a supposition borne out, not only by the\nshape of the monument, but by its position at the summit of the Champs\nDes Urnes, as it is popularly called, the great burial ground which\nbordered the Roman road from Lyons to Autun.\n\nCuriously enough, the same opinion was adopted, after a long\nexamination and discussion, by that mighty hunter, and amateur\nantiquary, Francis I., when he came here, in August, 1521, accompanied\nby his mother, Louise de Savoie, and by his wife, Claude de France.\nWhile the ladies visited the Churches and Convents, which, to them,\nwere the superior attraction, the merry monarch did the round of the\nRoman monuments, and afterwards restored his jaded faculties with\na day's hunting in the neighbouring forest of Planoise, where he\nlost himself, and might have passed the night in the wilds had he\nnot happened upon the old castle of Porcheresse, whose lord, Celse\nde Traves, led him back to Autun. The delighted populace, anxious\nover their lost king, received him with \"chiming bells and flaming\ntorches.\"[20]\n\nYet, however great the preparations and rejoicings with which the\ninhabitants received their monarch--as, five years earlier, they had\nwelcomed his predecessor, Charles VIII.--it was neither a flourishing\nnor a cheerful town that Francis looked down upon, from the Pierre de\nCouhard, on that summer day, nearly four hundred years ago. He saw the\ntowers, spires, and gables of a medi\u00e6val city--one might almost say,\nof two medi\u00e6val cities--built upon the ruins of the much larger Roman\ntown, the silent immensity of whose shattered walls, palaces, temples,\nand amphitheatre, dwarfed into insignificance the small houses amongst\nwhich they stood, and chilled, with a nameless fear, the hearts of\nthose who watched the shadows of evening falling about them, and heard\nthe spirit voices of the past calling, in the moonlight, from among the\nhaunted stones.\n\n \"Ou ses temples estoient a chaque coin de vue\n Les buissons herissez presque y donnent la terreur;\n Ou les riches palais furent, le laboureur\n Y couple ses taureaux pour trainer la charrue.\"[21]\n\nLess fortunate than Dijon and other towns of Burgundy, Autun had\nsuffered a sequence of disasters. When Francis I. saw the town, neither\nthe Roman walls nor the Roman buildings had recovered from the ravages\nof Tetricus, King of the Gauls, who, about the year 269, after a siege\nof seven months, sacked Augustodunum, leaving it in such a pitiable\ncondition that the emperor Constantine, when he came from Rome in 310,\ncould not restrain his tears at the sight of the wasted country and\nruined towns through which he had passed; nor could the banners of\nthe corporation, the statues of the gods, nor the groups of musicians\nat the secret corners, blind the emperor to the real poverty hidden\nbeneath official pomp.[22]\n\nThere is no better spot than the Pierre de Couhard from which to\npicture Augustodunum as it was on that day when Constantine rode\nthrough the Porte de Rome, now known as the Porte des Marbres, which\nthen stood where the cemetery now abutts on to the end of the Rue de la\nJambe de Bois. Thence the main street of the city, the Voie d'Agrippa,\nbordered by the important and imposing buildings, such as the Temple\nof Apollo, the Schools, the Forum, and the Capitol, ran in a straight\nline to the Porte d'Arroux, nearly in the direction of the Temple of\nJanus, still faintly visible to-day, far away on the plain beyond the\nriver. This Voie d'Agrippa roughly bisected the Roman town, all the\nstreets of which were laid out, like those of a modern American City,\neither parallel or at right angles to that axial line. Augustodunum,\nthough it lacked the lovely gables, lofty spires, and pleasant disorder\nof Gothic Autun, must yet have shown to the traveller looking back from\nthe road to Rome, a splendid pile of temples and palaces and gardens,\nas his glance wandered from the gleaming marble gates, and the flashing\ndome of the Capitol, to the majestic arches and sculptured columns and\ncolonnades of the great arena and lovely theatre, whose ruins are yet\nseen through the avenue of lime trees, above the ivy-crowned stones of\nthe ancient enceinte.[23]\n\nLovely is this spectacle, even to-day. On the left, to the south-west,\nthe medi\u00e6val city, the Castrum, lifts its pile of gabled, palace roofs\nabove the sombre firs, and line of bronzed fortresses, walls, and\nleaf-clad towers that mark the Roman enceinte. Higher yet, over all,\nthe spires and pinnacles of the cathedral of St. Lazare glitter against\nthe background of hills.\n\nOn the way back, our attention was divided between the glories of that\nview, and the \"chasse aux poules\" or chicken hunt--the one form of\nsport indulged in by the old ladies of a Burgundian village.\n\nA very few hours in Autun were enough to reveal the fact that this\nlargest Gallo-Roman city of Burgundy contains Roman remains as\ninteresting as any in France, known to me, excepting those of Nimes,\nOrange, and Arles; while, around two of them--the Temple of Janus[24]\nand the Pierre de Couhard--there still lingers an element of mystery\nthat renders them doubly attractive to the curious mind.\n\nThe \"Temple de Janus\" lies, as the reader will remember, at the foot\nof Autun, in the meadow beside the Arroux. Its original purpose is\ndoubtful. M. Viollet le Duc held it to be a Fort D\u00e9tach\u00e9, built outside\nthe ramparts, for the purpose of barring the passage of the river,\nand commanding the plain.[25] M. de Fontenay, on the other hand,\nasserts,--and I venture to think proves,--that the building was not\ndesigned for military purposes, and was, in fact, a temple; though\nthere is no evidence to tell us to which deity it was dedicated.[26]\n\nM. le Duc contends that the tower had no door on the ground floor,\nand was entered by means of a ladder; but one of the features that\nfirst strike any observer who is endeavouring mentally to reconstruct\nthe building, is, that, along both remaining walls, between the lower\nopenings and the upper windows, run two lines of rectangular holes\npierced in the masonry. The purpose of those holes, was, undoubtedly,\nto carry the roof timbers of a peristyle, or outer gallery, whose\nfoundations have been unearthed at a distance of between five and six\nmetres from the main wall,--a discovery which seems at once to demolish\nM. le Duc's theory of entry by ladder. The design of the peristyle is\nnot known, nor the order of its architecture; but it probably took the\nordinary form of a stylobate, or base, columns with capitals supporting\nan entablature, and a sloping roof. The niches on the interior sides of\nthe walls, and the traces of red colouring--a mixture of powdered brick\nand chalk, still easily visible in their more protected parts--are\nfurther evidence that the tower was indeed a temple.\n\n [Illustration: TEMPLE OF JANUS \u00b7 AUTUN]\n\nM. de Fontenay dates the building, conjecturally, from the founding of\nAutun. Concerning its popular name, \"Temple of Janus,\" he has some very\ninteresting information to give.\n\nIt appears that, until the 17th century, the tower was known as the\n\"Tour de la G\u00eanetoie,\" a term which a local savant took to be a\ncorruption of Janitect, \"\u00e0 Jani tecto.\" This legend was accepted by the\nhistorians for about the next two centuries, until, in 1843, another\nBurgundian writer reluctantly announced the truth,--that G\u00eanetoie\ndid not mean \"Temple of Janus,\" but simply, \"Champ des balkins\" or\n\"genets,\" the broom known to all Englishmen as the device of our\nPlantagenet kings. So much for the Temple of Janus. Whatever may have\nbeen its purpose, no one who has visited Rome, looking up at the huge,\nshattered walls, gilded by the sunset, standing out against the purple\nshadows of the hills far away across the plain, can fail to recall\nmemories of the Roman Campagna.\n\nThe Roman city of Augustodunum possessed four gates, at the north-west,\nnorth-east, south-west, and south-east corners of the town, leading\nto the roads for Boulogne, Besan\u00e7on, Bourbon L'Archambaud, and Lyons\nrespectively. The first and last of these was known also as the \"Voie\nd'Agrippa.\" The gates, taking them in the same order, are known as the\nPorte d'Arroux, the Porte St. Andr\u00e9, the Porte St. Andoche, and the\nPorte de Rome. The first two of these are still standing; the others\nhave disappeared.\n\nThe Porte d'Arroux is distant only a few minutes walk from the Temple\nof Janus, near the river, at the foot of the Faubourg d'Arroux.\nIncomplete though it is, the grace and dignity of the fallen monument\nyet contrast strongly with the squalor of its setting. It is backed,\non either side, by a medley of disreputable villas, and dilapidated,\nhalf-timbered cottages, whose squalor is not without charm. To-day\nhordes of ragged children play beneath the arches that once echoed to\nthe roll of chariot wheels, and to the tramp of lictors' feet.\n\n [Illustration: PORTE D'ARROUX \u00b7 AUTUN \u00b7]\n\nThe Porte d'Arroux has four openings for traffic,--two large central\narches, by which chariots could pass in and out, and two smaller gates,\nat the sides, for foot passengers. Each of the central arches is\ngrooved for a portcullis, which some authorities, including M. Viollet\nle Duc, think were not added till the middle ages,[27] a supposition\nthat M. de Fontenay seems effectually to disprove by pointing out\nthat, since the Roman rampart at that period was broken down in many\nplaces, any additional defences to the gates would have been a useless\nprecaution.\n\nAutun, in medi\u00e6val times, comprised what were, in effect, two\ndistinct towns, both built within the Roman enceinte. These were the\nCastrum, the centre of which was the Cathedral of St. Lazare, and the\nMarchaux--still known by the same name,--in the lower part of the town,\nnorth of the Place des Champs de Mars. Each of these towns was then\nsheltered within its own walls and towers, of which portions are still\nin existence.\n\nThe upper part of the gate consisted of a pierced gallery or arcade,\nof ten bays,--seven of them still intact,--forming a Chemin de Ronde,\non a level with that running along the crest of the Roman wall. This\ngallery, serving the double purpose of ornament and defence, could\nbe closed at any time by wooden shutters.[28] The gate was flanked\non either side by two rectangular towers (corps de garde) with\nsemi-circular apses projecting far beyond it, as though--in the phrase\nof Eumenes, a local historian and orator of the late 3rd and early 4th\ncenturies--they were stretching out welcoming arms to those about to\nenter the town.[29]\n\nAll who are interested in the development of Burgundian architecture,\nshould give careful attention to the Porte d'Arroux, which is certainly\nthe source of one of the most marked characteristics of the style,--the\nuse of the fluted pilasters, which, for some reason or other, seem to\nhave struck the fancy of the architects of this part of France. We\nshall see this arcade imitated closely in the triforium gallery of the\ncathedral of St. Lazare, and also influencing, in turn, the churches of\nCluny, Paray le Monial, Notre Dame de Beaune, and others.\n\nThe masonry of the gate is very finely executed, with close joints,\nwithout mortar, in the manner of the period, and is, on the whole, in a\nwonderfully good state of preservation. The lower part of the work is\nquite plain. The archivolts, the entablature, including the architrave\nand the frieze, show little ornament; the cornice, however, is richly\ndecorated with dentals, palmettes and other designs, as is also the\nremaining fragment of cornice above the arcade, whose fluted pilasters\nhave beautiful capitals in the Corinthian style.\n\nThe other surviving Roman gate,--the Porte St. Andr\u00e9,--is on the\nnorth-east boundary of the city, not far from the Porte d'Arroux, by\nway of the Faubourg Arroux and the Rue de la Croix Blanche. It is less\npicturesquely situate, and, though very similar, is distinctly inferior\nto its neighbour in design and finish. The central arches are lower,\nand heavier, while the gallery lacks the lightness and grace which are\ncharacteristic of the Porte d'Arroux, and is, moreover, built in a\nstone darker and less pleasing to the eye than the oolithic limestone\nof the lower portion.\n\nM. de Fontenay suggests that this upper part was restored at some\nlater and degenerate period of Roman architecture. Certainly the plain\npilasters are badly designed and carelessly set, while the capitals,\nof a composite, semi-ionic order, appear to be too narrow for their\npilasters--not too wide, as stated by M. de Fontenay, and also by M.\nD\u00e9chelette in his careful little guide to Autun. The Porte St. Andr\u00e9\nshows no signs of having been fitted with a portcullis. Hamerton[30]\nstates, no doubt correctly, that the door was barred by strong beams\ninserted into holes and grooves. These are still visible.\n\nThe Porte St. Andr\u00e9, it should be noted, is one of the most complete\nRoman gates existing in France. The lower portion of one of the\nflanking towers, which rose originally several feet above the attic\nstory of the gate, owes its escape from destruction to its shape,\nwhich, coinciding with that of a typical Romanesque chapel, tempted\ncertain ecclesiastics of the middle ages, to dedicate it to St. Andr\u00e9,\nas a place for Christian worship.[31] These flanking towers comprised\nthree stories. The first communicated with the Chemin de Ronde, along\nthe crest of the walls, the second was a vaulted chamber, and the third\nremained open to the sky. Access was obtained by a double staircase.\n\nOn the question of the period during which these gates were built,\nM. de Fontenay and Viollet le Duc are again at variance,--the latter\nattributing them to the fourth or fifth centuries,[32] the former to\nthe reign of Vespasian (A.D. 69-79).[33] Strange as it may seem that\nanother writer should contradict continually so eminent an authority as\nthe last-named, the author of \"Autun et ses Monuments\" again has reason\non his side, since he can refer to the orator Eumenes as describing the\ngates in the year 311 A.D.\n\nMoreover, since the Roman walls were admittedly broken down in many\nplaces during the siege by Tetricus, in the year 269 A.D.,--an event\nof which Eumenes was a witness,--and the inhabitants were already\nbeginning to retire within the safer precincts of the Citadel; what\nwould be the reason for erecting elaborate gates on the line of the\nruined wall? I am not an authority upon ancient architecture; but I\nwas certainly astonished to read the date given in the \"Dictionnaire\nRaisonn\u00e9\"; and I should be glad to know whether other experts support\nM. le Duc's theory.\n\nOf the two other gates--the Porte St. Andoche, on the south-west,\nand the Porte de Rome on the south-east, in the direction of\nLyons,--nothing remains except the rectangular portion of one of the\nlateral towers of the former. The loss of the Porte de Rome, or the\n\"Porte des Marbres,\" as it was popularly called, is especially to be\nregretted, since that name alone suggests the truth, of which evidence\nexists, that it was by far the most beautiful of the four. Moreover, it\nhas additional historic interest as being the gate by which Constantine\nentered Autun in 311.\n\nThe old writers agree in describing the Porte des Marbres as a\nthing of beauty,--a quality which was its undoing, as offering an\nirresistible attraction to the Medi\u00e6val and later builders. Several\nancient Corinthian capitals, not otherwise easily accounted for, are\nto be seen to-day in the porch of the cathedral built at the close of\nthe 12th century. It appears, indeed, that around the present site of\nthe Fountain of the Pelican was a burial ground named Les Marbres, on\naccount of its richness in borrowed sculpture. The site of the gate was\nknown from the 14th century onwards as \"\u00e0 Marbres\" or \"de Marboribus.\"\nAt the time of the construction of the bastion of the Jambe de Bois,\nthe workmen unearthed many marbles, including columns, capitals, and\nbases of the Corinthian or some composite order.[34] The date of the\nfinal destruction of the Porte des Marbres is uncertain; but its\nflanking towers, then known as the Fors de Marboribus, were still\nstanding in the middle of the 14th century.\n\nBefore beginning another chapter, let me speak one word of warning.\nIf you ask one of the humbler inhabitants of Autun where the Porte\nSt. Andoche stood, you will be directed, without hesitation,--as we\nwere,--to the bank of the river, near the railway station. Having\nreached that spot and crossed the bridge, you will obtain a lovely\nview of the Roman wall and the river beside it, but will fail to find\nthe remaining tower of the gate, for the reason that it is not there.\nThe Porte St. Andoche stood at the foot of the Boulevard Schneider,\nopposite to the Couvent du Sacrement, on the road leading, by way of\nthe enceinte, to the Tour des Ursulines.\n\nThe reader may ask why the peasants should misdirect him? They\nmisdirect him, in this particular instance, because they believe that\nthe gate really stood on the town side of the western bridge of the\nArroux, in the corresponding position to that of the Porte d'Arroux.\nBut my point is, that, had your informant been utterly ignorant of\nthe supposed whereabouts of the gate, he would, very probably, have\ndirected you with almost equal facility. The Burgundian peasant is very\nignorant; but he is also very proud,--much too proud to admit that he\ndoes not know the whereabouts of a monument that a stranger has come,\nperhaps, a thousand miles to visit. His swift imagination, therefore,\npromptly creates the site; and he, or she, will tell you promptly,\nvolubly, and with much circumstantial detail, exactly how to get there.\nIn this snare we have been taken many times during our travels among\nthe Burgundians. The Proven\u00e7als have a different and preferable method.\nThey do not invent a site for the monument; they deny its existence.\nSpeaking with some experience of the peculiar ways of the French\npeasant in such matters, my advice to the gentle stranger is--not to\ntrust him. Get the best guide and map that you can find in the local\nlibrairie; and rely on them, and on your own intelligence. You may\nthen, when you are at fault, consult the passer by as to details,\nletting your judgment decide whether, in his particular case, he is to\nbe trusted.\n\nIf it be a Ch\u00e2teau that you are seeking, you must be doubly careful. To\na French peasant many a tiny cottage is a \"fine house\" (belle maison),\nand almost every modern house, of any pretentions at all, is a ch\u00e2teau.\nTo us, on the contrary, a ch\u00e2teau means a castle; usually an ancient\none.\n\nMany a time has a blue-shirted peasant looked up from his work by the\nroad side, to address me somewhat as follows:\n\n\"The Ch\u00e2teau de Bon Espoir; Certainly, Monsieur, 'tis there, three\nkilometres away, up the hill, tout droit en montant.\"[35]\n\nWe climb the three kilometres, wander about for an hour, and return\ndisconsolate. The labourer, hearing the whirr of bicycle wheels, looks\nup again.\n\n\"M'sieur et Dame have found the Ch\u00e2teau?\"\n\n\"No, Monsieur. They told us up there that the ancient Ch\u00e2teau de Bon\nEspoir was on the other side of the valley to the north.\"\n\n\"Oh! that one? That's only an old ruin. I thought you meant the ch\u00e2teau\nde Monsieur Pigot.\"\n\n\"No. Who is Monsieur Pigot?\"\n\n\"Monsieur Pigot, 'Sieur Dame, is the proprietor of the grand magasin du\nLouvre at Paris. He has a lovely ch\u00e2teau, up there where you went. They\nwould have let you in if you had gone up the drive.\"\n\n\"We are sorry we missed it. Good day, Monsieur.\"\n\nThe \"lovely ch\u00e2teau\" was a terrible erection of red brick and stone,\ndefiling the landscape for a mile around.\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter II; Burgundian Peasant]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[10] De Bello Gallico, lib. 1, cap. 23: \"Bibracte, by far the finest\n and largest town of the Aedui.\"\n\n[11] I refer all who want full details of the period to M. Camille\n Jullian's book \"Histoire de la Gaule,\" and to Mm. de Fontenay\n and de Charmasse's \"Autun et ses Monuments avec un pr\u00e9cis\n historique,\" a very useful book obtainable at the \"Libraire\n Dujessieu\" at Autun.\n\n[12] The battle took place probably near Montmort, about 5 kilometres\n north of Toulon.\n\n[13] De Bell: Gall: lib. i, cap. 15: \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 12.\n\n[14] \"Ille enim revocatus resistere, ac se manu defendere--saepe\n claimitans liberum se liberaque civitatis esse.\" C\u00e6sar de Bell.\n Gall. lib. v. cap. 7; \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 19.\n\n[15] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" Pr\u00e9cis Historique, p.27.\n\n[16] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 8.\n\n[17] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" pp. 8 and 9.\n\n[18] See \"Lazarus\" in \"Judas Iscariot\" by Andreev.\n\n[19] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" pp. 216-232.\n\n[20] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" \"Pr\u00e9cis Historique,\" p. 206-7.\n\n[21] Fran\u00e7ois Perrier, poet of the 16th century, quoted in\n \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" from the M\u00e9moires of the Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 Eduenne.\n\n[22] Ibid, p. 71-73.\n\n[23] See the interesting map of the Roman City in \"Autun et ses\n Monuments.\" Roman Autun was sacked again by the Saracens in 731\n A.D.; the havoc on that occasion being even more complete than\n that wrought by Tetricus.\n\n[24] \"Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9,\" Tome 9, p. 68.\n\n[25] \"Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9,\" Tome 9, p. 68.\n\n[26] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" pp. 216-232.\n\n[27] \"Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9,\" Tome vii., p. 214. Note I.\n\n[28] \"Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9,\" Tome vii., p. 314.\n\n[29] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 36.\n\n[30] P. G. Hamerton, The Mount, p. 190.\n\n[31] D\u00e9chelette, \"Guide des Monuments d'Autun,\" p. 10.\n\n[32] \"Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9,\" Tome vii., p. 314.\n\n[33] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 46.\n\n[34] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" pp. cliv., 45 and 414.\n\n[35] Straight ahead as you go up.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter III; Head of Augustus]\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE ROMAN CITY\n\n\nLeaving the Hotel St. Louis, about which I shall have more to say later\non, and passing along the Rue de l'Arquebus, you emerge upon an open\nspace, where stands a statue to a Gaulish chieftain with whom we have\nalready made acquaintance--the Druid, Divitiacus.\n\nIt may be heresy on my part, but I must admit that I have very little\nsympathy with the French passion for erecting statues of known or\nunknown persons, in every public place, quite irrespective of any\nulterior considerations, such as whether such a monument is in any way\nexpressive of the celebrity's particular talent or genius, or whether\nmodern garments in carved stone are desirable in a \"Place,\" often\nbordered with the most beautiful examples of Gothic or Renaissance\narchitecture.\n\nMany an open space in the ancient cities of France might have been\nspared such an indignity, had the French people cared to remember that,\nin the absence of a more worthy memorial--such as a house that can\nbe lived in--a wall-tablet is sufficient for all practical purposes.\nM. Emile Mont\u00e9gut, in his \"Souvenirs de Bourgogne,\" has very justly\nsatirized the French idiosyncracy; but France in general, and Burgundy\nin particular, still bristles with unnecessary statues.\n\nThe memorial of Divitiacus, however, is an exception to the general\nrules, for the figure is a successful and spirited piece of work,\nshowing the Druid, bareheaded, pointing down the Roman Road. His helmet\nlies at his feet, and he carries a shield on which a battle scene is\nengraved. The figure stands upon a historic site; for here, on the west\nside of the Voie d'Agrippa, joining gate with gate, stood three of the\nmost important buildings of the Roman city,--the Temple of Apollo, the\nSchools, and the Capitol.\n\nThe Aedui had always conceived of Apollo as surrounded by the Muses.\nHe was their God of poetry, of youth, of joy, of prosperity, and of\nbeauty; he was the healer and enlightener; to him the woods and streams\nwere consecrated in the days\n\n \"When holy were the haunted forest boughs,\n Holy the air, the water, and the fire;\"\n\nIn the third century the Healer was already the most venerated of the\nRoman divinities in the hierarchy of Augustodunum, and his temple was\nprobably the most important of them all, until 270, when it fell, with\nmany another Roman temple and palace, before the hordes of Tetricus.\n\nThe Emperor Constantius Chlorus, however, decided that the temples\nshould rise again; and it appears, from the records of Eumenes, that,\nby the end of the third century, the house of \"Apollo Noster\" was\nrestored to more than its former beauty. The house was restored; but\nnot the cult. Influences more powerful than the decree of Constance\nChlore, or of Constantine, were at work within the Roman city. Every\nyear, meaner gifts were offered, fewer vows were made before the Temple\nof Apollo; every year more citizens--at first in fearful secrecy, later\nwith open enthusiasm--worshipped the Carpenter of Nazareth.\n\nExcavations have revealed the substructure of the circular building\nwhich is generally accepted as having been the Temple of Apollo. The\ncharacter of the remains, shewing that strings of bricks were used in\nthe construction of the building,[36] point to the reign of Constantius\nChlorus, or of his son Constantine,[37] as the probable date. Readers\nfamiliar with the Roman buildings of Arles, will recognise the same\narchitectural feature in the Palace of Constantine in that town.\n\nThe great schools of Autun, the Ecoles M\u00e9niennes, as they were called,\nwere probably situate between the Temple of Apollo and the Capitol,\njust below the site of the present Sous-pr\u00e9feture. They appear to have\nbeen well known throughout the Roman Empire; for Tacitus[38] mentions\nthe capital of the Aedui as a place where the children of the Gaulish\nnobility were wont to apply themselves eagerly to the study of the\nliberal arts, while Eumenes speaks of them as \"a sanctuary consecrated\nto instruction and eloquence, a very home of literature; for,\" says he,\n\"the study of letters is the foundation of all the virtues; they are,\nindeed, a school of temperance, of modesty, of vigilance, of patience;\nand when all these virtues are implanted as a habit in the heart of\nchildhood, they penetrate, like a vigorous sap, all the functions of\ncivil life, and even those which seem to be in opposition to it, I mean\nthe charges and duties of military life.\"[39]\n\nMany men, celebrated in their day, must have attended these schools,\nwhich seem to have retained their popularity well into the third\ncentury, though, at the time of their destruction in the catastrophy\nof 270 A.D., they may, perhaps, have been living, to a certain\nextent, upon their past glories. We do not know much concerning their\narchitecture; but Eumenes says they were known as a monument of\nimposing beauty, and adds this interesting detail--that \"the buildings\nwere surrounded by galleries or porticos, in which the students could\nsee every day the extent of all the lands and of all the seas, the\ntowns restored by the good-will of the invincible emperors, the nations\nconquered by their valour, and the barbarous countries chained by the\nterror of their arms. There were shewn the name and situation of each\ncountry, its extent, its relative distance, the source and outfall of\neach river, the windings of the banks, and the circuits of the sea\nwhich washes the continents and the shores of the countries swept by\nits impetuous movement. The whole universe was there pictured. There\nwere to be seen the two rivers of Persia, the parched regions of Lybia,\nthe joined branches of the Rhine, and the many mouths of the Nile.\"[40]\n\nThe schools had been named after these galleries, on whose walls or\nceilings the young nobles of Gaul could learn all that was known of\nthe world of their day, that is to say, the whole of the Roman Empire.\nMaeniana,--in French, M\u00e9nienne,--means a construction projecting from\nthe front of an edifice, an exterior gallery or balcony, which appears\nto have been so common a characteristic of the schools of Augustodunum,\nthat the term Maeniana came to be applied to them generally.[41]\n\nIn 270 A.D. the schools suffered the general fate, and the scholars,\nhenceforth, had to be accommodated in separate quarters. Eumenes talked\nof restoring the porticos, and repainting the map of the world; but,\nprobably, the work was never carried out, and the schools remained in\ntheir shattered state, even after the adjoining buildings--the Temple\nof Apollo and the Capitol--had been restored to something of their\nformer glory.\n\nThe Capitol was probably the building whose foundations, circular\non plan, have been traced to the garden of the Hospice St. Gabriel,\nbeside the Ecoles M\u00e9niennes, and fronting also upon the great central\nstreet leading from gate to gate. Authorities appear to have differed\nconsiderably on this point; but many Corinthian capitals, fragments of\nentablatures, statuettes, groups of goddesses, etc., have been found\non this site, suggesting that it was once occupied by a building of\ngreat importance,[42] decorated as one would expect of such a temple,\nand dedicated, as the Capitol was, to the principal divinities of the\nofficial hierarchy. Eumenes, moreover, states that the Capitol was\nsituate beside the schools. M. de Fontenay, however, thinks that,\npossibly, the Capitol may have occupied the other circular site, now\nattributed to the Temple of Apollo; and, conversely, that the latter\nbuilding should be placed below the schools.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNot far from this centre of Roman civilization, beyond the shady\nplantation of plane trees, the Promenade des Marbres, dotted with\nseats of Roman stone, and stretching eastward from the statue of\nDivitiacus, you will find, if you follow the Faubourg des Marbres, on\nthe right side of the downward slope, a board with the legend \"Caves\nJoyaux.\" Then, turning up the path to the right, passing a hideous\nmodern cottage devoted principally to \"tir,\" from the walls of which\nthe counterfeit presentments of dead citizens look out stonily upon\nyou from the Roman stele, you will come upon a grassy, semi-circular\nterrace, planted with lime trees, whose green banks slope down towards\na smaller semi-circle of sward below.\n\nBeyond it lies a broad expanse of allotment garden, in which peasant\nwomen are bending over their crops. Standing among the leaves, that,\non this bright autumn day, are fluttering upon the grass, and looking\ndown more closely into the semi-circle, one observes irregularities\nin the surface of the horseshoe, lines suggestive of terracing;\nstrangely shaped, hollow, grassy boulders that seem to have shouldered\ntheir way up from below. Here, at the end of the curve, is a mass of\nbroken stone; there a black shadow below the revealed head of an arch\nprojecting from the weed-entangled d\u00e9bris.\n\nThe reader will have guessed his whereabouts. This is, or was, the\nRoman theatre. Upon those heavy shoulders rested the marble seats;\nthere were the entrances and exits by which the spectators passed to\nand from the staircases and corridors. From the flat semi-circle below\nus, the chorus chanted their melodious comments upon the play that was\nbeing enacted on the stage where now the women are at work.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7AUTUN\u00b7\n \u00b7MEDIAEVAL TOWERS\u00b7]\n\nThere are those who will tell you that the Theatre is not worth the\ntrouble of a visit,--that it has lost all charm. I cannot agree. On the\ncontrary, ruined though the monument is, hardly one stone of it left\nupon another, there is nothing more impressive to be seen in Autun;\nfor the general contour of the building is so preserved, that, for any\nperson in the least degree familiar with the forms of these monuments,\nno great effort of the imagination is needed to restore the play-house\nto some of its ancient glory, and to re-people it with the voices of\nthe past. Moreover, the spectator, though he cannot see the graceful\ncolumns, that, probably, as at Arles, rose from the back of the stage,\nnor the sculptured frieze, nor the marble capitals and statues that\nadorned the proscenium, nor the arcaded gallery that crowned the upper\nrows of seats, though he may not follow with the eye the distant white\nroads of Vesentio and Agrippa; yet still his glance can range over the\nsame landscape that met the Roman of old, the near fields and meadows,\nthe distant uplands and gloomy forest lit by the rising sun.\n\nStill more impressive must the theatre be, when moonlight has shed her\nrevealing mystery over the terraces of this forsaken garden.\n\nTradition has it, that, until the latter part of the 17th century, a\nconsiderable portion of the Roman theatre was still standing; and M. de\nFontenay gives a very interesting sketch of the ruins in 1610, showing\nthat soil and d\u00e9bris had not then obliterated the tiers of seats, and\nthat the fore-part and the arcaded gallery of the semi-circle were\nstill in existence.[43] This comparatively happy condition of affairs\nmight have endured until to-day, but for an unfortunate temptation that\novercame Gabriel de Roquette, Bishop of Autun, in 1675, to make use of\nthe Roman theatre as a quarry for the new seminary he was building. It\nwas a deed doubly inexcusable, because, at so late a period, after the\npublication of Eden Thomas' book, and others dealing with the subject,\nhe had no longer the commonly-urged excuse that no interest was taken\nin the ancient monuments of Autun.[44] It is quite possible, however,\nthat we are blaming the bishop needlessly. After the fate of Cluny,\nwho shall say of what a Frenchman is not capable, when the lust of\ndestruction is upon him?\n\nThe theatre of Autun was 147m.80. in diameter, the largest in Gaul,\nand the fourth largest of the known buildings of the kind; coming\nimmediately after that of Bacchus at Athens, and those of Ephesus and\nSmyrna.[45] The orchestra was paved in red marble, and the stage lined\nwith white marble veined with red.\n\nThe exterior arcades of the hemi-cycle were formed of large blocks,\nthe space between ornamented with pater\u00e6. Anfert's, the oldest\ndescription we have, dating from the 17th century, mentions that\nthe circumference of the theatre is broken by several chambers and\nsubterranean passages; these chambers are vaulted; they are seven or\neight feet wide, and known as \"Caves Jolliot.\"[46]\n\nThis brings us back to the legend \"Caves Joyaux,\" which greeted our\napproach to the theatre. Up to the end of the 16th century, the remains\nappear to have been known as the \"Grotto\" (Grottes), an interesting\nexample of the extraordinary vulgarity of popular nomenclature.\nLater, a certain worthy Autunois, whose line of business has not\ncome down to us with his name, decided that these vaulted chambers\nwould suit him excellently as a domicile. No doubt his venture proved\nsuccessful, for the Grotto soon became known as the \"Cellier Jolyot,\"\nor \"Caves Jolyot,\" a name which, in the form of \"Caves Joyaux,\" still\npasses current among the vulgar of Autun.[47] This is by no means the\nfirst time that the substructure of a Roman monument has been dubbed\n\"cellars\" by an indiscriminating public.\n\nFor us the Roman theatre was more than a historic relic,--it was our\nfavourite lunching place in Autun! However severe a shock the admission\nmay be to some of my readers, I admit boldly, that never, during all\nour travels in France, do we, if we can avoid it, lunch either in\nrestaurant or hotel. To go twice a day, with credit, through the six\ncourses of a French d\u00e9jeuner and dinner, is a gastronomic effort of\nwhich we confess ourselves wholly incapable; consequently, before\nsetting forth on our day's excursion, we may be seen passing into the\n\u00e9picerie, boulangerie, or other boutique of the village street, whence,\nour pockets bulging with sundry small paper parcels, we emerge, amid\nthe not wholly disinterested curiosity of all the old ladies who have\nbeen eyeing us from door and window during our journey down the street.\n\nThe custom of picnic lunches is one that I recommend to all travellers\nin Burgundy, including those to whom the saving of a five-pound note,\nat the end of a month's holiday, is a matter of no moment whatever.\nThe Burgundians feed more richly, perhaps, than any other people of\nEurope, and their dinners, like the country's monuments--rich rather\nthan dainty--need a healthy appetite to do them justice. Further,\nthe secrecy that these picnic methods necessarily involve--for you\ncannot proclaim your intention to a ma\u00eetre d'h\u00f4tel, whose luncheon\ntables groan beneath their burden of good things appointed for you to\neat,--will titillate deliciously the insatiable curiosity of the lady\nhis wife, who passes hours in wondering where and how you lunched.\n\n [Illustration: A Burgundian Welcome]\n\n\"Monsieur et Dame will not be in to lunch to-day?\"\n\n\"No, Madame.\"\n\n\"Monsieur et Dame were not in to lunch yesterday.\"\n\n\"No, Madame.\" A pause, during which our hostess, screwing up her\ncourage for the plunge, eyed us with a glance, half-timid, half-amused.\n\n\"Where did Monsieur et Dame lunch yesterday?\" The speaker looked at my\nwife; my wife looked at me. I looked innocently at Madame.\n\n\"On a wall, Madame.\" Madame's eyebrows rose slightly. She could make\nnothing of it.\n\n\"But it was raining all day yesterday, Monsieur!\"\n\n\"Not on the wall, Madame. The fact is, we never lunch at an hotel--even\nwhen it rains.\"\n\n\"Vous faites bien\" was what she said to us. What she said to her\nhusband, an hour later, I leave to the reader to guess. But we parted\nexcellent friends.\n\nThese picnic lunches, of course, are rather scrappy. Things get blown\naway sometimes, or are fastened upon by ants. Il faut souffrir pour\nbien vivre.\n\nWhile I have been writing these notes, my wife has left the bench of\nRoman stone that is our table, and is seated on the grass half way down\ntowards the orchestra, where she is exercising her not inconsiderable\npowers of imagination in recreating the traditions of the spot. Also\nshe is proving, unwittingly, the excellent acoustic properties of the\nnatural theatre, constructed in the Greek, rather than in the Roman\nmethod; that is to say, by hollowing out of the hill, not building up\nupon the plain. The keeper of the buvette told us that a play is to be\ngiven in the theatre next June (1911) and \"a little bull-fight.\"\n\nGoing back to the hotel that day, we noticed, among the crisp leaves of\nthe Promenade des Marbres, many a handful of confetti,--souvenirs of\nthe great fair or festival of St. Lazare, that, for nearly the whole\nof September, disturbs the tranquillity of Autun. Let the traveller,\ntherefore, see the Roman city before September, or after it.\n\nThe stone benches beneath the trees of the Promenade des Marbres,\nplaced there about 1765, appear to have been taken from another of the\nmost important Roman monuments of Autun, the Amphitheatre, a building\nwhich, in the middle ages, was known by the same name as its neighbour,\nthe Theatre, and suffered a similar fate. It was situate to the north\nof the Caves Joyaux, close to the wall of the town, in such a position\nthat the Faubourg des Marbres nearly bisects its site. Not very much\nis known concerning it; but its dimensions have been determined by\nexcavations that prove it to have been the largest of the known\namphitheatres of France, as it is of Burgundy as a whole.\n\nHere are the figures, compared with those of the Ar\u00e8nes of Arles and\nNimes, both of which still exist.[48]\n\n -----------------------------------------------\n | | Large diameter. | Small diameter. |\n | |-------------------+------------------|\n | Autun | 154 metres | 130 metres. |\n | Arles | 140 metres.28 | 103 metres.20. |\n | Nimes | 135 metres.27 | 105 metres.87. |\n -----------------------------------------------\n\nM. de Fontenay publishes in his work, a drawing which shows that, in\n1610, there remained of the amphitheatre two parallel, vaulted arcades;\nbut he does not venture on an attempt to reconstruct the building.\nIt appears that, by the 18th century, all trace of the construction\nhad vanished, except the oval site, which, being at a lower level\nthan the surrounding land, is still popularly known as the Crot-Volu\n(Creux Volu), the latter name being that of a 14th century family\nwho occupied part of it.[49] One of the most significant discoveries\nmade among the ruins was that of the skull of a lion, probably the\nvictim of a gladiator. It is supposed that the amphitheatre was built\ncontemporaneously with the theatre, and, in the year of the siege,\nsuffered the same fate.\n\nA walk round the quiet roads and avenues of this outlying portion of\nAutun, and half an hour spent on the grassy slopes of the theatre,\ncannot fail to impress the most casual observer with a sense of the\ngrandeur and extent of the Roman city. Modern Autun is a town of\nrespectable dimensions; but here, within the Roman Enceinte, the few\ndwelling houses stand isolated among their own gardens; and ancient,\nimmemorial trees cast their shadows over quiet spots once resounding\nwith the hum and rumour of Roman life.\n\nAll those who would visualize Burgundian history will be grateful that,\nin spite of the destructive enmity of her foes, and the scarcely less\ndestructive ignorance and folly of certain of her inhabitants, enough\nof Augustodunum is left to enable us to group round her our mental\npictures of this part of Gallo-Roman Burgundy.\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter III; Masks of Comedy and Tragedy]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[36] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 151.\n\n[37] Constantius Chlorus died 306 A.D. Constantine reigned from 306-337.\n\n[38] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 160.\n\n[39] Ibid, p. 161.\n\n[40] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 165.\n\n[41] Ibid, p. 167.\n\n[42] Ibid, pp. 152-158.\n\n[43] \"Autun et ses Monuments.\" Facing p. 181.\n\n[44] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 183.\n\n[45] Ibid, p. 189.\n\n[46] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 181.\n\n[47] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" pp. 178-179.\n\n[48] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 193.\n\n[49] Ibid, p. 196.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter IV; Roman Vine Ornament]\n\n\nTHE ROMAN CITY\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nAfter two or three days among the relics of Pagan civilization, we were\nready to turn our attention to Christian monuments of the town, and\nit was with our expectations fully aroused that we left what might be\ndescribed as the neutral ground of the H\u00f4tel St. Louis, and climbed the\nbusy streets that lead within the castrum to the Cathedral of Saint\nLazarus, in which the relics of the saint are enshrined.\n\nReaders unfamiliar with the Proven\u00e7al legends will ask, not\nunnaturally, how the body of Christ's friend came to the city of Autun.\nThe answer is that, according to tradition, Lazarus, Martha, Mary, and\nothers, driven from Palestine after the crucifixion of Christ, and\ncast adrift in an open boat, were blown, on the wings of a great wind,\nwestward across the Mediterranean, and eventually, by miraculous aid,\nwere cast ashore, unhurt, on the coast of Provence. This land they\nproceeded to evangelize, Lazarus finding his way to Marseilles, of\nwhich city he became the first bishop.[50]\n\nNearly a thousand years later, at the end of the 10th century, the\nbody was translated to Autun, through the efforts of one Gerrard, the\nthen bishop, and was housed in the basilica of St. Nazaire. So holy a\nrelic naturally demanded a worthy shrine, and already, during the first\nquarter of the 12th century, we find proposals on foot for the erection\nof a new church for the housing of the body.\n\nHamerton, indeed, says that the work was planned in the 11th century;\nthe original idea being due to Robert I., Duke of Burgundy.[51] This\nbuilding, the existing cathedral of St. Lazarus, begun in 1120, was\nready for consecration by Pope Innocent II. when he passed through\nAutun, in 1132.\n\nAlthough the work was not completed at this time, the porch, in\nparticular, being wanting, the Bishop of Autun resolved to take\nadvantage of the great gathering of V\u00e9zelay, for the preaching of the\nsecond crusade, to announce the translation of the relics. King Louis\nVII. attended in person, and the ceremony was performed with great\n\u00e9clat, on Sunday, October 20th, 1146. Four weeks of continuous rain\nhad given place to warm sunshine, and enormous crowds of pilgrims\ngathered to celebrate the event, among whom were Eudes II., Duke of\nBurgundy, and many bishops and nobles. After the all-night ceremonies\nwhich preceded the principal function, two stonemasons, says the old\nchronicle, were taken into the church to effect the opening of the\ntomb. The stone was raised, the vault exposed, and, to the sound of the\nTE DEUM, those present pressed forward to venerate the relics.\n\nAt the conclusion of the ceremony, followed with the fervent religious\nemotion characteristic of the time, Humbert de Bage wrapped the body\nof St. Lazarus, together with the winding-sheet and the deerskin bag\nwhich covered it, in a silken covering, and with new straps bound\nthe precious bundle upon a wooden bearer destined for the solemn\ntranslation. Meanwhile, outside the church, an immense crowd was\nawaiting admission. Soon the pressure became so great that the gates of\nthe church were forced, and the mob broke in with such violence that\nthe iron grill barring the sanctuary would have been broken, had it\nnot been supported by sheer muscular effort on the part of the clerks.\n\"Eudes, Duke of Burgundy, William, Count of Chalon, and other brave\nnobles, each hurriedly putting down his chlamys, and arming himself\nwith sword or stick, began to cut and thrust, right and left, among the\ncrowd, to open a passage for the cort\u00e8ge, which, with great pomp, was\ntransporting the holy relics to the church of St. Lazarus. This church,\ntoo, was so gorged with humanity, that the bearers, breathless with\nfatigue and fright, and despairing of ever reaching the altar, set down\ntheir precious burden upon some wooden planks, where it long remained\nin the middle of the nave.\"[52]\n\nDuring the whole of the following week, the crowd surged round the\nholy relics, and miraculous cures followed one another with such\nrapidity that the priests engaged in chanting Te Deums, in gratitude\nfor each healing, were unable to keep pace with the calls made upon\nthem. While prayer, praise, and cries of \"Miracle!\" were resounding\nthrough the church, blood was being shed freely outside. A trivial\nquarrel between some nobles had strewn the neighbouring streets with\nwounded men.[53] Such contrasts were a common feature of the age.\n\nThe tomb of Lazarus occupied a position in the apse, behind the great\naltar. According to the evidence of an eye-witness, it was a monument\nof unusual magnificence, built in the form of a church, constructed\nof porphyry, and black and white marble. Its sculpture comprised a\nrecumbent figure of Lazarus, in his winding-sheet, with Christ's word,\nwritten below it, \"Lazare veni foras (Lazarus, come forth).\" Among\nother figures were those of Christ, Saint Peter, Saint Paul, and,\nbefore the head of Lazarus, two statues in stone representing Martha\nand Mary, one of them lifting to her nose a handkerchief, recalling\nthe \"jam foetet\" (by this time he stinketh) of the Gospel story. This\npriceless monument, interesting to all, doubly interesting to those\nwho believe that it did, indeed, house the relics of the friend of\nChrist, was destroyed during the course of improvements carried out in\nthe choir of the cathedral during the 18th century; but three of the\nfigures--those of St. Andrew, Martha and Mary, are still preserved in\nthe little Mus\u00e9e Lapidaire of Autun, of which collection they are the\ngems. A glance at them reveals the fact that, even at this early epoch,\nthe art of sculpture was well developed in Autun. The rapt expression\nof the countenances, the graceful lines of the draperies, the\ncomparative delicacy of the execution, without sacrifice of strength,\nrecall something of the Gr\u00e6co-Roman tradition, that probably had never\nperished wholly from the Roman city. That these figures, the work of\none Martin, were the result of no mere sporadic outbreak of genius is\nproved, I think, by the rapport they bear with the work of Geraldus,\nwhich, when seen in the apse of the Mus\u00e9e, they instantly recall.\n\nBut before succumbing to the attractions of that unique porch of the\ncathedral of Autun, we could not resist the temptation to get a first\ngeneral impression of a building which, we had always been told, was\none of the best to be found, even in this land of beautiful Romanesque\nchurches. The exterior effect, however, is not entirely satisfactory,\nespecially if the approach be made by one of the streets leading up\nfrom the middle of the town. The western towers are, indeed, still\nRomanesque; but they have been re-handled, not too happily; and\nthe unity of the whole has been lost by the substitution, for the\nRomanesque work, of Gothic side chapels, and pierced parapets of\nvarying designs, with a profusion of medi\u00e6val and classical ornament,\nin the spandrels and below the parapets, all utterly at variance with\nthe simple grandeur of the original building. Moreover the north-east\ndoor, in the tympanum of which was a magnificent piece of sculpture\nrepresenting the raising of Lazarus, has been replaced by a heavy\nproduction, of the revolution period, in the latest and ugliest\nclassical style. The 15th century spire,--a beautiful piece of work,\nsomewhat after the manner of that of Lichfield Cathedral,--has a rather\nsquat appearance from this lower side of the church. Its grace and\nlightness, and the harmony of its proportions, are better seen from the\nhigher lane to the south-east; but the finish of the spire, is not, in\nmy judgment, wholly successful. The crocketing is somewhat overdone,\nand the decoration rather fussy in treatment.\n\nThe original Romanesque tower, which was probably in some danger of\ncollapse, was at last destroyed by fire. Cardinal Rolin, brother of\nNicholas Rolin, whom we shall meet later on, rebuilt the new tower in\n1480. The state of the foundations necessitated lightness for the new\nwork, which relies for its security almost wholly upon excellence of\nconstruction. The spire, built without any internal support whatever,\nis said to be only seven inches thick at the base, and six towards the\nsummit.[54] Towards the close of the 13th century, probably, the walls\nof the nave, threatening to collapse under the vault, were supported\nby flying buttresses surmounted by heavy pinnacles. These additions,\nlightened during the 15th century, almost complete the transformation\nof the exterior effect from that of a Romanesque to a late Gothic\nchurch.\n\nThe greatest glory of Autun Cathedral, is its magnificent two-storied,\nbarrel vaulted, open porch with aisled bays, forming the western\nentrance. In the tympanum of the door is the famous sculpture by\nGeraldus, respresenting the Last Judgment. Standing at the foot of the\nnoble flight of steps leading up to the stately hall, where of old the\nlepers, and the horde of unclean, torn between the love of life and\nits miseries, must have trembled and hoped before that awful vision of\njudgment, we first realised that here is one of the most majestic and\nimpressive ante-chambers that Burgundy, or France, ever built at the\ngates of her houses of God.\n\nThis porch owes its existence indirectly to Clunisian influence,\nand directly to the cult of Saint Lazarus. Among the thousands of\npilgrims drawn every year, for solace or for healing, to the sacred\ntomb, were many ladres, or lepers, whose admission to the interior\nof the church would have been a menace to the public health. Under\nthese circumstances, the Chapter obtained from Hugues III., Duke of\nBurgundy, in 1178, permission to construct a porch, on the condition\nthat it should not be of a military character.[55] This work was duly\ncarried out; but it must not be supposed that the original was as we\nsee it now. The first porch did not extend as far as the two side\ndoors, but comprised a vault supported on two walls, whose position\nis now represented by two pairs of columns. The ground adjoining\nwas levelled up to the porch, and the entrance was through an arch\npierced in the eastern wall.[56] Some years later, as the cult of\nSt. Lazarus increased, the porch was modified to its present design.\nThe magnificent flight of steps, built in the 18th century, was the\nonly improvement that the colossal foolishness of the revolutionary\niconoclasts succeeded in effecting in the cathedral.\n\nThe upper storey of the porch, and the niche in the facade above it, is\nalso interesting, as being entirely characteristic of the architecture\nof this part of France, though limited to a very short period, from\nabout 1130 to 1200.[57] In the 13th century, with the advent of\ndeveloped Gothic, these appendages disappear.\n\nThe magnificent central doorway, taken as a whole, is the best example\nof its kind, both as regards design and sculpture, to be seen in\nBurgundy, with the exception of V\u00e9zelay, which, politically, belongs\nrather to the Nivernais than to the land of the Dukes.\n\n\nThe God in Judgment of the tympanum, one of the most ancient and\ncomplete of the many examples of the subject to be seen in France, is\nstriking, terrifying almost, in vigour, in that dramatic power which,\neven so early, was one of the marked characteristics of Burgundian\nsculpture. With hands outstretched He sits between the elect and the\ndamned. On His left, in the place of torment, the sinners, weighed in\nthe angel balance, and found wanting, are handed over, for torment, to\nthe powers of darkness, whose bony claws, reaching down, fasten upon\nmore victims from a sinful world. The hideous malignity upon the faces\nof these tormentors, the twisted, tortured postures of the despairing\nvictims, all heighten the effect, and contrast strongly with the still\nsomewhat rigid, though easier, lines of the other picture, where mighty\nangels are lifting into a heavenly mansion the spirits of the redeemed.\n\n [Illustration: ST. LAZARE.]\n\nNot less effective, probably, in execution and symbolism, was the\nfigure of the door-post upon which rests this early conception of the\nworld's destiny. Here was Lazarus, who triumphed over death, and beside\nhim, his sisters, Martha and Mary, symbols of two aspects of personal\nservice. The original statues were destroyed at the Revolution, but\nthe lines of their substitutes, among the most successful modern\nimitations that I know, have still, in form and drapery, something of\nHellenic delicacy, suggesting that the original sculptor's eye was lit\nby the dying radiance of Grecian art, or by the herald beams of an\nearlier, unremembered Renaissance. The author of this ancient sculpture\nis known. He has written his name above the lintel: \"Gisilbertus hoc\nfecit.\"\n\nI need not enumerate all the other subjects of the carvings on\nthis beautiful porch; the reader will not have any difficulty in\ndiscovering some of them for himself--Jerome and his Lion; Hagar and\nIshmael driven out by Abraham; Balaam and the Ass; the Presentation in\nthe Temple; and, on the archivolt, the signs of the Zodiac.\n\nIt is curious that Voltaire appears to have had some influence, good\nand bad--the good was involuntary--over the destiny of this porch of\nAutun. While staying at the Ch\u00e2teau of Montjeu, where he attended\nthe marriage of the Duc de Richelieu, he condescended to visit the\ncathedral, and so ridiculed the barbarism of its architecture, and\nespecially of its sculptured adornments, that the Canons had the whole\nof the great tympanum plastered over, to hide the composition of the\nLast Judgment. In doing this, they preserved it from damage during\nthe Revolution, and it remained so hidden for seventy years.[58]\nEventually, after its existence had been entirely forgotten, an\nintelligent inhabitant of the city suspected that there might be\ncarving beneath the plaster, and made the great discovery.\n\nOne glance round the interior of the church is sufficient to show\nthat, in spite of the loss of unity caused by the addition of a\nFlamboyant Gothic Jub\u00e9, and Gothic side chapels, we have here the best\nof lower Burgundian churches, modelled on Cluny, and comprising all\nthe characteristics of the classical Romanesque style; although the\npointed arches of the bays of the nave, and of the high vault, not\nquite a barrel vault, might lead some people to suppose, wrongly, that\nthe church is essentially Gothic. The fluted pilasters on the piers, a\nfeature which we shall see repeated in many a church hereabouts, and\nthe triforium gallery, imitated obviously from the arcade of the Porte\nd'Arroux, with further fluted pillars between pierced arches, and the\ncornice above, all show how persistent was the influence of the Roman\ntradition. Another feature that strikes one immediately is the stunted\nheight of the triforium and clerestory, a fact easily accounted for\nwhen we remember that the Burgundians of the 12th century, while they\nliked a lofty first storey, had not developed the art of buttressing\nsufficiently well to enable them to lift their vaults very high. Even\nso the settlement, in an outward direction, above the springing of\nthe aisle arches, is very noticeable, and, as we have already seen,\nnecessitated the insertion of flying buttresses to prevent collapse\nwithin two hundred years of their erection.\n\nYet, despite these drawbacks, an observer, standing in one of the\ntransepts, and looking across at the other transept, and down the\nnave, cannot but be struck by the grandeur of the whole effect;\nby the lightened solidity, the well-tempered massiveness which is\ncharacteristic of Burgundian architecture, as it is of Burgundy as a\nwhole.\n\nI am not one of those who consider that the building art of the 12th\ncentury, here or elsewhere, can ever rival the developed Gothic in\ninspiring power, as a setting for, or as a symbol of, the mystical\nspirit of Christianity, and I think that this opinion applies\nespecially to the work of these Burgundian architects, whose adherence\nto classic detail must inevitably recall, to cultured minds, the\nHellenic myths with which they are historically associated, and carry\ndown an architectural tradition of horizontal effect, utterly at\nvariance with the dominance of vertical line that was to be one of the\nmain characteristics of 13th century development.\n\nThis clashing of two styles, however, has been tempered in Autun\nCathedral by the insertion at the transepts, between the piers, of\nround shafts which carry the eye up to the vault, and break the\nseverity of the square angles of the crossing.\n\nThe top of the little spiral staircase in the north transept, is the\nbest place from which to see the detail of the triforium arcade, the\ndecoration of the archivolts, and the band of roses above them. Here,\ntoo, is to be had a good view of the domed vault.\n\nThe eastern end of the cathedral has no ambulatory, but is in the\nform of a circular apse, with eastern chapels. In the 15th and 16th\ncenturies were carried out the drastic changes that have completely\naltered the character of the exterior, and destroyed the unity of the\ncathedral. At this time the Romanesque apse underwent considerable\nmodifications; and, two centuries later, further futile improvements\nwere made. The western towers were practically rebuilt and domed; the\nLast Judgment in the porch was mutilated and covered with plaster,\nand--crowning feat of all--the magnificent tomb of Lazarus, by Brother\nMartin, which had sheltered for 600 years the relics of Autun's patron\nsaint, was utterly destroyed. Lastly, these imbecile clergy of the 18th\ncentury, lined the apse, nearly up to the walls of the comparatively\nnew Gothic windows, with panels of red Sicilian marble, divided by\ncolumns of grey, antique marble, and adorned them with gilded capitals,\nfat cherubs, and other utterly incongruous ornaments. It is generally\nbelieved that a portion of this marble was taken from the tomb of\nLazarus, which they used as a quarry, and the remainder from the Roman\nruins.\n\nThe capitals of the church,--among the best of their period existing\nin France--are typically Burgundian in their animation and vigour,\ntheir richness of detail, and their freedom of treatment, both as\nregards figures and foliage. They are at too high an elevation, and\nnot sufficiently well lighted, to be studied thoroughly from below;\nbut they are full of interest; and any enthusiast who is well versed\nin these matters, can pass a very pleasant hour in making more or less\nsuccessful guesses at the subjects illustrated. Here are some of them.\nOn the south-west side: The body of Saint Vincent guarded by Eagles;\nThe History of Simon the Magician; The Washing of Feet; The Martyrdom\nof Stephen; The Ark on Mount Ararat; The History of Judas. On the\nnorth-east side: The Birth of the Virgin; The Sacrifice of Isaac; Saint\nJoakim in the Desert; The Hebrews in the Furnace; Daniel in the Lions'\nDen; Christ on the Roof of the Temple; The Resurrection; The Visit of\nthe Magi to Herod; The Flight into Egypt.[59]\n\nThe few monuments to be found in the cathedral are not of great\ninterest. The best are the kneeling statues which originally formed\npart of the Gothic tomb of Pierre Jeannin, the famous Minister of Henry\nthe Fourth, and of his wife. The tomb, now destroyed, was by Nicolas\nGuillain, about the year 1626; but M. de Fontenay thinks that the bust\nof Jeannin, much superior to the other, dates, more probably, from\nthe end of the 16th century. Those who wish to know more than I can\ntell them of the subjects of this monument, are referred to Mont\u00e9gut's\ncharming book, \"Souvenirs de Bourgogne,\" which is well worth reading,\nfor the aptness of its observation, its many interesting historical and\nlocal references, its delicate wit, and its literary style.\n\nThe many Gothic chapels thrown out from the aisle in the 15th and 16th\ncenturies, and the flamboyant jub\u00e9, are not of particular interest,\nand, moreover, destroy the unity of the interior. I will, therefore,\npass them by; but, before leaving the church, I must call attention\nto what some people consider to be one of its chief treasures,--the\nmartyrdom of Saint Symphorien, by Ingres--a painting ranked by some\nconnoisseurs as the masterpiece of the 19th century. It was specially\nordered for the cathedral in 1824, but was not delivered until some\nthirty years later.\n\nOne cannot pretend to any enthusiasm for the result of those thirty\nyears of labour. The picture leaves me absolutely cold, as it does\nnine out of every ten who see it. The figures are vigorous, and the\ncolouring is, perhaps, more pleasing than is the case with some\nof Ingres' paintings--probably because the canvas is dirty and\nill-lighted--but the picture is overcrowded, and the general effect\ntheatrical. On the whole I am not disposed to quarrel with the critics\nwho regretted that ever Ingres forsook the pencil for the brush.\n\nHere, in a few words, is the story of Saint Symphorien which the\nreader will find in full in the \"Pr\u00e9cis Historique\" of \"Autun et ses\nmonuments.\" It appears that, in the middle of the twelfth century,\nthe gods chiefly favoured by the Autunois, were, Berecynthia--or\nCybele--Apollo, and Diana. One day, when the image of Berecynthia,\naccompanied by an enormous crowd, was being wheeled on a cart through\nthe streets of the city, Symphorien, having refused to do homage to\nher, was arrested and brought before the Roman magistrate, Heraclicus,\nto whom he boldly confessed his Christian faith. The magistrate,\nunwilling to deal harshly with a patrician youth, read to him the\nante-Christian edict of Marcus Aurelius, which decrees the capital\npunishment of obstinate heretics, and endeavoured, in vain, to bring\nSymphorien to reason. Finally, he gave orders for the prisoner to be\nbeaten by the lictors, and brought before him again, after passing\nthree days in prison. Some of the dialogue that took place at the\nsecond interview is worth recording as the _acta sincera_ of Symphorien\nprobably give it to us in a nearly verbatim form, and support, in\na very interesting way, the other evidence we can produce to show\nthat the worship of the Romans, as of the Greeks, whose religion\nthey honoured, was, to our way of thinking, somewhat indecently\ncommercial--the purchase, for value received, of the divinity's favour.\nThus the magistrate: \"How much wiser you would be, Symphorien, by\nsacrificing to the immortal gods, to obtain promotion in the army, and\nrewards from the public treasury. If to-day you do not bend the knee\nbefore the image of the goddess mother, if you do not practice the\ncult due to Apollo and Diana, you will be put to death, and nothing\ncan prevent it. If you consent, I will have the altar of the gods made\nready; prepare, then, to let the smoke of the incense rise in their\nhonour, and to render to the divinity the rights which are his due.\"\n\nSymphorien replied:\n\n [Illustration: FONTAINE ST LAZARE--AUTUN\n _Facing page 50_]\n\n\"The judge in whom is vested the public authority should not accompany\nhis sentence with vain and useless words. If it be perilous not to make\nevery day further progress in the way of perfection, how much more so\nto wander from the straight path and to risk foundering upon the reefs\nof sin?\"\n\nAgain the magistrate spoke:\n\n\"Sacrifice to the gods, that you may enjoy the honour granted by the\nprince to those who serve him.\" Symphorien replied in the same strain.\n\n\"A judge degrades his authority when he thus publicly puts a price upon\nthe observance of the law. He does irreparable wrong to his soul, and\nshames his good name for ever.\"\n\nFinally, the official, irritated, cut short Symphorien's discourse,\nwith the following sentence:--\"That Symphorien, guilty of public crime,\nin having committed sacrilege by refusing to sacrifice to the gods, and\nseeking to profane our holy altars, should be struck by the avenging\nsword, that the dread effects of his crime may be cancelled, and the\nlaw, human and divine, satisfied.\"\n\nIn Ingres' picture, Symphorien is on his way to execution outside the\ntown walls, while, from the rampart, his mother is addressing to him\nher last words of farewell and encouragement. He was decapitated by\nthe executioner, and his body buried at night near a fountain \"extra\npublicum campum,\" probably one of the vast burial places on the road to\nLangres and Besan\u00e7on.[60]\n\nHere we leave the cathedral of Autun, comforting ourselves with\nthe assurance that, though we pass no more beneath its magnificent\nporch, we shall meet sister churches, not less beautiful, in other\nancient towns of Burgundy. Meanwhile, before descending the steep old\nstreet that leads downwards, by the Hotel Rolin, to the centre of\nmodern Autun, wander awhile through the narrow ways of the cathedral\nprecincts, where still, as of old, the priests, living relics of a\nshadowy past, muttering into their breviaries, pace up and down before\nmany a curious Gothic building.\n\nIn the sixteenth century--1543, to be precise--the chapter of the\ncathedral commissioned an architect unknown, who may possibly have been\nJean Goujon, to erect a fountain which was placed, at first, near the\ncorner of the Place St. Louis and the Place des Terraces.\n\nIn 1784, it was decided that the fountain obstructed the road; and it\nwas accordingly removed to its present site, where it remains, after\nmany moving accidents and adventures, and in spite of alterations, a\ngem of the Renaissance.[61] No description can convey an idea of the\nharmonious and decorative effect of this little fountain, unmatched\nfor felicity in all France. The design is in two superposed pierced\nlanterns, the lower one surrounded by a cupola, and containing a basin\nbelow. The Ionic columns, the pilasters, the vases surmounting the\nentablature, and the pelican crowning the whole, are all perfectly\nproportioned and harmonized; and enough is left of the original\nsculpture to show how exquisite in every detail was the execution of\nthe original work.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7AUTUN \u00b7TOUR DES URSULINES\u00b7]\n\nJust below the fountain, in the Rue des Bancs, is the Hotel Rolin, the\nmost interesting of the many museums with which Autun is favoured.\nPersonally, I must confess to a very lukewarm enthusiasm for the\nmajority of provincial museums; and I am inclined to wish that Autun\nhad collected its relics in one good building, instead of having them\nin various quarters of the town; but the Hotel Rolin is well worth\na visit for its own sake. It is the annexe of the ancient palace of\nthe Rolins, the _magna domum Johannis Rolini_, which faced the church\nof Notre Dame on the site of the Place St. Louis; and was built by\nGuillaume de Beauchamp, son of Nicholas Rolin, the famous chancellor\nof Burgundy, to accommodate the numerous members of the suite of that\naugust personage.\n\nThe courtyard and the glimpse it gives of the Hotel, when you have\nemerged from the darkness of the gate, is quite characteristic of its\nperiod, though, if nature should have imparted to you the least degree\nof timidity, where animals are concerned, you will probably leave that\ncourtyard without regret, owing to the attentions of the concierge's\nvery strenuous dog, who will make frantic and disconcerting endeavours\nto break out upon you through a frail, ground-floor window, which alone\nstands between you and a violent death. But all travellers must be\nprepared to face danger, and Cerberus at the gate will enhance your\nappreciation of the home of the Eduen Society.\n\nThe building contains some stele from the Roman burial grounds, and\nnumerous interesting relics, collected, for the most part, by M.\nBulliot, from the Oppidum Bibracte. It has also some good recumbent\nmedi\u00e6val statues, Guillaume de Brasey, 1302, Jehan de Brasey, 1305, and\nthe Sire de Rousillon, of the end of the thirteenth century. There is\na relic of Charles le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire, from Granson, and good portraits of\nNicholas Rolin and his brother.\n\nJust below the Hotel Rolin are the remains of the old tower of the\nPorte des Bancs, of the fifth century, part of the rampart surrounding\nthe Castrum, or upper city of Autun.[62]\n\nThe museum which ranks next in interest to the Hotel Rolin, is the\nMus\u00e9e Lapidaire in the Rue St. Nicholas, in the Marchaux, the lower\npart of the town. It is housed in a nice little Romanesque chapel of\nthe twelfth century, once attached to the H\u00f4pital St. Nicholas et St.\nEloi de Marchaux. I found the bell at the entrance broken, and had to\napply for admission at the concierge's cottage, No. 10, on the right.\nKnowing what I do of French provincial museums, I have little doubt\nthat the reader will find the bell in the same condition. But let\nhim not be deterred. The building, a charming and typical example of\nBurgundian Romanesque, on a small scale, is worth seeing. Its walls\nstill show the remains of some faded frescoes, probably, thinks M.\nFontenay, of late twelfth century, representing Christ in glory.\n\nThe chapel is filled with odds and ends of different periods; of the\nmost important of which, the statues of Martha and Mary, from the\ncathedral, we have already spoken. In addition to these, there is, in\nthe apse, a good Renaissance vierge from Autun, treated in a manner\nthat contrasts very thoroughly with the saints on the wall behind her.\nThe Renaissance remains from the chapel of Denis Poillot, ambassador\nof Francis I. in England, are of the highest order of merit, and make\none regret much that the building has not survived. On the floor is\na fine Roman mosaic, now covered with a cloth, and, close to it, a\nwell-executed Roman sarcophagus, from Arles, representing the chase of\nthe wild-boar of Calydon. The realistic sculpture is typical of much\nthat is still to be seen in the most interesting Mus\u00e9e Lapidaire of\nthat provincial town.\n\nBeside the chapel is a pleasant little garden, surrounded by an open\nshed which houses numberless relics of Roman and early Christian Autun,\nchiefly stele, tombstones, fragments of mosaic, etc. Historically the\nmost interesting are the d\u00e9bris of the grey marble sarcophagus that\nonce contained the body of Queen Brunehault, one of the most energetic\nand clear-sighted personalities of Merovingian times. In the name\nof her grandson, Thierry, she governed Burgundy for fifteen years\n(598-613), establishing her court at Autun, and, although more than\nsixty years of age, showed a \"sagacity in council and administrative\nability\" which is noted by Gregory of Tours. Finally, some of the\nBurgundian chiefs, who hated her, delivered her over to her enemy, King\nClotaire II. He caused her to be paraded for three days on a camel's\nback, in sight of all the army, and then had her tied by her hair, and\nby one foot and arm, to the tail of a wild horse, which was then driven\nfar away. Her remains, buried in the Abbey of St. Martin, at Autun, not\nfar from the chapel of St. Nicholas, were discovered there in 1632, in\na leaden coffin, which contained, also, among other objects, a spur,\nsaid to be that which was used upon the horse to which the Queen was\nbound.\n\nThere are worse places to wander in, and to dream in, than these open\ngalleries, where the silent ones stand, side by side, upon their\nfuneral stones, and the chickens scratch among Roman capitals. The\ngardienne's children are at play on the path, and, in the centre of\nthe green cloister garth, the ripening pears tremble upon the swaying\nbranches. The old caretaker--blessed among caretakers--leaves you\nalone, until you summon her. She is ready for a chat, but can impart no\ninformation whatever concerning the monuments in her charge.\n\n\"Good-bye, Madame; and when I come again, in the spring, I shall expect\nto find the bell mended.\" \"Parfaitement, Monsieur; Ha! ha! ha!\" and her\ngossip friend, across the road, joins in the chorus, \"Ha! ha! ha! Ha!\nha! ha!\" But the bell will not be mended--and they know it.\n\nThe Mus\u00e9e municipal in the Hotel de Ville--the last mus\u00e9e which I shall\ninflict upon the reader--is as dreary as a haunted house, and much\nless interesting. You wander through gallery after gallery of second\nand third rate paintings, to be rewarded, at last, in the end room, by\ntwo little bronze crupellaires, or fighting gladiators of the first\ncentury, so called because, according to Tacitus, they were completely\nhidden beneath an iron armour, so thick as to make the wearer as\nimmune against blows as he was incapable of dealing them.[63] The most\ninteresting thing in the museum is the famous Greek inscription which\nhas excited the interest of antiquarians and theologians all over the\nworld. The stone is a piece of white marble, broken into fragments\nwhich are pieced together again, and on which is a Greek acrostic, and\nsomething supposed to stand for a Sigma. The inscription, believed to\nbe of the third or fourth century, is as follows. The translation I\ngive is from the French, as quoted by Hamerton in \"The Mount.\"\n\n\"O divine race of heavenly \u0399\u03c7\u03b8\u03c5\u03c2, receive with a heart full of respect\nlife immortal among the mortals. Renew thy soul's youth, O my friend!\nin the divine waters, by the eternal waves of wisdom that flow from the\ntrue riches. Receive the delicious food of the Saviour of saints. Take,\neat and drink, thou holdest \u0399\u03c7\u03b8\u03c5\u03c2 in thy hands. \u0399\u03c7\u03b8\u03c5\u03c2 grant me this\ngrace, ardently I desire it, Master and Saviour; may my mother rest in\npeace, I conjure thee, light of the dead. Aschandeus, my father, thou\nwhom I cherish, with my tender mother and all my relations in the peace\nof \u0399\u03c7\u03b8\u03c5\u03c2. remember thy Pectorius.\"[64]\n\nThe Hotel de Ville in which the Mus\u00e9e Municipal is housed, fronts upon\nthe Champ de Mars, formerly the Champ St. Ladre (campus sancti Lazari)\nthe centre of the life of the town. It was built over in Roman times,\nas proved by the substructures that have been found, but the land was\ncleared about the twelfth century. Throughout all the middle ages its\nconvenient position between the Castrum and the Marchaux rendered it\na kind of forum, or general public meeting place, and the site of the\ngreat f\u00eates and fairs. During the visit of Charles VIII. to Autun,\nin 1516, the inhabitants constructed in St. Ladre an immense wooden\namphitheatre, with a linen velarium as a protection, quite in the old\nRoman manner. Here, too, from time immemorial, has been held, and is\nstill held, in September, the great f\u00eate de St. Ladre, and cattle\nfair that draws so many traders to Autun, and destroys for a month\nthe peace of the cathedral city.[65] The wars of religion and the\ngreat revolution have brought their quota of victims to the stake, the\ngallows, or the guillotine, that in turn were set up in the centre of\nthe place. At the north-east corner, opposite the Hotel de Ville, are\nthe best caf\u00e9s of the town, where, I remember, we learned the latest\nnews of the Portuguese Revolution.\n\nJust round the corner, in the Rue de l'Arbal\u00e8te, is the best Hotel\nof Autun, \"St. Louis et de la Poste,\" a great rambling building of\nthe early seventeenth century, that, in itself, is a lasting souvenir\nof great historical events. On the 10th of January, 1802, Napoleon\nBuonaparte passed through Autun on the way to Lyons. He stayed one\nnight, with the Empress Josephine, at the Hotel St. Louis, where he\nreceived the local authorities. Several ladies of the town, eager for a\nsight of the great man, obtained the hotelier's permission to officiate\nas waitresses, for that night only. Josephine discovered the ruse at\nonce, and was so amused thereby that she proceeded to play her part in\nthe game with the utmost grace and charm.\n\nThe hundred days saw Napoleon again at the Hotel St. Louis. He had\nleft Elba on the 26th February, 1815, and arrived at Autun on the 15th\nof March. According to the account of an eye witness[66] the troops\naccompanying him were utterly exhausted, and could keep no sort of\norder; their ranks were broken, and soldiers of all arms were marching\npell-mell. Napoleon was surprised and deeply hurt by his reception at\nAutun. No crowds came out to meet him, and scarcely a cry of \"Vive\nl'Empereur\" was heard. The houses were shut, the streets deserted, and\nonly a small company of nobodies, in blouses and sabots, formed his\ncort\u00e8ge.... No sooner had he descended at the Hotel de la Poste, than\nhe asked for the mayor and the municipal council. They were brought\ninto a balconied room looking on the street.\n\nThe Emperor, attended by Marshal Bertrand, General Brayer, and five or\nsix other military men, appeared to be in a state of great agitation.\nHe was pacing up and down, holding in his hand the proclamation of the\nnight before, stepping at every moment on to the balcony, and leaving\nit with angry looks. When all had entered he stood in the middle of the\napartment, and asked which was the mayor of Autun.\n\n\"I am,\" said M. Piquot.\n\n\"I know what you are,\" the Emperor replied, \"a man always ready to pay\ncourt to nobles; one who would sacrifice his dignity for a dinner. You\nare mayor no longer; only a fanatic and a madman could have drawn up\nsuch an act as this. You dare to treat me as an usurper!\"\n\n\"Sire,\" said M. de la Chaise, president of the civil tribunal, \"by your\nabdication you have freed us from our oaths, and we have sworn fealty\nto Louis XVIII.\"\n\n\"I have abdicated, you say. I did it only to assure the happiness of\nthe French. France is not happy. She recalls me, and you would oppose\nher.... Madman! you would have civil war, then!\"\n\n\"But, enfin, sire, you have abdicated.\"\n\n\"Be silent!\" cried Napoleon, angrily, \"you are only a wretched\nattorney.\"\n\nWe need not follow any further a quarrel which led nowhere. Amid the\nsame cold silence that had marked his arrival, Napoleon left early the\nnext morning, to face the last triumphs and the crushing disaster of\nthose fateful hundred days.[67]\n\nAnother visitor to the Hotel St. Louis was George Sand, who came in the\nmidst of all the bustle and excitement of the fair of St. Ladre, on the\n2nd September, 1836, and was served, with two children and a nurse,\nunder a fruit tree in the garden into which the guests had overflowed.\nShe must have overheard, at the large table, words which offended her,\nfor, says St. Fonteney, she left her repast and the hotel in haste,\nand, two months afterwards, took a full revenge in the columns of the\n\"Revue des deux Mondes,\" in which she referred darkly to the occasion\nas an \"obscenity\" and an \"orgie of patricians.\" One would hardly have\nthought George Sand so squeamish.\n\nWe, too, being only passers by, must leave Autun in haste. The autumn\nsun was setting, and the ruby mists of evening were creeping up the\npurple slopes of the Morvan, as the train steamed out of the station.\nOur compartment was quite unlit, and gradually, as night fell, darkness\nenwrapped us so completely that we could not so much as see a hand held\nbefore the face. When we drew up at Epinac, a bent old woman, standing\nhuddled up on the platform, peered into the compartment, in a futile\nendeavour to see what it might contain. She called the guard. They\nboth looked in. \"Fait ben noir\" (very dark), she muttered. He shrugged\nhis shoulders. The old woman wandered off vacantly. Third class fare\non a monopoly railway does not entitle you to light; and she knew it.\nAlong the darkened train ran a legend that they were buying oil and\nwick in the town. We waited, waited, long enough for them to have\nbought up the whole town and the one beyond it. But no light came,\nuntil, southward, I saw a faint, silvery glimmer. Then I knew what we\nwere waiting for. There is no charge for moonlight--not even on that\nrailway. But it was still dark as pitch. With a jerk the train began to\nmove out; a large parcel, the property of a young French girl in front\nof me, fell down upon the head of her small and sleepy nephew, Madelon,\nwho howled plaintively. The soldier in the corner, compelled by the\npresence of ladies to refrain, for an hour past, from indulging in his\nruling passion, could contain himself no longer. He spat voluminously,\nvociferously, like a hen clucking. Almost as loudly Madelon sucked\nat a lozenge bestowed for the soothing of the bruised head. As the\nmoon rose, the darkness paled. I could just see Madelon regarding\ncomplacently the lozenge that he had removed from his mouth.\n\n\"Madelon, Madelon, how many times have I told you not to take things\nfrom your mouth when you are eating? Once in, they must stay in. Veux\ntu m'ob\u00e9ir.\" The rich sucking noise ceased, to be followed by the light\nbreathing of a child asleep. We stopped at another station. Not content\nwith the moon, people put their heads out of the windows, and clamoured\nfor light. They chaffed the station-master; they ragged the guard. Like\nrabbits the men ran up and down over the roofs of the carriages. Five\nporters gathered in a little woe-begone group, and looked on vacantly.\nBut no light came. A tin trumpet blew, and the train started. An hour\nlater we were climbing the hills of the C\u00f4te d'Or and dropping down\ninto the eastern plain. That is how we left Autun.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[50] \"Impressions of Provence,\" pp. 118-121.\n\n[51] P. G. Hamerton. \"The Mount,\" p. 115.\n\n[52] \"Autun et ses Monuments.\"\n\n[53] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" pp. 143-147. For full description of\n the tomb of Lazarus, see p. 148.\n\n[54] P. G. Hamerton. \"The Mount,\" p. 167.\n\n[55] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 153.\n\n[56] Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9, V. le Duc, tom: vii., p. 275.\n\n[57] Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9, V. le Duc, tom: vii., p. 278.\n\n[58] P. G. Hamerton. \"The Mount,\" p. 171.\n\n[59] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" pp. 422-438.\n\n[60] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" pp. 52-54.\n\n[61] In 1863 it was removed for some years to the Mus\u00e9e Lapidaire.\n\n[62] The Rue des Bancs was so called from the butchers' benches which\n once lined it. \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 379.\n\n[63] \"Crupellarios vacant, inferendis sitibus inhabilis, accipiendis\n impenetrabilis.\"--Taciti Aun: lib. iii., c. 43, quoted \"Autun et\n ses Monuments,\" p. 38\n\n[64] Hamerton. \"The Mount,\" p. 184.\n\n[65] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 332.\n\n[66] Dr. Guyton. \"Mes Souvenirs de Soixante Ans pour servir \u00e0\n l'Histoire d'Autun,\" quoted in \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" p. 354.\n\n[67] \"Autun et ses Monuments,\" pp. 354-357.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter V; Cluny Abbey and Gateway, as they\n were]\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE MOTHER ABBEY\n\n\nThe loitering train, that, climbing, winds among the vine-clad slopes\nof the M\u00e2connais, gave us our first glimpse of the vendangeurs\ngathering the last of a scanty crop. Those blue shirts, moving\nthrough the bronze-clad bushes, were our first intimation that the\nSa\u00f4ne-et-Loire had escaped the utter ruin that the winds and rains of\na wintry summer had wrought among the vines of the C\u00f4te d'Or. But this\nincident did not impress us as it might have done at another time or in\nanother place. Our thoughts were not with the wine-harvest; they were\nahead, busy with the memories the name of Cluny evokes.\n\nTo one who cares for what was best in the middle ages, no place in\nFrance, no place in Europe, unless, perhaps, it be Citeaux, can\nexercise an equal charm. But, as we shall see, though Citeaux rivalled,\nand ultimately eclipsed Cluny in power, and, through the influence\nof St. Bernard, outshone her, not in material splendour, but by the\ndazzling whiteness of her purity, the historic interest of the site of\nthe Cistercian house, there, by the deserted woods and wind-ruffled\npools of the eastern plain, could not survive, in the minds of many,\nthe destruction of the ancient monastery. Cluny, the Mother Abbey of\nEurope, the school of popes, holds first place, by right of birth, by\nright of what she was, and is. For Cluny still stands. The little town\nnestling upon the lower slopes of the valley, through which the Grosne\nwinds between her poplars, is not merely built upon the site of the\nAbbey. It is the Abbey.\n\nFrom the moment, when, on the way from the station, you see the ancient\ntowers raising, one by one, their hoary heads above the roofs, as\nthey have raised her past from oblivion, till, having climbed the\ncobble-stoned street that winds upwards through the town, you look down\nthrough the ruined gateway that once gave passage to kings and abbots,\nfrom every street corner, from every church, and dwelling-house, Cluny\ncalls to you out of the past.\n\nWe did not hear her at first; and we were disappointed. The Grande\nRue, by which you enter the town from the east, is so narrow, that\nit affords no glimpse of what lies on either hand; and it was with\nunexpected suddenness, that, turning to the right, after a few minutes\nof wandering, we stood before the Hotel de Bourgogne, and looked up\nfrom the little, white building, at the great, grey, octagonal tower\nand the wall of masonry, that, we knew, must be the last survival of\nthe Abbey Church itself. At that moment we were standing on the site of\nthe nave; but we did not know it. It takes time to orient oneself.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFollowing upon the Gallo-Roman and early Christian periods, centred in\nthe Autunois, the story of the rise of Cluny from humble beginnings to\nher apothegm of spiritual and temporal power marks the second notable\nperiod of Burgundian history. From this source, also, was to flow the\nmain stream of progress, religious and artistic, that culminated in\nthe medi\u00e6val triumphs of thirteenth-century European civilization. At\nthe time of the rise of Cluny, Burgundy, under the capetian dukes, was\nalready established as a vassal province of France, but the inwardness\nof Burgundian history--of French history, indeed, in the 11th and 12th\ncenturies--will be understood only by those who realize that, until the\nadvent of the semi-royal dukes of the house of Valois, in 1364, the\ncontrolling forces of the duchy are to be sought, not in Dijon, nor in\nAuxerre, but here, in this the mother abbey of Western Europe.[68]\n\nIn the year 909, the veteran Duke William of Aquitaine, haunted by\nthe shades of the many warriors who had fallen in the service of his\nambition, or troubled by the whispers of conscience, or moved, perhaps,\nby that not wholly disinterested piety which sometimes awakens with\nthe approach of death, decided to follow the course then usual in\nsuch cases, and to found a monastery. For this purpose, he took into\nhis confidence his friend, Bernon, Abbot of Gigny, who, accompanied\nby Hugues, Abbot of St. Martin at Autun, paid a visit to the Duke in\nhis villa of Cluny, and was bidden to search out a place meet for\nthe service of God. But the monk, gifted with a keen eye for all the\namenities of a monastic site, could find none more fitting than this\n\"in a spot withdrawn from all human society, so full of solitude, of\nrepose and of peace, that it seemed in some sort a picture (image) of\nthe heavenly solitude.\"[69] The Duke, however, stung by a last pang of\nregret for the loss of his lovely valley, had objections to raise. The\nspot was not suitable; for, all day long, the shouts of huntsmen and\nthe baying of hounds broke the silence of the neighbouring forest.\n\n\"Drive the dogs away,\" said Bernon, with a laugh, \"and replace them\nwith monks; for you well know which shall stand you best before God,\nthe bay of the hounds, or the monks' prayers.\"\n\n\"Surely, Father,\" replied the Duke, \"your advice is sound, and since\nyou give it unfeignedly, be it done, with Christ's aid, as thy goodness\nbids me do.\"\n\nIn the year 909, the 11th year of Charles the Simple, the old Duke,\nlest, at his last hour, he should deserve the reproach of having\nthought only of the care of his body, and of the augmentation of\nhis earthly possessions, wrote in his will, as follows:--\"I declare\nthat, for the love of God and of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, I give\nand bequeath to the holy apostles, Peter and Paul, all that I possess\nat Cluny ... without excepting anything dependent upon my domain of\nCluny (Villa), farms, oratories, slaves of both sexes, vines, meadows,\nfields, water, water-courses, mills, rights of way, lands, cultivated\nor uncultivated, without any reserve.\"[70]\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7NEAR CLUNY]\n\nHe gives this, he goes on to say, for the good of soul and body of\nhimself, his wife, his relatives, and dependents, \"on condition that a\nmonastery shall be built at Cluny, in honour of the apostles, Peter and\nPaul, and that there shall gather monks, living according to the rule\nof St. Benedict[71] to hold and administer for ever the things given,\nso that this house may become the true house of prayer, that it may be\nfilled for ever with faithful vows and pious supplications, that here\nshall be desired and besought, with ardent wish and earnest longing,\nthe wonders of communion with Heaven, that prayers and supplications be\naddressed without ceasing to God, both for me and for those persons of\nwhom I have already made mention.\"\n\nFurther:--\"By God, in God and all His Saints, and under the fearful\nmenace of the last judgment, I beg, I beseech, that no secular prince,\nnor count, nor bishop, nor the Pontiff himself of the Roman Church, do\ninvade the possessions of God's servants, nor sell nor diminish, nor\ngive in benefice to whomsoever it may be, anything to them belonging,\nnor allow any head to be set over them against their will. And that\nthis prohibition may be more strongly binding upon the wicked and the\nheadstrong, I insist and I add, and I conjure you, Oh! Holy Apostles,\nPeter and Paul, and Thou, Pontiff of the Pontiffs of the apostolic\nseat, to cut off from communion with the Holy Church and from life\neternal, by the canonical authority thou has received of God, all\nrobbers, invaders, or sellers of that which I give, of my full\nsatisfaction and of my evident will.\"\n\nSometimes, reading the old Duke's powerful anathema, that tells us\nmore of the spirit of the time in which he lived than could any long\nnarration of facts, I wonder, as I think of the after history of Cluny,\nwhether that awful curse may not have alighted, or may not alight\nhereafter, upon the souls of those who have violated the conditions of\nits grant, or in blind fury have laid impious hands upon the hallowed\nstones of its church.\n\nHere, then, in the solitary valley of the Grosne, on the slope of a\nhill forming one of a range which marks the northern extremity of the\nCevennes, was planted the tree whose branches were to over-shadow\nEurope. The site was well chosen for the birthplace of such a destiny.\n\nOccupying a middle position between Gothic and Latin influences, Cluny\ncould here best fulfil her mission, which, indeed, has been and is\nstill, in some sort, the mission of Burgundy, that of reconciling the\nconflicting, and often bitterly antagonistic, elements of north and\nsouth. Situated within a few kilometres of the Roman Road of Agrippa,\nwhich, passing Clermain and St. C\u00e9cile, connected Lyons and Boulogne,\nby way of M\u00e2con and Autun, the Abbey was also connected with Italy by\nthat magnificent waterway, the Sa\u00f4ne and the Rh\u00f4ne. Travellers could\ncome by land or by river to Cluny.\n\nIn the early years of the monastery, few came. Faith had weakened\nthroughout all the land, and in many houses the monks of Gaul had\ndeparted from the strict rule of St. Benedict. It was the mission of\nOdon, the first of the long line of great and saintly abbotts, to be\na reformer of that rule, and, by the example of his holy life, to\naugment the numbers, and increase the prosperity of the Abbey. From his\nearliest years, while yet he was in the monastery of Balme, says his\nchronicler, Jean de Salerne, his merits, becoming known throughout all\nthe district, were finding expression in the gracious legends of the\ntime. One of the best known was the miracle of the crumbs.\n\n [Illustration: TOUR FABRI]\n\nAn article of the rule bade the monks gather carefully the crumbs of\nbread from the table, and eat them before the end of the meal. When the\nsignal to rise had been given, it was forbidden to lift any more food\nto the mouth. Odon, intent, one day, upon the lesson that was being\nread aloud in the refectory, forgot the crumbs. Not daring either to\neat them, or to leave them on the table, he kept them in his hand,\nwhile he and his companions left the refectory and went into the church\nwhere grace was sung. At the conclusion of the ceremony, Odon threw\nhimself at the feet of the father, and asked forgiveness; but, when he\nopened his hand to show him the crumbs, behold, to the astonishment of\nthe brothers, each crumb was a precious pearl! By the order of Bernon,\nthe stones were fastened to one of the ornaments of the church.[72]\n\nUnder such heavenly guidance, even the very beasts of the forest\nministered to the growing community. When Odon had completed the early\nchurch, which Jean de Salerne modestly speaks of as an oratory and\nchapel, replaced, a century later, by a larger one, the bishop came\nto consecrate the building. Forgetting the poverty of the monks, he\nbrought with him such a lordly retinue of attendants and servants,\nthat the abbot was sorely troubled as to how his guests were to be\nworthily received, and suitably fed. On the day of the ceremony, when\nthe grey dawn had driven westward the shadows of the night, a great\nwild boar emerged from the neighbouring forest, and ran, at full\nspeed, to the monastery. The guardian of the church, who was busy\nadorning the exterior porch, struck with terror at the sight, retreated\nhastily, shut the door behind him, and drew the bolts. But the fierce\nanimal, fierce no longer, began to lick the door--leaving upon it\nmarks of white foam--and to tap gently with its hoof, as though to beg\nadmittance. But all who saw the beast, fled, until, weary with much\nknocking, it lay down across the threshold. When the bishop and his\nsuite arrived, a cry of terror rose from the company. They aroused\nthe neighbours, who came, armed with sticks. But the boar, instead of\nshewing fight, offered himself voluntarily to death, and his flesh,\nprepared with all the art of the monastic cooks, satisfied the refined\ntastes of the prelates.\n\nEvery day Cluny grew in grace, in wisdom, in numbers, in riches, in\ninfluence, in power civil and spiritual. One after one, she founded\nnew monasteries, and reformed those already in existence, until, under\nOdilon, in the beginning of the 11th century, a cluster of priories had\nbeen built upon lands ceded to the abbey, and Cluny was attaining an\nimportance greater than any other order had acquired until that day. In\nthe plains, upon the summits of the hills, by the banks of river and\nstream, in the depths of the forests, in the solitude of the valley,\neven in remote and silent places, were springing up little communities\nof monks, whose clocher, was, for the peasants, a symbol of charity, of\nrefuge, of God come down among men;[73] and every year, nobles, not a\nfew, gave lands in the neighbouring comt\u00e9s to the Abbey of Cluny.\n\nThe great fervour with which the monastic revival was received, had\nbeen due, in part, to the awful miseries of France during the 10th\ncentury, and in part to an almost universal belief that the year\n1000 A.D. would herald the second coming of Christ, and the end of\nthe world; but, by the time that year had passed without the advent\nof any of the expected phenomena, the more clear-sighted, perceiving\nthe immense possibilities which the religious revival shadowed forth,\nfor the welfare of a people crushed beneath the harsh feudal laws of\nthe time, saw therein an additional inducement to encourage monastic\neffort. Gratitude for preservation had also its effect. All omens were\npropitious for the rise of Cluny to great glory.\n\nIn the year 1024, a lady of noble Burgundian family, knowing that the\nhour was come in which she should give birth to a child, and following\nthe custom of the time, summoned a priest, who, by the sacrifice of the\nmass, should assure her a happy delivery. At the moment when, while\nconsecrating the host, he was wrapt in fervent prayer, there appeared\nto him, shaping itself upon the golden bottom of the cup, a child's\nface radiant with a heavenly light. At the conclusion of the ceremony,\nhe hastened to tell the mother what he had seen, and, finding the child\nalready born, predicted that, God granting him life, the boy was chosen\nout for a great destiny, and would surely be found worthy, one day,\nto minister the cup in which his birth had been thus signalized. To\nthe great joy of the mother, that hope was gloriously fulfilled; for\nthe son born under such happy omens was Hugues, the greatest of the\ngreat abbots of Cluny, he, under whom the abbey, and, indeed, the whole\nchurch of Rome, was to establish an authority never before dreamed of\nin Christendom.\n\nBraving the anger of his father, Delmace, an ambitious and violent\nSeigneur, who would fain have seen his son don the knight's armour\nrather than the monk's cowl, Hugues, already ardently set upon a life\nof piety, obtained admission to the monastery of St. Marcel de Chalon,\nwhich he soon left, in order to place himself under the protection of\nOdilon, the then abbott of Cluny. This new father of the young Hugues\nwas one of the best beloved of the abbotts of that monastery. Lacking\nthe austerity of his predecessor, Odon--the great reformer whose\nenergies had given new life to the Benedictine order--Saint Odilon,\nthis \"dernier et le plus m\u00e9prisable des fr\u00e8res de Cluny,\" as he styled\nhimself, though short and thin in person, was, at the same time, robust\nand virile; a humble, grave, sympathetic, fatherly man, whose pale face\ncould flush with anger, and his gentle voice become terrible in rebuke\nof wrong-doing; one whom the sins and sorrows of the living and the\ndead[74] touched to the heart, as attested by the many healings with\nwhich legend has credited his name.\n\nSuch was the man, already abbot for more than forty years, under whose\nworthy protection young Hugues placed himself. The new-comer, elected\nabbot on the death of Odilon in 1048, soon showed himself to be of yet\nsterner stuff even than his predecessor. Humble as regards his personal\npretensions, kind and charitable to the poor and needy, he had,\nnevertheless, an eye which could read in their faces the souls of men;\nand he was fired with a holy ambition for the glory of the church.\n\n [Illustration: Clunisian Ornament]\n\nIn bringing about the realization of these dreams, he found a worthy\nally in that Napoleon of the Church, Hildebrand (Gregory VII.), one of\nthe four monks, who, from a cell at Cluny, passed to the throne of St.\nPeter.[75] We need not here deal at length with that long struggle--the\nmost significant event of the eleventh century--between the civil\nand religious rules of Christendom, in which Gregory succeeded in\nenforcing, if only for a time, the most tremendous and all-embracing\nclaims that the church has ever advanced; but I shall be excused for\nrecalling again that extraordinary scene enacted, in 1076, on the\ncastled summit of the craggy Apennine hills, the rock of Alba Canossa,\nwhere the representative of temporal power, Henry IV., King of the\nGermans, attired in a penitent's garb of coarse wool, waited barefoot,\nthrough three bitter winter's days, in the courtyard of the castle,\nupon the pleasure of God's vice-regent on earth. Hugh, then Abbot of\nCluny, was present at that scene; and it was largely owing to his\nmediation, backed by the influence of the Countess Matilda, that Henry\nwas at last admitted to the royal presence.[76]\n\nRemembering how brief was Gregory's pontificate--a span of ten\nyears--and his bitter last words at Palermo: \"I have loved justice\nand hated iniquity, therefore I die in exile,\" it may appear to\nsome readers that the triumph of this little, ill-shaped homuncio\nwas short-lived; but we have to remember that, as Bishop Mathew has\npointed out, his influence upon succeeding generations was greater than\nupon his own, and that without Gregory VII. there would have been no\nInnocent III. to become, in effect, \"the king of kings, lord of lords,\nthe only ruler of princes\" in all Christendom.\n\nIn many sublime and dramatic scenes, then being enacted throughout\nEurope, Hugues was called upon to play the part of peacemaker, but in\nnone was his task more difficult than in that struggle between Gregory\nand Henry, to whom he was equally bound by ties of close friendship.\nThat he remained on good, even on intimate terms, with both men,\nis strong testimony to his integrity of character. More than once,\nin later years, he allayed the storms that Gregory was raising; he\ndefended Henry IV. against the ingratitude of his son; and it is to\nHugues that we find the dethroned and fugitive emperor turning for\nconsolation and advice concerning that revolt.[77]\n\nIn such hands, at such a time, the glories of Cluny were safe. Nor\nwas the papacy unmindful of all it owed to the great abbey. Here is\nGregory's own eulogy of Cluny, delivered before the Council of Rome, in\n1077. \"Among all those situate beyond the hills, shines in the first\nrank that of Cluny under the protection of the holy seat. Under its\nholy abbots, it has reached so high a degree of honour and of religion,\nthat, by the fervour with which God is there served, it surpasses\nundeniably all other monasteries, not excepting even the most ancient;\nso that none other in this part of the Christian world may be compared\nwith it. To this day, all her abbots have been raised to the honour\nof sainthood. Not one among them, not one of their monks, obedient\nsons of the Romish Church, has fallen away nor bowed the knee to\nBaal; but, faithful always to the dignity and liberty granted to them\nby the Church from the foundation of the monastery, they have nobly\nupheld its authority, and will submit to no other power than that of\nSt. Peter.\"[78] The privileges of Cluny became the ideal type for all\nothers, and Gregory always regarded a comparison with the Burgundian\nabbey as a peculiar sign of favour, as in the case of St. Victor of\nMarseilles, whose monks he wished to console for the loss of a beloved\nabbot.\n\nNot unnaturally, an institution so growing in grace, power, and\nriches, was growing also in numbers. The new monks must be housed; God\nmust be honoured in, and by, a nobler Church. Nor was the Deity long in\nmaking known His will.\n\nOne night, a monk of Cluny, sick and paralytic, was asleep in bed, when\nhe saw appear before him the Apostles, Peter and Paul, and Stephen, the\nfirst Martyr. The monk asked them who they were, and what their will\nmight be. Then St. Peter spoke:--\n\n\"I am St. Peter, and these are St. Paul and St. Stephen. Rise, without\ndelay, brother, and bear our orders to Hugues, Abbot of this Church.\nIt pains us to see so many brothers gathered into so small a space,\nand our wish is that the Abbot should build a greater. And let him not\nconsider the cost; we shall know how to provide all things necessary\nfor the work.\"\n\n\"I dare not take it upon me to bear your orders,\" replied the monk.\n\"For no heed would be given to my words.\"\n\n\"You have been chosen before all others,\" said St. Peter, \"to transmit\nour commands to Hugues, so that your miraculous healing may gain\ncredence for your message. If you obey faithfully, seven years shall be\nadded to your life, and if Hugues defers the execution of our will, the\nsickness, upon leaving you, shall pass into his body.\"\n\nSo speaking, St. Peter proceeded to measure out with cords the length,\nbreadth, and height of the new building; then, showing the monk its\nproportions, the style, the necessary ornament, and the nature of\nthe materials to be used, he counselled him to keep all these things\nfaithfully in his memory.\n\nThe monk, for whose funeral the bell-ringers were already awaiting the\nsummons, awakened with a start, ran, safe and sound, to the Abbot's\nroom, and told him the whole story. This midnight appearance of a man,\ndying an hour ago, and now healed by a marvellous vision, greatly\nastonished the good Abbot. Threatened with his brother's sickness,\nif he postponed the commencement of the building, and encouraged,\nmoreover, by the heavenly aid promised to the enterprise, he believed,\nobeyed, and, with God's help, raised, in twenty years, a temple that\nwas the glory of its age, and remained, for centuries, one of the\nmarvels of Western Europe.[79]\n\nTradition adds, that Hugues, not knowing exactly where to build the\nChurch, threw a hammer into the air, and chose the spot where it\nfell for the site of his sanctuary. In after years, before the abbey\nbuildings were mutilated, the inhabitants would still show, near one\nof them, an enormous stone that all the workmen and all their machines\nwere unable to lift. St. Hugues only, during the night, by Divine help,\ncould raise the huge mass, and place it in position; and ever after the\nstone retained the imprint of the Holy Founder's hand.\n\nOften the workmen, as they built the walls of the Church, would notice,\nwatching them unweariedly, working silently in their midst, but sharing\nnever in their repasts, a mysterious and wonderful figure. Some said\nthat he was an angel presiding over the erection of the House of God;\nsome said that he was none other than St. Hugues himself.\n\nIt was in 1095 that Pascal II., crossing Provence by way of Tarascon\nand Avignon, arrived at Cluny, in the month of November, accompanied\nby a large suite of cardinals, bishops, and priests. Everywhere he was\nreceived with transports of joy; for no living man had yet seen the\nVicar of Christ in this part of the land of Burgundy. At the request\nof Hugues, he had come to consecrate the great altar of the unfinished\nbasilica. This he did, and also superintended the consecration, by\nattendant archbishops, of the other altars in the transept. In the\nmidst of these ceremonies, turning to the crowd of on-lookers who\nhad surrounded the building on all sides, Pascal reminded them of\nthe special privileges with which the monastery had been endowed, of\nhis own connection with it as monk under the same Abbot, who still,\nby God's mercy, was alive and well in their midst; then, in the name\nof God, and by the holy memories he had awakened, he implored all to\nuphold and respect the sanctity of the new abbey-church.\n\n [Illustration: LE BON DIEU\n CLUNY]\n\nIt was not until 1131 that the great basilica, completed at last, was\nconsecrated by Innocent II., amid scenes similar to those that had\nattended the visit of Urban II.\n\nWhether the building was inspired of God, or was merely a successful\nexercise of a fast-developing art, the new Cluny was not unworthy of\nthe great order for which it stood. Not only was it, with the exception\nof St. Peter's at Rome, the largest Church in existence,[80] but it\nremained also one of the most perfect examples of the Romanesque\narchitecture, and became the accepted model for many a later Burgundian\nchurch and cathedral. The architect, according to Pignot, was a former\ncanon of Li\u00e8ge, named Etzebon; artist, orator, theologian, and author\nof the life of St. Hugues. He appears to have had no difficulty in\nacquiring the first necessity of his work, namely, funds. Kings,\nnobles, and bishops vied with one another in their eagerness to make\nofferings to the new Church; the neighbouring princes made handsome\ndonations, the pious of all classes brought gifts, offered voluntary\nlabour, or the loan of beasts of burden. The two lordliest givers were\nAlonzo VI., King of Castille, and Henry I. of England, the former of\nwhom was deeply indebted to Hugues, whose influence with his kinsman,\nEudes, Duke of Burgundy, had often smoothed Alonzo's path. The Abbot,\nin recognition \"of the incessant benefits of this faithful friend,\"\nfounded, on his behalf, almsgivings and special prayers throughout the\norder, and every day served, at the chief table, as though the King\nwere present, a royal dinner, which was afterwards distributed among\nthe poor.\n\nMeanwhile, as the gifts poured in, the building grew. From the great\ndouble gates,[81] Roman in style, and imitated, probably, from the\nPorte d'Arroux, at Autun, the land sloped downwards to the parvis,\nfrom the midst of which rose a great stone cross. Thence flights of\nbalustraded steps, broken, at intervals, by terraced platforms, led\ndown to the porch, flanked on each side by square towers, the Tour\nde la Justice, and Tour des Archives, each a hundred and forty feet\nhigh, and crowned with a pyramidal fl\u00eache. This porch, ornamented with\nstatues of the saints and the Virgin, was surmounted, in the space\nbetween the towers, by a great rose, thirty feet in diameter, with the\nfigure of a Benedictine monk above.\n\n [Illustration: THE ABBEY OF CLUNY AS IT WAS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE\n XIX^{TH} CENTURY\u00b7]\n\nIt opened into a magnificent church of five bays, one hundred and ten\nfeet long, and one hundred and eighteen feet high, the narthex of the\ngreat basilica.[82] It was divided into a nave and two aisles, the\nwhole supported by enormous square pillars, their sides decorated with\nfluted pilasters, which also helped to carry the pointed arches of the\nbays. From the capitals of the pilasters, clusters of four shafts rose\nto the level of a frieze, just above the tops of the arches, from which\nother columns carried the high vault. A cornice supported on consoles\nseparated the clerestory from the triforium arcade of four round-headed\narches, enclosed in pairs under a larger arch. Cornices, friezes, and\ncapitals were decorated with flowers, birds, figures, and grotesque\nanimals in the Clunisian style. Many a pilgrim visitor, standing in\nthis great church, nearly as large as the Church of Notre Dame de\nDijon, believed himself to be in the basilica itself, never dreaming\nthat this was but the porch or ante-nave.\n\nMany theories have been advanced as to the purpose of this narthex,\nwhich became a usual feature of Clunisian construction, from about\nthe middle of the twelfth century. Some have suggested that it was\nfor overflow congregations from the new church, or that it served\nfor the servants of the Abbey, for the suites of noble visitors, for\nthe peasants from the neighbouring towns, or for criminals seeking\nrefuge, as they were wont to do, in the shadow of the porch. Others\nhave supposed, perhaps rightly, that it was used for the reconciliation\nof the excommunicated, for rites of exorcism, or for the dispensation\nof justice; but the most probable solution is that the narthex was\na temple, in which, at Easter and other seasons of the year, the\ncrowds of penitents and pilgrims--too numerous to be admitted into the\nbasilica, or to be left outside--might hear the Word of God at the very\nthreshold of, but not within, the building reserved for the monks. The\nnarthex was, in effect, a purgatory, a sojourning place between earth\nand Heaven; the natural development of a custom which had arisen, for\nthe priest, by order of the bishop, to say mass as near as possible to\nthe gates of church, for the benefit of the penitents in the porch.\n\nThere existed, until the 18th century, on the left of the door of the\nnarthex, a stone table, which, perhaps, was formerly an altar, though\nmade use of, at that time, only by mothers and nurses, who believed\nthat they could hush their crying charges by depositing them thereon.\n\nAt the end of the vestibule was the original gate of the basilica,\nof which the impost was the stone that St. Hugues had miraculously\nraised. Twenty-three figures were carved upon it in relief, and in the\ntympanum above was seated the Heavenly Father, as Teacher, His right\nHand raised in benediction, His left holding the Gospel. Beside Him the\nfour Evangelists listened to His words, and cloud-borne angels held the\nmedallions upon which were shown the Throne and Person of Christ.\n\nThe interior of the great basilica must have been of the most majestic\nand impressive character, with its two transepts[83] and double row\nof aisles on each side of the nave. The great pillars supporting the\ncentral vault were seven and a half feet in diameter, with pilasters\non the side of the nave, and engaged columns on the other three sides,\nmeeting the aisle vaults. At the transept, the columns, together\nwith the pillars they surmounted, rising in unbroken lines, formed\nthe ribs of the vaulting. Above each bay was a triforium of two rows\nof superposed, romanesque, round-headed, arcaded arches, in threes,\nthe lower row separated by pilasters, and the upper by colonnettes.\nThe arches of the bays and the transepts were pointed; a feature,\nwhich, though quite usual in Burgundian work of the period, was more\nor less accidental, and was necessitated, or rendered advisable, by\npractical considerations, rather than by a deliberate departure from\nan architectural style that was still of the purest Romanesque. The\ncapitals everywhere were ornamented with characteristic sculpture, of\nextraordinary freedom and boldness, representing scriptural, and many\nother subjects.\n\nAt the bottom of the nave, close to the entry of the choir, was placed,\nin after years, the tomb of Pope G\u00e9lase, and two altars, which, with a\ngate at the entrance, screened the monks from the eyes of the laymen.\nHere, too, against the pillars of the nave, were four large, painted,\nwooden statues, representing St. Hugues, holding the model of the\nchurch in his right hand, St. Mayeul, St. Odon, and St. Odilon.\n\nThe choir occupied the space between the two transepts; the sanctuary\nwas carried on eight columns, three of which were of African marble,\nand three of Pentelic Greek marble, veined with blue, which St. Hugues\nbrought from Italy by way of the Durance and the Rh\u00f4ne. The transept\nhad many lateral chapels, and the east end, which was in semi-circular\nform, had five apsidal chapels, vaulted in half dome. A processional\nambulatory circled the sanctuary and the tomb of St. Hugues, in front\nof which stood the great altar. Here, too, at opposite ends of the\nambulatory, were placed the tombs of the Abbot Pons, and of Pierre le\nV\u00e9n\u00e9rable. The vault of the apse was adorned with a fine painting,\nof the end of the eleventh, or beginning of the twelfth century,\nrepresenting the Eternal Father borne upon clouds, one hand raised, and\nthe other placed upon the Apocalypse sealed with seven seals. At his\nfeet was the Lamb without Blemish, and about Him were winged figures of\nman, the lion, the eagle, and the ox.\n\nBut, in spite of the realism of the sculpture and the painting,\nin spite of the gorgeous tapestries, the golden candelabra, the\npearl-encrusted ornaments of every kind, which the noblest men and\nwomen of the time, and of later times, showered upon Cluny, it is in\nthe sense of spacious dignity and majesty, rather than in the sense\nof ostentation and magnificence, that we must interpret the words of\nHildebrand de Mans, when he said that, \"If it were possible for the\ninhabitants of the heavenly mansions to be happy in an abode fashioned\nby the hand of man, Cluny would be the angels' walk (ambulatorium\nangelorum).\"\n\nNor was the church less noble without than within. From the circular\nchapels lying about her transepts and her apse, along the collateral\nand the double row of flying buttresses,[84] rising higher than the\nnarthex, the eye was lifted, stage after stage, high above her lofty\nnave, to the mighty towers that rose to the sky, in witness, for ever,\none would have said, of Him whose Dwelling was not made with hands.\n\nThe conventual buildings were on the south side of the basilica. From\nthe principal south transept, a processional, and a smaller, door,\nopened upon the great romanesque cloister, of which a fragment here and\nthere remains, built into the modern work. It was similar in style to\nthe other buildings of the period. Further south were the Lady Chapel\nand the great refectory. Abutting on the great wall of the Abbey, by\nthe side of the Grosne, was a mill and a thirteenth century bake-house,\nwhich still exist. Among the many other buildings, chapels, baths,\nschools for the young, pharmacy, workshops, dormitories, and stables,\nwhich are the necessary equipment of a great monastery, was a large\ninfirmary, with its own cloister and refectory--a small establishment\nwithin the larger one. On the east side, extending to the fortified\nwall that enclosed the whole monastery, were the gardens of the abbey.\n\nSuch, in its essential aspects, was the \"ambulatorium angelorum.\"\nHow did its occupants live? What was the rule observed within those\nwalls? The rule, as kept in those early days, was stern and exacting.\nThe first of the regulations was silence, except at stated intervals.\nIn the church, in the dormitory, in the refectory, in the kitchen,\nabsolute silence, broken only by the summoning bell or by the chanting\nof prayers. Like ghosts, the sandalled monks glided about the echoing\ncorridors; deaf mutes speaking by signs. The times for speech were\nthe mornings, after chapter, and evenings after sexte. A parlour was\nreserved for the talkers, where, seated, book in hand, they might\nconverse on spiritual and other topics. Yet they were recommended\nrather to remain in the cloister, and there meditate, read, pray, or\ncopy manuscripts. This was the hour, too, for drying their clothes in\nthe sun, for visiting the sick in the infirmary, for washing their\ncups, or for sharpening their knives on the grindstone in the cloister.\nTheir daily food was limited to bread, vegetables, and fruits--meat\nwas given only to the sick--eggs, cheese, and fish were allowed only\noccasionally, and nothing whatever might be eaten after complines.\nAt certain seasons, the use of fat for flavouring vegetables was\nforbidden. If wine were permitted, on days of great solemnity, and\nduring exhausting fasts, it must be free from spirituous seasoning, and\nfrom the spice that flatters the palates of the worldly. Still less was\nit permitted to drink hypocras, or oriental or Italian liqueurs--the\n\"little wine\" of the apostle was to suffice them. Only two repasts a\nday were allowed, except to the young, or to those engaged in specially\nhard work.\n\nThe monks might shave one another once in three weeks, chanting psalms\nthe while, and not until the days of decadence were they shaved by a\nsecular barber. \"In bygone times,\" says the chronicler, \"they were not\nshaved, they were skinned.\"[85] They might not bathe often, lest the\nhabit should engender softness, and they did not usually indulge in\nfull ablution more than twice a year--before Christmas and Easter. Sick\nmonks, however, might bathe as often as they pleased.\n\nThe clothing allowed to the brothers consisted of a woollen shirt of\ndark colour--one for the day, another for the night. Their garments\nwere rustic in form and substance; such as were worn by the peasants.\nOver the tunic was a scapular, with a hood or capuchon attached, and\nover all the frock was sometimes worn. Precious stuffs, silks, and\ngay colours were forbidden; for it was unfitting, said the statutes,\nthat monks should be apparelled like brides for the nuptial chamber.\nThe strict rule of St. Benedict allowed no furs; but a concession was\nmade to the rigour of the Burgundian climate, and the monks might wear\nsheep-skin or goat-skin cloaks in winter, and fur boots for sleeping\nin, but no rich and costly skins from foreign lands--\"For those who are\nsoftly clothed dwell in kings' Palaces.\" No monk might eat or drink at\nother than the regular hours; he might not go out at night, nor leave\nthe monastery without the abbot's permission. When on a journey, he\nshould receive only monastic hospitality, and, in any event, must never\naccept wine or meat; nor might he eat outside the gates, unless it were\nimpossible for him to return home before sunset.\n\nThe vice of property was resisted to the utmost. Each monk received\nfrom the Superior, in addition to his clothing, all necessary articles,\nsuch as a handkerchief, a knife, a needle, a writing pencil and tablet.\nNothing was the monk's own; no brother possessed money; testaments were\nforbidden; and those who violated the precepts were excommunicated, and\nrefused ecclesiastical burial.\n\nAbove all, the Clunisian monk must earn his bread with his hands. The\nearth, whence his body came, and whither it should return, must support\nhim. This held good for long; but in later times, the monasteries\nincreased in size, manual labour naturally became specialized, and some\ndid little more than mend their clothes, wash their linen, clean and\ngrease their boots, and take their turn in the kitchen.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7CLOCHER DE L'EAU BENITE\n \u00b7CLUNY\u00b7]\n\n\"To speak truth,\" remarks Udalric, \"the work which I saw done most\noften was to free the beans of the leaves which retarded their growth,\nto pluck the ill weeds from the garden, and sometimes to knead the\nbread in the bake-house.\" Manual work, however, remained always part of\nthe strict rule. \"Then will you be monks,\" said St. Benedict, \"when you\nlive by the work of your hands, after the example of the holy preachers\nof the monastic law.\" Bitter must it have been to Pierre le V\u00e9n\u00e9rable,\nthe last of the great abbots, to have to write as he did of the growing\ndecadence:--\"Idleness is the enemy of the soul: and do we not see the\ngreater part of the brothers ... both within and without the cloister,\nin a state of absolute inactivity. How few are they who read, still\nfewer they who write! Do not the greater number sleep, leaning against\nthe walls, or do they not waste their day from dawn to sunset in vain\nand idle, or in what is yet worse, malicious conversation.\" But, in\nthe earlier years of Cluny, the rule was not easily broken, nor broken\nwith impunity. A continuous surveillance, day and night, was exercised\nso regularly, by monks called \"circateurs,\" that scarcely the least\nfault could be committed unseen, and punishment, inflicted in grave\ncases by the abbot himself, followed hard upon the offence. Sometimes\nthe delinquent was condemned to solitary confinement, or to stand,\nall day long, at the door of the church; sometimes he was flogged, in\nfull chapter, by his brother monks, or, if the fault had been publicly\ncommitted, the whipping was administered before all the people. It\nwas customary, also, to expose certain delinquents before the door of\nthe basilica, at the hour of mass, while one of the servants of the\nabbey announced the cause of his penance to the worshippers as they\nentered. The sinner was denied all participation in the solemnities and\nin Christian communion; he was denied the kiss also. If he revolted\nagainst his punishment, the outraged monks would drag him voluntarily\nto a fearful dungeon, without door or window, into which he must\ndescend by a ladder.\n\nAnd over all their day of toil, of silence, of fasting, and of prayer,\nhung a shadow, dark as those that fell from the vaulted nave, or\nlingered at sunset in the cool cloister galleries--the shadow of\never-present death. When a brother died, each monk, with his own hand,\nmust sew stitches in the winding-sheet, whose clinging folds should\nrecall vividly to his spirit that all flesh is as grass, and that the\nway of life is the way of death.\n\nThe monks' day was divided between work, prayer, and psalmody; the\nlatter sub-divided into the office and the mass, thus fulfilling\nliterally the words of the psalmist;[86] \"Seven times in the day have\nI celebrated Thy praises, and I rose in the middle of the night to\nconfess Thy Name.\"\n\nThe intervals for rest or sleep were short, and, during a part of the\nyear, the monks slept less than half the night. Udalric, the author of\nthe widely-circulated manual of the customs of Cluny, gives a vivid\npicture of the discipline observed by the brothers during the \"regular\nhours,\" as they were called. At the first sound of the bell announcing\nnocturnes, they sat up in bed, put on the frock without throwing\noff the blankets, finished dressing without showing their legs, and\ndescended to the church. As it might well chance that one of them\nwould be overcome by sleep during the psalmody or prayer, a brother\nwas appointed to go the round of the choir, carrying a wooden lantern,\nwhich he would hold under the eyes of any monk whom he believed to be\nasleep. If he had made a mistake, and found that his brother was merely\nwrapped in meditation, he would bow low before him by way of excusing\nhimself; if, on the contrary, the delinquent was really asleep, the\nlight would be held awhile, close to his eyes. This warning would be\nrepeated three times during the round, and if, at the third time, the\nlight did not awaken the sleeper, the lantern would be left at his\nfeet; and upon the somnolent monk, when he awoke, fell the duty of\ndoing the next round.\n\nAt the signal for matins, the monks would descend to the cloister, and\nthere wash their hands and faces, and comb themselves, returning to\nthe choir before the last stroke of the bell. There, whether they were\nsitting or standing, the feet must be in line, and neither the long\nsleeves, nor the skirt of the frock, must touch the ground.\n\nWith the addition of regular hours for reading and study, such, in\nshort, was the life led by the Clunisian monk, from the day of his\nentry, until the tolling of bells, and the coming of the brothers with\ncross, candles, and incense, announced that one more devotee had gone\nto receive--let us hope--the reward of a life of self-sacrifice.\n\nOne might be pardoned for supposing that an existence such as this we\nhave outlined, would have been austere enough to satisfy even the most\nrigorous ascetics of the time. But it was not so. To old Pierre Damien,\nfor example, when he rested awhile at Cluny, to nurse in good company\nhis aged back, scarred by the strokes of iron rods, the rule seemed\nalmost voluptuous. He spoke about it to Abbot Hugh.\n\n\"If you could abstain for two days more in the week from using fat in\nyour victuals, you, who are so perfect in other points, would, in the\nmatter of mortification, be in no way behind the anchorites.\"\n\n [Illustration: RUINS OF THE ABBEY GATEWAY\u00b7-CLUNY\u00b7]\n\nThe wary Abbot replied with a smile:--\n\n\"Before attempting, well-beloved father, to augment our merits by\naugmenting our abstinence, try yourself to bear, for eight days, the\nburden of our rule; and then judge whether we can add aught to our\nausterities.\"\n\nThe brave old ascetic accepted the challenge, and at the end of eight\ndays decided that things might well remain as they were.[87] The rule\nof Cluny was more severe than his own.\n\nUnder the government of St. Hugues, grown old and gray, Cluny had\nreached the summit of worldly power, and of moral influence; with him,\nher best days passed. On the 29th April, 1109, the priests, loudly\nlamenting, were gathered round the body of their dead saint. Clothed\nin his sacerdotal robes, he lay, for three days, in the church, and a\ngreat crowd of lords and ladies, of bourgeois, woodsmen, labourers from\nfield and vineyard, women and children, came to kiss his feet, and lift\nhis raiment to their lips. On the day before, Bernard de Varennes heard\nSaint Denis the Areopagite announce to him, in a vision, that, if he\nwished to see again, for the last time, his friend and abbot, Hugues of\nCluny, he must haste to the dying man. Bernard obeyed the summons, but,\non his arrival, fell sick and remained three days in a lethargy. When\nhe came to himself, he said to the monks around him, \"Unhappy man that\nI am. I had come to salute my abbot, and he is dead before the grace is\ngranted me. But what I might not see with the eyes of the body, I saw\nwith the eyes of the spirit. I saw the dwellers in Heaven descend among\nmen, and the Mother of God, brighter than the morning star, standing in\nthe midst of the monks around the death-bed of Seigneur Hugues. At the\nmoment of the passing of his soul, spirits, armed with arrows, flew to\nseize upon it, but the Mother of Mercy, raising her hand, struck them\nwith terror, and put them to flight, as the wind scatters the autumn\nleaves. Martin, the pearl of priests, Benedict the sun of abbots,\nat the head of the heavenly cohorts, bore the soul of Hugues into a\nfair and fertile vineyard, that there it might rest awhile. Hugues,\nperceiving me in this place, addressed me thus: 'Eat, dear friend,\nthese bunches of white grapes, eat and rest with me awhile; not for\nlong am I here. When my feet are freed from the swelling and the dust\nof a long earthly pilgrimage, I shall pass into the home that God hath\nprepared for me throughout eternity. Recommend to Pons, my successor,\nto treasure humility and innocence, to forget his own needs for those\nof others, and to follow my example of monastic rule.'\"\n\nPons did not follow Hugues' example of monastic rule. When his vanity,\nweakness, and love of pomp had alienated a portion of his following, he\nresigned his abbacy and retired. His successor, Hugues II. held office\nonly a few months, when the task of presiding over the destinies of\nCluny passed to Pierre le V\u00e9n\u00e9rable, the last of the great abbots, a\nname that already links us in memory with him whose destiny it was,\nby a return to simplicity, as a source of strength, to rival, and,\nfor a time, to exceed the power of Cluny. I speak of St. Bernard, the\nchampion of the Cistercian order. We shall meet him again at Citeaux\nand elsewhere.\n\nIt is probable that St. Hugues himself, by acquiring such great wealth\nfor the abbey, prepared its ultimate downfall. Be that as it may,\nthough the rhyming Burgundian proverb,\n\n \"En tous pays ou le vent vente\n L'Abbaye le Cluny a rente,\"\n\nmay not have been coined until a later century, it is certain that\nCluny was fast acquiring wealth, and succumbing to a luxury utterly\nalien to the Spirit of Him Whose benediction was upon the poor and the\nhumble. It was natural that the order, following the fashion of the\nage, should wish to house worthily the many priceless relics brought\nback by pious, though too credulous, crusaders from the Holy Land, and\nthe members of the Clunisian school of art soon learned to vie with one\nanother in fashioning ch\u00e2sses for the miraculous rod with which Moses\nbrought forth water in the desert, or for the stone from Mount Sinai\non which he kneeled when he received from God the table of the law, or\nfor the alabaster vase from which Mary Magdalen anointed the Saviour's\nFeet.[88]\n\nAs the treasures grew in number, the skill of the artificers, and their\npassion for exercising it increased simultaneously, until, at last, the\nstory of the treasures of Cluny, in the monastic inventories, is like\na tale from the \"Thousand and one Nights,\" told in gold and jewels.\nWhen there were no more relics to work for, the monks turned to what\nwas next to hand, and soon, from the crosses, from the pastoral baton,\nfrom the candelabra of gold and silver, of crystal and ivory, from the\ndraped altars, from the pontifical mitres, even, diamonds and rubies\nflashed, opals sparkled with their changing rays, while, sometimes, a\nsoftly-shining pearl dropped from the Abbot's sandal, as he stepped\ninto the blaze of light in which the great altar was bathed.\n\nNot less gorgeous were the sacerdotal robes, woven always of the most\nprecious stuffs, and in the choicest colours, and worked, on body and\nsleeves, with an infinite number of designs, lions and griffons, kings\nand dragons, angels, eagles, leopards and serpents, crosses, arms,\nlilies, and roses. All the rich and varied symbolism of the times shone\nout from the robes of Cluny. Nor were the altars, statues, and tombs\nless gorgeous. The magnificent ch\u00e2sse of St. Hugues was of precious\nwood, entirely covered with silver, the reliefs representing, in gold,\nthe mysteries of the Life and Death of the Saviour. The pictures and\naltar pieces were similarly treated. One of the statues of Mary was of\ngold; she held in her hand a silver candle adorned with great pearls;\nshe was crowned with a golden crown; precious stones flashed upon her\nbrow. The Infant Christ was playing with a golden rattle, and wore,\nupon His Baby head, a golden crown enriched with rubies and emeralds.\n\nTo such a Cluny there could only be one end. Her days, as a spiritual\nforce, were spent. Henceforth, to the religious world, she was to be\nno more than a splendid memory; yet the soul of goodness that ever\nlives and moves in things seemingly evil, had reserved wonderful uses\nfor the work that deft hands, otherwise idle, were still fashioning in\nthe cloisters of Cluny. Her lions, her lilies, her crosses in wrought\ngold, her symbols in chased silver and in precious stones, had already\nawakened the spirit of emulation in a thousand brooding minds. Who\nshall tell the debt that Gothic art owes, that we, its inheritors,\nshall ever owe to the decadence of the mother abbey.\n\nWhen we come to talk of Bernard and Citeaux, we shall hear again of\nClunisian luxury; but we have not time, nor would it repay us, to\nfollow, through all its stages, the decline and fall of this Mother\nChurch of Europe, from its glorious position as \"the light of the\nworld,\" to a mere asylum for feudalism--interesting to the student of\nsociology, but no longer in touch with the great onward movements of\nhistory. The last three centuries of the Abbey's existence make sad\nreading. The envy and jealousy with which the monks were regarded on\nall sides, made it hard for them successfully to cultivate and harvest\ntheir enormous territories. Their rights and privileges, grown old and\nalmost forgotten, could scarcely be asserted and maintained, except by\nthreats and violence. The Revolution found the Benedictines in conflict\nwith the town, over pasturage and other rights in the woods of the\nmonastery; and, on July 29th, 1789, the abbey was threatened by a band\nof armed peasants, who were repulsed only by the united efforts of\nmonks and townsmen.\n\nOn the 21st April, 1799, after considerable discussion, in which it\nappears that the inhabitants of Cluny did their best, or at least\nmade an effort, to save the abbey, the buildings were sold to Citizen\nBatonard, a merchant of M\u00e2con, for the sum of two million, fourteen\nthousand francs.\n\nIn spite of the lively protests of the municipality, the new-comer at\nonce proceeded to play havoc with the church ornaments, a feat which\nhe followed up by making a new road, north and south, through the\nprecincts, cutting the church in two. Later, the Empire completed what\nthe Revolution had begun. In the summer of 1811, Cluny was shaken by a\nseries of terrific explosions. They were blasting, with 75 bombs, the\ntowers and sanctuary of the Abbey.[89]\n\n [Illustration: Decoration; end of chapter V; A Jewelled Crucifix]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[68] _Note._--For the condition of France in the 10th century and the\n causes that contributed to the Christian revival, see Chapter xi.\n\n[69] Loraine's \"Cluny,\" p. 19.\n\n[70] \"Histoire de l'Ordre de Cluny,\" Pignot; \"Essai Historique sur\n Cluny,\" Loraine. Duckett's \"Cluny.\"\n\n[71] For the principles of the Benedictine rule, see Chapter on Citeaux,\n pp. 119, 120.\n\n[72] Pignot's \"Histoire de l'Ordre de Cluny,\" Tome i., pp. 97-8.\n\n[73] Pignot. Tome i., p. 413.\n\n[74] Odilon founded the \"F\u00eate des Tr\u00e9pass\u00e9s.\"\n\n[75] The three others were Urban II., Pascal II., and Urban V.\n\n[76] \"Life and Times of Hildebrand,\" p. 128, by Right Rev. A. H. Mathew,\n D.D. Bishop Mathew describes Hildebrand's connection with Cluny as\n a myth, probably originating in his visit to this monastery\n during the pontificate of Leo X.; but Creighton, Milman, and other\n historians have accepted Cluny's claims to Hildebrand. Whatever\n the truth may be, certainly Hughes and Hildebrand were friends,\n united by a common aim.\n\n[77] P. Lorain. \"Essai Historique sur l'Abbaye de Cluny,\" vol. II.,\n pp. 99-100.\n\n[78] Bull: Clun, p. 21. Quoted in Pignot's \"Histoire de l'Ordre de\n Cluny,\" Vol. ii., pp. 99-100.\n\n[79] P. Lorain. \"Essai Historique sur Cluny,\" pp. 72-73.\n\n[80] Its total length was 555 feet, about the same as that of Winchester\n Cathedral; that of St. Peter is about 560 feet.\n\n[81] These gates still exist.\n\n[82] This narthex did not form part of Hugues' Church. It was not added\n until the time of Robert I., twentieth abbot of Cluny, in 1220--but\n it is more convenient to deal with it here.\n\n[83] Cluny is the only church in France with two transepts. English\n examples, which are rare, include Salisbury and York. The purpose\n of the second transept was probably to add to the architectural\n beauty of the church, by opening up more vistas, and to provide\n additional space for altars. See Bond's \"Gothic Architecture in\n England.\"\n\n[84] Flying buttresses were added in the thirteenth century to prevent\n the collapse of the nave walls.\n\n[85] Lorain, p. 237-8. \"Non rasura, sed potius excoratio.\" In view of\n this statement, the accompanying psalm-singing is rendered the\n more meritorious.\n\n[86] Psalm cxviii., v.\n\n[87] Pignot, Vol. II., pp. 62-67.\n\n[88] The relics of Cluny included also, among many others, a veil,\n hair and clothing of the Virgin; the palm which Christ carried on\n His triumphal entry into Jerusalem; the vessel in which Jesus\n changed water into wine at the marriage of Cana in Galilee;\n portions of the true cross and the crown of thorns; two rings of\n the iron chain which held St. Peter when the angel came to deliver\n him from prison, etc., etc. See Lorain, p. 330.\n\n[89] See \"Cluny, la Ville et l'Abbaye,\" by A. Penjon, pp. 159-166.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter VI; Early Clunisian Ornament]\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE MOTHER ABBEY\n\n\nIt is time to turn from Cluny of the past to Cluny of the present. We\nhave not far to go; for the town is still the abbey, and will be so\nyet, I hope, for many a year to come.\n\nEarly on the first morning of our stay, we left the little Hotel de\nBourgogne, which stands on the site of the nave, in the very shadow of\nthe last remaining gaunt tower of Cluny. The entrance to the alley is\nthrough the fa\u00e7ade of the ancient \"Palace of the Pope G\u00e9lase,\" as it\nis called, a fine, fourteenth-century building, restored--rebuilt one\nmight say--in 1783, and fronting on the old courtyard of the monastery,\nnow known as the Place de la Grenelle, or the Place du March\u00e9, on the\nopposite side of which is a building that was once the monastic stable.\nThe upper story of the fa\u00e7ade has fine Gothic windows, forming almost\nan arcade. The trefoiled tracery is satisfactory, and exquisitely\ncarved faces look down upon you from the corbels of the drip-stones. It\nwas to Cluny, during the abbacy of Pons, that G\u00e9lase II., ill-treated\nand threatened by the partisans of Henry V., fled for rest and refuge;\nand here, a few days afterwards, lying upon ashes, clothed in the robe\nof the Benedictine order, and surrounded by his cardinals and the\nmonks of the community, says a contemporary, he died \"as in his own\nhouse.\"[90] This palais du pape G\u00e9lase is now the principal building\nof the secondary school, the \"Ecole nationale des Arts et M\u00e9tiers,\"\nestablished in the precincts of the abbey. We wandered for an hour\nabout the building, endeavouring to fashion again, in our minds, Cluny\nas it was.\n\nStanding in that echoing transept, the sole relic of the great\nMother Church of Western Christendom, following the noble shafting\nup to where, above the mutilated capitals, sculptured with all the\nnaive skill and courage of the time, the eye can reach the lofty\nvault, and follow round the fluted pilasters of the triforium\narcades, I felt that, of all the thousand acts of Vandalism that the\nincredible, immeasurable folly and ignorance of man have inflicted\nupon a long-suffering world, this is the most insufferable, the most\nunpardonable. I can understand, I can almost forgive, a Puritan\nCromwell, blinded by a fanaticism, that, though savage and ignorant,\nwas yet, in intention, religious, battering down the statues of Mary\nfrom their niches, and shattering with fusilades the glass that, for\nhundreds of years, had bathed in loveliest colours the sunlit aisles\nof our Gothic cathedrals; but this I can neither understand nor\npardon--that those who, discarding all other religions, have bowed the\nknee to Reason, as the most divine attribute of man, should have found,\nin her name, a warrant to drive a street through the abbey's cloister\ngarth, and blast, with the dynamiter's bomb, the hoary arches of Cluny.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7CLUNY\u00b7]\n\nThis chapel of the normal school, as it now is, was once the southern\nlimb of the great transept. With the tower of the Eau B\u00e9nite, the\nsmaller tower of the Horloge, and the Chapelle Bourbon, it is the sole\nremaining relic of the church itself. Until after 1823, the transept\nwas open to the wind and rain, which threatened ruin to the fabric. It\nwas decided, therefore to close the gaping arches of the collateral\non the east and west, and to build a wall on the north side. The\nimmense height of the transept, emphasized by the vaulting shafts,\nis made more striking by the small space within which it is viewed,\nand the blind gallery and clerestory, with their arcades, and coupled,\nengaged columns, and fluted pilasters, enable one to break through, in\nimagination, that northern wall, and get a realistic glance, east and\nwest, into the sanctuary, and down the five aisles of the church as it\nwas.\n\nThe two chapels remaining in the transept, are those of St. Martial and\nSt. Stephen. The former, half domed and lighted by three windows, is\nsimilar in style to the original apsidal chapels; that of St. Stephen\nis fine Gothic work of the first half of the fourteenth century. Here\nwas buried Pierre de Chastelux, abbot from 1322 to 1343, who bought\nthe Palais des Thermes, at Paris, where Jean de Bourbon, a century\nlater, was to commence the Hotel de Cluny. Here, too, was buried, in\nthe middle of the chapel, Jacques d'Amboise (1480-1510), the successor\nof Jean de Bourbon, and the completer of the Palais Abbatial, here at\nCluny, and of the Hotel de Cluny at Paris. The brickwork of the south\nwall of the transept still shows the position of the two doors, one for\nordinary use, and one processional gateway, leading into the cloisters.\n\nThe most important remaining building is the Chapelle Bourbon, which\nwas added to the south end of the smaller (eastern) transept by Abbot\nJean de Bourbon (1456-1480), who had his own private oratory here,\nwhence he could assist, through an aperture in the wall, at the\nceremonies before the great altar in the sanctuary. Enough remains\nof the decoration of the chapel to show, at a glance, that it was a\ngood example of late Gothic art. Around it were ranged, on a series\nof sculptured corbels or consoles, the heads of fifteen prophets,\npainted in colours. They are not lacking in expression, but are\nclumsy and heavy. These busts served as supports for fifteen stone\nstatues, those of St. Paul, the Virgin Mary, John the Baptist, and the\ntwelve Apostles, all of which have disappeared, no one knows whither.\nThe guide told us that one of these statues, that of Christ, was\nin gold, and all the others in silver; a statement which, if it be\ntrue, accounts sufficiently for their disappearance. The only thing\nof interest remaining in the grounds of the \u00e9cole normale is the\nthirteenth-century bake-house, close to the Tour du Moulin, by the\nriver wall.\n\nThe ancient wall of the abbey is broken down in many places, and part\nof it is engulfed by the buildings of the town erected against it. Of\nthe interior towers of the abbey--besides those of the church--only two\nremain, the Tour du Moulin, and the Tour des Fromages. The first, as\nwe have just seen is close to the river, and the second is close to the\nchurch of Notre Dame. The origin of its curious name is not known. Of\nthe exterior relics of the abbey, the most interesting, architecturally\nand historically, is the great entrance gate, which is high up on the\nside of the hill, at the top of the road leading from the Hotel de\nBourgogne, the street that extends along the site of the nave, the\nnarthex, the porch, and the parvis of the basilica. On your right,\nas you mount the rise, you pass part of a gateway, to the crevices\nof whose moulded stones cling rock plants and grasses--a beautiful,\ntime-mellowed ruin--all that remains of the gate of the narthex.\n\nThe great abbey gate is a dark and forbidding piece of masonry, in\nthe Roman manner, and evidently imitated from the gates of Autun. It\ncomprises two arches, each with fluted, engaged columns, whose richly\nsculptured capitals support an ornamented archivolt. There were also\nfluted pilasters supporting a cornice. The greater part of these has\ndisappeared, as has the attic colonnade, also imitated from the gates\nof Autun, and similar to the colonnades which exist still in the\nRomanesque houses of Cluny. The thickness of the pillars behind the\ndoor, and the absence of windows in the adjoining wing of the Palais\nAbbatial, point to the conclusion that the gate was fortified in the\nlate middle ages, probably by a quadrangular tower. Interesting as\nthis shattered old relic is architecturally, its charm lies in the\nmemories of the great ones to whom it opened. All those who made the\nmost glorious pages of the history of Cluny have passed beneath its\narches--Priests and Saints, as St. Hugues, Pierre Damien, Ab\u00e9lard,\nand Anselm; great Popes, as Hildebrand (Gregory VII.), G\u00e9lase II.,\nInnocent IV., Boniface VIII.; among Kings, William the Conqueror, Saint\nLouis, Philippe le Bel, and his sons; Charles VI. and his uncles.\nSome of these passed through in humble guise, but most came with\nroyal, or semi-royal pageantry, mounted on proud chargers, at the head\nof glittering cavalcades, and followed by a long retinue of lords,\nsoldiers and attendants, to partake of the limitless hospitality of\nCluny.\n\nOn the north side of this famous gate, is the Palais Abbatial,\ncomprising two buildings, once joined, but separated at the time of\nthe Revolution, and now serving as the Mus\u00e9e and the Hotel de Ville.\nThat nearest to the gate was built, in the latter half of the fifteenth\ncentury, by the famous abbot, Jean de Bourbon, who added the Chappelle\nBourbon to the basilica, and commenced the Hotel de Cluny at Paris.\n\n [Illustration: THE ABBEY GATE \u00b7CLUNY\u00b7]\n\nHe was, in effect, the first of the commendatory abbots, a system which\nJulien de Baleure rightly calls \"vraye sappe de l'\u00e9tat monastique\net ruine des bons monast\u00e8res,\"[91] since under it the rule and\nrevenues of the abbey passed into the hands of a stranger, who often\nwholly neglected his charge, or, if he visited it at all, paid only\ninfrequent, ceremonial calls.\n\nJean de Bourbon, though Bishop of Puy when Charles VII. recommended him\nto the choice of the monks of Cluny, was not a member of any monastic\norder; nevertheless, while still remaining the \"grand seigneur,\" he\nappears to have done something to re-establish discipline in the\nmonastery. It soon became apparent to him that the frequent visits of\ndistinguished persons to his palace within the church precincts, were\na menace to the peace of the cloister. He accordingly bought land from\nthe monks, and built his palace adjoining the great gate, one arch of\nwhich was reserved for his private entrance.\n\nThe building has undergone some modifications, but it remains a good\nexample of fifteenth-century work, especially the windows, which have\nthe typical flat arch of the period, and drip-stones with finely\nsculptured heads for corbels. On the east side, a later age has\npainted imitations of similar windows upon the stone wall. Within\nthe palace are some handsome staircases and doors, and two excellent\nchimney-pieces, restored, showing the arms of Jean de Bourbon, of the\nBishopric of Puy, and of the Abbey and Town of Cluny. The arms of the\ntown are a silver key, on azure, with the ring below; those of the\nabbey are two golden keys crossed by a sword with silver blade, the\nhilt downwards.\n\nThe mus\u00e9e lapidaire on the ground floor is full of interesting relics.\nThey need not all be catalogued here, but I must point out two or\nthree of the best. Probably the oldest relic there is a triangular\nmemorial stone, in the corner, on the left of the fire-place, with the\nepitaph of Aimard (Sanctus Aimardus), third abbot of Cluny, who died\nin 964. Until 1872, this stone formed the threshold of a house in the\ntown. Another relic, not to be missed, is the pierre tombale of St.\nHugues (Abbot from 1046-1109), which is over the door opposite to the\nentrance; there is also the urn that contained his heart.\n\n [Illustration: HOTEL DE VILLE \u00b7 CLUNY \u00b7]\n\nBut the most interesting of all are some twelfth century capitals from\nthe ambulatory of St. Hugues' church. All of these, though showing the\nnaivet\u00e9 of treatment characteristic of early Gothic art, are carved\nwith wonderful freedom, vigour, and sincerity. Figures, foliage, fruit,\nand animals are all realistically produced, and grouped with a fine\nsense of design and decorative effect. So strong are they, that the\nGothic capitals in the collection look weak beside them. The best of\nthem represents God driving a terrified Adam and Eve from the garden of\nEden. Eve is hiding behind Adam, who is draped in fig leaves. Another\nshows the sacrifice of Abraham at the moment when he is interrupted\nby the angel; another the creation of the world; and another has\nfigures of musicians, playing various instruments, sculptured from\nelliptical medallions. More of these capitals would probably have been\npreserved, had the church been demolished with less fracas; but the\nrevolutionaries chose the easier way, which was to blow it to pieces\nwith bombs; consequently the capitals, falling from so great a height,\nwere nearly all destroyed.\n\n [Illustration: Ornament; Pascal Lamb; twelfth century]\n\nAmong other notable things is a frieze from a twelfth century house,\nand a delicious cobbler's sign, of the same period, showing the man\nhard at work at his bench, assisted by his wife holding a little pot in\nboth hands, while, beside them, a fiddler passes the time in harmony.\nThere is also a charming Pascal Lamb, endowed with a seeing eye and\na cloven fore-foot, which, turned upwards, balances a Greek cross.\nAnother remarkable stone is that known as the \"Belle Pierre,\" so named\nfrom the street in which it was found.[92] It represents two knights\ntilting, and a bearded man riding upon a strange beast.\n\nUpstairs is a picture gallery containing old views of the Abbey, and a\nnumber of other things worth seeing, one of the most notable being a\nwooden chest of the fifteenth century, banded with iron, in which were\nkept the famous Rouleaux de Cluny, archives that disappeared during the\nRevolution. No official catalogue is published, so far as I am aware;\nbut those who desire fuller information than I have given here, can\nfind it in M. Penjon's book.\n\nThe Hotel de Ville is the eastern-most building of the two forming\nthe Abbot's palace. It was built by Jacques d'Amboise, in the early\npart of the seventeenth century, and, during the period of the Abb\u00e9s\nCommendataires, was the official residence of the grand prior. It\nhas been so much altered within as scarcely to be worth a visit,\nbut the exterior, though somewhat mutilated, retains much of its\noriginal charm. At the west entrance is a beautiful little tower, in\ntransitional style, with a late Gothic arch, and cupids and foliage\nsculptured on the spandrils and the tympanum.\n\nThe main eastern fa\u00e7ade, though somewhat unusual, is of very effective\ndesign. Its chief characteristics are two square projecting towers,\nconnected by a raised balcony, with a double staircase surmounted by\nan ornamental, pierced parapet. The stone towers are decorated with\nsculpture, in the form of flamboyant church-window tracery below, and\npanels above, carved with arabesques, foliage, lilies, grotesques,\nshell ornaments, etc., all in the purest and lightest style of that\nearly Renaissance work, which the discovery of Italy by Charles VIII.\nhad been the means of developing in France. The effect of the whole,\nthough rather conscious and artificial, is quite pleasing and graceful.\nOn the south wall is an inscription of Claude de Guise, 1586.\n\nFrom the buttressed terraces of the public gardens, around the Hotel de\nVille, you get some fine views of Cluny and the Tour de l'Eau B\u00e9nite,\nextending right away to the wooded hills beyond the valley of the\nGrosne.\n\nClose to the great gate of the Abbey, in the Rue d'Avril, a narrow\nstreet leading upwards out of the Rue de la R\u00e9publique, are a number\nof those Romanesque houses of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, for\nwhich Cluny is famous. Up to about sixty years ago, whole streets of\nthis little Burgundian town had remained for seven or eight centuries\nalmost unchanged, but the utilitarian and commercial spirit of the age\nhas made itself felt, even in this out of the way corner of Burgundy,\nand, one by one, the Romanesque houses are disappearing. Two remain,\nhowever, in the middle of the town; and, in addition to those in the\nRue d'Avril, there are two adjoining one another in the Rue de la\nR\u00e9publique, above the Hotel de Ville. Beside these is a house of the\nfifteenth century. Indeed, it would be still possible, in this town, to\ntrace the evolution of domestic architecture, almost without a break,\nfrom the twelfth century to the present time.\n\nThe Romanesque houses of Cluny follow, pretty closely, a general type.\nThe window arcades reveal at once the great influence of the abbey\nchurch. The majority of these houses are what we call terrace-built;\nand are entered from the street by a door which opens into the front\nroom, or shop, and leads up the staircase to the first floor. At the\nback of the front room or shop was an open court yard, with a well\nin one corner of it. Across the court yard a covered passage led to\na kitchen at the back. The upper floor was similar in design, with a\nroofed gallery leading to a room above the kitchen. The first floor\nfront room was the bedroom of the tenant, his wife, and children; while\nthe servants and apprentices did as best they could in the attic above;\nfor the practice of rigidly separating the sexes did not come in until\nthe twelfth century. Each house showed a pleasing elevation, and was\nerected with a solidity and elegance of design far excelling anything\nseen in the same class of building to-day. The shop front was formed\nby one great arch, without windows, but closed at night by a shutter,\nwhich, dropped during the day, formed a counter for the exhibition of\nthe shopman's wares. Customers did not enter the shop, but transacted\ntheir business across the counter, and no tradesman might call a\npurchase from another shop until the latter had finished his business.\nDifferent trades were kept together in particular streets--hence such\nnames as the Rue des Tanneurs, which still exists in Cluny. Above\nthe ground floor were two other stories, of which the upper one was\ngenerally lighted by an arcade of round-headed arches, imitated from\nthe Abbey, with sculptured piers or colonnettes, surmounted by a carved\ncornice or architrave, and protected by overhanging eaves.[93]\n\n [Illustration: ROMANESQUE HOUSE\u00b7CLUNY\u00b7]\n\nThese charming houses were among the earliest examples of domestic\narchitecture in stone, and it is very interesting to notice that the\nbuilders have made no attempt to adhere to the principles of wooden\nconstruction; but have followed the right masters, the ecclesiastical\nbuilders. One of the best of the old houses is that popularly known\nas the Hotel des Monnaies, on the right as you go up the Rue d'Avril.\nIn this case the windows are square-headed, but the most interesting\ncharacteristics are the projecting chimney, and the great arches,\nrevealing the extraordinary thickness of the walls, a feature which\nlends some colour to the legend that this is the old mint of the Abbey.\nI will not mention any more particular houses; only let me assure the\nreader that he who walks the streets of Cluny remembering that the\nolder portions of it are built with the very stones of the ruined\nabbey, will assuredly have his reward.\n\nThe churches of the town are not particularly interesting. St. Marcel,\na somewhat barrack-like building of the twelfth century, at the station\nend of the town has a good Clunisian clock-tower. The building is\nroofed with wood, because, having no buttresses, it would not stand the\nthrust of vaulting. The \u00e9glise Notre Dame, in the centre of the town,\nis more attractive; though its thirteenth-century fa\u00e7ade is mutilated.\nBirds rest upon the backs of the gargoyles, and upon the ends of the\nbroken shafting; and dirty children play, all day long, upon the\nsteps of the porch. The interior, however, has some good work in the\ncapitals, mouldings, and vaulting shafts of the nave. The engaged\nvaulting shafts of the aisles are probably remains of an older church,\nas they have squared plinths and clawed angles, transitional in style.\nIf anyone cares to see to what a plight the lost art of making stained\nglass can come, let him look at the tympanum of the door of Notre Dame\nde Cluny. The building adjoining the church has a Renaissance door, and\na thirteenth-century arcade on the upper floor.\n\nThere are two other houses, at least, in Cluny, to which, I suppose,\nI should draw attention. The first of them is the Hotel Dieu, a\nseventeenth-century building on the site of the old hospital of Cluny,\nof which a few vestiges yet remain. Neither the architecture, nor\nthe kindred arts of that period, have ever aroused much enthusiasm in\nme; consequently, I remember almost nothing of the fabric itself, and\nmy general impression is little more than a blaze of garden flowers,\ntempered by delicious palm-leaves, and dotted here and there with pale\ninvalids, chatting in groups, or walking or sitting beside the flowers.\nWithin the entrance hall the frail voices of nuns earnestly intoning\nprayers in unison awakened the religious spirit within me far more\neffectively than had the deserted nave of Notre Dame, or of St. Marcel.\nTheir solemn chant and the austere cleanliness that reigned everywhere,\nawed me so that I crept out on tip-toe into sunlight again, without\nmore than a glance at the famous Bouillon statues that I had come there\nexpressly to see.\n\nThe Cardinal de Bouillon, abbot of Cluny from 1683 to 1715, had\nintended to erect, to the memory of his father and mother, at the\nsouthern end of the small transept of the abbey church--opposite to the\nChappelle Bourbon--a monumental tomb that should be worthy of a family\nand individual so illustrious as that brother of Turenne, who had faced\nRichelieu, and played a leading part in the Fronde.\n\nBut the cardinal had reckoned without Louis XIV. That monarch, hearing\nof the project, made further inquiries; and decided, as the report of\nd'Aguerriau, which preceded the royal veto, put it, \"That every part of\nthis design tended equally to preserve and immortalize, by the religion\nof an ever-durable tomb, the too-ambitious pretensions of its author\ntowards the origin and grandeur of his house.\"\n\nIt was an ironical fate that chose such means for preserving the\nstatues, which were already on their way from Rome. Had the Roi Soleil\npermitted the erection of the monument, not a vestige of it, probably,\nwould have survived the Revolution; consequently, its statues would\nnot, to-day, adorn the chapel of the Hotel Dieu at Cluny. The loss of\nthe mausoleum we need not regret; but the statues, though, to my mind,\ntoo artificial and conscious to be pleasing, are carved with skill and\nvivacity, and are generally considered to be among the best examples of\ntheir kind. The bas-relief of the battle scene, on the plinth below the\nmale figure, is, to many, the most interesting part of the work.\n\nOn the way back to the town, on the right hand side, a lion, quite\nByzantine in character, and taken, I imagine, from the abbey church,\nforms the sign of the caf\u00e9 \"Lion d'Or.\" In the lower part of the\ntown, in the Rue Prudhon, not far from the church of St. Marcel, is a\nmodest little dwelling, whereon the passer-by may read the name of the\ngreatest Burgundian painter, Prudhon, born there on April 4th, 1758.\nThe French Correggio, as he has been called, after the Italian master\nwho exercised most influence upon him, represents very faithfully,\nin the quality of his art, some of the characteristics of the land\nof its birth. On this more mountainous side of Burgundy, west of the\nC\u00f4te d'Or, we should expect to find, in a modified form, along with\nthe typical Burgundian qualities of vivacity, strength, solidity,\nand grace, some of the passion, the sterner qualities of the harder,\nhill-bred race, more closely in touch with the sterner aspects of\nnature--especially in the case of one whose birth synchronized with the\nbirth-throes of the great Revolution. It may be, too--and it appeals to\none's historic sense to believe--that something of the stern ethical\nideal of Cluny had passed into the mind of one who was born beneath\nthe shadow of the abbey towers. Many of those, however, to whom the\nworks of Prudhon are familiar, find greater pleasure in his lighter,\nallegorical paintings, such as those in the Mus\u00e9e at Montpellier,\nwhich, perhaps, show the influence of his predecessor Greuze, who, born\nin Tournus, by the wide pastures of the Sa\u00f4ne, represents the more\npeaceful, pastoral, and lighter aspect of Burgundian art.\n\n [Illustration: Ornament]\n\nIn connection with Prudhon, and with a parallel drawn between his\nwork and that of Greuze, M. Perrault-Dabot, in his book, \"L'Art en\nBourgogne,\" and Mont\u00e9gut also, in his \"Souvenirs,\" speak of a type of\nfeminine beauty at Cluny, which, I must confess, escaped my notice, as\nit did also the not unobservant eyes of my wife.\n\n\"In the same way,\" says M. Perrault-Dabot, \"the type of woman that one\nstill meets to-day, at Cluny, recalls to us the shadowy grace and the\nwarm suavity of Prudhon's talent. Cluny belongs to that region of our\nprovince where the massy heads and highly-coloured complexions that\ndistinguish the mountain-dweller, disappear, to give place to subtler,\nslighter forms, and to faces of an exquisite pallor. It is not that\nperfect beauty in which every feature is regular; but it is beauty in\nits most suave and touching form.\"\n\nWe were the more disappointed, because, though we had not expected to\nfind in Cluny any rivals to the classic beauties of Arles and St. R\u00e9my,\nwe had come prepared for a welcome break in the monotonous plainness\nof Burgundian humanity, a subject on which I shall have more to say\nlater on. Yet the types we met hereabouts, if not, on the whole,\nattractive, were certainly not without the individuality that natural\nvivacity imparts. My wife, sketching the great gate of the abbey, was\nscandalized by the inordinate amount of child-smacking indulged in by\nthe mothers of the neighbourhood. I was not a witness on that occasion,\nbut I am inclined to think, that, in most cases, she failed to allow\nfor the excitability of a semi-southern temperament, and, could she\nhave read them, would have found more hardness in the hands than in the\nhearts.\n\nThe little Hotel de Bourgogne, a white, straggling old building, snugly\nplaced beneath the protecting walls of the Tour de l'Eau B\u00e9nite,\nadded its quota to our amusement. The ways of the establishment were\nrefreshingly unconventional. For example, they rang neither bell nor\ngong for dinner, but sent up two maids, who popped their tousled heads\nsimultaneously in at the bedroom door, and invited us to come down to\na meal, which, by the way, quite maintained the traditions of later\nClunisian luxe.\n\nThe company, too, was notable. We sat at the head of the table. On my\nright was an individual whose cruel, yet suffering, face reminded me\nof the executioner in Van der Weyden's great picture in the hospital\nat Beaune. I gathered that the digestive organs were the seat of his\ntroubles; for he rejected, with a grunt, the normal fare, preferring\nto dine on lightly-boiled eggs, whose liquid contents he imbibed by\na peculiar, sucking process, that was, in its way, a clever, though\nnoisy, gastronomic feat.\n\nTo us there entered an angelic newsboy, ragged yet smiling. He\ndistributed evening \"Matins\" all round the table, and departed,\nas radiant as he had come. At the far end of the table, a\ntwentieth-century Mephistopheles, with the traditional lowering\nbrows and cunning smile, was transmitting improper stories to a\ndelighted Falstaffian neighbour; just as certain decadent fat abbots\nof Cluny were wont to do, over a bottle of sparkling Meursault, in\nthose generous, degenerate days. The ample man on his left listened\ncovertly, and cleaned his mouth with his fingers, while the red wine,\npoured in that nervous, spasmodic, Burgundian manner, gurgled from the\nbottle neck into the bubbling, ruby lake below.\n\nAfter dinner, came coffee and cigars, in the little caf\u00e9 adjoining, of\nwhich the floor is covered with sawdust, and the ceiling with flies.\nMadame, a good-natured woman, dressed in flaming yellow satin, adorned\nwith much lace and passementerie, and possessing a very arch manner,\nwhere the men were concerned, suggested to some of her intimates\nthat they should join her in a game of cards. Two of them at once\nconsented; but a third invit\u00e9--an elephantine Burgundian voyageur de\ncommerce--ruminating over a petit verre in the corner, declined, on\nthe plausible pretext that he had \"no small vices.\" Indeed, nothing\nabout him was small! For our part, we fell into agreeable conversation\nwith another habitu\u00e9 of the hotel, a gentleman also suffering from\nthe amplitude engendered by two six-course meals a day, washed down\nwith copious libations of red wine. He displayed a kindly interest in\nmy wife's sketches, and was particularly complimentary concerning one\nreproduced in this book, representing a corpulent person--who might\nwell have been himself--sitting on a dangerously small chair before a\ncaf\u00e9 table.\n\nHe had commenced to practise upon us his limited supply of English,\nwhen our intercourse was interrupted, during the temporary absence of\nMadame on domestic duties, by the advent, through the balcony leading\nto the street, of a small pinched boy and girl, both in advanced\nstages of tatters and dirt, who abruptly announced their intention of\nentertaining us with a \"petit chanson.\" Taking our silence for consent,\nthey stood, side by side, in the middle of the sanded floor, and,\nlifting grimy faces to the fly-spotted ceiling, proceeded, with one\naccord, to give vent to a series of extraordinarily discordant sounds,\nwhich, to the universal relief, were interrupted by the reappearance of\nMadame, who bustled into the room, and \"shoved\" the juvenile vocalists\nout of it, barely giving them time to collect largesse during their\nflight.\n\n\"Two young hooligans!\" (apaches), she said severely, and, smoothing the\nruffled yellow satin, sat down again to enjoy her \"small vice.\"\n\n [Illustration: CAPITAL\u00b7 \u00b7CLUNY ABBEY\u00b7]\n\nThat night I dreamed a dream. I was back in the twelfth century, as a\nbrother, participating in a solemn mass in the great abbey of Cluny.\nThe sanctuary and the transepts of the mighty church were flooded in\nthe soft light, that, streaming from gold and jewelled candelabras,\nflickered upon the bent forms of the dark-robed priests, and threw\ninto strong relief the flutings of the pilasters that adorned the huge\npiers, and the strange birds and beasts that gazed from the foliage\nof the capitals. Above us, the lines of the soaring vault were lost\nin eternal shadows, and before us a thousand lights and jewels blazed\nupon the High Altar, where Hugues himself, gloriously arrayed in cope\nand mitre, was kneeling before the holy rood. The solemn chanting of\nthe mass sobbed and echoed down the lofty nave, across the shadowy\naisles, and up to where, upon the eastern dome, the Eternal Father\nHimself, cloud-borne, among the symbols of His creation, lifted the\nRight Hand in blessing, and laid His Left Hand upon the Book sealed\nwith seven seals. Suddenly, while our souls were pouring themselves\nout in rapt adoration, a fearful detonation resounded above our heads.\nStartled, terrified, we looked up. As we did so, while yet the echoes\nof the shock were rolling through the upper darkness, a series of\ncrackling explosions shook the whole fabric to its foundations. The\nfloor heaved, the vaulting above our heads cracked from side to side,\nthe huge pillars trembled and tottered. Then an awful cry of alarm was\nstilled into the louder silence of horror, as the whole mighty building\nswayed, and towers, columns, vaults, and capitals collapsed, and, with\nan appalling crash and a roar like the fall of many waters, buried all\nin universal ruin.... I awoke--to find myself yet alive, in the prosaic\ntwentieth century, while from the house opposite proceeded uproarious\nsounds of revelry by night, carried on with that sustained exuberance\nwhich the Latin races alone can impart to their festivals. It was not\nCluny that was falling again, but furniture, glasses and crockery. Then\nit all came back to me--the tale I had heard of the impending marriage\nof Yvonne. They were worthily celebrating the occasion. Blessings upon\nher! I rose and leaned out of the casement. Two or three songs were\nbeing sung, simultaneously, to the accompaniment of a running chorus of\napplause, and an obbligato with the chairs of the salon.\n\nUntil the orgy was at an end, I lay awake, meditating upon my dream,\nand finding, to my sorrow, a real historical analogy between that tipsy\nrevel and the ever-to-be-regretted fall of the stones of Cluny.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe next morning, I started on my bicycle for Berz\u00e9-le Chatel, a\ncastle about twelve miles from Cluny, on the road to M\u00e2con. On the\nsteps of the hotel I was accosted affably, in the English tongue, by\na gentleman, whose face was quite unfamiliar to me. He assured me,\nhowever, that he had met us at Bourg en Bresse; and I, being unable\neither to deny or to affirm the assertion, must needs listen. Having\nfinished with the weather, he paused, turned, waved his hand towards\nthe gray abbey tower, that rose above our heads, and said majestically,\nwith an air of imparting valuable information; \"C'est ancien.\" Being\nstill heavy for want of sleep, I just cursed him inwardly, and went my\nways.\n\nAs you mount the road that winds upwards towards Berz\u00e9, there opens out\na most lovely view over the green valley of the Grosne, whose windings\nare marked by tall poplars, through which shine the distant towers and\nhills of Cluny. Then come four or five kilometres of typical Burgundian\nclimbing, before you gain the crest of the ridge, and find yourself\nlooking down, and away for mile after mile, until, between a succession\nof rugged hills, that lie like prehistoric monsters couchant towards\nthe southern sun, among golden vineyards dotted with ancient villages\nand immemorial walls, the serpenting, poplar-fringed stream is lost\nto sight, where at last, far off, in the blue distance, the valley\nmerges into the great plain of the Sa\u00f4ne. To the left, on a spur of the\nhill, guarding proudly the hamlet that shelters at its base, rise the\ntime-bronzed towers of the great castle of Berz\u00e9.\n\nThe Castle of Berz\u00e9, now the residence of the Comte de Milly, became\none of the defensive fortresses of the Abbey and town of Cluny,\naccording to the treaty of 1250, which, through the intervention of\nBlanche de Castille, set forth the respective powers, and adjusted\nthe somewhat strained relations of the lords of Berz\u00e9 and the Abbots\nof Cluny. It gave to the Seigneurs of Berz\u00e9-le Chatel, the right to\nadminister justice over the abbatial lords in the neighbourhood of the\ncastle, including Berz\u00e9-la Ville. Moreover, it bound the tenants of\nthese lands to come together \"at the clamour of the castle,\" to defend\nand guard it, in return for which assistance, they were granted, in war\ntime, the right of shelter within the fortress, both for themselves and\ntheir goods. From that time forward, the Abbots and Seigneurs were on\nsuch good terms, that some of the latter subscribed liberally to the\nAbbey, and even obtained the privilege of burial within its precincts.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7CHATEAU DE BERZ\u00c9\u00b7]\n\nIn legend, as well as in history, Berz\u00e9 has played its part. A Seigneur\nof the castle, it is said, piqued by a morbid curiosity, shut up in\nthe lowest donjon an ox and a man, that he might know which would\ndie first. Tradition avers that his passion for knowledge remained\nunsatisfied, since both died together. In 1315, Geoffrey de Berz\u00e9,\ntiring of his diurnal occupations, namely, hunting in the morning and\nbeating his servants at night, raised an impious hand against, and let\nit descend upon, the archdeacon of M\u00e2con, who, through the chapter,\nbrought a complaint before parliament; with the result that Geoffrey\nand his successors were condemned, in perpetuity, to burn, every year,\na candle of fifty pounds weight in the choir of the cathedral of M\u00e2con.\nThis fine was still being paid, up to the close of the eighteenth\ncentury, when it was customary to set forth in bad verses, on a card\nat the foot of the chandelier that carried the candle, an explanation\nof this \"amende honorable.\"\n\nBerz\u00e9-le Chatel was prominent, too, in those bloody wars of the\nArmagnacs and Bourguignons, which, for more than thirty years, drenched\nthe stricken land of France in the blood of her bravest men. Later\non, it fell into the hands of the Dauphin, afterwards Charles VII.,\nwho, by magnificent promises, succeeded in inducing the governor to\nbetray the Duke of Burgundy. It did not remain long in the hands of\nthe French; for local knowledge of the subterranean passages soon\neffected its recapture by the Burgundians, who, to the terror of the\nFrench soldiers, seemed to have arisen mysteriously from the earth. The\nlast siege of the castle took place in 1591, when the Duc de Namours\nafter making a breach in the walls with artillery, captured it for the\nHuguenots, whose attacks it had resisted hitherto.[94]\n\nA path leads off the road, down through the vines, and up to the\ncottages at the castle foot, where you can climb, by another steep\nstony way, to the great, double-towered gate, guarded by machicolations\nand portcullis, and bearing the coat-of-arms of the house of Berz\u00e9.\nWithin is a lawn, encircling a little pond, and an ivied avenue of\nancient firs, whose sombre hues set off, in summer, the vivid scarlet\nof the geraniums, and the soft tints of the laburnum. Crossing this\ngrassy, stoutly-walled terrace, you pass beneath another fortified\ngate, where scarlet creepers cling, to the court yard of the castle,\nbright with beds of fuschias, and masses of ball-shaped white flowers.\nShade is given by a great walnut-tree; and here, too, is an adjunct,\nindispensable now, as in medi\u00e6val times,--a well. The fa\u00e7ade of the\nhouse shows, upon its soft, gray stone, the typical cupid's bow windows\nof the fifteenth century. Across the dwarf wall, the view extends away,\neastward, over a lower terrace, to the trimly-kept kitchen gardens,\nand ancient out-buildings; westward to the vine-clad hills. This is a\ncastle of enchantment, in whose flowery courts one can recall visions\nof the purple past that has floated over the towers of Berz\u00e9.\n\nLeaving the castle, and passing down the great double avenue of walnuts\nand sycamores which connect it with the romanesque church of the\nVillage of Berz\u00e9, I stood, looking at the curious staircase that leads,\nbetween roofed-in buttresses, to the church tower. An old woman passed\nme, carrying, by a yoke on her shoulders, two large buckets of water.\n\n\"Whose castle is this, Madame?\"\n\n\"This is Monsieur le Comte de Milly's, monsieur,\" and she bowed\nslightly; whether to me or to the great name, I do not know. Two jets\nof water splashed over her sabots.\n\nWe went our ways; she looking down at her wet feet, and I thinking\nof the Marquis of Carabas--not by reason of any legendary connection\nbetween that potentate and the ch\u00e2teau of Berz\u00e9, but because the turn\nof her phrase had recalled my first reading of \"Puss in Boots.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Illustration: CHATEAU DE LOURDON]\n\nAnother of the guardian castles of Cluny, that to which in dangerous\ntimes the treasures, charts, and title deeds of the Abbey were taken,\nwas the Ch\u00e2teau de Lourdon. It was pillaged in 1575 by the partisans\nof the Duc d'Alen\u00e7on, who burned so many of the original papers that\nClaude de Guise, after his reconciliation with Henry IV., obtained\nletters patent rendering valid the existing copies of the parchments.\nIn 1632, Richelieu, who had obtained possession of the Abbey of Cluny,\nordered the demolition of the donjon and castle of Lourdon, a command\nso faithfully carried out that nothing was left of the fortress, except\nwhat is to be seen to-day--a ruined ivy-hung wall, its line broken by\na round tower, through whose windows you can see the concierge moving,\nand by a curious row of great columns, like organ pipes, now generally\nsupposed to be the remains of a kind of medi\u00e6val tennis court. From the\ncastle rising high above the bush-covered rocks, you can look down over\nthe grape vines to the village of Lourdon, and the hills of the Grosne\nvalley. Looking up at it, through the houses of the village street, it\nmust have appeared a not unworthy guardian of a trust so great as were\nthe treasures of Cluny.\n\nThe best way to get there by the valley road from Cluny, is to turn up\nthe hill when you come to a small sentinel tower. If you ask the way,\nyou will probably be told, as we were, to turn at the next lane, which\nis longer, less convenient, and gives a much less striking approach\nto the castle. Persistent mis-direction of strangers is a common\nBurgundian failing.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThose who have wandered about the streets of Cluny may have happened\nupon the late fifteenth century, or early sixteenth century, house of\nthe Prat family, the ancestors of the poet Lamartine, whose name is\nfrequently heard by travellers in the M\u00e2connais or the Dauphin\u00e9; though\nthe nation as a whole, soon forgot him, after that swiftly rising wave\nof latin enthusiasm had swept him into the seats of the mighty, and,\nreceding, had dragged him with it, to face, as best he might, the\nobscure, penniless life of a literary hack.\n\nHis birthplace, at Milly, is not now in existence; but the prospect\nof seeing the family Ch\u00e2teau de Saint Point, where part of his youth,\nand some later years of retirement, were passed, tempted me to pay a\nvisit to that valley. In a very improbable, though naturally written\nand pathetic study of rustic life, \"Le Tailleur de Pierres de St.\nPoint\"--he who died of that, unhappily, rare malady, the love of\nGod--we have Lamartine's own description of his home.\n\nFrom the mountain side projects a low hill \"dominated at its summit\nby an old castle flanked by compact towers, and by the notched spire\nof a romanesque church tower. At the foot of the hill are pastures\nbordered with alders, cherry and large nut trees, between whose trunks\ncan be seen the walls, roofs and rustic bridge of a hamlet built in\nthe shadow of the castle and comprising fifteen or twenty cottages of\nworkmen, small farmers or shopkeepers, all grouped around the village\nchurch. These old towers, undermined at their bases by the weather,\nand cracked by the weight of stone above them, shorn of the spires\nat their summits, are useless to-day, except to flank a heavy square\nmass of naked stone, pierced with a winding stair and several vaulted\nrooms--such is my abode.... Thence the view, falling and rising,\nextends over the most beautiful part of the valley of St. Point. One's\nglance, following the rapid slope of the pastures, rests upon a field\nthrough the middle of which runs the river 'Vallonge.' Great nut trees\nwith bronze foliage, motionless as metal leaves, poplars with trunks\nstorm-twisted, and with foliage more hairy and whiter than the head of\nan old man, European cypresses, alders, birches, willows rescued by me,\ntwenty-five years ago now, from the bill of the tree-trimmer, leaning\nfrom bank to bank of the river they love and are loved by, interwoven\nover its course, form a lofty, floating, capricious vault of foliage of\nevery tint, a very mosaic of vegetation. The lightest airs of summer\nsway this moving curtain, and summon thence waves of sound, breathings,\nthe watery sheen of leaves, flights of birds and vegetable scents,\nwhich gladden the eyes, vary the outlook, and rise in sweet sounds and\nwandering fragrances to the balcony of my house.\"\n\nThis balcony was the construction in sculptured stone, in imitation\nof the old Gothic Balustrades of Oxford, that he had added to the\nprincipal fa\u00e7ade. Here the peacocks perching, day and night, bordered\nits heavy stones with a row of living caryatides, as they spread their\nbrilliant tails to the sun.[95]\n\nMeanwhile, with such passages as these in my mind, I was making for\nthe village. Having climbed the winding staircase that leads up to\nthe terraced churchyard, I saw, as I drew near, across the tangled\ngraves, the tomb of Lamartine, a pretentious, but quite unsuccessful,\nproduction, in bastard gothic style, the interior hung round with\nhorrible wreaths of artificial flowers. On a pedestal was a bust of the\npoet, with a metal urn on each side, and, below, a recumbent statue of\nhis wife, and memorials of other descendants.\n\nIt was with a feeling of intense relief that I turned from the\nartificial to the real, to the monument in which nature's art, that is\nnot artifice, has immortalized the memory of Lamartine.\n\nHere is the primitive little romanesque church, whose gracious tower\nis now hoary with years, and golden with the kisses of the sun.\nOne's glance rests long upon those stones, where, above the slender\ncolonettes, among the waving grasses, wild flowers, ferns, and soft\nmoss of the slag roof, the stone corner-heads of a thousand years ago\nwatch silently over a tree-embowered, weed-entangled, dreamy garden\nof the dead. For these are the living memorials of a poet--the wide,\ngreen meadow of the valley, the undulating boughs, and gray and silver\nglimpses of the breeze-swung poplars, the red tiles of the ancient\nvillage, the stream willow-fringed, the creamy cattle browsing in\nupland pastures, the gracious contours of woodland hill, touched by\nAutumn's mellowing hand, the blue dome above, whose silver islands\nfloat on the wings of a warm, south wind.\n\nHis memories linger, too, in melodious songs, sung by poets not less\nthan he, the lark in the blue, the thrush on the bough, the zephyrs\namong the leaves; the distant tap, tap, tap, of the woodpecker in\nthe far-off forest, or of some follower of that stone-cutter of St.\nPoint, with whom Lamartine, high up in the mountain quarry, talked of\nthe ways of God with man. One day, perhaps, France will realize these\ntruths; then she will cease to desecrate, with hideous monuments, the\nopen spaces of her ancient villages, and the resting place of her\nillustrious dead.\n\nHaving been assured by a villager that visits to the Ch\u00e2teau were\npermitted, encouraged even, I effected an entrance to the grounds,\nthrough a gate in the wall on the north side of the church. The\nbuilding appears to be a patchwork of many dates, marred by some\nwretched, modern imitations, and the hideous device, not infrequent\nhereabouts, of painting sham gothic windows on a plaster wall; but the\ngeneral effect of the whole, matured by age, set in finely timbered\ngrounds, is not unpleasing. I wish I could say the same for my welcome,\nwhich might be summed up in these words: \"Come in, go through; damn\nyou, get out!\"\n\nThe cicerone who, by the way, was kind enough to inform me that no part\nof the building was of earlier date than the nineteenth century,[96]\nwas so rude that I felt much more disposed to discuss with her, gently\nbut firmly, the question of manners, than to look at the many relics\nshe was able to show me.[97]\n\nIt is obvious that only three courses are open to the owner of an\nhistoric house. He can refuse admission to the public; he can grant\nadmission unconditionally; or he can grant admission on payment, or on\nother reasonable conditions; but, upon whatever terms he admits you,\nhe must make you welcome, so long as you, in your turn, conform to the\nexigencies of polite society. A thinly veiled attitude of hostility\ndeprives the self-respecting visitor of all pleasure.\n\nBe it added, however, lest I should discourage others from visiting\nthe castle, that the account of my experience was received most\napologetically by several villagers, who assured me that the present\ninhabitants were \"gentils,\" and that my cold reception must have been\ndue to the fact, of which I was, of course, unaware, that there was\nillness in the house.\n\nMy wrath having been appeased by lunch, and the attentions of a\ngood-natured hostess, I proceeded boldly to climb to the head of the\nValley of St. Point, and, after many kilometres of very hard work,\nwas rewarded by a look back over the Valley, from below Tramaye. In\nthe middle distance, shone, in the afternoon sun, bronze and white\namong the tapering poplars, the Village of St. Point, crowned by the\nancient gray church; and, higher yet, the sombre trees of the garden,\nand the towers of Lamartine's ch\u00e2teau. Above Tramaye, itself a very\neagle's aerie, one by one the lower valleys open out to view, until, at\nlast, crossing the \"col,\" you descend, for kilometre after kilometre,\nto Clermain in the Valley of the Grosne, one of the once-fortified\nadvance-guard villages protecting the approach to Cluny from the South.\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter VI; House of Lamartine]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[90] Lorain, p. 95.\n\n[91] \"Undermining of the monastic state and ruin of good\n monasteries.\"--Penjon's \"Cluny,\" p. 125.\n\n[92] It was found in the fa\u00e7ade of a barn, but once formed part of the\n arch of a Romanesque house.\n\n[93] For further particulars see the article on \"Maisons\" in\n Viollet-le-Duc's \"Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9,\" Tome vi., p. 222 and on.\n Also the chapter \"Maisons Particuli\u00e9res\" in M. Penjon's book.\n\n[94] \"Cluny, la Ville et l'Abbaye,\" par A. Penjon, pp. 4-5.\n\n[95] \"Le Tailleur de Pierre de St. Point,\" cap. vii., viii.\n\n[96] In the sixteenth century the castle was occupied by Guillaume de\n St. Point, Governor of M\u00e2con, a bitter enemy of the Calvinists.\n\n[97] You are shown the bed on which he died, many interesting\n photographs, articles of wearing apparel, and other personal relics\n of Lamartine, also many paintings by Mme. Lamartine, an English\n lady. There are others in the church.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Chapter VII heading; St. Bernard]\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nMORE POPE THAN YOU\n\n\nPurity and simplicity having been always potent factors in the\ndevelopment of the spiritual life, it followed, as the night the day,\nthat Cluny's ever-growing indulgencies and luxury, while they sapped\nher own strength, laid her open to supercession by the devotees of an\nuncorrupted order. By the time of Pierre le V\u00e9n\u00e9rable, that rival had\nalready arisen. The Cistercian Order, under the rule of St. Bernard, at\nClairvaux, had already supplanted Cluny as the first religious power\nof Europe. The story of the rise of Citeaux is full of legendary and\nhistorical interest.\n\nAbout the middle of the eleventh century, Eringarde, the wife of\nTheodoric, a nobleman of Normandy, was about to become a mother. On\nthe eve of the expected birth, the Holy Virgin appeared to the lady,\nand showed to her a golden ring, saying: \"With this ring I betrothe\nto myself the son whom you shall bring into the world.\" The child was\nbaptized under the name of Robert. When he was grown up, and had heard\nthe story of his mother's vision, he left his native home, and betook\nhimself to Burgundy, there to consecrate a monastery to the cult of\nGod and St. Mary. The spot he chose for the foundation, in the year\n1075, was in the forest of Mol\u00eame, beyond Ch\u00e2tillon. There a company\nof fellow anchorites built, of the branches of trees, a chapel in\nhonour of the Virgin, and there, in that solitude, they led a life so\naustere, so laborious, so fervent, that the monks of Mol\u00eame came to be\nknown rather as angels than men.\n\nBut, before many years had passed, abundance and prosperity had brought\nabout a general lassitude, and departure from the austerity of the\nearly rule. Robert's disciples mutinied against their Abbot, who then\nknew that the time for departure was come. Early in the year 1098,\na little band of Benedictine monks, twenty-one in number, including\nRobert, the prior, and sub-prior, might have been seen issuing from\nthe abbey gateway of Mol\u00eame. They took with them no other provision\nfor their travels than the vestments and sacred vessels for the\ncelebration of the most holy mysteries, and a large breviary for the\ndue performance of the divine office. Through wild and rugged paths, by\nmountain and forest, they journeyed on, chanting the divine praises,\nuntil, in the midst of the great plain of Burgundy, they came upon a\nvast solitude, the haunt of wild beasts, which, among the forest trees,\nfound shelter in the underwood and brambles. Here, as they wended their\nway along the banks of a stream, beside reed-fringed, stagnant pools,\nwhere only the discordant cry of the water-fowl broke the awful silence\nof nature, the travellers heard a voice from Heaven, crying \"Sistite\nhic!\" (halt here), and knew that this forest was the spot in which God\nwilled that they should serve Him.\n\nObtaining grant of the land, and aid, from Eudes, Duke of Burgundy, and\nthe Vicomte de Beaune, whose it was, they raised their monastery, which\nwas solemnly dedicated, on the 21st March, 1098, to the Virgin Mary,\nand named Citeaux, in memory of the divine command they had heard.[98]\n\nSt. Robert stayed only for one year in Citeaux, before an order of\nthe sovereign pontiff recalled him to Mol\u00eame; but the new monastery\ncontinued to flourish under the guidance of Stephen Harding, a young\nEnglish monk.\n\nAbout this time it pleased the Virgin to show conspicuously to the\nbrethren her good pleasure in the life they were leading in her honour.\nOne day, when they were chanting matins, Mary, Queen of Heaven and\nEarth, resplendent in glory, appeared to them with the first rays of\nthe dawn, and, in a moment, with a touch of her hand, changed the tawny\nrobes of the Cistercians into garments of spotless purity. The vision\nvanished; but cowl and tunic retained the dazzling brilliancy of snow.\n\nThen the pious cenobites understood that they must adopt,\nhenceforth, the white dress, as symbol of her--that flawless\nlily-of-the-valley--whose servants they were, and towards whose\nunspotted purity they were ever to strive.[99]\n\nIn after years, when the black monks reproached the Cistercians with\nwearing a garment fit only for a time of joy, whilst the monastic state\nwas one of penitence, the white monks would answer, that the religious\nlife was not only one of penitence, but was like that of the angels,\nand therefore they wore white garments to show the spiritual joy of\ntheir hearts.[100] The Cistercian habit bore about it another touch of\ngrace, derived from long and holy association. In the black scapular,\nworn over the white tunic, broad about the shoulders, then falling in\na narrow strip to the feet, they saw the form of the Lord's cross, and\nthus they loved to bear it about with them, even in their sleep.[101]\nAnd notwithstanding their coarser bread, hard beds, and clothing no\nbetter than that of the peasantry, there was ever a cheerfulness about\nthe Cistercians that comes always to him whose heart beats in sympathy\nwith the warm heart of mother nature, whose work lay where their days\nwere passed, not in towns, but in sequestered valleys and lonely\nuplands, among fruitful vineyard, meadow, and cornfield.\n\nAfter a while, upon Citeaux, too, in its turn, came evil days, when\none by one the monks fell away and died, until Stephen began to doubt\nwhether the austerities of his rule were not above human strength, and\nto fear that God had willed the destruction of the new community. One\nday, when he, with his brothers, was seated at the bed-side of a dying\npriest, he told the sufferer of his fear, and ordered him, in Christ's\nName, to return from among the dead, and reveal to him God's Will\nconcerning the future of the Abbey.\n\nThe monk promised to do so, in so far as might be permitted him. Then\nhe died.\n\nSome days after the passing of that brother, Stephen, at work in the\nfields, gave the signal for rest. Withdrawing himself from the others,\nhe knelt down to pray, when the dead monk, ashine with heavenly light,\nand seeming rather to float above the ground than to be standing upon\nit, appeared to him.\n\n\"Father,\" said he, \"The Lord Christ has sent me to tell you that\nyour way of life is good in His sight, and that the desolation and\nsterility of Citeaux are about to pass away. Soon your children will be\nsaying to you, 'Make room for us; the abode is too narrow; enlarge its\nboundaries.' Multitudes of men will come to range themselves beneath\nyour crook, and among them shall be many learned ones, and many a lord.\nYour disciples, in number as bees when they swarm, shall go hence to\nfound new abbeys in far off lands.\"\n\nNot long after this vision, one evening, in the year 1113, whilst\nStephen and the remnant of his little flock were imploring God to\nfulfil His promises, a band of thirty persons, under the guidance of a\nyoung man, was slowly traversing the forest towards the abbey. Soon the\nsound of the iron knocker, clanging upon the gate, summoned the porter,\nwhose bell announced the arrival of strangers. The new-comers entered,\nprostrated themselves at the feet of Stephen, and begged to be admitted\ninto the number of his monks. They were a notable company; young lords,\nnoble in feature and deportment, from among the greatest houses in\nBurgundy; older men who had shone in the councils of princes, and had\nworn, hitherto, only the furred mantle, or the steel hauberk, now to be\nexchanged for the lowly cowl of St. Benedict.\n\n\"At the head of the troops was a young man of about twenty-three years\nof age, of exceeding beauty. He was rather tall of stature, his neck\nlong and delicate, his whole frame very thin like that of a man in\nweak health. His hair was of a light colour, and his complexion fair;\nbut with all its pallor, there was a virgin bloom spread over the thin\nskin of his cheek; an angelic purity and a dove-like simplicity shone\nforth from his eye, which showed at once the serene chastity of his\nsoul.\"[102] Such, in aspect, was Bernard, the young saint, who, before\nmany years had passed, was to be the dominant force in the policies of\nwestern Europe.\n\nBernard's origin was not less worthy than that of his companions.\nHis father, Tescelin le Roux (the Red), could trace back his descent\nthrough the chevaliers of old, to immemorial times. Born at Ch\u00e2tillon\non Seine, he belonged to the seigneurial family of that town, though he\nresided much at his castle of Fontaines-les-Dijon, where Bernard was\nborn, only a short distance from the Burgundian capital. Tescelin's\nwife, Alethea, was descended in direct line from the Counts of\nMontbard, and through them was connected with the Dukes of Burgundy,\nin whose court, as counsellor of Eudes I. and Hugues II., Tescelin was\nhigh in favour. He was a man of honour, strong and firm of character;\nshe, a girl of fifteen at the time of her marriage, was of gentle\ndisposition, sorrowing often because God had seen fit to thwart her\nleanings towards the cloister life. As the mother of Bernard, third\nof her seven children, a yet nobler destiny was reserved for her.\nShortly before the birth of this third child, there came to Alethea a\nmysterious dream, in which she seemed to see, imprisoned within her\nown body, a little red and white dog, who barked without ceasing.\nAstonished and troubled by this vision, she consulted a priest, as to\nwhat it might mean. His interpretation filled her heart with joy.\n\n\"Fear not,\" said he, \"You are to become the mother of a marvellous\nchild. Like unto a faithful dog he will keep guard over the House of\nthe Lord, and shall make his cry heard against the enemies of the\nfaith. He shall surpass all other preachers, and his word, full of\nlight and authority, shall be the saving of many.\"[103]\n\nThe young child in every way fulfilled the heavenly promise; yet,\nfor many a year, he was torn mentally between the calls of the world\nand of the cloister; both in his early training at the schools of\nCh\u00e2tillon-sur-Seine, and later, when in spiritual solitude, at the\nch\u00e2teau of Fontaines, he looked down upon the dead body of his\nmother. The world would not yield, without a struggle, so promising\na recruit as Bernard, whose father, never dreaming that the gates of\nthe monastery were soon to close upon him too, was not alone in his\nendeavours to keep his son from the religious life.\n\nBernard, however, was proof against all persuasion; nor was it long\nbefore his fast-developing strength of character and conviction caused\nhim, in his turn, to become the aggressor. One by one the brothers were\nwon over, until, at last, all, save G\u00e9rard, were upon Bernard's side.\nResolute, he still turned with indignation from all the young saint's\nproposals. Bernard laid his hand upon his brother's side:\n\n\"I see,\" said he, \"that misfortune alone can enlighten thee. A day is\ncoming, and it is not far off, when a lance shall pierce this body, and\nopen, towards the heart, an easy passage to the thought of salvation.\"\n\nAnd so it came about; for some days later, at the siege of the castle\nof Grancy, G\u00e9rard fell, struck by a lance; and, covered with blood, was\ncarried into the fortress prison. Then he recalled Bernard's saying,\nsaw his destiny clearly, and accepted the religious life.\n\nBernard's brothers were among the company who had knocked that day at\nthe gate of Citeaux. The new-comers remained for a week in the guest\nhouse of the monastery. On the eighth day they were taken into the\nchapter house, where the Abbot and his monks were assembled. As they\nknelt before him, the Abbot put to each of them the question prescribed\nby the rule:\n\n\"What seek you?\" to which they replied in turn:\n\n\"My Father, God's Mercy, and yours.\" Then were read to them the\nstricter points of the Cistercian rule, and the Abbot dismissed them\nsaying,\n\n\"My sons; may God fulfil in you that which His Grace has begun.\"[104]\n\nFrom the commencement of his novitiate, Bernard practised austerities\nthat were severe--even for a Cistercian. He would kneel until, on\nrising, his swollen limbs refused, almost, to support him, and, while\nalways ready with a helping hand to lighten the toil of other monks\nin the forest or the marsh, he prepared himself for his labours with\nnourishment so poor that his body wasted and fever consumed him,\nuntil his life was despaired of. Devoting all his mind to the inward\nand spiritual, to answering well the question he was always asking\nhimself, \"Bernarde ad quid venisti?\" (Bernard, wherefore art thou\nhere?), he seems to have been almost unobservant of outward things. The\nold chronicler relates how, one day, being thirsty, the saint drank,\nwithout noticing its taste, (nihil sapiebat gustandi) a jar of oil\nwhose contents he had mistaken for water. On another occasion, when\nasked whether the ceiling of his cell was flat or vaulted, he was quite\nunable to answer.\n\nThe immediate result of the coming of such a man, with such companions,\nwas an enormous increase in the numbers and power of that order.\nPostulates flocked in hundreds to the Abbey of Citeaux, and, by the\nyear 1113, it had become necessary to establish daughter abbeys. The\nfirst was La Fert\u00e9 (Firmitas), so called to signify the strength and\nconsistency that the Almighty had already bestowed upon the rising\norder. Then followed Pontigny, where Bernard's friend, Hugues de M\u00e2con,\nwas sent as abbot; then, in 1115, Morimond, and Clairvaux (Claire\nVall\u00e9e)--once the robber-haunted Valley of Wormwood. Before long, the\norder had the choice of the fairest fields of France; indeed, of all\nEurope.\n\nBut Clairvaux had no abbot; and Citeaux must supply one. The choice\nfell upon St. Bernard, twenty-five years of age, hardly out of his\nnovitiate, scarce able to support the exercise of his rule, and little\nfitted, as it seemed, to undertake a voyage of discovery to the\nloneliest forest in all the diocese of Langres. Yet he must go.\n\nThe form in which such an expedition set out was characteristic, and\nimpressive in its simplicity. The monks, having been assembled by sound\nof the bell, all the community went down upon their knees. After a long\nsilence, the Abbot intoned a psalm; then, taking a cross of wood from\nthe altar, he handed it, as the token of office, to the new Abbot. The\nlatter received it in silence, kissed it, still without speaking, and\nleft his stall, followed by twelve other monks, symbols of the Christ\nand apostles. All the brothers then ranged themselves in the cloister,\nwhile, with heads bowed, the thirteen passed between them. Silently\nthe gates of the monastery swung open, revealing to all a glimpse of\nthe dangerous world beyond. The pilgrims filed out; and the clang of\nclosing gates announced the termination of the ceremony.\n\nWe have not space to follow further the career of the \"Last of the\nFathers,\" as he was called, or to trace in detail the growth of an\ninfluence so extraordinary, that about the year 1148, we find Pierre\nle V\u00e9n\u00e9rable, Abbot of Cluny, writing of \"Bernard of Clairvaux, the\nsplendid and immovable column that sustains not the monastic order\nonly, but the entire church,\" while Bernard himself, broken down by the\nweight of affairs pressing upon him, writes to Eug\u00e8ne III: \"People are\npretending everywhere that you are not pope, but I; and all who have\nbusiness, flock to me for help,\" (Aiunt non vos esse papam, sed me).\nGeoffrey, Bernard's secretary and successor, writing two years after\nhis master's death, said: \"Whoso has met Bernard has seen Christ. For\nin him the whole Christ dwelt.\"[105]\n\nWithout, indeed, going so far in praise as did his secretary, we may\nagree that Bernard's character comprised most of those elemental\nvirtues, that, blended, make the perfect man. In him, calmness and\nvehemence, tenderness and serenity, tenacity and flexibility, vivid\nimagination and unswerving rectitude, were all present; ever ready\nto meet the necessities of any occasion that might arise. With all\nthese varied gifts he never flattered, never betrayed the truth, never\ndissembled the sacred ardour that burned within him. Everywhere he\nwas listened to with profound respect; his stern voice was heard in\nthe cottages of the poor, and in the palaces of kings. Neither his\nenthusiasm, nor his ceaseless activities, caused him to lose lucidity\nnor precision of argument in debate. His repartee was gentle and\npenetrating; swift to disentangle truth from error, without practising\nthe subtleties of the schools. He was that rarest of phenomena, a\npractical idealist, an enlightened fanatic. And with all these varied\nfaculties, high above men of his time though his intellect was, he\nremained ever a true son of the Church, nor sought to free himself\nfrom the yoke of Catholic authority. Therein lay the secret of his\nsubsequent bitter antagonism to the teachings of Ab\u00e9lard.\n\nA few words as to Cistercian ideals, and especially as to Cistercian\nrule, as compared with that of Cluny, may not be out of place here.\n\nFor the sites of all their monasteries, they chose invariably lonely\nand wild lands, marshy valleys, swamps, or lake, or forest, where\nthe monks would be under no temptation from the vicinity of worldly\nattractions, nor from too close contact with the secular clergy, whose\ninfluence was sometimes harmful. The Cistercian's first duty was the\nfirst duty of man--to reclaim the dark places of the earth from watery\ndesolation to culture and fertility; just as, later on, the first duty\nof preaching friars was to win back the souls of men, from the power of\nSatan unto God. Faurtride, third abbot of Clairvaux, quotes St. Bernard\nas giving another reason. \"It is not sufficient for a monk to allege\nillness (as an excuse for shirking the austerities of the rule).\n\nThe holy fathers, our predecessors, sought deep damp valleys for their\nmonasteries, so that the monks might be often ailing, and having death\nalways before their eyes, should never live in security.\"[106]\n\nIt may be well imagined, that an order founding its houses upon such\nsites, and for such a reason, did not err upon the side of indulgence.\nThe rule was more strict, even, than that followed by Cluny in early\ndays, both as regards abstinence from food and the rigid enforcement of\nsilence. Vegetables were not to be served with fat or butter; meat was\nabsolutely forbidden, unless sometimes to the sick; and fish, except\nherrings during Advent and Lent, was allowed only on rare occasions.\nWhen Pope Innocent II. visited Clairvaux in 1131, the monks had a hard\ntask to find a single herring for his table. In the matter of clothing,\ntoo, they were much more simple than the Clunisians, and closer to the\nBenedictine rule; for instance, the gloves, boots, and furred pelisses,\npermitted in the older abbey during the winter, were forbidden to monks\nof the rival order.\n\nThe whole secret of Citeaux's influence may be summed up in two\nwords--simplicity and self-sacrifice. These principles extended right\nthrough the life of the order, even to its architecture and to its art.\nAlready, at the time of the coming of St. Bernard, the Clunisians were\nbeginning to lighten with sculpture the splendid severity of their\nRomanesque buildings, to deck their statues with precious stones, and\nwith beautiful glass; to adorn with gilding and voluptuous colour the\ngray stones of aisle and nave.\n\n [Illustration: ST. JOHN. BURGUNDIAN SCHOOL]\n\nSt. Bernard, quick to see the danger, sent his masons back to the\nessential. Nave and choir were to be of low elevation, and without\ntowers; within must be neither painting, nor sculpture, nor crucifix,\nnor colour, nor any other ornament. Even the tympanum of the porch,\nso richly carved in Clunisian churches, might show only a cross in\nbas-relief, sometimes surmounted by the Lamb of God. Any sculpture in\nthe interior must be confined to simple flowers and foliage on the\ncapitals, with perhaps a claw at the base of the pillars; the apse and\nchapels were to be square, not polygonal nor semi-circular, as in the\nwork of the other school. Above all, the Cistercians banished from\ntheir churches the scenes from the Ancient and New Testaments, the\nsymbolical figures and fantastic animals, of which the Clunisians were\nso fond. Their cloisters were low and heavy, and the windows of the\nmonastic buildings were narrow, almost, as loopholes.\n\nIn ceremonial observances they were equally simple, and contented\nthemselves with a monotonous psalmody, poor and thin compared with the\nmelodious chants that rang down the aisles of Cluny. The manuscripts\nshowed the same scorn of art. Cluny bound their parchments beautifully\nin gold and silver, and ornamented them with precious stones; Citeaux\nwas content with a rough binding of pig-skin, decorated with nails, and\nfastened with copper bands.\n\nIt was inevitable that such vital difference of opinion should find\ncontemporary expression in words, as well as deeds. Bernard protests\nvehemently against luxe. His correspondence on the subject with his\nfriend, Pierre le V\u00e9n\u00e9rable, is full of interest.\n\n\"I do not speak,\" he writes, \"of the prodigious height of the churches,\nof their immeasurable length, of their unnecessary width, of their\nsumptuous ornaments, of their curious paintings, which draw the glances\nof those who are at prayer, and prevent them from praying. As a monk,\nI address myself to monks, and I say to them: You who should be poor,\nwhat do you with this gold in the sanctuary? Other than this should\nbe the conduct of the bishops, other than this that of the monks. The\nbishops, as we know, extend their solicitude to the foolish as well as\nto the wise. That they should seek to arouse by exterior ornament the\ndevotion of a carnal people insensible to the ornaments of the soul,\nwe can well understand; but we who have come forth from the bosom of\nthis people, who, for the love of Christ, have left the world and all\nwhich is precious and apparent, we who regard as dung all that shines\nby beauty, all that flatters the ear by harmony, that pleases the\nsenses of smell and touch, in a word, all that can give rise to sensual\npleasure, whose devotion do we aspire to arouse by these ornaments?\n\n\"And to speak my thought openly, is it not avarice, that idolatry of\nslaves, which inspires us, and do we not seek rather the gifts of\nmatter than the fruits of the spirit? How so, will you reply? I will\ntell you. Gold is lavished on every hand that it may multiply; it is\nspread abroad that it may be augmented. At the sight of these sumptuous\nvanities which excite astonishment, men feel themselves inflamed with\nthe will to give, rather than with the will to pray. I do not know what\nthis penchant may be, that bids us give more willingly to him that\nalready has much. Eyes are dazzled by reliquaries covered with gold,\nand the sight of them opens every purse. The more the chasse shines in\nbeauty, the more sacred are the relics held to be. We hasten to kiss\nthem, and we feel ourselves drawn on into giving; we admire that which\nstrikes the eye, rather than venerate holy things. In the churches are\nexposed, not crowns, but wheels encrusted with pearls, and the lamps\nwhich surround them cast a light less bright than the precious stones.\nFor candalabra, we see rise a tier of enormous weight, fashioned with a\nmarvellous art, which glitters less by the candles which surmount it,\nthan by the diamonds with which it is adorned.\n\n\"What seek ye in all that, I ask you; is it the compunction of\npenitence or the astonishment of the eye? O Vanity of Vanities, O\nFolly! In her buildings, the church is ashine, in her poor she is\nall impoverished. She clothes her stones with gold, she leaves her\nchildren naked. 'Tis at the expense of the poor that we seek to flatter\nthe eye of the rich. The curious find wherewithal to charm them;\nthe unfortunate seek in vain their daily bread. Do we not abuse our\nveneration of the images of the saints, until they are ready to rise\nfrom the paving-stones? Here one is spitting in an angel's mouth; there\nthe passers-by tread upon the face of a saint. If you do not respect\nthese holy images, why do you not respect at least their brilliant\ncolouring? Of what use is it to decorate these figures if they are to\nbe continually soiled with dust? Of what use are they to the poor, to\nthe monks, to spiritual men?\n\n\"What is the meaning in the cloisters, before the brother occupied in\nreading, of those ridiculous monsters, those deformed beauties, those\nbeautiful deformities? What do they there, those unclean apes, those\nfierce lions, those monstrous centaurs, those figures half man, half\nbeast, those striped tigers, those fighting soldiers, those huntsmen\nwho sound the horn? On one side, I see many heads on a single body;\non the other, many bodies with a single head; here a beast with a\nserpent's tail; there a fish with an animal's head. Half a horse ends\nin half a goat; a horned animal bears a horse's croup. Everywhere\nappears a multitude of varied and uncouth forms. More pleasure is taken\nin reading on marble than in books; we choose rather to pass the whole\nday in looking upon these pictures than in meditating upon the Divine\nLaw. Great God, though we blush not at such follies, let us blush, at\nleast, at the sums they cost!\"[107]\n\nHowever worthy such ideals might be from the spiritual point of\nview--and no one, surely, can read Bernard's letter without feeling\nits power and sincerity--it is obvious that, like those of the later\nPuritanism, they bore within them the germs of their own destruction.\nNo community of man, even in those glorious days of the early middle\nages, could live, for long, up to that standard; and as the order\nestablished itself all over Europe, almost, the diffusion of its\nforces resulted necessarily in a swift falling away, and loss of\nprestige. That change, though, perhaps, a disaster for the Christian\nchurch, was the salvation of Western Europe; for, had the ideals of\nCiteaux finally prevailed over those of Cluny, the glorious Gothic\narts of the next three centuries, upon which Cluny certainly exercised\ngreat influence--of which, indeed, she was the mother--would not have\nattained the same development.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAmong the distinguished visitors to Citeaux, were Louis le Gros, in\n1127; Pope Eug\u00e8ne III., who presided over the chapter general, in 1148;\nLouis VII., in 1166; and Louis IX. (St. Louis), who came here from\nV\u00e9zelay, in 1244.\n\nOn that occasion, according to custom, the Duke of Burgundy, Hugues\nIV., preceded the royal cort\u00e8ge up to the limit of his lands. As they\napproached Citeaux, coming in sight of the church, all left their\nhorses, and advanced on foot in the attitude of prayer. The prelates,\nthe abbots who were there, and the monks, to the number of five\nhundred, came forth in procession to welcome the monarch visiting them\nfor the first time. Louis IX. and Queen Blanche did not lodge in the\nabbey, but in the Hotel du Duc de Bourgogne, without the walls. They\nwere specially authorized to eat meat during their stay, on condition\nthat such permission would not be granted on a future occasion.[108]\n\nUpon the fair fame of the later history of the order there rests one\nindelible stain. Citeaux was largely responsible for that series of\nawful crimes and massacres known as the Albigensian crusade. Early\nin the thirteenth century, Innocent III., weary of vain attempts by\nspiritual force to crush out heresy from the church, decided to employ\nthe not unwilling Cistercians to preach a new crusade. A great army\nof \"Crusaders,\" under the command of Eudes III., Duke of Burgundy,\ncrossed the Rh\u00f4ne at Avignon, and passing through Montpellier, came to\nB\u00e9ziers, where they proceeded to indulge in \"the greatest massacre ever\ncommitted in all the world; for they spared neither young nor old, nor\neven infants at the breast.\" It seems a cruel irony that from Arnaud,\nAbbot of Citeaux, a successor of St. Robert and St. Bernard, should\nhave come the answer to the question how they were to deal with the\nheretics: \"Kill them all; God will know His Own!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut happier recollections than those were in my mind when last I rode\nto Citeaux from Dijon, on a dull and rainy morning of October, a\nfitting day on which to visit that savage and lonely site. There are\npeople--cultured people, even, such as Emile Mont\u00e9gut--who will tell\nyou that, because the country here is flat, and the old monastery\nalmost entirely destroyed, Citeaux is not worthy of a visit. I find\nit hard to understand how anyone possessing a spark of historic\nimagination, can thus deprive himself of the pleasure of seeing the\nabbey; though there were certainly less inducement to go there when\nthe place was a penitentiary school, than now, when it is again in\nthe occupation of the white monks. I hope that this account of my own\npilgrimage there will induce others to follow my example.\n\nI rode to Citeaux by way of Rouvres, a lonely village on the plain\nsouth of Dijon. It has, or had, a ch\u00e2teau--not now visible within its\nbelt of trees--that has some interesting historical associations, and\nthere is a Romanesque church accessible, I remember, by a somewhat\nunique bridge, consisting of gravestones, evidently taken from the\nchurchyard, laid, with the inscriptions uppermost, across the stream\nwhere the ducks paddle.\n\nPassing through many a tangled and dilapidated Burgundian village, I\ncame at last, after miles of plodding across the plain, to a spot so\nsavage of aspect, that it might well be a halting-place, even to-day,\nfor an ascetic brotherhood faring forth in search of a site for a\nnew foundation. On the left of the lonely road was a stagnant marsh,\nbordered with clumps of yellow reeds and brown bullrushes. Before me,\na great expanse of sullen water, fringed with a line of distant, black\nfir trees, reflected on its broken surface the drifting, gray clouds.\nA dismal lake it was, marged with red and green rushes, dappled with\nbroad-leaved water plants, and spotted with splashing drops. No human\nnote broke the silence; no sound but the harsh cry of wild fowl,\nthe croaking of frogs, the monotonous swish of falling rain. At my\nfeet were growing thistles and deadly night-shade; through the reeds\nI caught a glimpse of a pink sow snouting in the mud. A feeling of\nintense exaltation arose within me--the delight born of unity with\nNature in her elemental mood. I knew now why the Cistercians loved\nthese spots. There welled up in me the same sensation of burning\npleasure that lightened the life of the ascetic of eight hundred years\nago, when, leaning upon the handle of his spade, as he paused for a\nmoment from his labour, he watched the wind furrowing the rippled\nwater, and heard the holy spirits of the air singing to the bending\nrushes on the bank.\n\nI rode on, past the gateway of the Abbey grounds, to the village\nof Citeaux, where I lunched with an asceticism that, though not\ninappropriate to the occasion, was due, I must confess, rather to\nthe limitations of the innkeeper's resources, than to a voluntary\ncompliance with the rule of St. Benedict. During the repast, Madame,\nstanding before me, and punctuating her remarks with an occasional\nsweep of the back of her hand across her mouth, held forth upon the\nhistory of the Abbey. Learning from her that the buildings could be\nvisited, I determined to see what was to be seen. Cycling boldly up to\nthe gate of the monastery, and ignoring utterly a mighty hound, who\nnearly strangled himself in his efforts to rend me limb from limb, I\nlooked about me. Near the gate was a white monk, walking slowly, with\nhis eyes upon the ground. He bowed in response to my salutation; but,\nwhen he raised his head, his hesitation, and the spasmodic movements of\nhis lips before he spoke, betrayed the effect of the rule of silence.\nThe words came with an effort.\n\n\"Vous n'avez qu'\u00e0 sonner \u00e0 la porte.\"\n\nI rang the bell accordingly, when there emerged, from the lodge\nopposite to the gate, another little, square-headed, white-robed monk,\nwho, smiling, and bowing low, with spread hands, welcomed me to the\nmonastery.\n\nMy guide was an intelligent, affectionate, resigned little Flamand,\nhis natural cheerfulness of disposition tempered by the inevitable\nsadness of a vocation now generally despised, and quite apart from\nthe swiftly-flowing current of modern life. Together we traversed\nthe rooms and corridors of the modern buildings--until recently a\npenitentiary school--from which the members of the chapter, held\nannually in September, had departed only the day before my visit. On\nthe walls of the assembly room were plans of the four daughter abbeys\nof Citeaux--La Fert\u00e9, Pontigny, Clairvaux, and Morimond; \"Une m\u00e8re bien\nf\u00e9conde,\" as my guide said--and the signed letter of Pope Leo XIII.,\nrestoring Citeaux to the Cistercian order. The chapter table, round\nwhich ran the names of the abbeys represented, was still littered with\npens and ink for use at the function. My monk pointed out the little\nballot-box, filled with white beans, by means of which the voting was\ndone. A majority of one carries the day, and the ballot is open, unless\none member expresses a desire for it to be secret. The rule of St.\nBenedict, and the book of the constitutions, are kept on the table for\nreference, if necessary.\n\nWe passed beneath the bust of St. Bernard, which is over the door, and\ndescended to the foot of the stairs, where my companion put on again,\nover his sandalled feet, the sabots he had kicked off on entering. A\nmoment later we were standing in the refectory, where, upon the table,\nwere laid the spoons, the brown earthenware plates, the bowls and the\nnapkins, all ready for the next meal. The abbot sits, as of old, at the\nhead of his twenty-five monks, and in the middle is a table with three\n\"couverts,\" where the same vegetarian repast is served to three souls\nin purgatory, the remains being given to the poor. Thence, I was taken\nto see the little cloister, the staircase tower and library, probably\nof the fourteenth century, all that remains of the great Abbey. On the\nway we passed through the garden, where a dozen or more black and\nwhite-robed brethren were busily digging the ground, still carrying on\nthe tradition of St. Benedict, that in the sweat of their brow they\nshould eat bread. That sight alone repaid well the trouble of coming to\nCiteaux in the rain.\n\n [Illustration: Justice and Truth]\n\nMeanwhile, my gentle guide talked resignedly of the ruin of the\nbuilding, of the decay of the order. There was a note of deep sadness\nin his voice, as he said:--\n\n\"Justice and truth are like the sun; they traverse the earth; they set.\"\n\n\"They rise again on the other side,\" I added. A smile lit up the\npeaceful, flamand face.\n\n\"Yes, they rise again on the other side.\"\n\nWe were at the gate.\n\n\"How I wish my wife had been here,\" I said, thoughtlessly. \"She would\nso have enjoyed talking with you.\"\n\nThe little monk smiled, twinkled almost. Here was an artless stranger,\nindeed!\n\n\"Monsieur,\" shaking his head, \"We do not allow ladies to pass the\ngate.\" It was my turn to smile, and to apologise. My friend guide\nunderstood. He took my hand.\n\n\"Probably,\" he murmured, \"we meet no more in this world. Then, adieu.\"\n\nAgain he bowed low, with spread hands. The iron gate of Citeaux clanged\nbehind me; I was out in the living world once more. As I rode to\nNuits in the rain, between the dripping trees of the ancient forest,\nwhose glades had echoed to the foot-fall of St. Bernard, I felt, more\nstrongly than ever before, how close is the rapport existing between\nthe ascetic mysticism of that time--symbolising the soul of things\nin saint and hermit--and the wider transcendentalism of to-day,\nthat, taking, as Bacon took, the all for its medium, works, through\nart, through science, through poetry, through even subtler and more\nrecondite communion of the human spirit with fellow spirits and with\nnature, towards the ultimate goal of truth.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[98] Some authorities think that the name refers to the many pools,\n overgrown with bulrushes and other aquatic plants--Cit-eaux.\n\n[99] The author of \"A Concise History of the Cistercian Order,\" cap.\n iii. p. 67, states that tradition assigns the appearance of the\n vision to St. Alberic, but he adds that the immediate historical\n cause of the adoption of the white habit is somewhat mysterious. I\n venture to think that the legendary cause was also the historical\n one, seeing that all the Cistercian houses were dedicated to \"the\n Queen of Heaven and Earth, Holy Mary.\" Moreover, what more natural\n than such a symbol in a wholly symbolical age?\n\n[100] See Life of St. Stephen in \"Cistercian Saints\" quoted in\n \"A Concise History of the Cistercian Order.\" p. 68.\n\n[101] Martenne Thes. Anec. Tome v., p. 1650, quoted in \"History of\n Cistercian Order.\" p. 71.\n\n[102] \"Cistercian Saints\" cap. xiii., quoted in \"A Concise History of\n the Cistercian Order.\" Chevalier speaks also of a boy face, and\n a white forehead; and adds that his bearing would have appeared\n proud but for a slight drooping of the head upon the shoulders,\n which lent sweetness to his general appearance.\n\n[103] Guill. Vit. S. Bern: lib. 1, n. 2. Quoted Chevalier's \"Histoire\n de St. Bernard,\" p. 8.\n\n[104] Chevalier's \"Life of St. Bernard.\" p. 55.\n\n[105] Chevalier's \"St. Bernard,\" vol. xi., p. 357.\n\n[106] Quoted \"Histoire de St. Bernard,\" Chevalier, vol. ii., p. 350.\n\n[107] Pignot's \"Cluny,\" Tome iii., pp. 108-114.\n\n[108] Petit. \"Histoire des Ducs Cap\u00e9tiens.\"\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading of chapter VIII; Paray-le-Monial; the Church]\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nCLUNY'S DAUGHTER\n\n\nThe country, as one travels from Cluny to Paray-le Monial, is varied\nand interesting--so were the other passengers. At Charolles, there\nentered our compartment two priests, one of whom devoted himself to\nhis book, while the other, a very tall, spare ecclesiastic, divided\nhis time evenly between his breviary, the sign of the cross, and a\nclose scrutiny of my wife. Whether there was any connection in his mind\nbetween the last two occupations, I am unable to determine.\n\nThis little incident was sufficient to remind us that Paray--as the\nadjunct Le Monial implies--is a town of ecclesiastical origin and\ntradition. It was, in fact, a daughter of Cluny, an annexe of the\nmaison abbatiale, and a place of rest and of vill\u00e9giature for the\nabbots, who had their country seat here. To-day it is the centre of the\ncult of the Sacr\u00e9 C\u0153ur, and a favourite place of pilgrimage for the\nFrench peasantry of the district.\n\nOn arrival at the station, while I was engaged with the luggage, a\nstraw-hatted individual, who had been lounging about in the company\nof a young woman, drew my wife's attention to the fact that there\nwas no \"plaque\" on our bicycles. On being referred to me, he demanded\nmy permit, which I naturally refused to exhibit, until he had proved\nhis authority to ask for it. He then produced, from his pocket-book,\na printed paper, which appeared to be the document required. I showed\nmy permit accordingly; whereupon, with a satirical smile, and the\nremark, \"Une simple formalit\u00e9, Monsieur,\" the insuppressible strolled\noff. Insolent officialism is one of the \"d\u00e9sagr\u00e9ments\" of France, to\nwhich a few more years of democratic supremacy will probably expose\nthis country also. A breach of that \"simple formalit\u00e9,\" as he called\nit, would inevitably have brought me to the sub-prefecture, and would\nhave cost me thirty francs and costs, for each machine. Let cyclists in\nFrance see that they comply with all \"simples formalit\u00e9s.\"\n\nSetting out in the morning to explore Paray, we had corroborative\nevidence of an impression already formed, concerning the manners--or\nwant of them--of many Burgundians. Two or three groups of young girls,\npassing us in the streets, burst into shrieks of laughter under\nour very noses; and a band of school children, who intercepted and\nsurrounded us at a corner shop, in a narrow lane, could not have shown\ndeeper interest had we been two teddy bears, or a Punch and Judy show.\nThey made the street absolutely impassable; we could not move until the\nshop-keeper emerged, and drove them away.\n\n [Illustration: Two Priests]\n\nModesty compels me to add that my wife was always the chief cause\nof this hilarity and interest. These public attentions made her so\nuneasy that she asked me plaintively, on one occasion, whether she\nhad grown a hump in the night! Though able to reassure her upon that\npoint, I could not, nor can I at this moment, satisfactorily account\nfor the undisguised astonishment her appearance caused; but I lean\nto the conclusion that the secret lay mainly in her clothes. My wife\nwas dressed--quite simply--but she was dressed; whereas the women of\nBurgundy merely wore clothes; garments that bore no relation to each\nother, nor to the individuality of the wearer. The directors of the\nGrands Magazins du Louvre have much to answer for in these matters, and\nit was positively refreshing, in the remoter parts of the country,\nto see the village women, naturally dressed, walking like goddesses,\nfreely, and in the shape in which Nature made them.\n\nBut to return from flesh and blood to the stones of Paray. Her old\nmonuments, though few, are choice. The best of them, excepting the\nchurch, is the Hotel de Ville, a building with an exquisite Renaissance\nfa\u00e7ade, beautifully harmonized, showing Italian influence, and dating\nfrom 1525. The flatness of the elevation is relieved, and the whole\nbound together vertically, by three half-round turrets, which spring\nfrom corbels below the sill strings of the first floor windows. Three\nmoulded courses ornamented with heads and busts in medallion,[109]\nand panels in relief, extend right across the building, below the\nwindows. Several of the heads, including that of Francis I., are still\nrecognizable portraits. Between the windows, and beside the turrets,\nare decorative, sculptured pilasters. There are many figures in niches,\nand a profusion of scallop-shell ornament, all showing the transitional\ncharacter of the work. The top story, with alternating turrets, and\ngables surmounted by statuettes, is extremely effective. All the\nwindows are beautifully proportioned, and finely, though not deeply,\nmoulded. As a whole, weathered by time to a rich, warm brown, this is\none of the most effective fa\u00e7ades of its kind that I know in France.\n\nThe interior, which might easily be restored, has been spoiled by\nwhitewashing the oak beams of ceilings that shelter many exhibits, of\nlittle interest, excepting some nice tiles from the old house. This\nwas built by a rich cloth manufacturer, Pierre Jayet, from 1525-1528.\nAccording to Mont\u00e9gut, Pierre's brother was so jealous of the beauty of\nthe building, that he determined to eclipse it; and accordingly erected\nthe church of St. Nicholas, which, with the later tower of that name\n(1658), still stands opposite to the Hotel de Ville. If the date of\nthe Church, as given to me, namely 1505, is correct, the legend must\nbe without foundation; but, whether it be true or false, that lovely\nfa\u00e7ade has nothing to fear from comparison with any other building in\nthe town.\n\nParay-le Monial's church is a splendid and typical example of the\nClunisian school of Burgundian architecture, about contemporary\nwith the Cathedral of Autun. In fact, you have only to create, in\nimagination, a longer nave, transeptal towers, a second transept, and\nflying buttresses, to form a very good idea of the appearance of Cluny\nabbey in the middle ages.\n\nFrom the eastern end you get the typical Burgundian effect of a series\nof apsidal chapels and collaterals, lifting the eye, stage by stage,\nup to the central clock tower, and thus conveying an impression of\ndependent solidity unique in architecture, and quite symbolical of\nBurgundian character. The apsidal chapels are buttressed by engaged\ncolumns, and lightened by a string, ornamented with a billet, run right\nround, to form the drip-stones and the abaci of the capitals, some of\nwhich are very beautiful.\n\n'Tis sad that Cluny's fair daughter is content to keep such ill\ncompany. The approach to, and view of, the church from the north, is\nalmost completely blocked out by hideous booths filled with tawdry\ntrinkets, by a \"Diorama Mus\u00e9e,\" and other mean erections, which should\nbe ruthlessly swept away by the authorities. Visitors may be annoyed,\ntoo, as we were, by the attentions of an imbecile woman, employed by\nthe hangers-on of the church, to fetch water and run errands for them.\nShe looked over my shoulder diligently while I took notes, and only\nreplied with a wild stare, and a \"Rien, rien,\" to my request to know\nwhat I could do for her. A few yards further on, we came upon the\nfollowing:--\n\n _Apparition of the Sacred Heart to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacocque._\n _The Nusstree and Garden of the Visitation_\n _Figures in natural size,_\n _Entrance ... Centimes._[110]\n\nOn reading this effusion, our first impression was, that there must\nbe some mental affinity between the dreadful woman who had just been\njibbering at us, and the promoters of this novel entertainment; until\nwe realized that the wax-works were merely another catch-penny, aimed\nat pilgrims' pockets--the invitation I had just read being no more\nthan a weak attempt to rope in an occasional English enthusiast. The\ndiscovery, not far off, of a similar legend, written in bad German,\nrevealed the origin of the \"Nusstree.\" It is curious how seldom French\nattempts to break out publicly into the English tongue, meet with any\ndegree of success. From the \"High Life Tailor\" of Parisian boulevards,\nto the \"Nusstree\" of Paray-le Monial, it is always the same story;\none English word is as good as another to a Frenchman who understands\nneither.\n\nThe north door of the church, flanked though it be by disreputable\nbuildings, is a graceful construction, of somewhat unusual classical\ndesign, well harmonized and proportioned, and exquisitely carved. All\nthe sculpture, from the flowered architrave within the pilasters, to\nthe ornamentation of the shafts and the shouldered arches, is very\npleasing, as are the doors themselves, with their quatre-foiled iron\nornament, surrounding an inner cross.\n\nThe primitive porch, and the western towers of the church are somewhat\nremarkable. Murray, on what authority I cannot say, puts their date at\n1004, but Viollet-le-Duc contents himself with admitting this portion\nto be earlier than the remainder of the Church. The northern tower is\nthe later of the two. The porch is arched, and of two bays, forming six\nquadripartite vaults between the arches. The weight of the towers above\nwas originally taken by two central clusters of stone columns, which\nproved quite inadequate for the purpose, and were replaced--in the\n19th century, I think--by a granite column.[111] The western precincts\nof the Church exhibit the usual signs of decadence of ecclesiastical\npower and influence. Dead leaves littering the porch, mercifully screen\nthe \"choses immondes\" and the building materials with which the floor\nis scattered; and as though the building were not yet sufficiently\ndefiled, a board invites the public to deposit its rubbish between the\nporch and the river, on a site at present in the occupation of noisy\nchildren.\n\nSeen from within, the church is noble and impressive; but the eye at\nonce notices a want of proportion; the height of the first storey\nbeing too great for that of the triforium and clerestories. This is\ndue, in part, to the shortness of the nave, which might be three\ntimes as long, and, in part, to the flatness of the triforium, a true\nblind-story, rendered mean for lack of shadow to break up the flatness\nof the arcades. The supports for the vaulting take the form of fluted\npilasters, which rise to the capitals, on a level with the sill string,\nbelow the triforium; whence the thrust is taken by half round vaulting\nshafts.\n\n [Illustration: THE CHURCH DOOR \u00b7PARAY-LE-MONIAL\u00b7]\n\nHere, as elsewhere in Burgundy and Southern France, the pointed arch\nis obviously used as a necessity of construction, rather than for any\ninherent love the builders bore it. Before the art of buttressing had\ndeveloped, no other method was open to them.[112]\n\nGrateful memories still linger of that vista--down the wide-aisled nave\nto the well-proportioned columns of the apse, bathed in rich colours\nfrom the stained glass, which, modern though it be, is worthy, when\ncompared with our recollections of Notre Dame de Cluny. The interior\nhas not many decorative features, except the fluted pilasters, and the\narchivolts, somewhat in the Lombard style, in which the lozenge and the\nbillet ornament are effectively used. Very local, on the contrary, and\nvery characteristic are the Byzantine beasts carved among the foliage\non the capitals of the ambulatory.\n\n'Tis a pity that the crossings are so prominent; their nudity enhances\nthe ill-effect of the debauch of whitewash that renders the interior\nso cold. One of the few good monuments is a fifteenth-century,\nsouth-eastern, transeptal chapel, with the remains of the gothic\ncanopied tomb of the Seigneurs of Digoin. The windows, doors and niches\nof the chapel are satisfactory, but the ribbed vaulting is clumsy, and\nmuch too heavy for so small a roof. I believe that the figures are all\nmodern.\n\nAs we left by the north transept, we noticed a lady standing before the\nstatue of St. Peter. Rising upon her toes until her bonnet feathers\nnodded, she was just able, with an effort, to kiss the toe of the\nSaint. I examined that toe; it was bright with the salutes of the\nfaithful.\n\nNowhere do I remember to have seen so many appeals and warnings against\nblasphemy and desecration as are displayed in the church of Paray. No\ndoubt they are needful and salutary; but it struck us, that, before\nenforcing too severely their observance, the ecclesiastical authorities\nwould do well to set their own house in order, and, once for all, to\nsweep the precincts of their basilica clear of all rubbish, human and\ninanimate, that now defiles it. I wonder, sometimes, whether those who\nare responsible for the condition of affairs at Paray, and other great\nFrench churches, have ever seen the close of Salisbury, or of Wells,\nor can ever have realized how enhancing to the dignity and grandeur\nof medi\u00e6val architecture, and how seemly, as settings to a sacred\nbuilding, are the delicious haunts of peace, upon whose trim, green\nlawns and ancestral elms, those ancient cathedrals look down. That,\nhaving done so, they can be content to let the towers of Paray rise\nfrom among tawdry booths and a howling wilderness of filth and d\u00e9bris,\nis something I do not care to believe. That is why, having visited in\nhope Cluny's lovely daughter, we left her with little other feeling\nthan one of sadness that such things should be.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe country around Paray is not particularly interesting; but some fine\nviews of the Church are to be had from the other side of the Bourbince.\nHaving set forth on bicycles to explore the land, we halted on a little\nbridge that crosses the Canal du Centre. The waterway was lined, on\nour side, for about a hundred yards, with small tumble-down cottages\nand sheds. The other bank was alive with washerwomen all thumping\nmercilessly at soapy garments. As we appeared, the thumping ceased.\nEvery scrubbing-brush was put down, or remained poised in mid-air, and\nall eyes turned towards the two figures, who, even at that distance,\nbore the stamp of aliens.\n\nWe approached a cottage labelled \"Caf\u00e9.\" Before it was a perambulator\ncontaining a howling baby, whom a very serious little maid of about\nfourteen was trying unsuccessfully to hush. We sat down on a rickety\nbench, and ordered things. The little maid was so shy that her lips\nrefused to part; but her ears were open; she fetched and carried\nwillingly, though dumbly. We sat sipping, and contemplating nature. The\nwashers returned to their thumping; the baby howled.\n\nPresently a lanky mule, into whom the spirit of devilment had entered,\nbroke from a neighbouring shed, and made for the bridge. The girl left\nher charge, and endeavoured to \"shoo\" the beast to his stall again. He\nwould neither be coerced nor cajoled, but, with a wicked gleam in his\neye, turned his back upon her blandishments, and, to the great peril of\nthe baby, lashed out fiercely with both heels. The girl rushed to the\nperambulator. Conscious of victory, the ass lay down upon the towing\npath, and rolled and kicked, until the washers across the water were\nscreened from us by clouds of dust. Then, in due season, he arose and\nwalked quietly back to his stable. As my wife observed: \"He is a very\nyoung mule; and there is no fun in being naughty, if nobody minds.\"\n\nA moment later, we saw coming towards us with swinging strides over\nthe bridge, a tall, swarthy, handsome figure, dressed as a stage\nbandit, in copper-coloured leather coat, of the same tint as his face,\na dark slouch hat, and black leather gaiters. From each capacious\nside pocket projected the neck of a large, white-glass, wine bottle.\nHe called for a drink, and sat down near us on a bench before the\ncaf\u00e9; then, removing one of the bottles from his coat, he revealed two\nsnakes wriggling within it. Holding the bottle by the neck, he shook it\nbefore the eyes of the howling baby, who promptly fell into such strong\nconvulsions that my wife feared for its life.\n\n\"What are those?\" I asked, pointing to the bottle.\n\n\"Vipers,\" said the bandit, \"'Tis my trade.\" Diving into the coat again,\nhe produced a metal armlet inscribed \"Charmeur de Vip\u00e8res.\" Thence\nfollowed, one by one, all his certificates of efficiency, signed by\nthe mayors of places in the neighbourhood--Digoin, M\u00e2con, and Paray.\nHere were forty-six killed in one day; thirty-five more in the woods of\nCharolles; \"Et il y en a encore.\" He did not stay long enough for us to\nquestion him concerning his methods of procedure; but, rising abruptly\nfrom the wooden bench, strode off, a great, bronzed figure, and was\nsoon lost among the coppery tints of the Burgundian forest.\n\nI have often wondered since, whether he worked solely by close\nobservation, or whether he had developed that supernormal or subnormal\nfaculty, withheld from most, but granted often to undeveloped minds, as\nit was to the boy in Rollinat's song:--\n\n When Autumn has tinted the boughs and the brakes,\n With fixed eyes, sadly and sweetly asway,\n The wandering idiot who charms the snakes,\n Wearying never, hobbles all day.\n\n The vipers asleep on the marge of their lakes,\n In chorus awaken at sound of his song;\n And, shrilling thin hisses, they follow along--\n A crowd of old gossips--each path that takes\n The wandering idiot who charms the snakes.[113]\n\nWe saw the mysterious snake-charmer once more in Paray. He raised the\nwide, slouch hat, and saluted with all the dignity of a forest king.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[109] Hence the original name, \"Maison des Pompons.\"\n\n[110] The Reference is to the alleged apparition of Christ, revealing\n His Bleeding Heart, to a young girl, Marguerite Marie Alacocque,\n in 1690, beneath a nut-tree, the site of which is now marked\n by the Chapelle de la Visitation. It was this vision which\n established in Paray the \"Culte du Sacr\u00e9 C\u0153ur,\" now common\n throughout France.\n\n[111] Viollet le Duc. \"Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9\" Tome vii. p. 283.\n\n[112] Bond's \"Gothic Architecture in England,\" p. 265.\n\n[113] \"Songs of old France,\" Percy Allen.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter IX; Gontran and Bertille]\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nHER THREE CROWNS\n\n\nTo the outward eye Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne is no more than a thriving, modern,\ncommercial town, containing little of interest to the antiquarian;\nthough the stir of life on the busy wharves may prove enticing to those\nwho weary, sometimes, of the sleepiness of country towns, and the faded\nglories of medi\u00e6val cities. Yet, for our part, especially when we are\nin France, we prefer the shadows of the past to the realities of the\npresent; and, no sooner were we in Ch\u00e2lon, than we set ourselves to\npicturing the town as it had been, when the river was the scene of\nroyal pageants, when three golden bands girdled the city walls, and\ngreat tournaments were held on the island where bold knights laid lance\nin rest round the banner of La Dame des Pleurs.\n\nOne of the last of the river pageants was in 1371, when the Duke of\nAnjou gave rendez-vous to Philippe le Hardi, his brother, at the papal\ncity of Avignon. The Duke embarked at Ch\u00e2lon with a great suite. In\nthe first vessel was Philip and his principal barons; then came the\nChancellor's boat, with other nobles; then the barges of the kitchen,\nthe wardrobe, the wine-cellar, and the fish store. The Duke appeared\nwith great \u00e9clat at Avignon, and offered the pope a courser, a hackney,\ntwo flagons, and two basins of silver-gilt. He also dealt so generously\nwith the cardinals, that, to enable him to return, he was obliged\nto pawn his jewels with a Lombard, as security for a loan of twenty\nthousand francs.[114]\n\nBut I want now to go back to earlier days, even, than those--to the\nyear 589, when Gontran was king of Burgundy, and had his court at\nCh\u00e2lon--whenever his wars with Childebert and Chilperic allowed him to\nhold court anywhere. Gontran, it was, who, twelve years before, in 577,\nhad founded two miles away eastward, in the plain, a great abbey in\nhonour of St. Marcel, the apostle of the Ch\u00e2lonnais, martyred upon that\nvery spot. Gontran too, it was, who rebuilt the walls of Ch\u00e2lon, broken\ndown by the Huns, and ornamented them, for a belt, with three bands of\ngolden stone; so that, in after years, the early historians and the\npoets, singing of the city by the Sa\u00f4ne, hailed it as Orbandale, the\ntown \"aux bandelettes d'or.\" That is why, to-day, the arms of Ch\u00e2lon\nare three golden circles, two and one, on a field of azure.\n\nI am going to tell here, briefly, the story of Bertille, the heroine of\nthe golden bands--surnamed, not too happily, La Judith Ch\u00e2lonnaise.[115]\n\nIn the year 589, there dwelt in the royal city of Ch\u00e2lon, a worthy\nman, Vulfrand by name, and his wife, Ludwige. They had a daughter,\nBertille, supple, graceful, dignified, and so lovely and virtuous, that\nshe was the pride, not of her parents only, but of all the town, famous\nthough it then was for producing beautiful women. Bertille was nearly\nseventeen years old, and she had been brought up in the Christian\nfaith, at a time when that religion, then still young, needed every\nproselyte it could win. And she was her parents' only child.\n\nOne summer evening, after Bertille had read aloud the vesper prayer,\nher father, having made the sign of the cross upon his brow, rose,\nand went to the door of the apartment, which opened upon the street.\nStanding upon the threshold, he was enjoying the freshness of the\ntwilight air, when suddenly he was aware of a commotion in the\nneighbouring street--the stir of a great crowd, men's voices, and the\nclatter of horses' hoofs.\n\n\"Bertille!\" he called, \"Come, come quickly, or you will be too late!\"\nAnd, indeed, already there drew near a great cort\u00e8ge, ecclesiastics for\nthe most part, proceeding in some dis-array, and hastening, because of\nthe late hour, and the distance they had yet to go.\n\nKing Gontran had convoked a council in the church of St. Marcel--the\ntown then named Hobiliacus--and thither this cort\u00e8ge of bishops and\npriests was bent, eager to arrive before nightfall, that they might\nbegin their conference early the next morning.\n\nBertille came to the door just as the last members of the cort\u00e8ge\nwere passing. Among them was a rider whose costume showed plainly\nthat he was no ecclesiastic. From the scutcheon embroidered upon the\nfront of his garment, he appeared to be a noble--lord, perhaps, of\nsome neighbouring kingdom. His steed was rearing; and he, not averse\nfrom showing to the crowd his strength and skill in horsemanship, let\nit plunge at its will. Then he reined it in, and was looking proudly\naround him at the moment when Bertille ran to the door. His eyes rested\nupon her, in a fixed gaze. Bertille felt the stare; and shuddered\nbefore it.\n\n\"Father, that horseman is not following the cort\u00e8ge,\" said the girl,\nblushing and hiding her head behind Vulfrand's shoulder. \"Let us go\nin,\" she added, \"I have seen enough.\"\n\n\"What is the matter, ma belle, are you feeling ill?\"\n\n\"No, but that lord's stare has tired me.\"\n\n\"And reddened you, too, little angel of Paradise! But in with you!\nthough there's small harm in being seen; even when one is as pretty as\nyou.\" He kissed her forehead, smiling, and together they went in. They\ntold the mother what had chanced. \"His eyes,\" said Bertille, \"were upon\nme like a serpent's upon a bird.\"\n\nNight fell, and with it came the hour of sleep.\n\n\"Allons!\" said Vulfrand, \"Good night, my Bertille; sleep well, and\nabove all, forget the eye of that serpent.\"\n\n\"If only you were there, to put your foot on his head,\" said she,\nsmiling, to her father.\n\n\"Oh! you are no big girl, are you?--no more than the little bird was a\nbig bird. Go to bed; sleep, dream of him, and crush him under your own\nheel.\" Half an hour later, Bertille was asleep.\n\nMeanwhile, the young horseman in question, Amalon by name, a Duke\nin rank, from the country of Champagne, charged with the conduct of\nnegotiations at the court of Burgundy, was following the cort\u00e8ge of\necclesiastics, with whom he must attend to-morrow's council at St.\nMarcel. But, ever, as he rode, the beautiful face of Bertille shining\nbefore his eyes, awoke evil thoughts within him. He soon decided that\nso fair a maid was better worth his attention, than a discussion with\nthe bishops concerning the goods of the church. So, after waiting until\nthe boats had carried the learned company across the Sa\u00f4ne, he returned\nto his own apartment, preoccupied, and with his heart beating rather\nfaster than was its wont.\n\n\"Surely the girl is very fair,\" he said to himself, \"and well worth\na little trouble. These are quiet days in my town of Troyes; and who\nknows but the name of Duchess may tickle her ears.\" Then he, too, slept.\n\nThe next day, the Duke Amalon, faring forth earlier than was his\ncustom, chanced to meet Bertille in the street, as she was going forth\nto do marketing for the household. Making her a low obeisance, he\naccosted the maid, told her who he was, and how her charms had brought\nhim, at one glance, to her feet. But, to his great surprise, he found\nthat neither the magic title of Duke, nor of Duchess, even, wrought\nfavourably with the girl. On the contrary, her dark eyes showed only\nfear and resentment, until, taking advantage of the protection afforded\nby passers-by, she turned swiftly and fled from him, homeward.\n\n\"Fly away, shy dove,\" hissed the young lord between his teeth. \"None\nthe less there shall be good bird-nesting to-morrow.\"\n\nA week later, Duke Amalon sat at the board. He was sick at heart, his\nproud face aflame with wine and anger. Messengers were announced, and\nthere entered to him the five servants he had left behind at Ch\u00e2lon.\n\n\"You have been longer than long enough,\" he growled at them, \"Ere now I\nwould have caught her six times over.\"\n\n\"She did not quit the house until this morning, Prince, and 'tis a\nday's journey twixt there and here.\"\n\n\"'Tis well enough, for this time,\" said he, relenting somewhat. \"Bring\nin the shy dove.\" And he threw them a purse of gold. As they withdrew,\nAmalon retired into a far corner of the apartment. The valets led into\nthe room Bertille, pale as the morn, and trembling, her hand upon her\nbreast.\n\n\"Where am I?\" she cried. \"Mother of God, whither hast thou let them\nbring me?\" And her beautiful, terrified eyes searched the room. They\nlighted upon the dark face of the Duke.\n\n\"Ah!\" she cried, and uttering a piercing scream, fell upon her knees.\n\n\"Well, shy bird; are you still so little fain to become the lady of\nfair Champagne?\" And he drew near to her. The girl raised her eyes. \"Do\nnot come near to me,\" she whispered, and turned away her head.\n\n\"Come, come, listen to reason, little one. A duchy for your beaux yeux;\nsooth! tis not too much; yet, for all that, be not too exacting.\" He\nlaid his fingers under the chin of the kneeling girl. Shuddering,\nBertille sprang to her feet; his touch had aroused anger, and, with\nanger, courage. She turned from him, the red lips blanching, so firmly\nwere they set.\n\n\"Nay, do not fly my sight, wild dove.\"\n\n\"The dove flies the serpent's gaze,\" she replied. Amalon made a step\nnearer. She heard the foot-fall, and could not restrain a little cry,\nthat was half appeal, half prayer. As she prayed, her eye caught the\nglint of something shining upon the wall opposite. That cry irritated\nthe lord. His sensual face grew darker.\n\n\"Cry on,\" he scoffed; \"Walls hear naught; and my men without hear only\nmy voice.\" With a sob, she flung herself on her knees before him.\n\n\"Pity! lord duke, pity! for my parents' sake. Soil not your honour,\nnor mine; yield a frail girl to her mother again. Already she has wept\nlong for me.\" Then, as she humbled her beauty before him, and her long,\nblack hair, dishevelled, swept his very feet, strong passion burnt out\nall pity from Amalon's heart. He bent low, and took her in his arms.\nWith a wild cry, the girl broke from his grasp, and rushed to the thing\nshining on the wall. Cursing, the duke followed her. As he reached her,\nshe turned.\n\n\"Serpent, feel how the dove can peck!\" Torchlight flashed bright upon\nthe uplifted blade. There came the sound of a blow, an awful cry, and\nDuke Amalon, his skull cloven, lay prostrate at the feet of the maid.\n\nWith a crash, the doors flew open; five poniards were raised over\nBertille's head. The Duke saw them, before darkness swam into his dying\neyes.\n\n\"Slay her not,\" he whispered, \"Slay her not, but let her go. This is\nGod's hand; so should virtue strike.\" He shuddered in every limb; then\nlay still in death.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe great council at St. Marcel was nearing its end. Already King\nGontran had withdrawn to his private apartments, and the fathers were\ndeeply occupied with the last session of the conference. The voice\nof the speaker was filling the vast nave, and all were rapt in the\nclosest attention, when suddenly the door of the church was seen to\nopen swiftly, and a figure, heedless of the guardian's stern warning,\nentered the church, and ran down the nave towards the choir. At the\nbarrier behind which the conference was assembled, the new-comer\nknelt; and the astonished prelates saw before them a young girl, weary\nand travel-stained, whose disordered dress and dishevelled hair could\nnot conceal her natural beauty.\n\nCrossing her hands upon her breast, she looked upwards.\n\n\"Mother of Christ! it was to keep me still worthy of thee!\"\n\nThe priest, who had been addressing the conference, stood silent. Every\neye was fastened upon the maid. The ecclesiastics gathered round her,\nputting questions.\n\n\"My fathers, I have but one boon to ask of you. Deign to take me to the\nking. It is with him that I would speak.\" So the fathers brought her\nto the king's presence, within the monastery. The Prince received her\nkindly; but Bertille hesitated, her beautiful eyes downcast.\n\n\"Speak,\" said Gontran, smiling; \"A maid as fair as you are has little\nto fear.\"\n\n\"Prince,\" replied the young girl, \"I know not how it may have pleased\nGod to fashion me; but if it be, indeed, beauty that He has given\nme--then is beauty a fatal gift?\"\n\n\"How so?\" said the King, with rising interest. The girl stood silent.\nShe reddened, and bent her head still lower. Her breast heaved, and the\ntears flowed down.\n\n\"Prince,\" she said in broken tones, \"I am ... guilty ... and I come to\nyield myself into your hands.\" All eyes looked at her in astonishment.\n\n\"Guilty, my child, you!\" said Gontran, not less amazed than the others.\n\"That is not easily believed.\"\n\n\"Yet it is true, Prince; and the proof is, that for three days I have\nseen neither father nor mother.\"\n\n\"And where are your parents?\"\n\n\"At Ch\u00e2lon.\"\n\n\"And why have you not seen them for so long?\"\n\n\"I dared not return to them. Look, Prince, look!\" She loosened a fold\nof her dress; and there, plain for all to see, was a large, red, stain.\n\n\"Blood!\" cried Gontran.\n\n\"Blood, my King!\" Then the girl told all her tale. As they heard it,\nindignation, writ at first upon every face, gave way to nods and\nsmiles, and murmurs of applause scarce restrained, when the end came.\n\n\"No criminal here, holy fathers, methinks; but rather a heroine!\" said\nGontran. Then, turning to the maid, he added:\n\n\"You hold yourself guilty; but, meseems you have been guided rather by\nthe Hand of God. Was the widow of Bethulie guilty when she delivered\nher people? Yet, in my thought, your maiden modesty and fear rank you\nabove even that noble Judith. Be comforted then; to-morrow you shall\nsee your parents again. Now, go to rest; and God have you in His care\nthis night.\" So they made ready a chamber for Bertille; and there she\nslept, and that right soundly.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn the next day, Gontran sent secretly to Ch\u00e2lon certain servants, with\ncommands to bring the parents of Bertille to his presence. The good\npeople were much terrified, and refused, at first, to follow the king's\nmen, saying that the loss of their daughter had stricken them so deep\nin sorrow, that they would go no whither for no man--even though he be\ntheir own beloved king, Gontran. But at length they let themselves be\npersuaded, and went--not without fearful questioning as to what their\nlord the king might want with such simple folk as they.\n\nSo they came before the king at the monastery of St. Marcel, and\nGontran told them that he wotted well their story, and asked them\nwhether they were indeed fain to see their child again.\n\n\"Ah! Prince,\" moaned the na\u00efve old Vulfrand, \"If the dear God had but\none angel in all heaven--and he lost her--dost think he would not be\nfain for her face again?\" And Ludwige wailed an echo to that plaint.\nThen the king spoke much with them both, and knew that, in sooth, these\ntwo loved their daughter well.\n\nMeanwhile, one after one, the priests and bishops were filling the\nchamber; but Vulfrand and Ludwige, with eyes only for the king, knew\nnought of this, until Gontran made a movement causing them to look\nround. Then, when they saw themselves in the midst of this royal\nassembly, they feared greatly, and Ludwige clung to her husband. But,\nwith a smile and a gracious nod, the king reassured them, and bade them\nbe seated upon two stools, not far from his own person. So they sat\namazed, and knew not yet whether good was to befall them, or evil.\n\nGontran made a sign, and a great silence fell upon all. Then there\nentered a young page, bearing, upon a cushion of azure velvet, three\nsmall, golden crowns, the which he laid at the king's feet. Then that\nsainted and holy bishop, Gregory of Tours, rose from his chair in\nthe great hall, and approached the throne. The page lifted, and put\ninto his hands, the cushion and the three crowns. Holding them forth,\nGregory turned to that august assembly.\n\n\"These three crowns,\" said he, \"are each the reward of a merit--merits\nwidely differing, yet such as Heaven is pleased to unite, sometimes, in\na single being. Yestereve were you and I permitted to see and to hear\nher whom God has so privileged; and you shall now judge whether she is\nworthy of these rewards, or rather, whether these rewards are worthy of\nher.\"\n\n\"The first of these crowns is the crown of beauty--you have seen her,\nlords. The second is the crown of virtue--and how great hers is, you\nknow well. The third is the crown of courage--you have heard her, and\nyou have acclaimed her, even as have I.\" A murmur of assent rolled\nthrough the assembly.\n\nMeanwhile the young maid had been brought into the hall. She was\ndressed in fair, white raiment, and veiled, even to her feet. She drew\nnear to the throne; and her tread was light as the foot-fall of an\nangel. Ludwige and Vulfrand could not take their eyes from off her.\nTheir hearts beat within them as never before; yet they scarce knew\nwhy; though, indeed, they sat beside a king.\n\n\"Come hither, noble child,\" said Gregory of Tours. And he took the\ngolden crowns in his hands, and laid upon the royal dais the azure\ncushion, and bade the maid kneel thereon. Then he gave the three golden\ncrowns in to the hands of the king, and yielding place to him, stood\nrespectfully by his side. The king spoke.\n\n\"Noble child, Heaven has granted you beauty, and beauty deserves a\ncrown. Here is the crown of beauty.\" And he laid upon her brow the\nfirst golden circlet. Then he spoke again.\n\n\"Noble child, thine is the purest virtue; virtue deserves a crown. Here\nis the crown of virtue.\" And he placed upon her head the second golden\ncirclet. A third time the king spoke.\n\n\"Noble child, you have given proof of strong courage; and courage\ndeserves a crown. Here is the crown of courage.\" And he laid upon her\nhead the third golden round. Vulfrand and Ludwige gazed breathlessly.\n\n\"Now, brave maiden,\" added the king, \"raise your veil.\" The girl\nobeyed.\n\n\"My daughter!... Bertille!\" ... \"My Mother!\" The two women wept in each\nother's arms. Vulfrand drew near to the king.\n\n\"There was that within, Sire, told me you knew somewhat of my\ndaughter.\" Gontran smiled.\n\n\"Good people,\" said he to the happy parents, \"Bertille will go back\nwith you to Ch\u00e2lon, and there, if I know aught of maids' minds, she\nwill tell you all. Be happy, then; for God has given you a daughter\nafter His Own Heart.\" Then, turning to the assembly, he spoke thus:\n\n\"Lords, since the fatal passage of the Huns across our land, our walls\nhave lain in ruin. We must needs raise them again. In so doing, let us\npreserve the memory of Bertille's triumph. Three bands of gilded stone\nshall be built within the wall, to serve it for a girdle; and to remind\nall descendants to whom our fair city may pass, of the honour due to\nbeauty, to courage, and to virtue.\"\n\nLoud rang the applause from all the townspeople, when, that very\nevening, Bertille and her parents returned to their home. The family of\ndead Amalon were forbidden by Gontran, on pain of extinction, to molest\nfurther either parents or daughter, and soon, around the new walls of\nthe royal city of Ch\u00e2lon, ran a triple girdle of gold--the three crowns\nwe see to-day upon the arms of the town.\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter IX; Her Three Crowns]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[114] De Barante. Tome I.\n\n[115] Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault's \"Bertille\" Feuilleton de Paris, 1848.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter X; Ab\u00e9lard and H\u00e9lo\u00efse]\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nABELARD AND HELOISE\n\n\nThe first thing we did on arriving at Ch\u00e2lon was to mount our bicycles\nand cross the river to the Church of St. Marcel, all that now remains\nof the ancient abbey. The feature of the journey was the number of\nrough Bressane carts we met, filled with potatoes, and drawn, very\ndeliberately, by yoked, dreamy, creamy oxen, whose mild eyes were\nveiled by fringes of string, tied across the forehead, to keep off the\nflies.\n\nThe Abbey church is a well-proportioned and satisfactory early\nBurgundian building, with a high narthex, a western tower, and a late\nRenaissance west front. It is designed rather in the Cistercian manner,\nwith a square apse and two apsidal chapels, square and semi-circular\nrespectively. The whole forms a fine example of early purity of style.\nExcepting the simple foliage of the capitals and the bosses of the high\nvault, one looks in vain for any carving, and there is very little\nmoulding that catches the eye. The orders of the arches are left\nsquare-edged, and the ridges of the aisle vaulting scarcely show. The\npiers of the nave, too, are square, with circular shafts to carry the\nvault.\n\nOver the High Altar are two ch\u00e2sses with the relics of St. Agricola\nand St. Marcel. A notice in the church informs one that, in the year\n879, John VIII. canonized in this church the holy bishops of Ch\u00e2lon;\nalso that, on Holy Saturday, April 13th, 1805, Pope Pius VII. came to\nvisit the relics of Saint Marcel and Saint Agricola, and blessed the\nHigh Altar.\n\nBut the most interesting memory associated with the Abbey is that of\nthe first of the modernists, Ab\u00e9lard, whose name is linked for ever\nwith that of his lover, H\u00e9lo\u00efse. Only the peaceful, closing years of\nAb\u00e9lard's stormy life connect him with Burgundy; but his stay at Cluny,\nunder the care of Pierre le V\u00e9n\u00e9rable, and his last days and burial at\nSt. Marcel, justify me, I hope, in telling again here the life stories\nof two whose names, with those of Aucassin and Nicolette, Petrarch and\nLaura, Dante and Beatrice, Paolo and Francesca, are blazoned, for all\ntime, upon the scrolls of love.\n\nIt was in the year 1105, or 1106, that a young Breton, about sixteen\nyears of age, of good family, came to Paris to study at the schools of\nthe Quartier Latin, on the Montagne St. G\u00eanevi\u00e8ve, now occupied by the\nbuildings of the Sorbonne. His father, the Seigneur de Pallet, near\nNantes, had destined his son for the profession of arms; but a natural\nbent towards books and learning, and the consequent ambition to become\nformidable in \"logic,\" induced the lad to abandon prospects of fortune\nand military glory, to play a prominent and extraordinarily romantic\npart in the religious and philosophical movements of the greatest\ncentury of the middle ages.\n\nThe schools of philosophy of Paris were already the most famous in the\nworld, when Ab\u00e9lard put himself, as he expresses it in a letter to\nPhilintus, \"under the direction of one Champeaux, a professor who had\nacquired the character of the most skilful philosopher of his age, but\nby negative excellencies only, as being the least ignorant.\" The boy\nwas well received at first, but his abilities in debate and dialectics\nsoon aroused the natural jealousy of a master, who perceived himself to\nbe no match for his pupil. Ab\u00e9lard withdrew to Melun for safety, and\nfor the better establishment of his fast-developing theories concerning\nthe necessary compatibility of dogma and reason, summed up in the\nphrase \"Nul ne peut croire sans avoir compris,\" an axiom fraught with\ndanger in the middle ages, and in those which succeeded them.\n\nAfter some years of retirement, the young dialectician attended the\nschools of Anselm, Bishop of Laon, where, finding himself thoroughly\ndissatisfied with the teaching of one of whom he could only say, \"Stet\nmagni nominus umbra,\" he decided to take for his guides the primitive\nfathers, and to launch boldly, for himself, into the study of the Holy\nScriptures.\n\nWhen he deemed the time ripe, he returned to Paris, where his success\ndrew many to him; so many that, before long, the fame of the young\nBreton, now Maitre Pierre, author of the \"Gloze d'Ez\u00e9chiel,\" the great\nteacher of the new doctrine of Conceptualism, was finding an echo in\nall Paris. He became the centre of a school of young enthusiasts,\nwho hung upon his words. These early years of success in Paris\nwere, intellectually, the most fruitful of his life, but they had a\ndisastrous effect upon a character, the strength of which was never\nequal to that of his mind. His pride and vanity, naturally great,\nbecame consuming. Freedom of thought was not sufficient for him; so\ngreat a liberationist must live a free life; the scholars must share\nhim with the courtesans.\n\nMeanwhile, in a little house in the western end of the Isle de la\nCit\u00e9, at the foot of Notre Dame, that already was beginning to lift\nits mighty bulk above the palace of the king, and the surrounding\nchurches and cloisters, were living Canon Fulbert and his young niece,\nfifteen years old, who had just completed her education at the convent\nof Argenteuil. H\u00e9lo\u00efse was a girl of unusual ability. That her talents\nare no mere legend, is abundantly proved by her letters, that rank her\namong the great women of literature. And she had yet more dangerous\ngifts--character, charm, beauty. This white lily, blossoming among the\ncloisters, was the one flower that could draw from Ab\u00e9lard the soul no\ncourtesan had been able to reach. She was fair, sweet, impressionable;\nlooking out upon a lovely world, and waiting only for love to lighten\nit. He was famous, young, tall, handsome, and well-dressed, beyond the\nwont of scholars.[116] No more was needed. Their destiny was upon them.\nThey met; and looked long into each other's eyes.\n\nWithin a short time, Ab\u00e9lard was installed in the Canon's house;\ncommissioned to instruct H\u00e9lo\u00efse in philosophy. \"It is my wish that she\nshould obey you in everything,\" said the guileless uncle, in confiding\nhis niece to her tutor. \"Employ every means, even manual chastisement,\nif you judge it necessary, to stimulate her zeal and constrain her to\nfurther submission.\"[117]\n\nFulbert was to discover, only too soon, how little need there was for\nsuch an injunction.\n\nSo the professor of thirty-eight and the maiden of seventeen sat\nside by side over their book of philosophy, until, at length, their\neyes rose from the page to one another, \"And that day they read no\nfarther.\"[118] Day by day their mutual sympathy increased, though the,\nas yet, innocent liaison still masqueraded in the guise of a platonic\nfriendship, while, all the time, says Ab\u00e9lard, \"There came more words\nof love than philosophy into our conversations, and more kisses than\nexplanations.\"\n\nMeanwhile, Ab\u00e9lard the lover was at war with Ab\u00e9lard the philosopher.\nGradually, to their astonishment and dismay, it dawned upon his\nstudents in the Sainte Montagne, that the metaphysical speculations of\ntheir Master had lost something of the accustomed brilliance; that the\nwell of his eloquence was drying up. Then came a greater shock. Maitre\nPierre, their own Maitre Pierre, was writing love songs, like any\nballad-monger; and all Paris was singing them.\n\nThey were very beautiful love songs, sincere love songs; for Ab\u00e9lard\nand H\u00e9lo\u00efse were in love. Few knew it, least of all Fulbert, who,\ndreaming the days away in his stall in the choir of Notre Dame, appears\nto have had no suspicions concerning the bona-fides of the philosopher\nin his house. But, one day, coming home unexpectedly, he surprised\nthe lovers in a close embrace. His fury was intense. All his love for\nAb\u00e9lard changing to hate, he drove him from the house. He might well\nhave done more than that, had he known all; had he known that H\u00e9lo\u00efse\nwas to become a mother.\n\nAb\u00e9lard, in this crisis, appears to have acted with a certain degree of\ncourage. He entrusted his mistress to the care of his sister, Denise,\nat the Bourg du Pallet, in Brittany, where she went in a nun's dress,\nto avert suspicion as to her real condition. He endeavoured, too, to\nobtain the forgiveness of her father; and even promised to marry his\ndaughter, on condition that the alliance was kept secret; but H\u00e9lo\u00efse,\nwith characteristic greatness of mind, refused to compromise his career\nby so tightening his bonds. \"The title of mistress,\" she said, speaking\nwith the extraordinary abandonment of self that she always displayed\ntoward her lover, \"is infinitely sweeter to me than that of wife.\" She\nallowed herself to be persuaded, however, and, after the birth of her\nchild, a son, she returned to Paris, where the secret marriage was\ncelebrated, and Ab\u00e9lard returned to his scholastic duties.\n\nBut the presence of H\u00e9lo\u00efse irked him; probably he felt it impossible\nto play the double part of husband and philosopher, while his wife\nwas within reach; and he succeeded in persuading her, docile as ever,\nto return to the cloisters of Argenteuil. So far, he had suffered the\nleast of the three involved in this tragedy; but Nemesis was close at\nhand. Fulbert, outwardly satisfied, was contemplating a dire revenge.\n\nAll Paris was startled, one morning, by the rumour of an extraordinary\ncrime. A ruffian, armed with a razor, had broken into Maitre Pierre's\nhouse, at night, and had shamefully mutilated the teacher. It was true.\nAb\u00e9lard was unsexed; and Fulbert, fully avenged, had fled from Paris.\nLoud was the lamentation in the Sainte Montagne.\n\nThe dominant feeling aroused by such a humiliation, in the mind of a\nman so proud as Ab\u00e9lard, was, naturally, that of shame; penitence took\nbut a second place. He felt that he could face the world no longer; yet\njealousy told him that he could not take the cowl, while another took\nH\u00e9lo\u00efse, and knew delights, spiritual and carnal, that had once been\nhis. H\u00e9lo\u00efse, living only in and for her earthly husband, could refuse\nhim nothing at such a crisis. She took the veil at Argenteuil, and\nbecame, for her lover's sake, the spouse of Christ. Ab\u00e9lard donned the\nrobe of the Benedictines at the great abbey of St. Denis, in 1119.\n\nIf he had expected to regain peace and serenity in such a house, he\nmust have been grievously disappointed. The abbey of St. Denis had\nnot escaped the degeneracy that had already overtaken many of the\nmonastic institutions of the day. It had become a centre of private\nand political intrigue, a pleasure resort for the fashionable life of\nParis; laughter and the rustle of ladies' robes were heard in the long\nalleys of the cloister.[119] Against these abuses the new-comer was not\nslow to raise his eloquent voice. It was not heeded, or was received\nonly with jeers. Ab\u00e9lard withdrew, by permission, to the monastery\nof Deuil, close by, where he opened a school, and gave himself up\nagain to teaching, and to propagating the advanced theology that had\nalready scandalized the more orthodox of Paris. His treatise on \"The\nDivine Trinity and Unity,\" brought him before the Council of Soissons.\nThe persecution of the freethinker had begun; and though the daring\ninnovator endeavoured strenuously to justify his writings, the fathers\ncondemned him to throw, with his own hands, his book into the lighted\nbrazier prepared in the midst of the assembly. He was then handed over,\nfor correction, to the care of the abbot of St. M\u00e9dard de Soissons.\n\nThis sentence was soon annulled, and Ab\u00e9lard found himself once more\nat St. Denis. But not for long. Sleeping enmities were aroused; and,\none night, Ab\u00e9lard, with the connivance of certain monks, fled secretly\nfrom the abbey, and took refuge near Nogent, in a remote part of\nChampagne, where he hoped \"to avoid fame\" and live secure against the\nmalice of his enemies. But to avoid fame was not in the reformer's\ndestiny. The hermit was soon surrounded by his followers, who converted\na natural grotto into a chapel, and built themselves rustic huts of\nboughs and thatch, in this Paraclet,[120] the place of their master's\nconsolation.\n\nAgain he re-opened his school, again many listened to his defence of\nthe truth, again he aroused the enmity of the orthodox church, who,\nthis time, had as their champion the greatest name in all Christendom,\nthe more than Pope, St. Bernard. Ab\u00e9lard's four happy years of quiet\nservice were at an end. He fled to the lonely abbey of St. Gildas, in\nBrittany, his native province, \"a barbarous country, the language of\nwhich I do not understand,\" where his walks were along the inaccessible\nshore of a sea that was always stormy, where dissolute monks lived\nonly to hunt, \"and the doors and walls were without ornament, save the\nheads of wild boars and the feet of hinds and the hides of frightful\nanimals.\"[121]\n\nDuring all these years, though neither was forgotten by the other, no\ncommunication had passed between Ab\u00e9lard the monk and H\u00e9lo\u00efse the nun.\nNow, for a brief period, the currents of their lives were to mingle\nagain. In the year 1128, the monastery of Argenteuil passed to the\nabbey of St. Denis, then ruled by Suger, who was no friend to Ab\u00e9lard.\nThe nuns were dispersed, and H\u00e9lo\u00efse and her sisters found themselves\nwithout shelter. Here was the old lover's opportunity. Paraclet, bereft\nof its lord, had no tenants; H\u00e9lo\u00efse had no home. An impulse swiftly\nacted upon, some sudden instinct of pity, of desire, of remorse for the\nsufferings of which he was the responsible cause, led Ab\u00e9lard to obtain\npermission to offer her the shelter of his old retreat. She accepted\nthis offer, and established there a nunnery, of which she herself was\nappointed to be the first abbess. H\u00e9lo\u00efse and her sisters were to\nfollow the rigorous rule of St. Benedict, modified by Ab\u00e9lard--after\nspecial study--as a concession to the frail physique of women.\n\n [Illustration: MAISON COLOMBIER--BEAUNE\n _Facing page 150_]\n\nThe old lovers, both taught in the stern school of suffering, seem\nto have accepted, with full self-control, the new and spiritual\nrelationship upon which they were about to enter. In the priest's case,\nthat is more easily understood. For him, though still he says, \"I sigh,\nI weep, I grieve, I speak the dear name of H\u00e9lo\u00efse, I delight to hear\nthe sound,\" the days of physical desire were past for ever.\n\nBut what an effort must it have cost the woman, not yet in her\nthirtieth year, and with her beauty still in bloom, to accept her\nposition, to respect his; to honour as her spiritual brother only,\nhim who was her lover and her husband. Yet she did it--though with\nawful searchings of heart, with longings, and inward rebellion against\nfate, that her letters have, in measure, revealed. Happily for her,\nthe torturing joy of their last meetings was not for long. Already\nrumours and scandal were busy with their names. Ab\u00e9lard came one day\nto Paraclet; then he came no more. The lovers were not to meet again\nin this world. Only letters would pass between them--letters that\nreveal in a wonderful light the passive strength of her character, the\nutter surrender of herself, body, soul, and spirit, to the man who\nhad won her love. As literature, they reveal the fact that H\u00e9lo\u00efse,\nhad she given her life to such work, could have excelled all the men\nof her time[122] in the domain of letters. As human documents, their\ncorrespondence remains\n\n \"A dream, an idyll, call it what you will,\n Of man still man, and woman--woman still.\"\n\nThe man remained the man, in that, true to his new relationship to\nher, with the passing of the years he became less the lover and more\nthe priest; he conquered, or he cooled. The woman, true to her type,\nrenounced; but she, though she, too, attained a measure of spiritual\nliberty, never repented, and I think that she never really changed.\n\nThe last episodes in the stormy life of Ab\u00e9lard are soon told. On his\nfinal return from Paraclet, he found the monks risen in active revolt\nagainst him. Attempts were made, even, to poison him in the holy cup;\nand he hardly escaped the assassin's knife. In this extremity his\nthoughts turned again to the scene of those early successes in the\nMontagne St. G\u00eanevi\u00e8ve, and Paris saw and heard him for the last time.\nYears that had bowed his head, had not changed the bent of his mind.\nThe innovator was the innovator still. To Bernard, busily engaged in\nreforming his order in the lonely Vall\u00e9e d'Absinthe, came the news\nthat Ab\u00e9lard, whom he thought a spent force, had broken out once more.\nThe fanatic was furious. \"On fermera cette bouche avec des b\u00e2tons,\" he\nsaid, and girded up his loins \"to fight the dragon.\" From his renewed\ntriumphs among the scholars of the Latin quarter, Ab\u00e9lard was summoned\nto the last great public scene of his life, the Council of Sens.\n\nIt was on January 11th, 1140. The King of France, young Louis VII.,\npresided over the assembly. Ab\u00e9lard had hoped to be heard in his own\ndefence; but judgment had already been decided upon. The offensive\nvolume had been read, and condemned, overnight, by the prelates,\nsleeping over their cups. Upon the occurrence of an objectionable\npassage, the reader had interrogated the somewhat somnolent judges.\n\"_Damnates?_\" to which one drowsy voice had answered, \"Damnamus\"; while\nthe remainder, aroused by the noise, responded, in half articulate, but\nappropriate chorus, \"Namus.\"[123] Ab\u00e9lard, the ascetic, was condemned\nby the satellites of Bacchus.\n\nThe old man, broken, yet still resolute, determined to appeal to the\nPope. He set out on the long journey for Rome; but got no further than\nCluny, where Pierre le V\u00e9n\u00e9rable received him, with all the gentle\nand tolerant affection that reveal him as one of the most lovable\ncharacters of the century. He obtained the Pope's permission to let\nAb\u00e9lard remain with him; he even succeeded in reconciling him with the\nhitherto implacable St. Bernard. The old orator passed the last two\nyears of his life in the quietude of Cluny, growing ever weaker in\nbody, ever calmer in soul. At last Pierre le V\u00e9n\u00e9rable had him removed\nto the Abbey of St. Marcel de Ch\u00e2lon, hoping that the change might\nrestore his health; but the end had come. On April 11th, 1142, the\nReformer died.[124]\n\nPierre, writing to H\u00e9lo\u00efse of her husband, says: \"It is not easy to\ntell in a few lines, O my sister, the saintliness, the humility, the\nabnegation that he showed us, to which the whole monastery can bear\nwitness.... I gave him high rank among our brothers, but he would be\nas the least of all by the simplicity of his clothing. It was the same\nwith his food and all that touched upon the delights of the senses\n... he refused everything but what was indispensable to life. He read\ncontinually, he prayed often, he kept perpetual silence.\"\n\nH\u00e9lo\u00efse received her lover's body, and buried it in her own convent of\nParaclet. She survived Ab\u00e9lard twenty years, ruling her convent so well\nthat it became one of the most famous religious houses in France, in\nhigh repute with all the great ecclesiastics of the day. Legend, always\nbusy with such lives and loves as theirs, tells us, in an ancient\nchronicle of Tours, that when they laid the body of the Abbess in the\ntomb of her Ab\u00e9lard, who had rested there already twenty years, the\nfaithful husband raised his arms, stretched them forth, and closely\nembraced his H\u00e9lo\u00efse.[125]\n\n * * * * *\n\nWe turn now to a later phase of Burgundian life--the tournaments that\nare remembered in connection with such towns as Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne, and\nDijon.\n\nOlivier de la Marche, that loyal servant of the House of Valois, for\nwhom he suffered so many mischances, has given us, in his memoirs, a\ngood account of the great tournament of La Dame des Pleurs, which took\nplace at Ch\u00e2lon, in a field on the far side of the river, in 1449.\n\nTwo famous knights of the time, the Sire of Lalain, who had sworn to\nappear thirty times in the lists before he attained his thirtieth\nyear, and the Seigneur Pierre de Vasco, had caused a great pavilion\nto be set up, and lists to be made ready, where, for a whole year,\nthey engaged themselves to fight against all coming in the name of La\nDame des Pleurs. \"Now this pavilion was palissaded and barred right\nhonourably, and none might approach it without leave of Charolois the\nherald, a right honourable herald, officer-at-arms of the Count Charles\nof Charolois; and he wore his coat-of-arms, and bore a white baton in\nhis hand, and kept the images ordered for the challenger's enterprise:\nand first at the head of that pavilion, as high as might be, was set,\non a picture, a representation of the glorious Virgin Mary, holding\nthe Redeemer of the World, her Lord and her Son; and below, on the\nright side of the picture was fashioned a lady right honestly and\nrichly clad, and her master in simple attire; and she was in guise of\nweeping so sore, that the tears were falling even on to the left side,\nwhere was shown a fountain, and on it a unicorn seated, seeming to\nembrace the three targets, arranged for the three manners of arms the\nchallenger might furnish for his enterprise; of which the first was\nwhite, for the arms of the axe, the second violet for the arms of the\nsword, and the third (which was below in the manner of a triolet) was\nblack for the arms of the lance, and the said targets were all sown\nwith blue tears; and for these causes was the lady named the Lady of\nTears, and the fountain, the Fountain of Tears. Now have I shown the\nenterprise and the ordering of this noble meeting (_pas_): which things\nwere strange and new in the country, and much admired and seen of many\nand divers personages.\n\n\"That same day came to the palace a herald, named Toulongeon, who\nsummoned the herald guard of the pavilion and said to him: 'Noble\nherald, I ask that you open to me, that I may go and touch one of the\ntargets that are in your guard, for, and in the name of a noble squire\nnamed Pierre de Chandios.' The herald received him right joyously, and\ntold him that he was very welcome; and opened to him; and the said\nToulongeon, like an officer well learned, kneeled before the Virgin\nMary, saluted honourably the Lady of Tears, and then touched the white\ntarget, and said, 'I touch the white target for and in the name of\nPierre de Chandios esquire: and affirm in word of truth, saying that\non the day which shall be appointed him, he will furnish in his person\nthe conditioned and ordered arms for the said target, according to the\ncontents of the chapters of the noble challenger, if God keep him from\nencumbrance and loyal cares.' And so he left, and the palissades were\nshut again, and the pavilion remained spread and guarded until mid-day,\nwhen Charolois told of the enterprise and made his report to the good\nknight messire Jacques de Lalain of his day's adventure, and how Pierre\nde Chandios had caused the white target to be touched: at which he\nrejoiced greatly, and welcomed Toulongeon the herald of these good\nnews, gave gift, and named him an early day for the fight, which was\nthe following Saturday.\n\n\"On that day (which was the thirteenth day of September) the lists\nwere made ready, and the house of the judge and the pavilions were\nspread for the champions; and that of messire Jacques was of white\nsatin, sown with blue tears; and that of Chandios of rose red silk\nemblazoned with his arms about the roof: and came the judge to his\nplace, accompanied by Guillaume, lord of Sarcy, then bailiff of Ch\u00e2lon,\nby master Pierre, lord of Goux, a great man in the grand council of\nthe duke, and who was afterwards chancellor; and of several other\ncouncillors and noblemen well versed in the noble profession of arms.\nThese having taken their places, the said messire Jacques quitted\nthe church of Les Carmes, situate at the gate of the town and of the\nfaubourg of the gate of St. Jehan-du-Maiseau; and after having heard\nthree masses very devoutly, entered into a covered boat, accompanied by\nmessire Pierre de Vasco and by several other noblemen of his house (for\nhe kept very great state), and he found also, of many in the country\ntwo noblemen, brothers german; of whom the elder was messire Claude de\nToulongeon, lord of La Bastie, and the other Tristan de Toulongeon,\nlord of Soucy ... and because the said messire Jacques was a stranger\nin the country, they accompanied him: nor evermore during this contest\ndid they leave him.\n\n\"Thus the knight crossed the river of Sa\u00f4ne, and came to land at the\nisland on which he was to fight: and there jumped out of his boat,\nclothed in a long robe of cloth of gold, furred with sable. He held his\nbanner in his hand, figured with his devotions; with which he signed\nhimself at the same time, and right well it became him. So came he into\nthe lists, and presented himself before the judge,[126] and spake with\nhis own mouth these words: \"Noble king-of-arms of the Golden Fleece,\ncommissioned by my most redoubted and sovereign lord the duke of\nBurgundy and count of Hainault, to be my judge in this trial, I present\nmyself before you to keep and defend this enterprise and contest and\non my part to furnish and accomplish the arms chosen and required\nby Pierre de Chandios according to the contents of the chapters on\nthat behalf.\" The judge, habited in the coat-of-arms of the Duke of\nBurgundy, the white baton in his hand, received and welcomed him right\nhonourably, and the challenger withdrew into his pavilion.\n\n\"Not long had he been there, when there appeared upon the great bridge\nof Ch\u00e2lon the said Pierre de Chandios, who was coming upon his horse,\narmed with all arms, the bacinet upon his head and the coat-of-arms\nupon his back; and, in truth, he was one of the greatest and most\npowerful squires in all Burgundy, or in Nivernais, and might, in age,\nbe thirty-one years or thereabouts. He was accompanied by the lords\nof Mirebeau, of Charny and of Seyl, and by so many lords and nobles\nof Burgundy that I should estimate the company at more than four\nhundred noblemen. The said de Chandios entered the lists upon a horse\nemblazoned with his arms, and dismounted; and the lord of Charny led\nhim on his right before the judge, and made speech, and said: 'Noble\nKing of Arms of the Golden Fleece, commissioned by my most redoubted\nand sovereign lord the duke and count of Burgundy, judge in this cause,\nhere is Pierre de Chandios, my nephew, who presents himself before you,\nin order that, God aiding him, he may furnish and accomplish the arms\nby him undertaken and required, in encounter with the challenger of\nthis noble contest, according to the condition of the chapters, and of\nthe white target which he has caused to be touched.'\n\n\"The King of Arms welcomed him and received him as was his due, and\nwithdrew into his pavilion: and this done, everyone withdrew from the\nlists, and the accustomed cries were begun; and meanwhile a cousin\ngerman of mine, named Anthony de la Marche, lord of Sandon, appointed\nmarshall of the lists, drew near to the said Chandios by the judge's\ncommand, and bid him declare the number of strokes of the axe he\nrequired, and demanded to make and furnish these arms: and the said\nChandios declared seventeen strokes of the axe. So the said marshall\ncame to the judge to acquaint him of the number of strokes, and then he\ncame to the said Jacques de Lalain, to acquaint him of his adversary's\nintention, and also to ask of him the axes which he must deliver to\nfurnish and do battle withal. So were two axes given and delivered to\nhim, which were long and heavy; and the mallets and heads of the said\naxes were fashioned like falcons' beaks, with large and heavy spikes\nabove and beneath: and were bladed with a screw-plate of flat iron,\nwith three nail-heads short and thick, diamond fashion, and somewhat\nafter the manner of lance blades for jousting with arms of war, without\nroquet; and the said axes were taken to the said de Chandios to chose\nfrom: and a moment after Pierre de Chandios sallied forth from his\npavilion, clothed in his coat-of-arms, his bacinet on his head and his\nvisor lowered, crossing himself with his bannerolle: and then did his\nuncle, the lord of Charny, deliver him his axe and accompanied him\nfar into the lists. On the other side came forth messire Jacques de\nLalain: and had his harness covered, in place of a coat-of-arms, with\nan over-mantle with sleeves of white satin sown with blue tears, of\nthe same colour as the target that his adversary had touched. He wore\na little round helmet, and had his visor covered, and protected with\na little collar-piece of steel-mail (maille d'acier): and after the\nrecommendation of his bannerolle, Messire Pierre Vasco handed him his\naxe.\n\n\"So paced the champions each towards the other with great assurance,\nand met before the judge, and, at first each was on his guard against\nthe other. But before long they ran together and dealt great and\nheavy blows, knightly given and borne on one side and the other; and\nI remember that the said de Lalain (who knew that the axes he had\ngiven and delivered had no spike nor point with which he could bend\nnor injure his adversary) stepping aside some distance turned his axe,\nmaking the head the tail, and the tail the head: and came forward again\nwith a great effort and reached the said Chandios, with the spike of\nhis axe on the vizor of the bacinet, and gave him so great a blow that\nhe broke the point on the vizor; but the said Chandios (who was strong\nand great, powerful and valiant) did not give way; but began again the\nbattle between them more fiercely and proudly than before, so that\nthey beset one another so fiercely that in a short time the seventeen\nstrokes required by the said de Chandios were accomplished.\n\n\"Then Toison d'Or threw down the baton, and the combattants were taken\nand separated by the men-at-arms appointed as guard and attendants, and\nto act as is the wont in such a case; and they, taken before the judge,\ntouched together, and returned each whence he had come, and those arms\nwere accomplished (achev\u00e9es) on a Saturday, the 18th day of September,\nthe year 49.\"[127]\n\nSo ended the first combat, which was followed by many others at\nwhich several knights and squires of Burgundy, Nivernais, Savoy and\nSwitzerland presented themselves. Among the audience were the duke and\nduchess of Orleans and a brilliant company from the court of Italy.\nAt the close of the tournament a great banquet was given to all the\nnobles who had taken part, at which the guests were entertained with\nmany \"entremets,\" as the representations given during the repast were\ncalled.\n\nThe giver of the feast had desired that all combattants should be\npainted in their armour, and his own portrait was exhibited with a\ncouplet at the foot, expressing thanks to all noble companions who had\naccepted him as adversary, and offering to serve them on all occasions,\nin person or property, as their brother in arms. He presented to Toison\nd'Or a fair robe of sable, and after having courteously saluted the\nLady of Tears, and kissed the feet of the Holy Virgin, he retired;\nand the picture, the image and the unicorn were carried, in solemn\nprocession, to the church of Ch\u00e2lon.[128]\n\nWe shall hear more of these Burgundian Tournaments when we come to\nspeak of the royal court at Dijon, and the festivities of the Tree\nof Charlemagne. Here I conclude the subject, for the present, merely\nreminding my readers that these heavily armoured and comparatively\ninnocuous fights were but the slow development of sterner combats,\nsuch as that which occurred in 1273, when Edward I. of England passed\nthrough Burgundy, on his way to meet Philip III. returning from\nItaly. The Burgundians, wishing fittingly to celebrate the occasion,\norganized a tourney at Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne. \"There was a battle,\" says\nMathew of Westminster, \"but the English were victors and slew several\nwho were despoiling the conquered; but as these last were men of small\ncondition, the matter was not followed up.\"[129]\n\n * * * * *\n\nModern Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne has not very much that is attractive. The most\ninteresting streets are those around the old cathedral of St. Vincent,\nbefore which, on Sunday morning, there is a busy market scene. The\nchurch is a fairly good specimen of Burgundian Gothic of the 12th to\n14th centuries; but it appears to have been so much restored that a\ndogmatic opinion concerning its age would be unusually dangerous. The\nchoir appears to be of the 13th century, and the arches, with unribbed\nvaults, of the late 12th. Strong Roman and Byzantine influence is\neverywhere apparent, and there are some rich late Gothic side chapels.\nThe upper part of the design betrays the same fault as at St. B\u00e9nigne\nde Dijon. The triforium--weakly designed--and the parapet above it,\nare lifted up to the clerestory, leaving an unsightly space of bare\nwall above the arches of the nave. The shafts of the high vault are\ntaken down, as usual, on to fluted pilasters, with highly ornamented\ncapitals. The fa\u00e7ade of the church is modern, and unsuccessful.\n\nIn the old quarter, I remember one particularly good timbered Gothic\nhouse, known as the Maison de Bois.\n\n [Illustration: MAISON DE BOIS. CHALON SUR SAONE]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[116] And he knew it. \"I enjoyed at that time so great a renown, and\n I so outshone all with the glamour of youth and beauty, that I\n needed to fear no refusal, whoever might be the woman to whom I\n chanced to address myself.\"\n\n[117] \"La Passion d'H\u00e9lo\u00efse et d'Ab\u00e9lard,\" Bertheroy, p. 45.\n\n[118] \"quel giorno pi\u00f9 non vi leggemmo avanti,\" Inferno, Canto V., 138.\n\n[119] Bertheroy, p. 97.\n\n[120] Paraclet--The Consoler, the Holy Ghost.\n\n[121] Ab\u00e9lard's letter to Philintus. \"Love Letters of Ab\u00e9lard and\n H\u00e9lo\u00efse,\" p. 19, Temple Classics.\n\n[122] Lord Lyttleton, \"Life of Henry II.,\" quoted in \"Ab\u00e9lard.\" Temple\n Classics.\n\n[123] We swim.\n\n[124] Bertheroy, p. 176.\n\n The tablet to the memory of Ab\u00e9lard, in the Church of St. Marcel\n is a conventionally worded Latin inscription, setting forth his\n virtues, the date of his death (1142) and the fact of his removal\n to Paraclet.\n\n[125] \"Curiosities of Literature,\" Disraeli, quoted in \"Ab\u00e9lard and\n H\u00e9lo\u00efse,\" Temple Classics. The tomb was removed later to P\u00e8re la\n Chaise, the great cemetery of Paris.\n\n[126] Duke Philippe le Bon was in Flanders at the time; but he had sent\n Toison d'Or to officiate as judge in his place. Barante, Tome\n VII., p. 284.\n\n[127] Olivier de la Marche. M\u00e9moires, Petitot's edition, cap. xxi.,\n pp. 5-11.\n\n[128] De Barante, Tome VII., pp. 284-5.\n\n[129] Petit, Tome VI., p. 20.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter XI; The Sa\u00f4ne near Tournus]\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTOURNUS BY THE SAONE\n\n\nTournus is an attractive old town, lying asleep on a hill beside the\nSa\u00f4ne. Through it ran, north and south, the old Roman road of Agrippa.\nIts chief monument, the church of the ancient abbey of St. Philibert,\nwhether viewed from within or from without, is one of the most striking\nexamples I know, of the barbaric majesty of early Burgundian art. The\ngrim fa\u00e7ade, with its two-storied narthex of three bays--the oldest\nClunisian porch--and its machicolations and towers, recalls the\nfortified churches of Provence and Languedoc, built when the southern\nland still shook with fear at the thought of the northern \"crusaders,\"\nor the sea-pirates of the south. Nor does the sight of the interior do\nother than confirm that impression.\n\nPassing through the lower storey of the gloomy portal, that might well\nhave served to imprison the bodies of men--just as, symbolically, it\nwas a shadowy ante-chamber, a purgatory of souls not yet fitted for the\nfull light of Paradise--we emerged into a church whose rugged strength\nhad in it something awful and menacing, suggestive of a period even\nmore barbaric than that eleventh century in which the nave and narthex\nwere built.\n\nThis impression may possibly have a historical as well as an\nimaginative basis, owing to the fact that the church has been twice\ndestroyed--first by the Huns, and later by fire--both disasters\noccurring so soon after construction, that the original design may have\nbeen adhered to closely.[130]\n\nSeveral points of detail catch the eye immediately, especially one\nmost unusual feature--that the axes of the barrelling are at right\nangles to the longitudinal axes of the church. One notices also the\ngreat height of the aisles, and the transfer of capitals from their\nusual position on the columns of the nave, to the vaulting shafts. The\naisle columns are engaged in the wall. The apse has a fine ambulatory,\nand five square radiating chapels. This part of the church dates from\nthe latter part of the eleventh century, and contrary to the evidence\nof the square chapels, which are somewhat Cistercian, was built under\nClunisian influence. Roman example also is apparent. Over the transept\nis a fine central tower of the twelfth century, beneath which is a\ndome with Burgundian fluted pilasters. The general barbarity of the\nromanesque is lightened in the apse by carved shafts, of great delicacy\nand beauty, which have been selected by Viollet-le-Duc for illustrating\nthe section on colonnettes in his \"Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9.\"\n\nThe lower part of the narthex, or rather its extraordinarily massive\npillars, are generally attributed to the tenth century; the towers,\nboth of which have some good carving, to the eleventh; and the upper\npart of the south-west tower to the twelfth. The upper chamber of the\nnarthex, loopholed in several places, was probably intended for the\ndefence of the abbey,[131] further security being afforded by the\nenceinte and gate, of which the round tower opposite formed part. A\ndoor opened from the upper narthex to the interior of the church, so\nthat defenders might attend the office.\n\nThe crypt, which occupies the whole of the space beneath the choir,\nhas many pillars, so cunningly disposed that they give to this part of\nthe church an appearance of much greater size than is really the case.\nIt contains several relics of the past, notably a wooden vierge of the\ntwelfth century, the sarcophagus of St. Val\u00e9rien, and a twelfth century\nfresco, the earliest of its kind in the department. The central chapel\nin the crypt is the best part of the building, architecturally; though\nthe beautiful columns and capitals of the eleventh century, including\ntwo Roman ones, do not harmonize well with the primitive roof.\n\nVery little now remains of the ancient monastery; but the\nfifteenth-century salle abbatiale is still to be seen in the Place des\nArts, on the south-east side of the church. The buildings on the site\nof the cloisters are still known as the carr\u00e9.\n\nSaint Philibert, after whom the church is named, was not a Burgundian\nsaint; but the monks who had the keeping of his relics, driven from\ntheir monastery of Noirmoutiers, established themselves at Tournus.\nThat the cult of this Saint eventually gained great popularity in\nBurgundy, is evident from the number of churches--St. Philibert of\nDijon, of Mersault, &c.--dedicated to him throughout the province.\n\nWhile I was in St. Philibert, my wife was sketching and writing in the\nsunny street outside. I have purloined the following from her notebook.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7STREET IN TOURNUS\u00b7]\n\n\"When I think of Tournus, there comes to my mind the picture of a dear\nlittle street bathed in warm afternoon sunlight. On my left, as I sit,\npencil in hand, is the west front of the Cathedral, and in front of me,\na row of little, low, whitewashed cottages line the street. Above the\nlast cottage there rises a heavy gable, thick, and white, and solid,\npierced only by one little grated window. This gable is a fragment of\nthe old abbey, and the arched grating is the window of the refectory\nused by the monks. There are small shops and more cottages on my right.\nThe street slopes downhill, and ends in a little, round, white tower,\nwith a round, brown, pointed hat. It is the sort of tower that one\nlongs to get round the other side of, or, best of all, into. A great,\nwarm, purple shadow crosses the street in front of me, and creeps a\nlittle way up the white cottages opposite. It leaves a piece of wall in\nbrilliant, dazzling sun, and then begins again in a jagged, purple lace\nfringe, under the heavy frieze of vine-leaves over the doors.\n\n\"An old lady, in white cap and woolly shawl, walks out of a cottage,\nand into my sketch. The little boys round me, with best striped Sunday\nsocks, and mouths full of sweets, suddenly become eager and interested,\nwhereas before they were only curious.\n\n\"Hey! La gran'm\u00e8re!\" they whisper excitedly; and a discussion ensues\nas to whose grandmother it is. There must be heaps of grandmothers in\nTournus, and I have only shown her back view disappearing round the\nlittle white tower. And, because of the human interest with which my\npicture is now endowed, the crowd of little boys becomes quite twice as\nlarge.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWandering to-day through the quiet, sleepy, but by no means\npoverty-stricken streets of Tournus, one can easily forget the\ncondition of awful misery to which this part of Burgundy was reduced\nat the close of the tenth and the beginning of the eleventh centuries,\nwhen the old church of St. Philibert was in course of construction. The\nhorrors of that period--when the faithful, eagerly awaiting the second\ncoming of Christ, had, as they thought, ocular demonstration that the\nend of all mankind was at hand--have been best depicted for us by that\nstrange figure, the priest, Raoul Glaber.\n\nThis, the most vivid historian of his time, was a wild, unbalanced,\neccentric visionary, whom one of his uncles, himself a monk, had\ndedicated to the same vocation, in the hope that monkish discipline\nwould cure his natural perversities. The hope was not fulfilled, for\nRaoul the Bald, always restless and dissatisfied, wandered, in turn,\nfrom monastery to monastery, appearing successively at St. B\u00e9nigne\nde Dijon, Moutier St. Jean, St. Germain d'Auxerre, B\u00e9ze, and Cluny,\nfinding only in St. Guillaume and St. Odilon, at the first and last\nnamed houses, masters of calibre enough to calm his troubled spirit,\nand encourage his literary bent.\n\nBut, wherever he might be dwelling, Raoul remained an unhappy man, a\nvictim of a disordered and powerful imagination. He himself tells us\nof the frequent visions to which he was subject; visions not without\ninterest as throwing light upon the mental condition of the time. At\nMoutier appeared to him Guillaume de St. B\u00e9nigne, who, laying his hand\nupon the bald head, said gently; \"Do not forget me, I beg of you, if it\nbe true that I have sincerely loved you; accomplish rather, such is my\ndesire, the work you have promised to me.\"[132]\n\nNot all his visions were so consoling. Conscience often brought the\ndevil to his dreams. He saw one night, standing at the foot of his bed,\n\"A hideous little monster. He was of middle height, with a thin neck, a\nskinny figure, eyes very black, a narrow and wrinkled forehead, a flat\nnose, a wide mouth, swollen lips, chin short and tapering, a goat's\nbeard, straight ears, hair dirty and stiff, dog's teeth, the back of\nhis head pointed, a protruding belly, a hump on the back, hanging\nbuttocks and dirty clothing. His whole body appeared to be animated\nby a convulsive and desperate activity. He seated himself on the edge\nof my bed and proceeded to say to me; 'You will not remain here much\nlonger,' then ground his teeth and repeated; 'You shall not stay here\nany longer.' I jumped out of bed; I ran to prostrate myself at the foot\nof the altar of Father Benedict; I recapitulated all the sins I had\ncommitted since my childhood, whether by negligence or perversity.\"\n\nThis strange work of his, which recounts in a chaotic, tortured manner,\nwithout order and without literary grace, though with extraordinary\nvividness and effect, the chief social, political, and religious events\nof the period dating from 900 to 1046, is the most highly coloured,\nyet, at the same time, the most sincere and the most valuable document\nwe possess concerning the first half of the eleventh century in\nBurgundy. The book deals only briefly with the political events of his\ntime, but is extraordinarily prolix concerning monks and marvels, which\nare a source of constant bewilderment to his troubled brain.\n\nFor poor Raoul never attained the calm assurance of the established\nChristianity of his day, nor came near to realizing the monkish ideals\nof Cluny and Citeaux. His book is full of dreadful visions, such as\nthe one we have already described. He sees the powers of evil lurking\nand prowling after men, as lions that lie in wait for their prey. No\nChristian charity is found in him, no tenderness, no hope; only the\nspirit of revolt, of discontent, of disgust; superstitious fear and\nhallucinations chasing one another through his tortured mind, until, at\nlast, with despairing appeals to the Divine pity, he falls into nervous\ncrises which paralyse his mental and physical action.\n\nNor was so terrible a state of mind then unnatural to any timid ones,\nwhose temperament forbade them to shelter soul, as well as body, within\nthe safe fold of the church. The events which Raoul himself describes\nas happening, within his own experience, here, in this district round\nTournus, are such as might well wreck all but the strongest minds, or\nthose fortified by an incorruptible faith in the good providence of\nGod. Look at his picture of the famine of 1031, and you will cease to\nwonder that, in those days, men dreamed strange dreams.\n\n\"Famine commenced to desolate the universe, and the human race was\nthreatened with imminent destruction. The temperature (seasons)\nbecame so contrary that no fitting time was found to sow the land,\nnone favourable to the harvest, chiefly on account of the water with\nwhich the fields were flooded. One would have said that the elements,\nenraged, had declared war on one another, when, they were, in fact, but\nobeying Divine vengeance in punishing the insolence of men.... This\navenging scourge had first begun in the East; after having ravaged\nGreece, it passed to Italy, spread among the Gauls and spared not even\nthe people of England. All men equally felt its attacks. The great,\nthose of middle estate and the poor, all had their mouths equally\nfamished, the same pallor was upon their foreheads; for even the\nviolence of the great had given way at last to the common dearth. When\nthey had fed on beasts and birds, that resource once exhausted, hunger\nwas no less keenly felt, and, to appease it, men must needs resort\nto devouring corpses, or even, to escape death, uproot the trees in\nthe woods, pluck the grass in the streams; but all was useless, for\nagainst the wrath of God there is no refuge save God Himself. Alas!\nmust we believe it? Fury of hunger renewed those examples of atrocity\nso rare in history, and men devoured the flesh of men. The traveller,\nassaulted on the road, succumbed to the blows of his aggressors. His\nlimbs were torn, grilled on the fire, and devoured. Others, flying\ntheir country to escape famine, received hospitality on the road, and\ntheir hosts slew them in the night that they might furnish food. Others\nlured children away with the offer of an egg or an apple, and immolated\nthem to their hunger. In many a place corpses were unearthed to serve\nfor these sad repasts. One wretch dared even to carry human flesh to\nthe market of Tournus, to sell it cooked for that of animals. He was\narrested and did not attempt to deny his crime; he was garrotted, then\nthrown to the flames. Another, during the night, stole this flesh that\nthey had buried in the earth; he ate it, and was also burned.\n\n\"Three miles from M\u00e2con, in the forest of Ch\u00e2tigny, is an isolated\nchurch consecrated to St. John. Not far from there, a scoundrel built\na cabin, where he cut the throats of any passers-by, or travellers who\nstopped with him. The monster then fed upon their bodies. One day, a\nman came there with his wife, to ask for hospitality, and rested a few\nmoments. But, throwing his glance round all the corners of the cabin he\nsaw the heads of men, women and children. Immediately he is troubled,\nhe grows pale, he would leave; but his cruel host endeavours to keep\nhim there by force. The fear of death doubles the traveller's strength;\nat last he escapes with his wife, and runs with all haste to the town.\nThere he hastens to communicate this frightful discovery to Count Otho\nand all the other inhabitants. They send instantly a large number of\nmen to verify the fact; they press forward, and on their arrival find\nthe wild beast in his haunt, with forty-eight heads of men whom he\nhad butchered, and whose flesh he had already devoured. They take him\nto the town, hang him up to a beam in a cellar, then throw him to the\nflames. We, ourselves, were present at his execution.\"\n\n\"They tried, in the same province, a means which was not, we believe,\nadopted elsewhere. Many persons mixed a white earth, like clay, with\nany bran or flour they might have, and made loaves therewith to satisfy\ntheir cruel hunger. The faces of all were pale and emaciated, the skin\ndrawn tight and swollen, the voice shrill and resembling the plaintive\ncry of dying birds. The great number of the dead forbade any thought\nof their burial, and the wolves, attracted for a long time past by\nthe odour of corpses, came to tear their prey. As they could not\ngive separate burial to all the dead, because of their great number,\nmen full of the Grace of God, dug, in many places, ditches, commonly\ncalled \"Charniers,\" into which they would throw five hundred bodies,\nand sometimes more when they would hold more; they lay there mixed\npell mell, half naked, often without any clothing. The cross-ways, the\nditches in the fields, served as burial places.\n\n\"The church ornaments were sacrificed to the needs of the poor. They\nconsecrated to the same purpose the treasures that had long been\ndestined for this use, as we find it written in the decree of the\nFathers; but, in many places, the treasures of the churches could\nnot suffice for the necessities of the poor. Often, even, when these\nwretches, long consumed by hunger, found means to satisfy it, they\nswelled immediately and died; others held in their hands, the food\nwhich they wished to raise to their lips; but this last effort cost\nthem their life, and they perished without having been able to enjoy\nthis sad pleasure. There are no words capable of expressing the pain,\nthe sadness, the sobs, the plaints, the tears of the unhappy witnesses\nof these scenes of disaster, especially among the Churchmen, the\nbishops, the abbots, the monks and the religieux. It was thought that\nthe orders of the seasons and the laws of the elements, which, till\nthen, had governed the world, were fallen back into eternal chaos, and\nall feared that the end of the human race had come.\"\n\nLet those who haste to decry modern institutions remember that to-day\nyou can buy bread in Tournus for a few sous the kilo.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFrom the great abbey church that still symbolizes, in its aspect,\nsomething of the horror of those famine-stricken years in which it was\nbuilt, we wandered down the main street towards the river, and there\nrested at a little caf\u00e9 in the Place de l'H\u00f4tel de Ville, which is\nadorned, as might have been expected, by a statue of Greuze. Here we\nwere waited on by a kindly, grey-haired, stupid, but intensely curious\nold lady, who, wearied by sixty years of monotonous Tournusian life,\nwas anxious to imbibe from passing travellers, all available gossip,\nconcerning themselves and the world from which she was cut off. My wife\nshowed her some sketches. They left her cold.\n\n\"Vous faites \u00e7a \u00e0 coup d'\u0153il?\" she said, and yawned.\n\n\"Madame est artiste,\" I interjected, carelessly, using a word which\nsuggests public performer, or actress, rather than artist. The old\nwoman thawed. Smiling, she turned to my wife.\n\n\"In that case madame will be able to earn her evening at the Caf\u00e9 de la\nTerrasse, beside the river. All the artistes go there, and there is a\npiano and singing.\" We acquiesced, without intending to go. Meanwhile\nthe old lady studied my wife closely.\n\n\"Do you English people dress as we do; and are you married in church?\"\nShe looked from one to another.\n\n\"_We_ were,\" I said, \"But everyone isn't.\" I had answered the last\nquestion first. \"And as to clothes, every painter and artistic person,\nas is well-known, has her little 'mode \u00e0 elle.'\"\n\n\"Justement,\" said our hostess, \"Is this your tour de noces?\"\n\nThe negative reply grieved her. While I paid for the coffee, Madame\ncast an eye upon the retreating figure of my wife;\n\n\"Comme Madame est grande,\" she said, \"Et bien belle!\"\n\nA few yards away, in the Rue de l'H\u00f4pital, we came to a little inn with\nthe pretty sign \"Au Point de Jour,\" and the inscription on a board, in\ncapital letters:\n\n \"Avan le jour commence ta journ\u00e9e\n De l'Eternel le sainct nom b\u00e9nissant\n Loue le encore et passe ainsy lann\u00e9e\n Ayme Dieu et ton procchain. 1672.\"\n\nA little girl, who had been sitting before the inn, approached.\nPointing to the inscription, she said scornfully:\n\n\"That's not French.\"\n\n\"Pardon, mon enfant,\" I said, \"But it is most certainly French.\" The\nlittle maid looked rather guilty for a moment. Then she cheered up.\nThis French that puzzled her must be a local patois.\n\n\"Oh, well then,\" she said. \"C'est que je ne suis pas d'ici.\" (I am not\nfrom this part of the country) and she trotted off up the street.\n\nThe landlady and coffee had so fully monopolized our attention that we\nhad bestowed no more than a passing glance upon the statue of Greuze,\nopposite to which we had been sitting. I doubt whether it deserved\nmore. Surely the most satisfactory monuments to the famous Burgundian\npainter are the house in which he was born,[133] the studies from his\nbrush and pencil, to be seen in the local mus\u00e9e, and the rich meadows\nby the Sa\u00f4ne. All these complete a setting that enables us better to\nsympathize with Greuze's fresh and delicate art.\n\nThe painter's life, like that of his fellow-Burgundian, Prudhon, fell\nshort of happiness. Friction with the authorities of the Academy, and\nthe merited failure of his classical work, \"The Emperor Severus and\nCaracalla\"--the very title calls up a smile, when we think of it in\nconnection with the painter of \"La Cruche Cass\u00e9e\"--caused him to cease\nexhibiting at the Salon, until the Revolution had opened the way for\nall painters. Yet the apparent failure was a blessing in disguise;\nit taught him his limitations, and brought him back from the stilted\nmanner of his time, to the call of individual genius, and the freshness\nof nature.\n\nHe had other troubles; not the least of which was an ill-chosen\nwife. Mdlle Babuti, whose charming face he has reproduced on so many\ncanvasses, was not so easy to live with as her picture, perhaps\nidealized by the painter, would lead us to believe; and Greuze himself\nlacked that touch of philosophy which would have counterbalanced his\nnatural sprightliness of character. Finally came the crowning disaster,\nthe Revolution, that robbed him of nearly all he possessed; so that,\nthough the Convention gave him lodgings in the vacant chambers at the\nLouvre, he died in complete poverty. Shortly before his death, he\nremarked to his friend, Barth\u00e9lemy:\n\n\"At my funeral you will be the poor man's dog.\"\n\nIt is said that Napoleon, hearing of the painter's wretched end, said:\n\"If I had known his situation, I would have given him a S\u00e8vres vase\nfull of gold, in payment for all his cruches cass\u00e9es.\"[134]\n\nWe need not, in these pages, discuss Greuze's art; but we may recall\nits best feature. Though his manner sometimes lays him open to the\ncharge of being merely pretty and graceful, to the exclusion of\ngreater qualities, we must not forget that he was one of the first\nwho brought men back to nature--at a time when nature was everywhere\nforgotten--and reminded them, beautifully, that the simple incidents of\nvillage life, the small joys and sorrows that swell the breast of the\nrustic maid over the broken jug, or the welcome home of her lover, are\nnot less elementally joyful or tragic, not less worthy the attention\nand sympathy of the true artist, than scenes of court and throne, and\nkindred emotions that, by the caprice of chance, swell the breasts of\nkings and decide the destinies of nations.\n\nThe idyllic and pastoral effects of Greuze's art, harmonize well with\nthe unpretentiousness of the town of Tournus, and also with one of its\nmost delightful features, the meadow-walks that border the Sa\u00f4ne.\n\nHere, at sunset, when you have gazed your fill at the mysterious towers\nof the abbey, rising above the roofs of the town, you may turn to watch\nthe opalesque lights in the quivering water, that, doubling in its\nmirror the line of distant poplars, slides between reedy banks, between\nwide stretches of green pasture, where the pale herds browse. Scarcely\na sound breaks the stillness; only, from time to time, comes the chance\ncry of a roystering Sunday youth, from a meadow far away floats the\nlowing of distant cattle, from the path the heavy tramp of an aged\npeasant, homeward-bound, bending beneath the weight of his spade.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7TOURNUS\u00b7Evening]\n\nFrom the river, where, all day long, around idle punts, tempting baits\nhave been dipping and dropping, comes the flop of a lazy fish, making\nrings that widen over the glassy surface. Now a distant throb is heard,\nthat deepens, as a tug, gaudily painted in red and black, with white\nbows, comes gliding down the river, drawing four barges laden with\nbarrels. The second steamer, reversed in the water beneath, is hardly\nless vivid to the eye. Swish! Swish! Swish! The water foams from the\nflat prow; all the river is decked with dancing, rainbow ripples, azure\nblue below, rose pink above, singing, bubbling, racing one another in\nmusic to the shore.\n\nThis pastoral, green plain of the Sa\u00f4ne, these luscious meadows of\nwaterish Burgundy, have often recalled to me Phaedra's longing words,\nin those last days, when the burden of her life and love was more than\nshe could bear.\n\n \"Oh, for a deep and dewy spring,\n With runlets cold to draw and drink!\n And a great meadow blossoming,\n Long grassed, and poplars in a ring,\n To rest me by the brink.\"[135]\n\nNot less lovely was the same spot next morning, when all the landscape\nshone in a light that had in it already something of southern\nintensity; when wind and sun were stirring the rushes by the water\nside, and jewelling the rippled sweep of the river below the dark\ntowers of St. Philibert. Two gaily-caparisoned horses, led by a small\nboy in a black blouse, came plodding along the towing-path. Two rowers\nwere easing the horses' labours, with long oars which flashed as they\nrose and fell. The banks and meadows were dotted with the same herds of\nwhite philosophers, browsing, and lazily swishing their tails; only,\nthis morning, heads were bent down to the luscious feast of green,\nwhereas, towards evening, they are lifted, to ruminate through long\nhours of dreamy delight.\n\n * * * * *\n\nM\u00e2con, to which we paid a flying visit during the interval between two\ntrains, was once the capital of the M\u00e2connais, until that country was\nincorporated with the Duchy of Burgundy. It is now too wholly modern\na town to retain much character or interest. Almost all the ancient\nhouses are destroyed, and of the two cathedrals--St. Pierre and St.\nVincent--the former is wholly modern. The west front of the old church,\nwhich was sacked during the Revolution, remains. Our best impression of\nM\u00e2con was the view of the town and river from the train, as it left for\nBourg.\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter XI; By the Sa\u00f4ne]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[130] \"L'Art en Bourgogne.\" Perrault-Dabot p. 55.\n\n[131] Viollet le Duc seems to doubt whether it was originally intended\n for defence.\n\n[132] The history of his time, by Raoul Glaber.\n\n[133] August, 1725.\n\n[134] \"L'Art en Bourgogne,\" Perrault-Dabot.\n\n[135] \"Hippolytus\" of Euripides, Gilbert Murray's translation.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter XII; Antigny-le-Chatel]\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nIN THE VALLEY OF THE OUCHE\n\n\nEver since developing a keen interest in the fortunes of the great\nBurgundian monasteries, we had decided to take the first opportunity of\nseeing the Valley of the Ouche, and Labussi\u00e8re, the adopted daughter of\nCiteaux.\n\nIt was a public holiday; and the train from Dijon was packed with\nexcursionists. I found myself the only male in a compartment crammed\nwith eight old ladies, mostly stout, and all in holiday spirits. We\nfell into conversation. They all expressed kindly interest in the task\nthat had brought me to Dijon. I was catechized.\n\n\"Has Monsieur seen the prisons of Dijon?\"\n\n\"No, Madame; je n'aime pas beaucoup ces endroits l\u00e0.\" Little tinkling\nlaughs ran all round the carriage.\n\n\"But I only just missed seeing them yesterday--because I had left\nbehind me my permis de circulation. You have so many regulations in\nFrance.\"\n\n\"Talking of regulations, Monsieur,\" said the stoutest and shrewdest of\nthe old ladies, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, \"Permit me to call to\nyour attention to the fact that you are in a \"Dames seules!\"\n\n\"Mille pardons, Mesdames; but permit me to observe that I have chosen\nmy company well.\"\n\nThis time the compartment rang with laughter; and eight bonnetted heads\nbobbed in recognition of the courtoisie.\n\n\"And if we let him stay, Monsieur will promise to be bien sage?\"\n\n\"Assur\u00e9ment, Mesdames, foi de Lion.\" So the banter went on, until our\nstation was called; and in ten minutes we found ourselves lunching in a\nmeadow of St. Victor, and looking up at the Castle of Marigny perched\nupon its rock.\n\nIn the time of the first Crusade, Marigny, the great fortress, whose\nlord was one of the four most powerful barons of Burgundy, proudly\ndominated the valley. Now it is but a charming relic, where you may\nwander beneath broken arches and the ivied vaults of great chambers,\nfrom whose crannied floors young fir-trees grow, and bushes hoary with\nsilver lichen. There, too, you may wile away all a summer day, lying\nupon mossy, blossom-jewelled lawns, and dreaming dreams of the great\nlords of Marigny, and of Brother Alb\u00e9ric of Labussi\u00e8re, or of Tebsima,\nthe Arab exile, whose bones rest in a mountain tomb not far away. All\nthe hills hereabout are full of memories of this most gracious of all\nBurgundian legends.\n\nTebsima Ben-Beka (Smile Son of Tears)--so named because his birth\nbrought joy and death to his mother--was a direct descendant of the\nprophet himself. Growing up a strong and courageous youth, imbued with\na fierce hatred of all Christians, he fought valiantly for Islam in the\ngreat struggle of the Crescent against the Cross,[136] but was taken\nprisoner by Guillaume, Lord of Marigny, at the assault of Jerusalem in\n1099. Guillaume, from the first, was drawn towards his young prisoner,\nwhom he tried earnestly to convert to the Christian faith. His prayers\nwere heard, and answered by a wonderful miracle. Tebsima and some\ncompanions were present one day, as spectators at a holy celebration.\nThe officiating priest had pronounced the sacramental formula, and\nwas elevating the host, when, suddenly, the sacred emblem was seen by\nall to change into the form of a young child of marvellous beauty.\nAll present fell upon their faces. Before the priest stood a crystal\nchalice, filled with white wine and water. He took it between his\nhands, and spoke the mysterious words. As he did so, the wine changed\nto blood. Before the new miracle the hardest heart surrendered. Tebsima\nbecame a Christian.\n\nIn the chalice rested ever after a drop of blood. Guillaume de Marigny\nwas given the sacred relic by the priest, on condition that he would\nstay two years longer in Palestine. This condition he fulfilled; then,\ntaking with him Tebsima, whose life, as a Christian, was in mortal\ndanger so long as he stayed in the East, Guillaume set out for France.\nFor three long years his wife, Matilde, sorrowing, had awaited her\nlord. Imagine, then, her joy when, gazing one day from the battlements\nof the castle, she heard, floating from far down the valley, the blare\nof the Crusader's trumpets, then caught the glint of sun on shining\narmour, and, at last, the white plume tossing upon her husband's helmet.\n\nThe Holy Tear, as people had learned to name the sacred relic that\nGuillaume had brought with him, was placed, with all reverence, in the\ntabernacle of the chapel, and every year a solemn f\u00eate was celebrated\nin its honour. Tebsima, the exile, lived in the Castle of Marigny,\nwhere Guillaume and his lady treated him as their brother. But his\nheart ached to see his own people again; and, when the winter cold of\nBurgundy pierced him through and through, he longed for the strong suns\nof the East. So he told his friends of his resolution, and, despite\ntheir protests, returned whence he came. But his own family, much as\nthey loved him, would not receive him when they knew the truth. How\ncould the very children of Mahomet welcome a follower of the Christ?\nSo, after sorrows and adventures, too many to tell, Tebsima came a\nsecond time to the great Castle by the Ouche. Warm, indeed, was the\nwelcome he received, and great the rejoicing, when he told how he had\nsworn never to leave Burgundy again.\n\nOne day a brilliant cavalcade was seen riding down the valley. It was\nthe cort\u00e8ge of Hugues,[137] the Duke of Burgundy, come to celebrate, by\na day's hunting with the lord of Marigny, the safe return of the young\nEmir. An hour later the horns sounded the ballad of St. Hubert from\nthe Castle tower, and the hunt was laid on. A noble stag broke from\nthe thicket. There was hue and cry down into the valley of Labussi\u00e8re,\nwhere the beast was brought to bay. Suddenly, with a splendid bound,\nit cleared the baying hounds, and made furiously for the lady of the\ncastle, who had followed the hunt. Tebsima, on his Arab steed, that\nmany a time had been his saviour, saw the danger, and pressed forward.\nHis blade pierced the stag's body up to the hilt, but not before the\nterrible horns had buried themselves deep in the horse's side.[138]\n\nThe violence of Tebsima's fall, the loss of his horse, that, to an\nArab, is as the loss of a brother, and the chill winds of Burgundy,\nwrought mortal harm in the young Arab. Then came a yet greater\ndisaster. It was on the great day of the veneration of the Sainte\nLarme. A young page, nobly dressed in black, came at evening to the\ncastle chapel, and knelt in prayer before the relic. A moment later\nthe page and the relic had gone. Tebsima, who first noticed the theft,\nrode headlong in pursuit. Seeing the black rider in front of him, he\nsummoned him, by the blood of Christ, to halt; and, behold, the mule,\ndespite its rider's efforts, stood immovable, as though changed to\nstone. Tebsima drew near to the thief, demanded the return of the relic.\n\n\"Since I cannot keep it,\" said the page, \"let it be lost for ever to\nthe Chapel of Marigny.\" He hurled the chalice down the face of the\nrock, and, drawing his sword, attacked the Emir, who, while avoiding\nthe blow, plunged his scimitar into the mule's body. The animal bounded\ninto the air; and man and beast rolled headlong over the brink of the\nabyss, and were dashed to pieces on the stones below. Weeping bitterly,\nTebsima descended to seek the fragments of the cup. He found them lying\nin a dozen pieces, where a little stream bubbles from the rock. That\nstream is called to this day the Fontaine de Sainte Larme; and still\nits limpid waters seem to weep the sacrilege its name commemorates.[139]\n\nThe holy relic had vanished for ever. So, with the precious object that\nhad served always to remind Tebsima of the miracle of his conversion,\nall hope in this life departed from the stricken Emir. Feeling himself\nto be dying, he left the Castle of Marigny, and withdrew to the\npleasant grotto that by chance he had discovered, near by, in the\nside of the hill. There he lived the life of a hermit, giving his\nmind wholly to devotion and earnest prayer--which was granted--for\nconversion to the Faith of Christ of his relatives in the East. There\nhe was visited frequently by the lord and lady of Marigny, who brought\nhim food, and oil for his lamp. He had another friend, to whom he told\nall his story--the good Alb\u00e9ric, the infirmier at the neighbouring\nmonastery of Labussi\u00e8re.\n\nInto that grotto of Marigny there entered, one stormy night, a group of\nmonks. One of them bore the cross of the monastery; another, Brother\nAlb\u00e9ric, carried a robe and a scapular. Two novices, torch in hand,\npreceded the Abbot, who carried the oil and the holy mysteries. Then\nthey clothed Tebsima in the robes of the order, and consecrated him\nto the service of the church.[140] And so, while a great wind howled\nthrough the hollows of the wooded hills, peacefully, with folded hands,\nand lips pressed upon the cross of olive, the new monk passed to the\njoys of the new life.\n\nThe good Alb\u00e9ric had been one of the three brothers who, at the close\nof the eleventh century, had founded a little monastery beside the\nOuche, in the lonely vale of Labussi\u00e8re, where three mountain ranges\nand three valleys meet.[141] He had once been a rich lord; but, when\nyears of famine came, he sold all that he had, and gave to the poor\nand to God; then, having nothing beside to give, he gave his heart,\nvowing himself to the religious life. Virtues such as his soon raised\nhim to the head of the monastery; but, well though he filled his post,\ntroubles beset his way. Monk after monk was laid in the cemetery;\nthe cells were empty, and none came to fill them. All the stream of\nmonastic vocation was turned towards Citeaux, the then flourishing\nAbbey, whose fortunes we have already followed.\n\nOne summer night, in 1131, when the tale of the monks of Labussi\u00e8re had\ndwindled to the original number, three, a mysterious vision came to\nAlb\u00e9ric.\n\nHe was walking, on a bright morning, in the monastery garden. Suddenly\nhe paused before a hive whose tenants seemed to be few and ailing. He\nraised the cover; the hive was almost empty. \"Poor little bees,\"[142]\nhe said, with a sigh, \"What will become of you during the winter?\" He\nthought of his own convent, and he wept. Suddenly he heard a noise\ncoming from the mountain, then he perceived a vigorous swarm humming\nabove his head; and, in a moment, the bees of the valley had come forth\nto greet their sisters of the hill. All together entered the hive,\nand set to work with joyful hum. Towards the close of the day Brother\nAlb\u00e9ric lifted the basket. It was heavy, and already half full. \"God be\npraised,\" said he. \"The future of the hive is assured.\" As he awoke, at\ndawn, he heard a voice saying to him, \"Do as the bees of the valley,\nand your work shall live.\"\n\nAt first Alb\u00e9ric did not understand this vision; but the next day,\nwhile giving alms at the gate of the convent, one of the poor told him\nthat a great fire had destroyed the monastery of Aseraule, whose monks\nwere in dire distress. This news was a ray of light to Alb\u00e9ric. He told\nhis brother monks of the dream that had come to him, and of the burning\nof the neighbouring monastery. They marvelled greatly, and all knew\nsurely that God's will bade them summon the Cistercians of the mountain.\n\nIn all haste they went to offer aid to their homeless brothers; and\nthere they met the pious English monk, Stephen Harding, friend of St.\nRobert, and St. Bernard's master, who had come to offer the shelter\nof Citeaux. Falling at Stephen's feet, and kissing his hand, Alb\u00e9ric\nbegged him to take into his order himself, his companions, and their\nmonastery. Stephen willingly consented. He gave to Alb\u00e9ric and his\ncompanions the white robe of Citeaux, and soon after traced with his\nown hand upon the soil of Labussi\u00e8re the plan of a new monastic church.\nStone by stone the building grew, until, on the 10th September, 1172,\nin the presence of a vast assemblage, before all the clergy and nobles\nof Burgundy, the new church was consecrated by Saint Pierre, Archbishop\nof Tarentaise, who, by prayer and the laying on of hands, wrought so\nmany miracles of healing that day, that the people, witnessing these\nprodigies, shouted, till the three valleys were echoing with their\ncries of \"Noel, Noel!\" The Abbey of Labussi\u00e8re was well founded at last.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA great part of the Abbey buildings still remain, restored almost\nbeyond recognition, and transformed into a magnificent mansion, now in\nthe occupation of a family whose name I have forgotten. To our great\nregret we were unable to see the house, as the gardien had vanished,\ntaking the keys with him; so we had to content ourselves with glimpses\nof glorious Gothic arcades, Romanesque staircases, and a west front,\napparently of the fifteenth century, with a flamboyant door. But much\nof the building may be entirely new, for all I know.\n\nIt was late in the afternoon that we rode into Labussi\u00e8re, and as\nwe had to get on to Bligny that night, very little time was left in\nwhich to do more than explore the church, a thoroughly good sample of\nCistercian severity, of the eleventh or twelfth century, with a square\napse. It has some fine tombs, and Gothic monumental slabs. Dining that\nnight in the \"Cheval Blanc\" at Bligny, where the host served to us,\nat half an hour's notice, a dinner that the Carlton could not have\nbettered, for hungry men, we agreed that it would not be easy to find a\nmore charming _pays_ than the valley of the Ouche, in which to pass a\nlazy fortnight, tracing out some of its hundred legends, and steeping\noneself in its romantic past.\n\nThe road to Arnay-le-Duc, without being more than ordinarily\ninteresting, gives you some fine views over the C\u00f4te d'Or. You pass\nthrough Antigny-le-Chatel, where there is a fine ruin on a hill, and\nbelow it a later ghostly castle of the 14th or 15th century, with\nthe high-pitched roof of the period, and a round tower. At Froissy,\nentering an inn in search of d\u00e9jeuner, we found a wedding in full\nswing. Through a glass panelled door we could see half a dozen\nperspiring couples scuffling round what would be described in England\nas the bar parlour. We were detected at once; hot faces were pressed\nagainst the glass, while Madame produced an armful of bread, and some\ncheese on a broken plate.\n\n\"Par ici, m'sieur et dame,\" said she; \"Vous serez mieux dans la\ncharmesse.\" She opened the panelled door, and, one carrying the\nbread, and the other the cheese on a broken plate, we walked in grand\nprocession through the ballroom--so shaking with our inward mirth that\nthe cheese nearly came to grief. The poor bride, however--a study in\nsticky purple and white, not good to look upon--did not relish the\njoke; she scowled upon the intruders; but madame seemed glad to have\nus--and ready to talk to us, as we sat in the charmesse--a little\ndusty, rickety arbour, through which the south wind was blowing clouds\nof dust.\n\n\"That castle over there. Oh! no one has lived in it these many years\nnow, except rats. You can't tax them. You see the Government put such\nheavy taxes upon the castles that they just drive people away. There's\nnot a habited ch\u00e2teau now in all C\u00f4te d'Or. And what weather! Such a\nwind! Nous n'avons plus de saisons en Bourgogne.\"\n\n\"Whose wedding is this?\" said my wife, looking towards the ballroom\nbar-parlour.\n\n\"Oh that's my nephew; he is a vigneron, and a good lad. Is madame\nmarried, and has she children? No children! Then madame, je vous\nsouhaite un beau fils.\"\n\nAs for me, I was speculating on the market price of rat-poison, of\ncastles in the C\u00f4te d'Or, and on the squeezability of the French\ngovernment in the matter of assessments.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFew incidents in life give more pleasure than happy discovery. That is\nwhy we so much enjoyed Arnay-le-Duc. We just found it out, by instinct,\nor by chance. For nobody knows about it; not even the learned people\nwho write guide-books. And as for the motorists; they come in with the\ndarkness, and go out with the dawn--\"Must be at Dijon by ten.\"\n\nIn all France I do not know a richer study in warm, red roof-colours\nthan towered Arnay, seen at sunset from the high land on the road to\nSaulieu, nor a more satisfying example of the outlines of a ramparted\nGothic-Renaissance town. Nor, as is sometimes the case, does close\nacquaintance disenchant you. Wander through its streets, and prove for\nyourself that it is one of the most unspoiled places in all Burgundy.\nThere is something good at every turn--a high-pitched, pierced,\nwhite gable, from which black window-eyes look out upon a dark,\nbrown-green, mottled roof touched with red; a wall with a warm tiled\nhood; a glimpse, through a trefoiled gate, of a miniature Renaissance\ngarden, with box and ivy edged borders, fruit trees jewelled with\nwhite blossom, and a lovely, pierced balustrade, leading up to a\nKate-Greenaway House.\n\nBut these are the town's less substantial, and less obvious\nattractions. Plain for all to see are the flamboyant church with\nits octagonal lantern, and, at the back of it--best approached by a\ncharming staircase such as we have neither time nor skill to design\nnow-a-days--the old round tower of the Motte Forte. In the central\n_Place_ is a charming white, turretted, and gabled house, reminding\none of the Colombier at Beaune, and close to it, beside the March\u00e9,\nare fifteenth-century, cupid-bow windows, and an old Gothic arch\nleading into a Gothic courtyard. Some of the houses have curious stone\nbenches before them, with lovely round and square-edged mouldings,\nand everywhere are quaintly designed handles and knockers of forged\nironwork. The women, too, it seemed to us, were less heavy in feature,\nand more spirituelle, than in other parts of Burgundy. The naughtiest\nof all the naughty children who crowded and criticised round my wife's\neasel, was a beautiful blonde girl. We reproved her pranks more often\nthan those of the others--because she looked so lovely when she\nblushed.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7CORNER HOUSE\u00b7ARNAY\u00b7LE\u00b7DUC\u00b7]\n\nAnother attractive spot in Arnay is the walk, by a red path, between\nthe towering, moss-grown, grey-brown ramparts, where in autumn\nthe wallflowers blow. Good company, too, are the willow-fringed,\nelder-shaded stream, across which you have a glimpse of garden and\norchard, and the green slopes over which anxious ganders take their\nfluffy yellow children out for exercise.\n\nBut I have not yet mentioned the building that many of the locals,\nincluding the landlord of the Cheval Blanc at Bligny, regard as the\ncrowning glory of Arnay; and that is the splendid, transitional,\nGothic-Renaissance manoir of the Ducs de Burgogne; though, of course,\nthe landlord of the Cheval Blanc does not know it is anything of\nthe kind. For him it is the Limier or file-factory--the best in all\nFrance. For us it is a defiled manoir--still showing traces of ancient\nloveliness, in slated turret, snake-skin roof, and daintily-carved\nfriezes above the ruined dormer-windows.\n\nYes: this place is good to wander in. Here comes an old man followed by\na flock of tinkling goats. He stops before a house, and knocks at the\ndoor. The tinkling stops, too. Then a cup is handed out to him, to be\nfilled from an accommodating goat. He hands it back quite full of warm\nmilk. The door slams; the tinkling begins again.\n\nA very ancient, bent, bearded man, ragged and dirty, was sitting\nmunching bread, on the steps that lead down from the _place_.\n\n\"Would you like to give him half a franc?\" I said to my wife. She\nwould, very much. In a moment the two were in conversation.\n\n\"Why do you give me this?\" said the old man, looking down at the coin\nin his hand.\n\n\"Because we saw you having d\u00e9jeuner yesterday, and were interested.\nThis is for to-day.\"\n\n\"It is much for one who is poor. Are you French?\"\n\n\"No, English.\"\n\n\"All the English are rich. Are you selling things here?\"\n\n\"No: I am making pictures for a book my husband is writing.\"\n\n\"Ah! you gain much by that?\"\n\n\"Not very much. But we like it: we did a book on Provence once.\"\n\n\"Ah Provence. I know Provence. I am from the Basses Alpes. I like\nProvence very much; you get such good wine there.\"\n\n\"Don't you? Now I must go back to the Caf\u00e9--and finish _my_ wine.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I'll finish mine.\" He put his head under the pump, and drank.\n\n [Illustration: TOUR DE LA MOTTE FORTE--ARNAY-LE-DUC\n _Facing page 182_]\n\nThen there was the Hotel Chr\u00e9tien, as I think it was called; an\nestablishment rather casually run, but marked by a bonhomie and\ninsouciance that enlivened the monotony of wet days. The commercial\ntravellers made themselves very much at home with Madame and the\nwaitress. One of these gentlemen, in particular, subjected the latter\nto a flow of chaff that ceased not even with the coffee. He always\nbegan with a request to her to recite the m\u00e9nu aloud, and whenever a\nlull came, he would turn to her, and say in the most innocent tone:\n\n\"By the way, Madamoiselle, what have we to eat this evening?\"\n\n\"Is Monsieur stone deaf?\"\n\n\"Not at all, Mademoiselle; only hungry. And I like to regulate appetite\nby the dishes that are coming!\"\n\nDessert came on. The voluble one cut an apple in half. It was rotten.\n\"Hey, Mademoiselle; regardez-moi \u00e7a. Il y en a une qui marche (There's\none walking).\"\n\n\"So I see. He would willingly be quit of Monsieur.\"\n\nThe other men would sit round sniggering--and occasionally chipping in;\nbut they seldom got the better of the maid, who had a fund of repartee\nthat I have rarely heard matched, even in France.\n\nFrom this house of frivolity and good cooking--the chef had been seven\nmonths at the Carlton--hence enough quite incomprehensible jargon to\nwarrant the legend \"English spoken\" on the hotel omnibus--we made some\ngood excursions over the undulating country that lies around Arnay;\nthrough miles of spring woods where brave nightingales sang on a spray\nbefore your very eyes; by lofty green uplands, through plateaux,\nsuggestive of Normandy, where the cattle and the lady's-smock dapple\nwith splashes of white and mauve the rich green meadows; where the\ncloudless skies are mirrored in bluer than English ponds, and peasants'\nsabots clatter through the most tangle-wood villages of France; wide\nsilences where your eye can roam all ways, along the distant hills\nshimmering in silver and blue, quivering with living light, to majestic\nCh\u00e2teau-Neuf of Philippe Pot, and the tower-crowned castles of other\nlords of ancient Burgundy.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[136] Godefroy de Bouillon left France for the crusade in 1096.\n\n[137] Hugues le Pacifique, one of the worthiest of the Capetian Dukes\n of Burgundy, died in 1142.\n\n[138] The spring that marks the site of this incident is still called\n the _Fontaine-Cheval_. It runs into the rivulet De Larvot, by\n the \"Pr\u00e9 de l'Etang.\" See l'Abb\u00e9 B---- s \"Tebsima,\" p. 179.\n\n[139] Tebsima, p. 185.\n\n[140] Ibid, p. 220.\n\n[141] The spot was called originally Tres Valles--The Three Valleys.\n\n[142] He did not use the word abeille, but the prettier medi\u00e6val form,\n _avette_, from the Latin _apicula_ little bee.\n \"Labussi\u00e8re et Citeaux,\" p. 233 of Tebsima, by l'Abb\u00e9 B----.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter XIII; Dijon]\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE CITY OF THE DUKES\n\n\nOf the thousand who pass through the town annually, on their way to\nSwitzerland or the Riviera, only a small percentage, probably, know\nDijon as the ancient capital of the Duchy of Burgundy; fewer still have\nany conception of the vanished glories it stands for; or could name\nthe three commodities--if I may so describe them--and the principal\nindustry upon which the prosperity of the modern city is based.\n\nFrom the early middle ages to the closing years of the Capetian Dukes,\nfrom 1032 to 1364, the essential history of Burgundy is centred rather\nround the religious communities of Cluny and Citeaux, than in the\nducal courts of Auxerre or of Dijon. But upon the advent in that year,\nof the royal house of Valois, with Philippe le Hardi, the full light\nof the most glorious, and by far the most highly coloured, period of\nBurgundian history is turned upon the capital of the Duchy.\n\nYet the \"bonne ville de Dijon,\" through which Duke Philip rode on\nNovember 26th, 1364, on his way to the solemn function in the cathedral\nof St. B\u00e9nigne, was no more than a second-rate city. Not only did it\nlack the glories of the Ducal Palace and the Chartreuse de Champmol\nthat he himself was soon to found, but one would have missed the church\nof St. Michel, the Palais de Justice, and many other hotels, palaces,\nand churches, that, still standing, make the modern city one of the\nmost interesting in France. The Dijon of that day was a straggling town\nof narrow, filthy, unpaved streets over whose projecting gables rose\nthe towers and spires of St. B\u00e9nigne, St. Philibert, Notre Dame, and\nmany another Church. In wet weather, the mud spurted from under horses'\nhoofs upon the grimy walls of the houses on either side of the street,\nand it is more than probable that the gorgeously attired courtiers of\nPhilip's procession arrived, splashed up to the knees, at the abbey.\n\nTwenty years later, even, in 1388, the Duke was annoyed by the dirty\ncondition of the town, which was such that, in the rains of winter,\nneither man nor horse could make progress without great difficulty.\nEach inhabitant was consequently compelled to clean and level, at his\nown cost, the portion of street on which his house fronted; and a new\npavement was then laid down, at an expense to the Duchy of two thousand\ngolden francs.[147]\n\nBut, before I tell of modern Dijon, I must say something of the first\nof the four great Dukes of the house of Valois, who were to lead\nBurgundy through its brief, meteoric career of greatness.[144]\n\nPhilip, brother of Charles V. of France, and uncle of his successor the\nmad Charles VI., had deservedly won his title of \"Hardi\" at the battle\nof Poictiers, as Froissart has told us. He was a bold, determined,\nsomewhat imprudent prince; kindly and good-natured, as is evident from\na glance at the statue upon his tomb; but proud, ambitious, and so\naddicted to magnificence that he could leave to his son only debts and\nthe dukedom.[145] His clothing was wonderful to see, as we may judge by\nsome of the details that have come down to us. In 1391, when engaged\nin treaty with the Duke of Lancaster, uncle of the King of England,\nhe had two coats made for him. One, of black velvet, was embroidered,\non the left sleeve and collar with a bunch of roses, upon which were\ngrowing twenty-two blossoms, of rubies, or of a single sapphire,\nsurrounded with pearls; and rose-buds also of pearls. The buttonholes\nwere made with a running embroidery of broom, with the pods worked in\npearls and sapphires--a souvenir of the ancient order of the Cosse\n(Broom-pod),[146] instituted by the Kings of France, and sometimes\nbestowed by them as a reward for loyal service. One of the coats was\nembroidered also with P and Y interlaced, while the other, of crimson\nvelvet, showed, on each side, a silver bear, outlined in sapphires and\nrubies.[143]\n\nThese bears were more than characteristic of the extravagance of the\ntime; they were symbolical of the spirit that, possessing France in\nthe closing years of the thirteenth century, departed only before the\nexorcisms of La Pucelle.\n\nThe wise and noble kings, Edward IV. of England, and Charles V. of\nFrance, had given place to a dullard and a madman; and the people,\nno less than the princes, had lost their reason. The feudal system\nwas passing, had passed; and no new political nor social order had as\nyet developed in its place. Nobles of the day, looking back upon the\nmonkish r\u00e9gime and the early chivalry, could only ape and burlesque the\noutward splendours of the movements whose inward spirit and ideals they\nwere wholly incapable of understanding. It seemed that God, even, to\nborrow Luther's phrase, weary of the game, had thrown his cards upon\nthe table.\n\nSuch is the significance of the bear upon Philip's mantle. Everywhere\nranged these strange and uncouth beasts. They grinned in long lines\nfrom the eaves of the Churches; with a thousand other fantastic fancies\nof disordered imaginations, they met the eye, at every turn, in\ncorridors of royal palaces, in the reception rooms of baronial halls.\nFoul jests and foul shapes leered at the passer-by from the fringes of\na scarlet skirt. On a high dame's rustling sleeve, whose folds swept\nthe ground, were set the notes of a song; rich doublets blazed with\nlewd figures, or with strange symbols, improper, if well understood.\nGreat ladies, wearing long horns upon their heads, jested with lords\nwhose pointed toes wriggled up into serpent shapes. Art, sanity,\nreligion were no longer at one. All the pure and natural ornament of\nearly Gothic work, filched from church and cathedral for the service of\nbase needs, flaunted, in horrible disguise, in houses of pleasure and\nill fame.[148]\n\nSmall wonder that distracted souls, searching in thick darkness for\nguidance, for God, and not finding him in life, turned, at last, in\ndespair, to the great negations, Death and the Devil. God had failed\nthem; evil, at least, shall not fail them. In a frenzy of false joy\nthey danced the \"danse des morts\" in the cemeteries of Paris.[149]\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7AT THE CAFE\u00b7]\n\nTheir dear king Charles, even, so beloved of a mad people, was not\nless mad than they. Save for occasional lucid intervals, he was a \"fou\nfurieux.\"\n\n\"It was great pity, this malady of the king, which held him for long\nseasons, and when he ate it was very gluttonously and wolfishly. And he\ncould not be persuaded to strip himself, and was full of lice, vermin,\nand filth. And he had a little piece of iron that he put secretly close\nto his flesh. Of which nothing was known. And it had rotted all his\npoor flesh, and no-one durst go near him to remedy it.\n\n\"Nevertheless there was a physician who said that it must be remedied,\nelse was he in danger, and otherwise as it seemed to him, there was no\nhope for the healing of the malady. And he advised that they should\nbring ten or twelve companions disguised, who should be blackened, and\neach one furnished beneath, lest he should wound them. And so it was\ndone and the companions entered very terrible to see, into his chamber.\nWhen he saw them he was much astonished, and they drew nigh to him at\nonce: now there had been made ready all new clothing, shirt, tunic,\ncloak, hose, boots, that they bore with them. They took hold of him,\nhe saying many words to them the while, then they stripped him and put\nupon him the said things that they had brought. It was great pity to\nsee him, for his body was all eaten with lice and filth. And they found\non him the said piece of iron: every time that they would cleanse him,\nit must needs be done in this said manner.\"[151]\n\nSuch was the France of the closing years of Philippe le Hardi's\nrule--King and country lifting clasped hands, to say, with old Lear:\n\"Not mad, sweet Heaven, not mad!\"\n\nThe condition of Burgundy, and especially of its great appanage\nFlanders, which Duke Philip had inherited from his wife, though bad,\nwas not so serious as that of the country in general.\n\nIn Dijon there was comparative security--enough for the establishment,\nunder Philippe le Hardi, of a new era in Burgundian art. For Philip\nhad great ideas. He never forgot that he was brother to Charles V. of\nFrance. Dijon, if not to rival Paris, should be at least a capital\nworthy of its Valois Duke. This jouisseur raffin\u00e9 must have architects,\nsculptors, and painters; cunning embroiderers, too, and workers in\nivory. But above all, he must have goldsmiths. They came flocking\nin from all Flanders. \"On s'harnachoit d'orfavrerie\" says Martial\nd'Auvergne.[150] We have already seen the bear upon Philip's coat.\n\nHe began, in 1366, with the tower of a new castle--now the Tour de\nBar--to replace the ruined ch\u00e2teau of the Capetian Dukes; and followed\nit, twelve years later, with a monastery, the Chartreuse de Champnol,\nat the gates of Dijon, where he wished to house suitably his monks and\nhis tomb.\n\nThe Chartreuse de Champnol remained the burial place of the Ducal house\nuntil the 16th century; but it has not survived to our day. Its close\nconnection with royal authority marked it out for the attentions of the\nrevolutionary mob. The site is now occupied by an \"Asile des Ali\u00e9n\u00e9es\"\nas the French politely term a mad-house--a choice in which the cynic\nmay detect either a retort upon rampant democracy, or a sly allusion to\ncertain congenital failings of the House of Valois. There is little to\nbe seen in the Asile des Ali\u00e9n\u00e9es; but that little is so important that\nwe decided to go there. For, in the centre of the old cloister, was,\nand is, Claus Sluter's world-famous sculpture--Le Puits des Proph\u00e8tes.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7MOSES\u00b7]\n\n\"Puits?\" interrogated a sullen maid, laconically, as she opened to\nus. We followed in silence. Truly the present home of the Well is\ndepressing, and I wish the authorities would remove it to a safe and\nmore cheerful spot in the precincts of the ducal palace.\n\nBut the work itself, though despoiled, by wind and rain, of the calvary\nthat crowned it, and though quite denuded of the gold and brilliant\ncolours with which it once blazed, remains one of the strongest and\nmost impressive pieces of sculpture in existence. Naturally, as one\nwould expect in the case of a work completed so early as the sixth year\nof the fifteenth century, there are serious and obvious faults--for\ninstance, the figures are too short, the hands and feet generally too\nsmall, and the drapery, in some points, badly handled--but all the\npersonalities are so striking, so individual, the whole is so strongly\ngrouped, that the effect is more than majestic. As M. Germain well\nsays: \"Il y a un souffle \u00e9pique dans ces figures.\" Stand for five\nminutes before the stern, inflexible face of the law-giver; compare\nthat statue, mentally, with the Moses of Michael Angelo, to which alone\nit is inferior, and you will begin to realize Claus Sluter's genius\nas a sculptor of the human face and form. He broke away boldly from\nprimitive and conventional traditions, and went straight to nature,\nto the men about him, for his types. These strong physiognomies and\nmassive forms are eminently Burgundian.[152]\n\nIn the portal of the chapel the guide will show you other, and\nrather earlier work, generally attributed to Claus Sluter, namely,\nfive statues representing Philippe le Hardi and his wife Margaret of\nFlanders, being presented to the Virgin by Saint Catherine and Saint\nJohn. Four of them may well be from the chisel of the famous sculptor,\nbut I think, with M. Germain, that the figure of the Virgin is wrongly\nattributed, chiefly for the reason that the proportions are much longer\nthan those of other Sluterian statues.\n\nAnd what of the man whose genius was to exercise such influence upon\nBurgundian art? Little is known of him. He remains an enigmatic,\nmysterious figure, living for us only through his work, and that of the\nschool of which he was the inspiring force. He died in 1406, the same\nyear in which he had finished his Puits des Proph\u00e8tes; leaving to his\nnephew, Claus de Werve, the task of further realizing their new ideals\nin sculpture.\n\nThus it came about that the second Claus--an artist not unworthy to\nfollow his uncle--was entrusted with the construction of the next\ngreat Burgundian monument we have to consider, the tomb of Philippe\nle Hardi, now in the great hall of the mus\u00e9e, once the \"salle des\ngardes\" of the Ducal Palace. The commission had been given originally,\nin 1384, to Jean de Marville, who died after completing the masonry\nand the alabaster gallery. Claus Sluter made some progress with the\n_pleurants_, but it was not completed until the end of 1410, when young\nDe Werve had been at work upon it for four years.\n\nThe masterpiece was received with universal acclamations. Jean sans\nPeur, with a Valois' eye for the beautiful, recognised the merit of\nhis new imagier, and commissioned him forthwith to do his (the Duke's)\nown tomb. Claus accepted the task, but was never able to get to work.\nMoney lacked; and the Duke of Burgundy was too deeply involved in\nthe political struggles of his time to give heed to such trifles as\nfinancing the construction of a tomb, even though it were his own. So\npoor Claus, filled with a glorious ideal that he was never able to see\nrealized in stone, wasted his life in waiting, waiting, until, in 1439,\ndeath found him, poor and unknown, and laid him in an obscure tomb, not\nof his own design, in the Chartreuse de Champnol. So fare they who hang\nupon princes' favours.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7PHILIPPVS\u00b7DVX\u00b7BVRGVNDIAE\u00b7\n PHILIPPE LE BON.]\n\nWhen Jean sans Peur had expiated, at Montereau, the crime of which\nI shall presently tell, his son, Philippe le Bon, had perforce to\nlook about him for another imagier to do the work. His choice fell,\nunwisely, upon a Spaniard from Aragon, one Jean de la Huerta, an\nunscrupulous rascal, who bolted from Dijon in 1455, taking with him\ncash that he had not earned, and leaving behind him the tomb, void of\nsculpture, except the angels and the tabernacles of the gallery. The\nmonument was completed, in 1466-1470, by his successor, Antoine le\nMoiturier, of Avignon.\n\nThe revolutionary mob destroyed both monuments; but they were pieced\ntogether again and restored; and there they stand, for all time let\nus hope, worthily housed in that magnificent Salle des Gardes. There\nis nothing in all Burgundy that so conveys, in one coup d'\u0153il, the\nmagnificence of the Valois Dukes.\n\nPhilippe le Hardi, clothed in a white robe and a blue mantle lined\nwith ermine, lies, with folded hands, upon a slab of black marble.\nTwo angels with outspread wings hold the helmet over his cushioned\nhead, and his feet rest upon a lion's back. The form and face are\nrealistically done, even to the veins on the hands. But, so far, all\nis conventional, traditional. It is when we look at the white-robed\nfigures beneath the sculptured tabernacles of the gallery, that we\nrecognise a new motif, dramatic realism, in the monumental art of the\nperiod. Claus Sluter and his nephew had developed the individuality of\nportraiture that made the success of the \"Puits de Mo\u00efse.\" Their great\npatron Duke was dead; and all Dijon had followed weeping in his funeral\nprocession. Claus reproduced that procession, perpetuated it in living\nstone. They are all there--the high functionaries, the praying monks,\nthe plebeian, wiping his nose on his fingers, all done with a felicity\nand truth unequalled in any sculpture that has come down to us. Here\nis a hooded mourner comforted by a priest with finger on text, there\nan obstinate one receiving exhortation; and an old bourgeois, chin in\nhand, pondering the way of life. The attitudes alone are so significant\nthat, though the face be hidden, you do not wish to look beneath the\ncowl. Resignation, despair, faith, argument; all are expressed in pose;\nthe figures behind the pillars are treated with as much sincerity as\nthose which are fully seen.[153] Look up from them to the figure above\ntheir heads, and you will see at once that, while the angels have\nonly a decorative function, the _pleurants_ are both decorative and\ndramatic.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7CORNER OF THE TOMB OF PHILIPPE LE HARDI\u00b7]\n\nAnd what of Jean San Peur's tomb, with which young Claus had dreamed\nof outdoing his uncle? A glance will show that, as a whole, it is\ngreatly inferior to that of the father. The recumbent figure and the\ndecorative angels are equally well done; are, perhaps, even superior\nin the matter of draperies, which were not Sluter's strong point; but\nthe alabaster gallery lacks the harmonious simplicity of the earlier\nmonument: the detail has been over-elaborated in the fashion of the\nperiod, and in a not unnatural though ineffectual attempt to improve\nupon a chef-d'\u0153uvre. The _pleurants_ directly imitative of those of\nPhilip's tomb, are, without exception, less natural, less restrained,\nand less felicitous. Yet, despite all these faults, the monument\nremains a not unworthy companion of its predecessor.\n\nWould we could say that Jean sans Peur himself was equally worthy of\nthe first Valois Duke. In that case the whole course of French history\nmight have been different and happier.\n\nBut the fact is that the Dukes' characters, ethically considered, are\nof the same relative merit as are their tombs. The contrast between the\nfeatures of father and son is most striking. Philip has an open, almost\nhandsome face, with a noble, though very Jewish, nose, and a generous\nmouth revealing kindliness and good intentions. Jean's head, on the\ncontrary, is ill-proportioned, flatter, with a weaker chin, and meaner\nnose. The cheek-bones are too prominent, and the crafty mouth and eye,\nand \"disinheriting\" expression, bid the student of physiognomy beware.\n\n [Illustration: Pleurants from the Tomb of Philippe le Hardi]\n\nYet, stained though he was by one bloody crime, we shall judge wrongly\nif we conceive as wholly bad this little ch\u00e9tif, crafty, inarticulate,\ncareful man, who, in days of unbridled luxury, dared to be seen,\nlike Louis XI., in mended clothes, and never risked large sums at\nplay.[154] He was a working prince--brave, intelligent, interested;\nwith his finger always upon the pulse of public opinion. A hardy\ncampaigner, he knew how to endure patiently hunger and thirst, heat\nand cold, rains and winds; and he possessed the gift, inestimably\nvaluable in those days, of winning and holding the loyal devotion of\nhis immediate friends and servants.[155]\n\nLooking at him, lying there robed, upon royal marble, one's mind\nreturns to the foul murder that for thirty years held France in misery,\nand drenched her fair fields in blood--a deed that robbed the doer of\nall happiness, and darkened the after years of his life with the shadow\nof impending death, until a revenge, not less cowardly in conception,\nnor less pregnant with calamity, loosed again civil war upon France,\nand humbled the distracted country beneath a foreign dominion.\n\nFor some considerable time before the murder, hatred, bitter though\nconcealed, had existed between Jean sans Peur and Louis, Duc d'Orl\u00e9ans,\nthe brother of King Charles VI. Louis, himself a poet, was a pretty,\nwayward, loose-living, irresponsible, and charming personality, gifted\nwith that fantastic grace of the early renaissance that is so pleasing\nin his son, Charles d'Orl\u00e9ans, the singer of Blois. Louis, naturally,\nwas beloved of all ladies, and in spite of his faults--if not because\nof them, since they were gracious ones--was liked, even by the priests\nwhom he cajoled, and by the commoners whom he oppressed.\n\nThe spirited youngster, with an eye upon his Burgundian rival, had\ntaken for his device a knotty cudgel and the words \"Je l'envie\" (I\ndefy). Jean sans Peur, knowing well at whom that shaft was aimed,\nretorted by adopting for himself a plane, with the motto, \"Je le Tiens\"\n(I hold it), thereby intimating his intention of planing down that\ncudgel. None guessed how soon he would do so.\n\nThough each prince wore his device openly, and displayed it broadcast\non robe, banner, and pennon, they were brought together, and there was\nsworn reconciliation between the pair. On the 20th November, 1407, they\nheard mass, and took the sacrament side by side. Two days later the\nprinces attended a great dinner given by the Duc de Berri. After the\nfeast they embraced, drank to each other, and again swore friendship.\n\nThe Queen, who was lodging at the time in a little hotel in the old\nRue du Temple, near the Porte Barbette, had recently given birth to a\nstill-born child. On November 23rd, the duke of Orleans, always on the\nbest of terms with his sister-in-law--popular rumour, indeed, made her\nhis mistress--came to offer his condolences, and supped with her in\nthat house. The gay meal was interrupted by the advent of a suborned\nvalet de chambre of the king, summoning the duke immediately to the\nroyal presence.\n\n\"Il a h\u00e2te de vous parler,\" said the messenger, \"pour chose qui touche\ngrandement \u00e0 vous et \u00e0 lui.\"[156]\n\nThe Duke, nothing doubting, ordered his mule to be brought without\ndelay, and, though he had six hundred armed men in Paris, set out,\nunaccompanied, except by two squires, mounted upon the same horse,\nand four or five valets on foot carrying torches. It was about eight\no'clock in the evening; the night was overcast (assez brun), and the\nstreet deserted. The Duke, dressed in a simple costume of black damask,\nrode slowly down the old Rue du Temple, singing, and playing with his\nglove. As he was passing before the house of the Mar\u00e9chal de Rieux,\nno more than a hundred paces distant from the Queen's apartments, a\ncompany of about twenty armed men, in ambuscade behind a house called\nL'Image Notre Dame, broke out upon the little party. The horse on which\nwere the two squires, startled by the noise, took fright, and galloped\naway down the street. With cries of \"\u00c0 mort! \u00e0 mort!\" the assassins\nfell upon the Duke, and one of them struck him a blow with an axe that\ncut off his hand.\n\n\"What is this?\" cried Louis. \"Who are all these? I am the Duc\nd'Orl\u00e9ans.\"\n\n\"'Tis you whom we want\" (C'est ce que nous demandons) replied the\nassailants. In a moment, a storm of blows, from sword, axe, and spiked\nclub, brought him down from his mule. He rose upon his knees, but,\nbefore he could recover himself, his head was split open, and his\nbrains were streaming over the pavement. \"And they turned him over and\nover, and so terribly hammered him that he was soon dead and piteously\nslain.\" A young page, who sought to defend his master, was likewise\nstruck down; another, grievously wounded, managed to escape into a\nlittle shop in the Rue des Rosiers.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7CORNER OF THE PLACE DES DUCS\u00b7 \u00b7DIJON\u00b7]\n\nAt that very hour, Jaquette, the wife of a poor cobbler, was in her\nroom, high above the street, awaiting her husband's return. While\ntaking in a garment that had been hanging out of the window to dry, she\nsaw a nobleman pass by on horseback, and, a moment after, while putting\nher child to bed, she heard the shouts of \"\u00c0 mort! \u00e0 mort!\" She ran to\nthe window with her child in her arms, and, throwing open the casement\ncried, \"Au meurtre, au meurtre!\" \"Taisez-vous mauvaise femme!\" cried\none who noticed her, and arrows rattled upon the wall of the house. A\nmoment later, all was over. A big man in a red chaperon drawn down over\nhis eyes, who seemed to be the leader, shouted, \"Put out all lights,\nand let us be off; he is dead!\" Some sprang on to their horses which\nwere in waiting at the gates of the Maison Notre Dame, and with a last\nblow or two at the lifeless body of the Duke, they made off, mounted\nand on foot, crying, \"Au feu! au feu!\" in response to the cries of\n\"murder\" raised by some of the Duke's men who had come upon the scene.\n\nThe assassins had set fire to the Maison Notre Dame. As they fled,\nthey threw down behind them iron traps to prevent pursuit, and coerced\nterrified shopkeepers into extinguishing the lights in the shops along\ntheir route. The Duke's men found their master in a pitiable plight.\nThe skull lay open in two places, the left hand was cut off, and the\nright arm was almost severed. Beside the dead Duke, the young German\npage, Jacob, lay gasping out his life.\n\n\"Ah! mon ma\u00eetre, ah! mon ma\u00eetre!\" Il se complaignoit moult fort, come\ns'il vouloit mourir.[157]\n\nWhen it was known that the murdered body of young Louis of Orl\u00e9ans was\nlying in the Hotel de Rieux, all Paris was in consternation. Death\nveiled his faults from the people. They could see only his virtues. A\nprince so gallant and debonair, to die so young! the pity of it! Women\nand men, noble and base-born, wept for him, so foully slain. Did not\neven his great rival of Burgundy echo their grief?[158]\n\n\"Never\" was he heard to say, \"was more wicked nor traitorous murder\ncommitted nor executed in his kingdom.\"\n\nAt the solemn funeral in the Church of the C\u00e9lestins, Jean sans Peur\nwas one of those who bore the pall.[159] He was to bear that pall for\nthe remainder of his life.[160] Of hundreds who watched him there,\nclothed in deep mourning, and weeping bitterly,[161] how many guessed\nthe truth. Yet the truth was not long concealed. When the hue and cry\nwas raised, it soon became known that the assassins had fled towards\nRue Mauconseil, where was the Palace of the Duke of Burgundy; and the\nProvost of Paris suggested that he could soon lay hands on his men,\nwere he permitted to search the hotels of the Princes. Then the Duke of\nBurgundy's countenance was observed to pale. Drawing aside the Duke of\nBerri and the King of Sicily, he whispered to them: \"'Twas I, the Devil\ntempted me.\" They shrank from him; the Duke of Berri burst into tears.\n\"I have lost both my nephews,\" he murmured.\n\n [Illustration: Pleurant]\n\nA few hours later the scene was changed. Pride had conquered remorse in\nthe heart of Jean sans Peur. Denied access to the Council, the murderer\nmounted horse, and galloped ventre \u00e0 terre, into Flanders, there to\nsteel his conscience against a deed which was to darken his shortened\ndays with the shadow of impending death, and for thirty years was to\ndrench the fields of France in the blood of her best.\n\nThe absent Duke entrusted to a certain learned doctor of Theology, Jean\nPetit, the duty of whitewashing his master--a task less formidable than\nit sounds to those unversed in the casuistry of the schools of that\nday. To do Petit justice, he seems to have acquitted himself as well as\nthe obvious weakness of his case would permit.\n\nStarting from the principal that it is \"licit and meritorious to slay\na tyrant traitorous and disloyal to his king and sovereign lord,\" he\nproceeded to show, to his own satisfaction, that the murder of the\n\"criminal\" Duke of Orleans \"was perpetrated for the very great good\nof the king's person, and that of his children and all the kingdom,\"\nand held that the king should not only be pleased thereat, but should\npardon the Seigneur de Bourgogne, \"and remunerate him in every way,\nthat is to say in love, honour, and riches, following the example of\nremunerations made to Monseigneur Michael the Archangel and the valiant\nman Phineas.\"\n\nThis extraordinary document, which, to the modern mind, is a jumble of\nunconscious humour and deliberate blasphemy, aroused, not unnaturally,\n\"much murmuring within the town of Paris.\" The quarrel was taken up\nfar and wide, and soon all France was divided into two camps, the\nArmagnacs,[162] known by the white scarf, and the Burgundians, whose\nbadge was the Cross of St. Andrew.\n\n [Illustration: Ornament]\n\nWe have no space in which to follow here the varying fortunes of the\ntwo parties. For long years, in town and country, they fought it out;\nthe children of the villages with fists, feet, stones, and sticks;\ntheir elders in the towns, with sword, dagger, and club. In the autumn\nof 1418 the Burgundians effected an entry into Paris, and the excited\nmob commenced an indiscriminate slaughter of their opponents. Two\npresidents of parliament, magistrates, bishops, even, fell. Sixteen\nhundred persons perished in a day. They were slain in the prisons, they\nwere slain in the street. \"Did you see your enemy passing on the other\nside of the way, you had but to cry \"\u00c0 l'Armagnac\" and he was dead.\" A\nwoman, about to become a mother, was ripped open; within her dead body,\nas she lay in the street, the child could be seen to move. \"Vois donc,\"\nsaid the canaille, \"this little dog still stirs.\" But none durst take\nthe child. No Burgundian priest would baptise a little Armagnac. Why\nshould he save an enemy's brat from damnation?\n\n\"The children played with the corpses in the streets. The body of the\nConstable and others lay for three days in the palace, a butt for the\njests of the passers by. Some of them remembered to take a strip of\nskin from his back, so that he, too, might wear in death, the white\nemblem of the living Armagnacs.\" At last the stench forced them to\nthrow all the debris into the tomberaux; thence, without priest or\nprayer, into an open ditch in the pig-market.[163]\n\nThese closing years of the reign of the mad king,[164] from 1418 and on\nto 1425, were the darkest in all the history of France. War, famine,\npestilence, three grim spectres, stalked over the land. Every evening\na starving crowd surged round the bake-houses of Paris. In all the\ntown were heard the piteous lamentations of little children crying:\n\"Je meurs de faim!\" Upon a dung-heap, thirty boys and girls died of\nhunger and cold. The dog-knacker was followed by the poor, who, as he\nslew, devoured all, \"chair et trippes.\"[165] Nor were things better\nwithout the town. The fields, deserted by their normal labourers, were\nre-peopled with wolves, that, scouring the country in great packs,\ngrew fat upon the corpses they scratched up. The people lived only in\nthe woods and the fortresses; the towns teemed with men at arms; all\nculture was abandoned, except around the ramparts, within sight of the\nsentry upon his tower. When the enemy appeared upon the horizon, the\nsound of the tocsin moved man and beast, by a common instinct, to seek\nshelter within the walls.[166] Hunger made brigands of all.\n\nFrance was receiving at the hand of God full measure for all her sins.\nThe dead man's pall, that Jean sans Peur had been bearing through\ntwelve wretched years of misery and blood, were soon to cover his own\nmangled body. Murder, as of old, was to breed murder. He who had taken\nthe sword, was to perish by it.\n\nSeveral attempts, more or less futile, had been made to patch up a\nreconciliation between the Duke of Burgundy and the Orleanist Dauphin,\na boy of sixteen years. In the autumn of the year 1419, a meeting was\narranged to be held in a long, wooden gallery, specially erected on the\nbridge of Montereau, at the junction of the Seine and the Yonne.\n\nBurgundy's fortunes at this time were at a low ebb, and the Dauphin's\nprincipal counsellors thought the time had come to deal their enemy\na crushing blow. The rumour of their intention spread, and Jean was\nwarned many times of his danger; but he made light of it. In vain his\nservants assured him that a plot was laid, that he was going to his\ndeath. He would not listen. At the last moment, however, he seems to\nhave felt some compunction; for he delayed his coming so long that\nTanneguy du Chatel was sent to fetch him. The duke hesitated no more.\n\"This is he in whom I trust,\" said he, and he laid his hand upon du\nChatel's shoulder.\n\nThe accounts of the final scene differ materially; the exact truth will\nprobably never be known. On coming into the Dauphin's presence, the\nDuke removed his velvet cap, and kneeling, made a profound obeisance.\nHardly had he risen to his feet when a confused m\u00eal\u00e9e arose, and the\nyoung Dauphin was led off to the Castle of Montereau. Meanwhile the\nassassins had got to work. The first blow passed down the right side\nof the Duke's face, and cut off the hand with which he sought to ward\noff the stroke. The second pierced his heart, when, \"with a sigh and a\nmovement of the loins,\" he fell. The abandoned body was buried by the\ncur\u00e9 of Montereau in the town cemetery, where it was found, several\nweeks after, clothed only in hose, doublet, and breeches. \"A piteous\nthing to see, and no man there could refrain from weeping.\"[167]\n\nThus the Duke of Orleans was avenged; but the act, as might have been\nexpected, only raised the fallen fortunes of the party it was intended\nfinally to destroy.\n\nAs it had been with his victim, so, in turn, it was with Jean. Death\nexpiated the murder, and veiled the murderer's faults. The many, who\nhad been lukewarm for Burgundy, returned to their allegiance again.\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter XIII; Sword]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[143] De Barante, Tome II., pp. 69, 70.\n\n[144] The four Dukes of the house of Valois were, Philip le Hardi,\n 1365-1404, Jean sans Peur, 1404-1419, Philip le Bon, 1419-1467,\n and Charles le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire, 1467-1476.\n\n[145] I have heard Philip le Hardi described by a flippant American\n as \"Philip le Hard-up.\"\n\n[146] Compare the devise of our Plantagenet Kings.\n\n[147] The coats cost 2977 livres d'or, an enormous sum, bearing in\n mind the purchasing power of money in those days. De Barante,\n Tome II., p. 131.\n\n[148] Michelet V. pp. 72-77.\n\n[149] A lady well-known in Russian \"revolutionary\" circles, told me,\n recently, of similar experiences in Russia to-day. Suicides\n are so frequent as to excite little comment. Children, even,\n have caught the contagion. \"Life fails them--they turn to death.\"\n\n[150] Juv\u00e9nal des Ursins, quoted Michelet, Tome V., p. 183.\n\n[151] A. Germain \"Les N\u00e9erlandais en Bourgogne,\" p. 38, 39.\n\n[152] The prophets are all commemorative of Christ, taken from the\n Messianic texts. The costumes are supposed to be those of the\n actors in the mystery plays of that time. Germain, p. 63.\n\n[153] The figures have not been restored in their original order,\n which is regrettable, as some of the processional effect is\n thereby lost.\n\n[154] Shakespeare makes him articulate enough in Henry V., Act V.,\n scene 2. His economies were, perhaps, begotten of his father's\n prodigalities, who bequeathed only debts and a dukedom.\n\n[155] Kleinclausz \"Histoire de la Bourgogne,\" p. 142. Also De Barante,\n Tome IV., p. 466.\n\n[156] \"He is eager to speak with you on a matter that touches closely\n both you and him.\"\n\n[157] Michelet.\n\n[158] For a contemporary account of the murder, see Monstrelet.\n\n[159] The others were the King of Sicily and the Dukes of Bourbon and\n Berri.\n\n[160] Michelet.\n\n[161] There is no reason to suppose that the tears were hypocritical.\n Such display of emotion was in the spirit of the times; and\n certainly no man had better cause than its author to regret the\n murder.\n\n[162] After Bernard d'Armagnac, brother-in-law of the young Duke of\n Orleans.\n\n[163] Michelet, Tome VI., pp. 55, 56.\n\n[164] Charles VI. died in 1422, deeply mourned by the common people.\n \"Ah! tr\u00e8s cher prince, jamais nous n'en aurons un si bon.\"\n Journal du Bourgeois.\n\n[165] Michelet, Tome VI., p. 114, \"Flesh and entrails.\"\n\n[166] Barante, Tome V., p. 204.\n\n[167] Kleinclausz, p. 146.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter XIV; Dijon: Decorated windows of the\n Maison Milsand]\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE CITY OF THE DUKES\n\n\nAfter this long historical digression, it is quite time that we\nreturned to the Salle des Gardes, where there are many good things\nto be seen beside the tombs of the Dukes. Not the least interesting\nare the ducal portraits, all very Jewish, and bearing a strong family\nlikeness. In the picture gallery adjoining is a portrait of Charles le\nT\u00e9m\u00e9raire, by Van Hemerren, done, it is said, shortly before his death\nat Nancy. Here is Valois madness, indeed; shown in the wildly staring\neyes, the furrowed brow, the pursed lips, the poised head, the spread\nhands, and straying fingers--a mind and body in extreme of tension.\nWhat brought the last of the Valois Dukes to such a pass? Readers who\ndo not know will discover, when we come to talk of--the Post Office!\n\nUpon the many other things worth seeing in that Salle des Gardes,\nI have no time to dwell; also the reader will find them catalogued\nin any guide. But one or two I will mention. The most striking of\nall, perhaps, is the magnificent chimney-piece, built in 1504, after\nthe great fire, which, in 1502, destroyed all the decorations and\nthe original ceiling of the chamber. On the walls are two gorgeous\naltarpieces in wood-gilt, done by a Flemish artist, Jacques de Baerze,\nto the order of Philippe le Bon, in 1391. The subjects of one are: The\nExecution of John the Baptist, The Martyrdom of St. Catherine; and the\nTemptation of St. Anthony. Those of the other include the Adoration of\nthe Magi, Calvary, and the Entombment. All the figures, especially the\nRoman soldiery, in very medi\u00e6val clothing, playing dice for Christ's\nvesture at the foot of the Cross, and the weeping relatives, are\ntreated with the usual vivacity and realism of the Burgundian school;\nthe whole is decorated with flamboyant Gothic detail of richness\nunrivalled, so far as I am aware, by any similar work, excepting,\npossibly, the famous r\u00e9table at the Eglise de Brou. The painting and\ngilding of the volets is by Melchior Broederlam, court painter to\nPhilippe le Hardi.\n\n [Illustration: PRAYING WOMAN DIJON]\n\nThere are also two charming sixteenth century renaissance doors, from\nthe Palais de Justice, carved with the most perfect arabesques, and\na torso by Hugues Sambin, the famous architect who built the curious\nfa\u00e7ade of the Eglise St. Michel. The guide will point out to you, in\nthe centre cabinets, St. Bernard's Cup, the cross of his friend St.\nRobert, who received him when he first came to Citeaux, and other good\nrelics, including a cast of a skull, said to be that of Jean sans Peur,\nwith a slit in it--the slit through which the English entered France,\nas our guide sagely remarked. The epigram earned for him the respect\ndue to an homme instruit, until he proffered the information that the\n\u00e9glise Notre Dame is not a thirteenth century church!\n\nIf you want to get an idea of Dijon in medi\u00e6val times, study the\nsixteenth century tapestry in this salle. It shows a walled city with\nmany churches, most of which have now disappeared. Indeed, with the\nexception of the Tour du Logis du Roi, or Tour de la Terrasse, beneath\nwhich you are standing at the moment, very few of the buildings are\neasily recognisable. The subject represents the siege of the City by\nthe Swiss. The black virgin, now, I believe, in the Eglise Notre\nDame, has been borne out to assist in the relief of the City, and the\nmayor of the town is in negotiation with the enemy. They covenanted to\nraise the siege for a specified sum; but were foolish enough to depart\nwithout the cash, which, consequently was never paid.\n\nThe remainder of the mus\u00e9e installed in the Palace has little that is\nof first-rate interest, except, the ducal kitchen, some good Burgundian\naltarpieces, and a large collection of modern statues, chiefly by the\nBurgundian Rude (1784-1855).[168] Among hundreds of inferior pictures,\nI was most interested in three paintings of Dijon Castle, in salle 8,\nby G. P. H. Jeanniot. Dijon Castle does not now exist. If the reader\ncan endure more history, I will tell him the reason why.\n\nIf you will walk down the Rue de la Libert\u00e9, in this town, and turn,\ntwo hundred yards or so below the arch, along one of the narrow streets\nto the left, you will emerge on to a large _place_, in the centre of\nwhich stands a great, white building. That white building, the Post\nOffice, occupies the site of the Castle, which, until a few years ago,\nstood as a memento of the end of the Valois Dukes. Dijon, however, now\ngrown to be a great and prosperous city, a centre of the wine trade,\nis more concerned with the development of her industries than with her\nhistorical monuments; consequently, when a new Post Office was needed,\nthe authorities came to the conclusion that a castle so centrally\nsituate must go.[169] It went: but its memories remain. Its story is that\nof the final struggle between Burgundy and France, between Charles le\nT\u00e9m\u00e9raire and Louis XI., respective champions of the old order and the\nnew.[169]\n\nThese rivals were not well matched. It was the unequal combat of the\nmatador against the bull. Charles, though a prince of great charm and\nability, endowed with the dual qualities of scholar and general, was\nstill but a man of his time. If he possessed the virtues of the middle\nages--courage, daring, resolution,--he shared also its defects--pride,\nobstinacy, shortsightedness, boundless ambition, and a touch, perhaps,\nof the hereditary insanity of the House of Valois. Dreams of more than\nfeudal glory, of empire, even, dazzled him.\n\nHis father had been \"Philip the Good\"; the son should be Alexander the\nGreat. \"Si grand et si puissant qu'il put \u00eatre conducteur et meneur des\nautres.\" He would re-establish in greater glory, with wider bounds, the\nancient Kingdom of Burgundy. And France! He reckoned without France.\nIt was not within the power of this man to fathom nor to play move for\nmove against such an opponent as Louis. He had held the king in his\ngrasp once,[170] and had let him go. The opportunity would never recur.\n\nPatient, untiring Louis, touched, just as his rival was, with insanity,\nendowed with more than the common cunning of his type, possessed a mind\nas modern, almost, in essentials, as was that of Bacon half a century\nlater. He foresaw clearly enough the coming death of feudalism, and,\nwhile waiting wolf-like, to prey upon the corpse, he bent his mind\nto the wider constructive processes of a subtler, more Machiavellian\npolicy.\n\nThe reigning princes of Europe were old; Louis, noting the fact,\nrealized that he had only to wait, leaving the active part to his ally,\nDeath, a power as certain as God's, and one, moreover, that he need\nnot cajole with prayers, nor bribe with silver balustrades. He waited,\nwhile the black angel shook the tree; then he gathered the plums as\nthey fell: and France was his.\n\nKing Charles, meanwhile--king in all but name--was burning to fight\nall comers. He flung himself first upon the Swiss, who were in league\nagainst him. He was defeated at Grandson, and again at Morat, on the\n22nd June, 1476, losing many men and much spoil, including his great\ndiamond, one of the largest in Christendom.[171] He lost heart, too,\nand retired into solitude, letting his beard grow, and dreaming of\nrevenge. There was to be no revenge for him.\n\nOn the 22nd October, he commenced the siege of Nancy, which he\nprosecuted with quiet energy, until, in the following January, he heard\nthat the Swiss were advancing against him to the relief of the town.\nThe doomed Duke turned to meet them, and his fate. His army, wearied by\nmuch campaigning, was completely routed. The following day Duke Charles\ncould not be found; various rumours were current in the town concerning\nhim.\n\nHe was dead; he was not dead. \"Beware,\" said the timid ones, \"lest you\nbehave otherwise than if he were yet alive, for his vengeance will be\nterrible on his return.\" On 6th January there was brought to Duke Ren\u00e9,\na young page, named Jean Baptiste Colonna, who said he had seen his\nmaster fall, and could find the place. The next day they recommenced\ntheir search for the body. The page led them to a pond called the Etang\nde St. Jean, distant about three culverin shots from the town. There,\nhalf-buried in the mud-banks of a little stream, near a chapel, lay a\ndozen despoiled corpses. \"They commenced to search all the dead; all\nwere naked and frozen, scarcely could one know them; the page, passing\nhere and there, found many mighty ones, and great and small, white\nas snow. And all turned them over. 'Alas!' said he, 'Here is my good\nmaster.'\"[172]\n\nOthers gathered round. As they lifted the head from the ice to which\nit had frozen, the skin was torn from the face. Already the wolves and\ndogs had been at work upon the other cheek; moreover a great wound had\nsplit the head from the ear to the mouth.[173]\n\nIn such condition the corpse was not easily recognisable, but Olivier\nde la Marche and others identified it by the teeth and the nails, and\nby certain marks, such as the scar of the wound received at Montlh\u00e9ri.\nWhen they had washed the body in warm water and wine, it was easily\nrecognised by all. In addition to the wound in the head, there were\ntwo others, one through the thighs, and another below the loins. The\ndead Duke was borne into the town, and placed in a velvet bed beneath\na canopy of black satin. The corpse was clothed in a camisole of white\nsatin, and covered with a crimson mantle of the same material. A Ducal\ncrown was laid on the head, scarlet shoes and golden spurs upon the\nfeet. \"The said Duke being honourably clothed, he was white as snow; he\nwas small and well-limbed; on a table, well wrapped up in white sheets,\nupon a silk pillow, on the head a red cap set, the hands joined, the\ncross and holy water beside him; all who would might see him, none were\nturned away; some prayed God for him, and others not.\" The victorious\nRen\u00e9, Duke of Lorraine, came to throw holy water upon the body of the\nunhappy prince.\n\nHe took the hand beneath the coverlet; tears came into his eyes. \"Ah!\ndear cousin,\" said he, \"may God receive your soul, you have brought on\nus many an ill and many a sorrow.\" Then he kissed the hand, fell upon\nhis knees, and remained for a quarter of an hour in prayer.[174]\n\nLouis XI. made no attempt to conceal his rejoicing over the tragedy of\nNancy. A silver balustrade, weighing 6,776 marks, erected around the\ntomb of St. Martin de Tours, testified his gratitude to the heavenly\npowers, who had removed the rival of the most Christian King. Then,\nwith great energy, he proceeded to support his claim to Burgundy.\nTowns were occupied; rebels and seditious persons were executed and\nproscribed, and a castle was erected at the gates of Beaune, in\naddition to that at Dijon. Both were occupied by royal garrisons\nresponsible for the subjection of the country.\n\nOn July 31st, 1479, the king made his solemn entry into Dijon. \"The\nmayor, the \u00e9chevins, the procureurs, clothed in scarlet robes, walked\nbefore him, as they had formerly walked before the Dukes; the clergy\nin their chapes bore the holy relics. Louis proceeded first to the\nAbbey of St. B\u00e9nigne, where the Dijonnais swore fealty to him, as to\ntheir natural lord, and prayed him to hold them in his good grace;\nthen, preceded by trumpets, tambourines, and minstrels, he went to\nlodge at the Ducal Palace. Everywhere they covered with lime the arms\nof Burgundy, broke the windows of the Chambre Des Comtes which bore\nthat device, and replaced it by that of the King with the cord of St.\nMichael and the arms of the Dauphin.\"[175]\n\nSo ended the power of Burgundy. From the days of Philippe le Hardi,\nonwards, there had arisen in the minds of those proud dukes--who\nwere more than dukes--a dream of a new kingdom that should exceed\nin extent and in dominion the old Burgundy of their fathers--a\nkingdom, an empire, perhaps, freed for ever from the hated rivalry\nof the Fleur-de-lys. But that dream was not to be realised. All the\nconditions, geographical, historical, psychological, were against them;\nnor had the dukes themselves, for all their abilities, the constructive\nminds necessary for the accomplishment of such a task. Louis, on the\nother hand, as we have seen, possessed such a mind; and destiny and\ndeath, as though consciously realizing the fact, worked for him.\nBurgundy was no more than the greatest of the fruits that fell into his\nlap.\n\n [Illustration: STREET IN DIJON\n _Facing page 208_]\n\nNevertheless, we shall surely do well to remember these years, and\nthese Dukes, that went to the making of France. Dijon, it appears,\nproud of her mustard, and of her wine-begotten prosperity, does\nnot care to remember. She has pulled down the unworthy memento of\nsubjection. Truly she has her reward. She has the best Post Office in\nthe Duchy.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNow, after all this history, what of Dijon as it is to-day? Well,\nmodern Dijon, despite the ever-to-be-deplored demolition of the Castle,\nremains one of the most individual and fascinating of French towns--a\ncheerful, lively, bustling little city, full of fine buildings, and\nunexpected architectural surprises of the Renaissance and earlier\ntimes. For its size, I know no town in France in which past and present\nhave blended more happily. Wherever you walk, in the heart of the town,\nthe next corner has something fascinating to show.\n\nThe building which first calls for attention is the Cathedral of\nSt. B\u00e9nigne. Of the early, circular, Romanesque church, which dated\nfrom the eleventh century, and was probably imitated from the Holy\nSepulchre, nothing now remains but the crypt. The primitive, carved\npillars are the oldest of their kind in Burgundy, and mark the origin\nof an art of sculpture, that, as we have already seen, was to go far.\nIn this rude church was buried St. B\u00e9nigne, the Christian martyr of the\nthird century; here, too, the pious Al\u00e8the, St. Bernard's mother, was\nlaid, probably in the year 1110; and here, many a time, Bernard himself\ncame down from his father's castle at Fontaine, to pray, in those early\ndays when his spirit was torn between the claims of cloister and the\nworld. The cathedral, above ground, though historically interesting,\nas the scene of the inaugural ceremonies of the great Dukes, and\nthe solemn merger of the duchy into the kingdom of France, is not\narchitecturally of first-rate interest. Gothic art was not always well\ninspired in Burgundy during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries;\nand St. B\u00e9nigne is no exception to the rule. The fa\u00e7ade is very bold,\nfor a church of cathedral rank; the west window is weak and shallow,\nand the parvis mean and uninteresting. Nor is the interior successful.\nThe triforium, one of the feeblest I know, is suggestive of a cardboard\nmodel, and the simplicity of the nave has been broken by a series of\nrestless yearning statues, that, poised upon the abaci of the capitals,\ngrimace at one another across the nave. The thirteenth-century choir\nis better; though spoiled architecturally by bare spaces of wall\nbetween the triforium and the sills of the clerestory. The exterior,\nhowever, especially as seen from the east-end, is impressive, and\nthe \"Snake-skin\" tiling, though rather trying at first, is rich and\neffective, when the eye has become accustomed to the shock.\n\nOpposite to St. B\u00e9nigne is a typical Burgundian church of the twelfth\ncentury, with a triple porch and narthex, an octagonal tower, and a\nbeautiful Romanesque south doorway. It is now a secular building,\nas are several other old churches of Dijon. You may look, as I did,\nthrough a decorated window of St. Etienne, and see a man changing his\nshirt!\n\nAnother church of considerable interest, from the architectural point\nof view, is St. Michel. I am not referring to the interior, which\nis, on the whole, an ineffective example of late Gothic, with clumsy\nvaulting ribs, and heavy, square, nave piers, rounded off by vaulting\nshafts at the angles--but to the fa\u00e7ade, one of the best examples I\nknow of Gothic design worked out in Renaissance detail, with four\nclassical orders superposed.[176] Hugues Sambin, the architect, or\nreputed architect--he who did those beautiful doors for the Palace\nde Justice, that we have seen in the Mus\u00e9e--has made so harmonious\na compromise of the two styles, that I wonder he has not found more\nimitators. The fact that others dared not follow emphasises the\ndifficulty of the task.\n\nBut the most interesting, by far, of all the churches of Dijon, is\nNotre Dame, that, within hail of the Palace, and dedicated to Our Lady,\nenjoyed the special patronage of the Dukes. It was here that, after the\ngreat tournament at the arbre Charlemagne, in the plain south of Dijon,\nto be spoken of presently, the competing knights came to hang up their\nshields, and to render thanks to their preserver. Here, too, in 1453,\nafter long imprisonment in the east, came Philippe Pot, whom also we\nshall meet again, barefooted, amidst a brilliant assemblage, to fulfil\nhis vows to Notre Dame de Bon Espoir.\n\nNotre Dame is a purely Burgundian Gothic church, of the thirteenth\ncentury. The interior, with its typical stiff leaf capitals, and\npointed arches, is not very remarkable. The arcade round the choir is\ngood; but the square blocks above the abaci, that take the vaulting\nshafts, are clumsy, and the rose windows without tracery, in the\ntransept, are not effective. As with St. Michel, it is the exterior\ndesign that makes the church so remarkable from an architectural point\nof view. The triple porch--if its carvings were as good as those\nabove--must have been very charming before the revolutionary gentlemen\nset to work with hammer and axe upon tympanum and arch.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7 DOOR OF THE EGLISE ST. MICHAEL \u00b7 DIJON \u00b7]\n\nEven now it is pleasing. Indeed, the west front, as seen from the\nRue des Forges, though, perhaps, a little stiff, is most striking,\nespecially when the bright sun of Burgundy is picking out in warm light\nand pitchy shadow the triple row of strange eager faces, that, craning\ntheir necks out over the street, gaze down upon the passers-by. These\ngrotesque beasts, and the friezes in which they dwell, are among the\nbest examples of Burgundian sculpture to be seen anywhere. They have\nall the vigour, individuality, and vivacity that are characteristic of\nthe Province. The fa\u00e7ade, as a whole, with its double arcade, between\nthe friezes, surmounting the triple porch, is one of the most original\nin France, and would be much more effective than it is, could it be\nbetter seen. The tower, too, and the flanking turrets, are boldly\ndesigned, and relieved with little sculptures, grinning suns and\ngrimacing heads, on the corbels and the springings, that suggest an\nart lively and alert compared with the conventional dulness of St.\nB\u00e9nigne. The sense of realism is increased by the many pigeons--not of\nstone--who glide all day over monsters' backs, and coo into old monks'\nears.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7 EGLISE \u00b7 ST. MICHEL \u00b7 DIJON]\n\nThe Jacquemart clock on the tower was brought to Dijon by Philippe le\nHardi, after the sack of Courtrai, in 1383. Froissart, charmed with it,\ndeclared it to be \"ouvrage le plus beau qu'on put trouver de\u00e7\u00e0 ni del\u00e0\nla mer.\" Philip may have thought so, too; since he chose it for his\ntrophy.\n\nNearly every street in this central part of old Dijon, around the\npalace of the Dukes, has many good things. Late Gothic buildings meet\nyou at every turn, and in no town of France that I know, except,\nperhaps, Toulouse, will you find better Renaissance houses. The fronts\nof the Maison Milsand and the Maison des Caryatides, are both charming\nof their kind; and so is the courtyard of the Maison Richard, or\nHotel des Ambassadeurs, with a magnificent medi\u00e6val staircase, and a\nfifteenth century gallery of perpendicular woodwork. Behind Notre Dame\nis the old Hotel Vogu\u00e9, with one of the fine snake-skin roofs that are\na feature of Dijon.\n\n [Illustration: Sculpture; Notre Dame de Dijon]\n\nBut of all the quiet haunts in the city, the best are the little garden\nwithout, and the courtyard within, the Palace of the Dukes. Looking\nup through green boughs at the beautiful windows of the Salle des\nGardes and the Tour de la Terrasse, or, from a post upon the inner\nflag-stones, peering into the dark shadows of the lovely Renaissance\nstaircase that mounts by the Tour de Bar,[177] you may go back again\ninto the days when Dijon was more famous, more alive, than mustard and\ngingerbread can ever make it.\n\nThe mention of mustard and gingerbread, reminds me that here, opposite\nto the staircase, is the kitchen, where, between eight great furnaces,\ntwo in each wall, below a converging shaft, fashioned to carry the\nfumes upward to the blue sky, the Duke's chef superintended a small\narmy of perspiring cooks and scullions.\n\nMy wife's brains were busy with such dreams, as she sat in that\ncourtyard sketching the well, the staircase, and little Marie Bon,\nwho, for two sous, and the privilege of being allowed to tell about\nher uncle, also a painter--he worked on back doors--allowed herself\nto be drawn. And while the picture grew, tiresome boys would come\nup and jostle each other, and make remarks--usually, however, of a\ncomplimentary nature.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7 WELL OUTSIDE THE DUKE'S KITCHEN \u00b7]\n\n\"Ma foi, c'est \u00e9patant, \u00e7a!\" \"C'est tr\u00e8s chic--beaucoup mieux qu'une\nphotographie.\"\n\nGallant young men, too, would come, and say boldly, as though prepared\nto step into the breach, \"Madame, n'a pas de cavalier aujourdhui!\" And\ndiffident old ladies, shy, but unable to restrain their curiosity,\nwould come up and say, \"Est-ce qu'on est permis de regarder un peu,\nMadame?\" And my wife would smile and reply, \"Mais oui, certainement.\"\nFor towards good and diffident old ladies her heart is as soft as it is\nadamantine towards small and cheeky urchins.\n\n [Illustration: Vine Ornament]\n\nOne other building in Dijon I will mention--the Palais de Justice,\nwhich has a beautiful Renaissance fa\u00e7ade, with a high gable in the\nFlemish style, and a domed Corinthian porch. The threatening darkness\nof the stone, and the grim, lurid, purplish colours it takes in certain\nlights, harmonise well with our memories of deeds done in that Salle\ndes Pas Perdus, and the torture chamber of the prisons within. This\nPalace was also the Parliament House of the Valois Dukes.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut we, who pass our days in London, soon weary of other cities, even\nthough they be ancient and French; besides, we wanted to see something\nof the environs of Dijon; so a fine afternoon found us cycling along\nthe five kilometres of flat yet attractive road that leads by the\nCanal de Bourgogne to Plombi\u00e8res, in the valley of the Ouche. There\nwas music all the way; the breeze that whispered to the \"paint-brush\"\npoplars, and rustled in the reeds and grasses of the bank; the song\nof the grasshoppers, the \"sound of waters shaken\" where they curled\nfoaming through the lock gates. We had beauty with us, too; all the\nmature beauty of a bright autumn day, as we glided beside the still\nwater, between waving grasses and lichen-gilded trunks. On our left\nwere golden vineyards, and, beneath them, rose-embowered cottages and\njagged quarries where brawny quarrymen were dealing mighty, swinging\nstrokes that echoed through the valley. To our right were the terraced\nhills of Talant, and ahead the tower of Plombi\u00e8res church, high above\nthe village roofs. We passed white-hooded peasants--ample women with\ngenuine, solid bodies, ambling homeward from the markets of Dijon,\nand black-bloused peasants, who, blessed with a patience that was\nnever given to us, were \"soaking an indefinite bait in an indifferent\nstream;\" we passed blazing bonfires by the side of the road, whereon\ngirls were heaping all the grasses they had cut during a busy day with\nthe sickle. And when we got there, we found the mairie besieged by\nwomen in white dresses and men in black coats. There was a wedding; and\ncouples were whirling in the Salle de Bal.\n\nThat Talant I spoke of, on the hill, is another spot to make for\nbetween tea and dinner; if only for the views it gives you down over\nthe City of Dijon and the Valley of the Ouche. From the village green,\nshaded with ancient walnut trees, between which the children play with\ntheir dappled goats, there lie before you, across the willow-fringed\nsilver streak that is the Canal de Bourgogne, the hills of the C\u00f4te\nd'Or, now shrouded in the purple mists of evening. Southward, looming\nthrough the red smoke-wreaths, that curl upwards from its factories,\nrise the towered palace, and the spires of the ducal city. Below,\namong the vines and fruit trees, beside the red gravel pit in the grey\ncemetery, the flames of the peasants' fires, flashing in lines, like\nthe camp fires of a beleaguered town, are deepening with an opalesque\nveil of floating vapour the gathering mysteries of the night.\n\nAs we climbed the road that winds up the hill to Talant, whose old\nCastle, by the way, was the scene of a hundred memorable events, that\nI have no time to remember now, we saw on our right another wooded\nspur of the C\u00f4te d'Or, crowned with a big church and a little one. We\nknew it at once for Fontaine, the home of St. Bernard--a spot not to\nbe missed. The next day found us there. Passing through the village,\nwe came to a small, round pool at the foot of the steep, shaded with\na ring of poplars and walnut trees. This must be the very pool in\nwhich St. Bernard plunged, when, in the hey-day of youth, he felt his\nblood glowing too warmly within him. I wonder that the peasants, or\nthe priests, have not made holy water of it before this. We climbed\nthe hill, and, sitting on a broken stone wall, caught glimpses, across\nthe changing vines, of distant Dijon towers, while those improvident\ngrasshoppers, who should have been harvesting against a coming winter,\njust sang and sang, as though they would out-sing the larks.\n\nThen I wandered through the little Burgundian church, and the tangled\nwilderness of a churchyard, while my wife, sitting enthroned in lilac\nbushes, and eating blackberries of her own picking, watched the western\nsun gilding, height beyond height, the distant hills, and dreamed of\nBernard, her chosen patron saint. How often must he, torn between\nchivalry and church, have wrestled with his spirit upon that very spot.\n\nThis great building near us, on the crest of the hill, is built on\nthe site of Tescelin le Roux's castle; and contains, I believe, some\nremnants of it; but it has no longer any attraction for us. Restoration\nand modern additions[178] have stolen away its hoary age. We may be\nfoolish in these matters; but we got more pleasure from a wooden bust\nof St. Bernard, that we bought for three francs from a white-winged\nsister, in the pilgrimage shop beside the basilica. We still look at\nit daily, and believe it--quite wrongly, no doubt--to be a perfect\nlikeness of Tescelin's perfect son.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBefore we part from Dijon, there is one other episode in its history to\nwhich I should like to refer.\n\nLeaving the town by the southward road that leads to the ancient\nvillage of Rouvres--Philippe le Hardi, by the way, before his accession\nto the dukedom, was Philippe de Rouvres--you come upon a vast plain\ntraversed by many poplar-fringed roads.\n\nIt was in this plain, close to Dijon, towards Nuits, that was held,\nin July, 1443, the great tournament known as the Tournoi de l'Arbre\nCharlemagne, given by the Seigneur de Charny and twelve other noblemen\nof Burgundy. Two lists were dressed--the smaller one for combats on\nfoot, and the other, much larger, for mounted knights with the lance.\nBetween them was a great pavilion of wood. The larger list had two\nsteps at one end, to enable attendants to assist, to arm, or to disarm\ntheir knight, without compelling him to dismount. On the Dijon side of\nthe lists was a great tent, for use as occasion might require. The tree\nof Charlemagne, close by, was draped with cloth of high warp, bearing\nthe arms of the Lord of Charny; near it was \"a fountain large and fair\nwith a high stone capital above which were images of God, of Our Lady,\nand of Madame St. Anne, and upon the said capital were raised in stone\nthe thirteen blazons of the arms of the said Lord of Charny and of his\ncompanions.\"\n\n [Illustration: Dijon; a fifteenth century Window]\n\nOn that 11th July, \"the princes having come they entered the house\nset apart for this purpose (which was right honourably decked and\nhung); and the Duke of Burgundy held a little white baton in his hand\nto throw and separate the champions, their arms being concluded, as\nis the custom in such a case. As for the lists, they were a sight\nmost triumphant to see; for they were decked with two pavillons for\nthe knights, bearing their arms and devices in blazons, banners, and\notherwise ... the entry of the assailant in the lists was on the side\nof Dijon, and that of the defender and guardian of the pas was on the\nside of Nuits.\"\n\nThe first fight between Charny and a Spanish knight, both on foot and\narmed with axes, is too like that already described, in the Tournoi\nde la dame de Pleurs, to justify us in giving Olivier de la Marche's\ngraphic description of it. We will tell, instead, of a fight on\nthe 9th day of the Tournament, between the Count of St. Martin and\nGuillaume de Vaudrey.\n\n\"At the third course the said De Vaudrey reached the Count's great\narm-guard and disarmed him, so that they had to forge and open the\nsaid arm-guard, and two full hours were spent before he was re-armed.\nAt the fourth charge the said Guillaume de Vaudrey reached the Count,\nwith his lance on the arm near the side, and with this stroke he\ndinted his arm, and broke his lance off short at the blade, so that\nthe blade remained in the said Count's arm, and readily appeared the\nblood and the wound. So the Duke commanded that he should at once be\ndisarmed, and set aright, and certes the duke and all the lords were\nmost troubled at this adventure; and even the said De Vaudrey regretted\nright wonderfully his companion's wound.\"\n\nThere was much subsequent discussion as to how this accident could\nhave occurred; and the general opinion seemed to be that it was the\nCount's own fault, by reason of a bad trick he had of riding at his man\nfrom the corner of the lists, and so meeting him cross-wise, instead\nof charging along the matting--which was laid from end to end of the\nlists especially for that purpose; but, whatever the cause, as Olivier\nfatalistically remarks, \"Ce qui doit advenir advient: et fut telle\nceste aventure.\"\n\n [Illustration: Ornament]\n\n\"On the 10th day of August, a day of St. Laurence, came Monsieur de\nBourgogne, Madame his spouse, all the ladies and lords, to see the arms\nof the two noblemen, and there presented himself Jacques de Challant\nSigneur de Manille, most honourably accompanied by the Lord of Charny,\nand by his companions, as also by his relatives and friends; and he\npresented himself on a charger, covered with cloth of blue damask,\nright prettily adorned with his letters and devices; as he was mounted\nand armed ready to furnish arms. On the other side presented himself\nthe knight (who sustained the enterprise), mounted and armed as is\nfitting in such case. His horse was decked, as I remember, in satin,\nhalf white and half violet, quartered; and right well the knight sat on\nhis horse, for in figure he was supple, fair to look upon, and right\nagreeable to all. All due things were done and the lances distributed;\nand it came about that in the first onset Jacques de Challant got home\nupon the knight's arm-guard; by the which he was disarmed, so that the\nsaid arm-guard had to be opened by the armourers, (and it took) more\nthan three hours, and while they made good the said arm-guard, the Lord\nof Charny caused a banquet to be served to the Duke and to the Duchess\nand to all the Signeurs, where they were sitting, right bounteously,\nboth meats and wines.\"\n\nAfter the luncheon they set to it again.\n\n\"And at their second charge the noble men rode with all the strength\nof their steeds; and so stern was this onset, that the Spaniard's\ncharger could not sustain the shock, so fell to the ground; and swiftly\nhorseman and horse were raised, but from this fall the Spaniard's\nharness was so bent and forced that he was quite disarmed; and they\nmust needs put off those arms unto another day. Within a few days after\nthat the term of six weeks that this noble meeting should last was past\nand expired, and the following day (which was on a Sunday, a little\nbefore the Great Mass) the kings-at-arms and the heralds assembled from\nall parts further to honour the mystery; and, having put on their coats\nof arms, they brought by order and with great magnificence, the two\nshields which for six weeks had been hung and fastened to the tree of\nCharlemagne, and on which was founded the meeting aforesaid. Then they\nentered the Church of Notre Dame de Dijon, and all kneeling offered\nand presented the aforesaid shields to the glorious Virgin Mary; which\nshields are still in the said church, in a chapel on the right hand as\nyou come to the choir.\"\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter XIV; Arbre Charlemagne]\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[168] I should add that there is a good replica of the Puits de Mo\u00efse,\n which gives you an opportunity to study that work at leisure.\n\n[169] The demolition was begun in 1870, to give work to the unemployed\n at the time of the war.\n\n[170] At P\u00e9ronne.\n\n[171] Kleinclausz, \"Histoire de la Bourgogne.\"\n\n[172] De Barante states that the body was found by a washerwoman,\n who was attracted by the sparkle of a ring on the Duke's\n finger. I have followed Michelet.\n\n[173] Olivier de Marche, \"M\u00e9moires.\"\n\n[174] De Barante, Tome XI; pp. 156-158.\n\n[175] Kleinclausz.\n\n[176] The classical orders are five: Doric, Ionic, Corinthian,\n Tuscan, Composite.\n\n[177] The Tour de Bar was named after Ren\u00e9e of Anjou (Duke of Bar),\n known as good king Ren\u00e9e, who was imprisoned there after the\n battle of Buligneville in 1431, the year in which Joan of Arc\n was burned.\n\n[178] The western portion was rebuilt under Louis XIII.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter XV; The Three Huntsmen]\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE DEVIL'S PIT\n\n\nBy a curious coincidence--by a real coincidence, reader, not by\ndesign--it was on a morning of Easter-day that we rode out from Dijon\nto Lux--on just such an Easter morning as that about which I am going\nto tell; the air fresh and fragrant, the larks in full song, and the\nsun shining so strongly in the deep, blue sky, that I had to make a\nSunday purchase of a broad-brimmed straw hat. So that, you see, in one\nsense, I began the day badly, and perhaps deserved the trouble that\nbefell me later.\n\nLux, the village in which the legend begins, and the village beyond it,\nare not particularly interesting places, situate on the border of the\nFor\u00eat de Velours, some twenty or more kilometres north-east of Dijon,\nin Wiltshire-like scenery reminding one of Salisbury Plain. If you want\na not too exciting excursion, to fill an otherwise idle day, by all\nmeans go there; but truth compels me to add that this Creux du Diable,\nwhen you have found it[179]--and it is not particularly easy to find,\nbeing hidden one hundred yards within the wood--is not exciting. It is\njust a tangled pit running sheer down from the scrub that borders the\nforest path. One look at it was enough. We felt no desire to follow the\ndevil down into its depths, nor did conscience tell us that we deserved\nto. True, we, too, had hunted on Easter morning, without going to Mass;\nbut then we had hunted a legend, not a boar--and surely that makes all\nthe difference.\n\nBack to the village, then, we went; and there I re-discovered a\npeasant, of whom I had asked the way. He was sitting in a lovely\ndoorway, at the top of some broken steps, reading a paper. Hearing the\nwhirr of the wheels, he looked up.\n\n\"Ah ha! did you find it?\" \"Thanks to you,\" said I, and joined him on\nthe steps.\n\n\"Mon Dieu,\" says he, \"It's a strange place. It ends almost in a\npoint--this Creux du Diable. It is just full of foxes' holes; and as\nfor the vipers--there are so many there that, when the time comes to\ncut the wood, they have to do it in the fraiche; sans cela ils vous\nmordent les jambes \u00e0 tout instant. O! il y en a; il y en a!\n\n\"Why do they bite less in the fraiche--these limbs of Satan?\" I asked\nhim.\n\n\"Oh! they are busy in the morning (font leur travail le matin).\"\n\nI tried to get the old man's version of the legend; but, discovering\nthat he knew nothing of it, I bid him farewell.\n\n\"Good-bye,\" said he, shaking my hand warmly, \"When we meet at Dijon,\nnous irons boire un coup.\"\n\nSo we rode home through a hop country--a land of blackthorn and good\npurple furrows, dotted with stacks of poles. Will you listen, while we\ngo, to the legend of that viper-haunted pit?\n\n\nTHE DEVIL'S PIT\n\nIt is Easter day. From the belfry the Alleluia rings out; the lark\nsings it above the meadows; the thrush whistles it in the woods; the\nsun writes it in letters of gold on the blue, blue sky. All nature is\nin her gayest mood, to celebrate the festival of Christ's resurrection.\n\nIn the village of Lux, all hearts are echoing this Alleluia. The good\npeople, in their holiday attire, go to hear matins, and to receive\ncommunion with holy Jesus, the renewer of heavenly as of earthly\nspring. But to Gaston, the lord of the village, the pure joys of the\nChristian Easter are unknown. He is a young baron, proud, haughty,\nviolent, and devoted only to the chase. Loudly he sounds the horn, and\ncries to his servants: \"Saddle the horses, and bring hither my hounds.\"\n\nVainly the grooms and valets recall to him the solemnity of the day,\nand our Lord's commandment. \"To the hunt,\" he cries; \"We leave prayers\nto the priests and the women; such a fine hunting day is not to be\nmissed.\"\n\nThe steeds are ready; in the courtyard of the castle the hounds are\nbaying. As Gaston gives the signal for departure, the old chaplain lays\nhis hand on the courser's rein.\n\n\"For the love of Heaven, Monseigneur!\" cries he, \"do not thus outrage\nGod, nor so darkly stain your soul!\"\n\nThe headstrong baron strikes the priest, who, without flinching, offers\nagain his old white head to the blow.\n\n\"Strike again, Monseigneur; but, for pity of your soul, do not fail to\nhear mass to-day; else, evil will befall you.\"\n\nAgain he is repulsed, and the young lord departs.\n\nFollowed by his hounds and his servants, and blowing great blasts upon\nhis horn, Gaston passes through a straggling village. Disdainfully\nhe looks down on the good villagers, who salute him on their way to\nchurch. \"Misfortune will come upon our lord,\" murmur the old men.\n\"Great and powerful seigneur though he be, he insults and scorns a\ngreater and more powerful than himself.\"\n\nTwo wide roads meet upon the verge of the forest of Velours. There\ncome two horsemen, riding swiftly as the wind, and place themselves\neach by Gaston's side. He on the right, mounted on a white horse, is\nradiant and of noble mien; his eyes shine with a heavenly light, and\nhis clothing, glistening like snow, exhales a perfume sweeter than the\nmeadows on a morning of Spring. The rider on the left is of sullen\ncountenance, and swarthy of aspect; his glance stern and forbidding.\nHis hair is blacker than the raven's wing; and his garments, darker\nthan the night, emit an odour of sulphur. His steed glows like a flame\nof fire.\n\n\"Friends,\" cries Gaston, \"Welcome to you both. In happy hour you have\ncome, to hunt the great woods with me. Fair fall us then! there is no\nsport, in heaven or on earth, like the chase--above all when we hunt in\ngoodly company.\"\n\nThe horseman on the right speaks: \"Young seigneur, the bell calls you;\nlisten to its plaintive note chiming, from far away, through the trees.\nReturn; or misfortune will befall you. Let us kneel together at the\naltar of Christ. Already, before daybreak, I heard mass, and sang the\nAlleluia; willingly will I do so again by your side. Come! Our duty\ndone, sweeter by far will be the pleasures of the chase.\"\n\n\"Ride, noble baron, ride,\" cries the black horseman. \"Do not listen to\nthis ill counsellor. The bugle blast is finer music than the chiming of\nbells, and the hunt better pastime far than a dull priest's sermon, and\nthe droning of hymns.\"\n\n\"Well said, friend on my left!\" cries Gaston. \"Without offence to the\nwhite horseman, you are jovial company, after my own heart. We young\nlords want lively sport and merry jests; let us leave sermons and\npaternosters to the monks.\"\n\nGaston has unleashed his hounds. Caressing them with eye and hand,\nurging them on with voice and gesture, he looses them upon the scent.\nWith heads held low and wagging tails, baying with deep bell notes,\nthey dash through the forest upon the track of the game. The baying\nredoubles, as, plunging into a thick copse, they come upon the lair of\na great wolf. With bristling hair, fiery eyed, and snarling horribly,\nfor an instant the fierce brute faces the hounds, then turns, and flies\nthrough the forest. Vainly he seeks the thickest brakes, the most\nsecret hollows; always the ravening pack is at his heels.\n\nAt length the wolf gains the open country, and the chase follows him:\nthe blast of Gaston's horn has collected the scattered huntsmen. Far,\nfar they gallop, by cornfields and meadows, over weald and waste.\n\nFrom a hamlet before them, comes tripping a little shepherdess at the\nhead of her flock. The road is narrow and bordered by hedges. All in\ntears, the child cries out to Gaston: \"Be merciful, sweet lord, be\nmerciful; spare my flock. For pity's sake, do not destroy the widow's\nsheep, and our dear little lambs.\"\n\n\"Have pity, for your soul's sake,\" cries the white horseman. \"Do not\nscorn her prayers nor her tears; they will rise to God, and cry out for\nvengeance against you there.\"\n\n\"Ride down lambs and sheep,\" replies the black rider. \"What are\nthey--that they should spoil a young lord's sport? For such a trifle\nmust we let our prey escape us?\"\n\n [Illustration: Through the Forest]\n\n\"You are right,\" cries the impetuous hunter. He spurs on his horse;\nafter him gallop the grooms and the valets. Only the white horseman\nturns aside with a sigh.\n\nLike a whirlwind the hunt has passed, leaving desolation and death in\nits wake. The sheep fall bleeding to the earth, the lambs are trampled\ndown, and the little shepherdess is lying upon the ground, bruised like\na trodden flower of the field.\n\nStill the wolf flies on--by field and wood, by hill and valley, by\nupland and mountain. None can overtake him. The hounds fall exhausted;\nscarce a horse can carry its rider further.\n\nThe hunters come to a lonely valley. There, near a spring which bubbles\nbeneath an ancient oak, a little chapel and a cottage rise from the\nmidst of a field of green corn. This is the little domain of an old\nhermit, whose days are passed in work and in prayer; one who shelters\nthe poor, and puts the lost traveller upon his way.\n\n\"Noble baron,\" cries the black horseman, \"By my troth, here let us\nstay, and refresh ourselves. There is water for our thirst, and good\ngrazing for our steeds.\" \"Zounds,\" replies the hunter, \"You say well.\"\n\nGaston, with a blast of his horn, recalls the hounds and attendants;\nand, despite the entreaties of the white horseman, and the reluctance\nof his followers, he bids them turn the horses into the field of green\ncorn. Hastening to him, the hermit cries, in tones of earnest pleading:\n\"Have pity, gracious lord; spare the labour of an old man; do not let\nyour steeds devour and trample down the field which nourishes the\nsolitary, the traveller, and the poor.\"\n\n\"To the devil with hermits and nuns,\" replies the proud hunter. \"Away\nwith you, lazy rascal; or your carcass shall go to feed my hounds.\"\n\nFrightened and sad, the poor old man turns away, murmuring to himself:\n\"Father, which art in Heaven, forgive this young man; Thy providence\nwhich feeds the birds of the air and clothes the flower of the field\nwill suffice for me also.\"\n\n\"Gaston,\" interposes the white rider, \"Your words are harsh. Who knows\nbut that you owe your very life to this old man? that, perchance\nwithout his prayers and fastings, your soul, already weighed many times\nin the heavenly scales, might well have been found too light.\" But the\nadmonition of the white horseman passes unheeded. Seated beside the\nspring, the huntsmen make a long and merry repast; the jests ring out,\nloose and loud; with wild laughter the young baron applauds every\nsally of his dark companion.\n\n'Tis the vesper hour; the hermit rings the chapel bell. To-day he is\nnot alone in the sanctuary; the white horseman, leaving his companions,\njoins the old man in psalm and canticle. Never has the recluse heard a\nvoice more pure, never has he joined in a more holy communion. The two\nservants of God, leaving the chapel together, pause for a moment on the\nthreshold. They gaze out over the scene. The huntsmen are gone; the\nfield of green corn is ravaged, blasted, as though by a storm of hail.\nIn one hour, Gaston's horses have destroyed the work of a year.\n\nThe white horseman bids farewell to the hermit, and hastens to join the\nbaron. Regretfully the recluse watches the departing figure. \"Who,\" he\nmurmurs to himself, \"may this noble hunter be? His kiss has filled me\nwith peace and joy, and all my heart is aglow in his presence.\"\n\nNow the hunt is again set on. The wolf has doubled back upon his track.\nMeanwhile the forest shadows lengthen, the sun is low upon the horizon.\nOnce more the hunt passes through the village. In the road, still red\nwith the blood of the shepherdess, a poor man stands, awaiting Gaston.\nHe seizes the young lord's cloak, and asks alms, for the love of God.\n\n\"Dear baron,\" cries the white rider, \"It is a means of grace, which the\nSaviour sends you. I beseech you, redeem your sins by the giving of\nalms; it is like water which quenches fire. Give a helping hand to him\nwho stands for Jesus.\"\n\n\"Gaston,\" retorts the black rider, \"For this clown will you stay the\nhunt, and let the great wolf win the day? Gallop! gallop!\"\n\n\"There are my alms,\" cries the brutal lord; and, making his horse rear,\nwith his whip he strikes at the poor man's head. The beggar utters\na cry, and wipes his bleeding face. Again the hunt plunges into the\nforest of Velours, in pursuit of the tireless wolf. The sun has set\nbehind the great trees; the forest shadows are blotted out in the\ndarkness of the night. 'Tis the hour of solemn thought.\n\n\"Friend,\" says the white horseman, softly to Gaston, \"this has been an\nill day's work: you have mocked God, you have insulted his minister;\nyou have trampled upon the shepherdess and her flock; you have ravaged\nthe hermit's field, and you have struck the face of the poor. Turn, I\nentreat you, a suppliant eye to heaven, breathe a word of repentance\ntowards God.\"\n\n\"What is that to me?\" replies the hunter with a sneer. \"Time enough yet\nto think of my soul. When I can search the woods no more, then I will\nwear a hair shirt, throw largesse to monk and beggar, and mutter psalms\nand what-not in church; but, until then, the gay life for me!\"\n\n\"Gaston! the life of man is short and fragile; it is given him, not to\nwaste in folly; but to purchase therewith the joys of heaven. I conjure\nyou, for your soul's sake, implore the mercy of God.\"\n\n\"He's dull company indeed! Off with you to your paradise!\" cries\nthe young lord, irritated by these entreaties, and by his day of\nill-success.\n\n\"Farewell, Gaston,\" murmurs the white rider. \"Why would you not listen\nto one who would save you?\" A tear falls from his eye, as spreading\nwide two white wings, he soars heavenward, leaving behind him a stream\nof light.\n\nThen the hunter realizes that his good angel has deserted him.\nFearfully he looks towards the dark figure on his left; a shiver of\nmortal dread shakes every limb, and the sweat of death rises damp upon\nhis face. The arms of the black one extend and seize him. He feels his\nflesh pierced and torn by talons more powerful than a lion's, sharper\nthan those of a vulture. He roars with pain and terror; so bewildered\nis he, that no cry to God comes from him, nor, with the holy sign, does\nhe invoke the name of Jesus.\n\nStill grasping his prey, the black horseman strikes the ground with his\nlance. The earth groans deeply, opens wide, and from the gaping cavity\nthere rises a column of black smoke. From the abyss beneath, a sea of\nfire, upon whose heaving waves are rolled the legions of the damned,\nrise lamentations, cries, and blasphemies, heard above the roaring\nof the infernal waters. Like fiery serpents the flames writhe and\ncoil round the body of the guilty hunter. \"Gaston,\" hisses the black\nhorseman, as steed and rider leap into the boiling cavity; \"Gaston, you\nhave lent ear to me during life; now you are mine for all eternity.\"\n\n\"Woe betide me!\" cries the reprobate. \"I have disregarded the Lord's\nwarning, and the counsels of my good angel!\"\n\nThe abyss closed up, leaving only a dark and fearsome cavity. That\ncavity is the Devil's Pit.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWe had started on our way back to Dijon by train, when, at Gemeaux, the\nfirst stopping place, I became unpleasantly aware that I had left my\nnotebook behind me, on the table of a caf\u00e9 at Is-sur-Tille. Not caring\nto leave several chapters of this volume to the vagaries of a very\nuncertain memory, there was nothing for it but to leave the train, and\nwalk the five kilometres back to Is. Under less anxious circumstances\nI should have enjoyed that walk, by field paths, below hills that\nreminded me of the North Downs at Wrotham. The light was golden; the\nevening breeze rustled in the young crops. In front of me paced a\nshepherd, followed by a flock of pattering sheep, at whose fleeces\nthe guardian dog tugged mercilessly, when succulent, wayside trifles\ntempted them from the straight path.\n\nOn the bridge at Is, I met mademoiselle of the caf\u00e9, whose beaming\ncountenance revealed to me, before she spoke, the news that she had\nfound my book. So far so good; but how to pass the four hours before\nthe next train? I was cold and clammy; and much too tired to explore\nthat savage \u00e9tang de Marcilly hard by--lonely and desolate enough for\nthe site of a Cistercian house. Such places need a receptive mood.\nMoreover, here was no fit place to dine--and I had within me a _Creux\ndu Diable_. Surely my good angel had left me.\n\nI dined at last--very badly--and there were still two hours to wait.\nTime flew no longer; it crept. Thoughts came no longer; nothing came;\nnothing happened. I was bored, bored stiff. Reader, do you know what it\nis to be bored?\n\n\"I wish to goodness you wouldn't be so garrulous--all about nothing.\"\n\n\"That's all very well, Reader; but what the dickens is a fellow to do,\ncast away for four mortal hours in this benighted hole--except talk?\"\n\n\"Well its your own fault. You ought to have known, when you started,\nthat it was Easter morning, and----\"\n\n\"Oh! G r r r r r r r!\"\n\n\"Monsieur, it is time you left. If you miss this train you will be here\nall night!\"\n\n\"Et bien; au revoir, Mademoiselle.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[179] The Carte-Taride marks it incorrectly as being outside the wood,\n whereas it is within it.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter XVI; Vine Ornament]\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nBEAUNE AND THE COTE D'OR\n\n\nEver since we left Beaune, my wife has been endeavouring, at frequent\nintervals, to extract from me an unconditional promise that, one day,\nwe will go to live there. \"It would be lovely,\" she says, \"to live\nclose to the H\u00f4tel Dieu, and to watch the vines, for a whole summer,\nripening on the C\u00f4te d'Or.\" So it would.\n\nCertainly, if we are to live in France, we might do worse than choose\nthis little rampart-girdled town, that, though on the main line of\nthe P.L.M., has retained so much of its medi\u00e6val charm, and still has\nhouses to show you of every century from the thirteenth onwards.\n\nBeaune has a _cachet_, and surprises all its own. Go where you may,\nyou will find them, or they will find you. Stand in the little Rue de\nl'Enfer, not happily named, and look up towards the church. Along a\nwhite wall, that the sun has fretted with a lace-work of leafy shadow,\nruns a frieze of ivy, below a rich cornice of blossoming lilac. Within\nthat garden are glimpses of ancient mottled walls, seen through green\nbranches, whose wavy lines lead up to the tower, crowned by the lovely\ndome and lantern of Notre Dame.\n\nOr stand beneath the exquisite, gothic porch of that same church, and\nlook through its soft, brown shadowy arches to the white walls and\nflowery gardens of the old houses beside it; or across the place, to\nwhere the warm, purple shadows lie upon the rosy oriel and tourelle of\nthe Maison du Colombier.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7 BEAUNE \u00b7]\n\nThere are good things, too, in the centre of the town--the Flemish\nbelfry in the Place Monge; ancient houses in the Rue de Lorraine; and\nespecially a glimpse of a fifteenth century, pink-washed corner shop,\ntopped by the graceful lantern of the Hospice de la Charit\u00e9.\n\nHere we are back at Notre Dame, one of the finest churches in Burgundy,\nbut so hemmed in by other buildings that it is not seen to advantage,\nexcept from the west side, at a point in the street beyond the\nColombier. There only do you get the whole building and the proportions\nof the tower in good perspective. The view from the east end, however,\nis presentable. The apsidal chapels, the ambulatory and lofty choir,\nleading the eye upward, stage by stage, to the glorious dome tiled in\nred, green, and yellow, give a quite Burgundian effect of satisfying\nsolidity, and of colouring that, though, on the whole, rather cold, is\nharmonious in certain lights.\n\nAs usual, the heavy flying buttresses, that fail to fly, are an\narchitectural defect.\n\nThe gem of the exterior is the early thirteenth-century, triple,\nopen-aisled porch, of two bays, with gloriously carved panelled doors\nof the fifteenth century. For grace and harmony of proportion this\nporch is one of the best in France. It recalls that most successful of\nall fa\u00e7ades, Peterborough Cathedral.\n\nThe interior has all the features of twelfth-century Burgundian\nromanesque--an almost barrel-vaulted nave, and aisle, with slightly\nstilted horseshoe arches, and quadripartite vaulting, groined, without\nribs. Some of the cushion capitals are plain, some carved, and the\nvaulting shafts throughout, except in the transept, take the ordinary\nBurgundian form of fluted pilasters.\n\nEach bay of the triforium is divided, as usual, into three round-headed\narches--of which two are blind and the centre one pierced--with fluted,\nor zig-zagged pilasters between them. In the chapel of St. L\u00e9ger are\ntwo quite interesting fifteenth century frescoes of the raising of\nLazarus, and the stoning of Stephen--both, probably, by a painter of\nthe Flemish school. The former picture, though mutilated and faded, is\nstill quite realistic; too much so, in a sense; for the bystanders are\nso interested in the miracle that they have elbowed the Christ quite\nto one side of the picture. Martha is prominent, in the conventional\nattitude, with her handkerchief to her nose. \"Jam Foetet.\"\n\n [Illustration: PORCH OF EGLISE NOTRE DAME--BEAUNE\n _Facing page 232_]\n\nBut Notre Dame, though good, is not the best of Beaune. The church must\nyield to the H\u00f4tel Dieu. History, or, at any rate, my history, does\nnot relate how Nicholas Rolin, the Chancellor of Philippe le Bon, came\nto erect at a little fifth-rate town, such as is Beaune, a hospital\nunrivalled in all France; yet such is the fact. I do not even know why\nhe built one at all, unless old Louis XI.'s mot be true--that he had\n\"made enough poor to necessitate building a hospital to keep them in.\"\nBut, there it is, an eighth wonder of the world; beautiful, from the\ncrest on the gable to the knocker on the door.\n\nThis H\u00f4tel Dieu, seen on a grey day or a blue one, is absolutely\nharmonious and satisfying. Whether you follow the length of soft,\nyellow, brown wall, the blue-grey expanse of the high-pitched roof, the\ndelicate fl\u00eache, or the starry, gabled hood over the entrance, your eye\nfeasts upon a poem in form and colour; you feel at once the intense\ndelight of looking upon a work of art that could not have been better\ndone. But you will stay longest before the porch, the most daring and\nmost completely successful that exists.\n\nThe entrance is beneath a flattened arch, through a panelled door\nwith a beautiful forged-iron knocker and alms-box; all protected by a\nglorious three-gabled hood, crocketed and pinnacled, and built into the\nmain wall, from which it projects without visible support. The pendants\nhave angels, bearing shields, with the arms of Nicholas Rolin and his\nwife. The hood is slated in grey, as is the roof, and the blue vault\nbeneath is starred with golden stars, symbolizing the little heaven\nwithin. Upon the blue tympanum is written in gold letters, \"Hostel\nDieu, 1443.\" All these blues and golds harmonise perfectly with the\ngreat crested roof, whether in its more sombre, grey mood, or when the\nricher purples come leaping from it at the call of the sun, to play\nabout the sides of the dormers, or among the shadows of the flagged\npinnacles above.\n\nThe exterior remains almost unchanged from the time of Nicholas Rolin,\nwhen the poor of Beaune first gathered round the stone benches, and\nbeneath the verandah,[180] to receive their dole of five hundred kilos\nof bread that are still distributed once a year to the needy of the\ndistrict.\n\nFollowing a white-winged sister, we passed into the courtyard, to find\nourselves in a great, galleried building, of the late Flemish type,\nwith a many-coloured linoleum roof, elaborate pinnacled gables, and, in\none corner, a well in the forged ironwork which the Flamands of that\ntime worked with unrivalled skill.\n\nThere was only one jarring note--the garish brown colour of the\nwoodwork, laid on, the guide told me, five years ago. It is a thousand\npities; for had the oak been merely oiled, or painted a dark brown,\nor matched with one of the tints in the roof, many visitors would be\nspared a shock, and I doubt not that the convalescence of certain\npatients would be considerably accelerated. Yet, in spite of garish\npaint, we can echo Viollet-le-Duc's sentiment, that it is worth while\nto be ill at Beaune.\n\nThis abode of peace takes you straight back to the fifteenth century,\nwith its beauties all intact, and only its horrors mitigated. Nothing\nhere has changed--from the costumes of the white angels who flit\nnoiselessly through the kitchens and wards, to the tapestry covers laid\nupon the curtained, oak beds, with the oak chairs beside them. Even the\npewter vessels are identical with those in use at the founding of the\nhospital.\n\nThe chapel, too, opening from one of the wards, is a good place to pray\nin. Through the glorious windows--copies of the original, resplendent\nwith figures and devices--the warm colour streams down upon the\naltar, where of old was set up Roger Van der Weyden's magnificent\nLast Judgment; now in the mus\u00e9e above. On great days the volets were\ndrawn back, and the picture exposed; magnificent red tapestries were\nlaid upon the beds, and all was ordered for the best in this little\nkingdom-of-heaven upon earth.\n\nHere Guigonne de Salins, the great Chancellor's wife, is laid; and\nher arms (the castle) and his (the key) with his device, \"Seule\n[Illustration: 6-pointed star]\" (Only Star), are scattered broadcast.\nNo less ubiquitous is her motto, The Bird on the Bough, signifying how\nlonely she was to be after her lord's death. Guigonne, no doubt, was\nsincere enough; but one cannot help remembering that the sentiments\nexpressed in these devices were not always lived up to. Did not Rolin's\nown master, Philippe le Bon, for example, choose the words \"Aultre\nn'Auray\" as a chaste allusion to his conjugal devotion? yet we have\nOlivier de la Marche assuring us that his gracious master had \"de\nb\u00e2tards et de b\u00e2tardes une moult belle compagnie.\"\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7 COURT YARD OF THE HOSPITAL \u00b7\n \u00b7 BEAUNE \u00b7]\n\nBut I am digressing. We must follow to the mus\u00e9e our\nguide, whose manner could not be more gentle, were we patients and not\nvisitors,--reminded on the way, by the sight of polished floors and\nshining pots, that the cleanliness of this building moved a certain\nworthy Canon Papillon, in the 17th century, to remark, \"Ineptiarum\nstultus est labor,\" which, freely rendered, means: \"They are fools who\nwaste soap.\"\n\nThe best thing in the mus\u00e9e--in fact, the only thing that one really\ngoes there to see--is the Last Judgment of Roger Van der Weyden, which,\nin spite of the 19th century restoration, remains a splendid example of\nFlemish art, still very Gothic in treatment, and full of the sadness\nof decline. The work is executed with all the microscopic accuracy\nof detail characteristic of the school. There is fine realism, and\nindividual treatment; but no breakaway from tradition: all the figures\nare consciously attitudinizing, and one feels that the painter is\nmaking a last desperate effort to enforce belief in an outworn dogma.\nThe welter of human beings, bursting out from their graves, dragging\none another, and being dragged, by hair and limbs, pell-mell down into\nhell; this biting of fingers, and pulling of ears till they bleed,\ndoes not convince. Such a subject was well suited to the primitives of\nthe Romanesque and early Gothic periods, but seems hopelessly archaic\nfor a painter born within hail of the Renaissance. Nevertheless,\nthough, in spite of its horrors, and its unhappy colouring, the\npicture, as you linger before it, grows on you, it is with a sigh of\nrelief that you turn to its more successful part, the portraits of the\ndonors, magnificent in their energy and expression. Here you have an\nopportunity to judge concerning the probability of Louis XI.'s alleged\nslander upon Nicholas Rolin. Did he, or did he not, grind the faces\nof the poor? My wife says unhesitatingly, \"He did\"; and, looking at\nthe significant scarlet angel above his head--suggestive of a red\naura--I decline to contradict a lady. His is, indeed, a disinheriting\ncountenance. But Guigonne, his seule \u00e9toile, is of a different stamp.\nPiety exudes from her. As the guide somewhat bluntly put it, \"She was\nas good as she was ugly\"--a speech which no lady, living or dead, would\never forgive.\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter XVI; Star Ornament]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[180] This verandah or hood has disappeared. It is shown on a model\n of the hospital to be seen in the mus\u00e9e.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading chapter XVII; Saint Martin and Saint Margaret]\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nSAINT MARTIN'S WELL AND THE LEGEND OF SAINT MARGUERITE\n\n\nLeaving my wife to run the gauntlet of the gamins of Beaune, while she\nsketched the starry hood and the porch of Notre Dame, we fared forth\non our bicycles, towards the ancient village of Bouilland, fifteen\nkilometres away, to which I received my first call when I happened upon\nthe legend of its Abbey.\n\nBouilland lies beyond Savigny, in the heart of the valley of the\nBouxaise, a tributary of the Sa\u00f4ne, by a road so lonely that, between\nSavigny and our destination we met only one individual--and he was\nsitting in a cart, so fast asleep that, though we longed to do so, we\nhad not the heart to wake him.\n\nSaint Marguerite lies high up in a hollow of the rocky hills, on the\nedge of the For\u00eat au Maitre--one of the most deserted spots in all\nChristendom. What was once a glorious building, with a Romanesque nave\nand a lovely, late thirteenth-century transept and apse, lightened\nwith carved foliage, capitals, and graceful, slender shafts, is now a\nroofless ruin. Wild fruit trees grow in the transepts; the floor of\nthe nave is paved with a litter of mossy stones, beneath which the ivy\nand the brambles take root; cowslips and purple violets jewel the apse\nwith delights beyond the art of even Gothic sculptors; through the\nroofless arches you look up at the whispering forest-pines. Westward of\nthe Abbey, beside the deserted adjunct buildings, is a grassy terrace,\nstone-walled, shaded by blossoming fruit trees. From this fresh, green\ngarden you can look, beyond the darkness of the ancient gateway, into\nthe flaming yellow of a field of \"Mustard,\" the symbol of a living\nworld beyond. Sit beside me on the old stone wall, and hear the legend\nof Saint Marguerite.\n\nIn days of yore, there lived in the Castle of Vergy, a maiden,\nbeautiful and pure as an angel; she was named Marguerite.\n\nMany young suitors of noble birth desired her hand: one, in particular,\nwas more handsome than all the others; but his conversation was\nunchaste, and treachery lurked in his glance and in his smile.\n\nMarguerite would never listen to his profane addresses; she repulsed\nhim, saying: \"Speak not to me of earthly love; to me, who have chosen,\nfor all eternity, Jesus, the most loving and tender of husbands.\"\n\nAt the name of Jesus, the face of the handsome youth grew pale; and he\nturned away.\n\nThe holy maid, sometimes followed by one of her companions, went to\nspeak of God and of heavenly things, with an old hermit, who lived in\nthe depths of a neighbouring forest.\n\nOne evening, when she was returning from one of these visits, and,\nmounted on her mule, was crossing the great wood, she perceived the\npage awaiting her at a bend of the path. Swiftly she turned the animal,\nand, in her hasty flight, left her veil hanging on the branches of a\nhawthorn bush.\n\nHer steed moved swiftly; but swifter still follows the treacherous\nyouth; he is lighter than the wind; scarcely do the grasses bend\nbeneath his feet.\n\nBut--crowning misfortune--the poor girl, instead of following the broad\nvalley way, as her companion has done, turns into a side path that is\nsoon barred by a great rampart of rocks.\n\nAll is over; she must fall a victim to her pursuer.... Already he\nstretches out his arms to seize her. As his hands, quivering with\npassion, touch the young girl, he breaks into a peal of infernal\nlaughter that resounds through the whole valley.\n\nThen Marguerite remembers her betrothed in Heaven. She calls upon Him\nfor aid; she murmurs His name, and arms herself with His sign.\n\nAt the name of Jesus, spoken with that faith which removes mountains,\nthe rock opens before her, and the mule carries the Christian maid to\nsafety.\n\nBut the false page, a demon in disguise, fell down into a fiery gulf\nthat opened suddenly beneath his feet. Afterwards, when the earth had\nclosed again over the spot, the peasants found, lying upon the wayside\ngrass, a girdle of white silk, the symbol of Marguerite's purity and\ninnocence.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7RUINS OF THE ABBEY OF SAINT MARGUERITE\u00b7]\n\nThe maid of Vergy reined in her mule before a fountain, a few paces\nfrom the parted rock. She dismounted, and, prostrating herself, she\nconsecrated to the Lord her virginity that had been so miraculously\npreserved.\n\nIn a later year, with the dowry left her by her father, she built, on\nthis spot, a monastery, to which she gave the name of Ste. Marguerite,\nher patron saint, as a song of thanksgiving in praise of her Heavenly\nSpouse.\n\n * * * * *\n\nPhilippe Pot being a name to conjure with in Burgundy, we took the\nfirst opportunity to make acquaintance with his eagle's nest, the\nRoche-Pot. The road from Beaune skirts the C\u00f4te d'Or, as far as\nPommard, and climbs, between the vineyards, into the hills. These\nvineyards, in which are produced some of the choicest vines of the\ndistrict, are surrounded each with a stone wall and gateway, with the\nname of the _clos_ written on it--\"Clos des Ch\u00eanes,\" \"Clos des Antres,\"\netc. As you rise, there opens out a lovely view over the fruitful plain\nof Burgundy, a golden sea of vines. Below us, ahead, the dark roofs and\nspires of Meursault rise from the trees, and beyond them, shining in a\nblue mist, the widening southern hills of the C\u00f4te d'Or.\n\nAbout half a mile from Meursault, the road, turning due west, plunges\ndown into the valley of the Clous, between the hills, rock-clad\nat their summits, vine-clad below. Thence the way undulates past\nAuxey-le-Grand and Melin, until suddenly you sight, above the trees,\nthe towers of Rochepot perched upon its crag. Leaving my wife to\nsketch, I made my way up through the dilapidated village, and soon\nfound myself crossing the drawbridge of a medi\u00e6val castle, glowing as\nbrightly with gold and colour, and with blazoned coats of arms, as on\nthe day when it was first built. Here were round towers, machicolated\nbattlements, a pepper-pot roof, with not a stone or tile of them\ndisordered. I had expected a ruin--a lizards' playground; yet here\nbefore my eyes was Philippe Pot's own legend, \"TANT L VAUT,\" as fresh\nas painter and gilder could make it.\n\n\"Whose is this castle?\" I asked of the harmless, necessary guide, who\nby now had put in an appearance, and was assuring some gaping visitors\nthat Philippe was called Pot because he always carried a pot about with\nhim--a paint pot, judging by the condition of his castle.\n\n\"This is M. Carnot's castle, Monsieur, the eldest son of the late\nPresident. He has already spent millions in restoration, and he is\nabout to convert into a terrace the remains of the 11th century\nCh\u00e2teau, up there.\" He pointed to a fine, rounded-headed window, of two\nlights, high above us on the rock. While we were being hurried round\nthis fortress of all the centuries, I fell to thinking of Philippe Pot,\nof his home, and his legend.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7LA ROCHEPOT\u00b7]\n\nBegun in the thirteenth century, by Alexandre de Bourgogne, Prince\nde Mor\u00e9e, the castle was fortified in the early fifteenth by Ren\u00e9\nPot,[181] whose son Philippe[182] was the only man of them all to leave\nit a popular name.\n\nIn the middle of the fifteenth century, the Ottoman Sultan, Mahomet\nII., was threatening Constantinople, then in the hands of Constantine,\nEmperor of Byzantium, who appealed to Pope Nicholas V. for help against\nthe Islamite invasion. To young Philippe Pot, nearly twenty-five years\nof age, the bravest, most handsome, and most eloquent chevalier of his\nday, and a poet withal--a crusade was as the candle to the moth. Never\nmight come such another opportunity to win his spurs away from home.\nSo he wrote to his fianc\u00e9e, the richest and loveliest heiress of all\nBurgundy, Jeanne, daughter of Pierre de Baufremont, Comte de Charny,\ngreat chamberlain of Philippe le Bon.\n\n\"Gentille Damoiselle, I am setting forth to Constantinople; I wish\nbefore our bridal to render myself worthy of you and of your valiant\nfather.\" Before dawn, on an August morning, in the year 1452, he left\nRochepot, and rode to Notre Dame de Dijon, where he met four hundred\nother young knights sworn to follow his lead. There they heard Mass\nbefore the altar of the Virgin, and bespoke her blessing on their\nbanner, that bore her picture, and the device: \"Notre Dame de Bon\nEspoir, soyez-nous en aide.\" Then they rode eastward through the\nstreets of Dijon. \"Honneur aux preux!\" shouted the crowds; \"Honneur aux\nchevaliers de Notre Dame!\"[183]\n\nWe have no time to follow all the adventures of our chevalier in the\nland of Islam--how with his own hand, he slew and slew, until the\nbravest of the Saracens learned to fear the prowess of the \"Chevalier\nde la Mort\"; how, at last, he was captured by the Turks, before\nConstantinople, imprisoned, flogged, almost to death, because he would\nnot become the Sultan's man, nor bow to the name of the Prophet--how he\nconsoled himself in prison by writing verses to the Lady Virgin to whom\nhe was vowed.\n\n [Illustration: PORCH OF HOTEL DIEU--BEAUNE\n _Facing page 242_]\n\n \"Sauve-moi, Dame glorieuse,\n De la prison tant rigoureuse,\n O\u00f9 l'on ne voit que cruaut\u00e9;\n Garde-moi d'y \u00eatre bout\u00e9,\n Car \u00e0 chacun tu es piteuse,\n M\u00e8re de Dieu.\"[184]\n\nHis prayer was answered. For, before long, the Sultan, wishing to make\nan end of his prisoner, brought him one day into the arena, and caused\nto be handed to him, for his only weapon, a light scimitar, that was\nbut a toy compared with the young chevalier's mighty sword, beneath\nwhose deadly strokes so many Turks had already fallen. Then was loosed\nupon him, thus armed, a magnificent lion, that had already been the\ndeath of many prisoner knights.\n\n\"This is no combat,\" murmured the assembled thousands, one to another,\n\"'Tis an execution--already the old lion has slain his hundreds--and he\nhas eaten nothing these three days,\" Meanwhile the adversaries stood\nface to face. With two great bounds the lion is upon his man; but, as\nhe crouches for the third spring, the hero makes a swift movement; the\nscimitar flashes, falls upon the animal's front paws. Roaring with pain\nand fury, the beast rolls upon his back, and licks the stumps of his\nwounded legs. Again, like lightning, the scimitar plays. In a moment\nthe lion's tongue is lying at the feet of the Sultan. With a last\neffort the wounded beast rises, open-mouthed. Philippe, seizing his\nopportunity, plunges the blade down the ravening throat. The great lion\nfalls dead. Loud rings the applause of the crowd, as the hero, waving\naloft his smoking weapon, cries, \"Gloire \u00e0 Notre Dame. Tant elle vaut!\"\n\nThe Sultan, who loved courage first and last, descended into the arena,\nhung a rich chain about his prisoner's neck, and said: \"Such valour\ndeserves freedom. Return to your lady, and to your home.\"\n\nSo the victorious Philippe reached France again, and, in poor man's\nguise, begging his bread by the way, came to Rochepot, on the day\nfollowing the F\u00eate des Tr\u00e9pass\u00e9s, the great Autumn festival that the\nCatholic church has appointed in celebration of the dead. There he\nfound the castle all hung with black, and a great company mourning a\nliving man's death. So he made himself known, and sorrow changed into\nexceeding great joy.\n\nOn the 11th November, 1453, through the fresh warm air of a St.\nMartin's summer, a brilliant cort\u00e8ge issues from the Ducal Palace at\nDijon, and turns towards the church of Notre Dame. At their head rides\nPhilippe le Bon, crowned with the crown of Burgundy, and wearing,\nabout his neck and breast, the collar of the Golden Fleece, and a\npurple mantle, lined with ermine. He is leading by the arm a slim girl,\nveiled, and clothed in white. Behind them follows a young chevalier,\nin shining armour, with a lion's skin clasped upon his shoulder. 'Tis\nPhilippe Pot; his feet still bleeding from the stones of the pilgrim\nway. In one hand he carries a candle, the other arm supports the\nDuchess of Burgundy, splendid in a robe of cloth of gold. Beside them\nwalk two heralds-at-arms, one bearing a scimitar, the other a veiled\npicture. From balcony and window the people acclaim their passage:\n\"Noel! Noel!\"\n\nThey enter Notre Dame--its walls splendid with tapestries of Arras--and\nkneel in the chapel of Notre Dame de Bon-Espoir. Philippe lights his\ncandle, and places it upon the altar. The picture is uncovered, and\nhung before the black virgin. It shows the knight, under his Lady's\nprotection, slaying the lion in the arena. Below are written the words--\n\n \"Tant L vaut et a valu\n A celui qui a recouru\n A celle pour qui dit ce mot\n Le suppliant Philippe Pot\n Qui de tout mal l'a secouru\n TANT L VAUT.\"[185]\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7TOMB OF PHILIPPE POT\u00b7]\n\nHaving accomplished his vow, the knight puts on his spurs. The Duke of\nBurgundy approaches, embraces him, gives him the collar and mantle of\nthe Toison d'Or. The fianc\u00e9e is led forward. Lover and lady join hands,\nand--the due ceremonies accomplished--Philippe and his bride leave the\nchurch.\n\n\"Noel! Noel!\" shout the people. \"Honneur au chevalier de Notre Dame!\"\n\nNow you know why you may read, in letters of gold, upon the walls and\nwindows of Philippe's castles--at Rochepot, at Ch\u00e2teau-neuf, and at\nothers--that device--TANT L VAUT.[186]\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn our way home from Rochepot, we halted for a rest at Auxey le Grand,\nand dropped into an inn, where we found two workmen hobnobbing over a\nbottle of red wine. One of them--the listener--was just an ordinary\nworkman; common, base, and popular, as Pistol would have said. His\ncompanion, however, was a man of mark--a handsome, bronzed rascal,\nwhose fiercely curled moustache and Paderewski hair, well set off by\nenormously baggy corduroys, a scarlet belt, and a blue shirt, suggested\nthe merry bandit of an Elizabethan drama. Our curiosity being aroused,\nwe addressed the brigand, who was not slow to reveal his identity.\nHe was one Fran\u00e7ois Paulin, a vine-dresser, and no brigand, as he\nproved by the production of a greasy document, stating that \"The\nadministrative council of the Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 Vigneronne of the arrondissement\nof Beaune certifies that Monsieur Paulin (Fran\u00e7ois) successfully passed\nthe examinations of March 24th, 1889, and is skilled in pruning (apte \u00e0\ngreffer) the vine, and in teaching that operation.\" Vines and vineyards\nnaturally became our topic.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the brigand; \"What a season we have had. Nothing but rain\nand cold, cold and rain! It is just ruin for us poor workmen.\" He\ndrained his glass, and put it down, with a tense Gallic movement of the\narm. He failed, somehow, to convey the idea that he was ruined. Such\nare the triumphs of personality.\n\n\"Did the crop fail utterly hereabouts?\" I asked.\n\n\"Utterly, Monsieur,\" said Mathilde Duhesme, the innkeeper's daughter,\nas she brought us our coffee. \"Not a bunch of grapes.\"\n\nMathilde was a perfectly charming French girl, of the type that you\nwill come upon, here and there, even in the remotest part of that\ncountry. England breeds few such women, in her station of life. That\neasy, graceful manner, and natural amiability and dignity are found\nhere--when they are found at all--only among the educated or the\nhigh-born.\n\n\"Yes, yes; mon Dieu, you have come in the wrong year for the vines,\"\nsaid the brigand, thumping the table. \"You should have chosen a good\nseason. Then lots of visitors come. They come in carts, full of _belles\nanges_ with gentlemen standing behind in top-hats. And they all take\nphotographs. This very day we ought to have been in full vendange.\"\n\n [Illustration: Taking his Ease]\n\nHis pride would have been solely hurt, had he guessed how little his\ndescription allured us.\n\n\"Let's drink to a full vendange,\" said I. Mathilde ran off for another\nbottle.\n\n\"What do you earn, you vignerons, in a good year?\"\n\n\"Four francs, and a litre of wine, per man, per day. And it is worth\nit; for we make good stuff here on the hillside, though this village of\nAuxey is the end of it. Yes, good wines!\"\n\n\"Tell me more about them,\" I said.\n\n\"The best wines of all are called Aligote, and the second-best--still\nvery good--are called Pinot. The boite ordinaire that grows away there\nin the plain, is called Gamay. When the Gamay is not red enough, we put\nit into some Otellot; that's as black as your hat, and colours the rest\nup beautifully. Do you drink much wine in your country, Monsieur?\"\n\n\"No, only the rich drink wine in our country. The poor never taste it.\nThey drink mostly beer!\"\n\n\"Sapristi!\"\n\nIt was now our turn to be questioned. Mathilde, in particular, was very\nmuch interested in my wife's appearance and clothes. Were we married?\nWere we married in church? Why were we travelling? Were the English\npeasantry poor, and were they provident?\n\n\"More poor than provident,\" we said.\n\n\"Ah! now; the French poor are provident. They kill one pig a year,\nand lose not a hair of it. First comes the bacon; the fat is used for\npreparing meat; the blood for pudding; the entrails for sausages. It\nlasts from winter to winter--ah, Madame is making a picture!\"\n\nMadame was sketching the brigand.\n\n\"I shall put you into our book,\" said she. The brigand beamed approval.\nFive minutes later my wife thoughtlessly gave him the sketch. He tried\nnot to look hurt--he was not, then, to go into the book, after all. Her\nwoman's readiness saved the situation.\n\n\"I never forget what I have once drawn,\" she said.\n\n\"Vous y serez quand m\u00eame.\" He was quite pacified.\n\nThen we left the men over their wine, while Mathilde took us the round\nof the church and village. She certainly was a charming person. I am\nnot so sure that we shall live at Beaune after all.\n\n * * * * *\n\nLest we should entirely forget the Roman occupation that was so much in\nour minds at Autun, we decided to make a pilgrimage to Cussy, a village\ndue west of Beaune, where the Romans have set up a column, in memory\nof an event, or of a person, unknown. If a motor car be not available,\nyou can best get there by taking the steam tramway, between Beaune and\nArnay-le-Duc, as far as Lusigny; thence by bicycle, or as you will. The\njourney is worth making, for the sake of the climb you get through the\ngorge of Nantoux, and up the valley of Mavilly, where the train mounts,\nby a series of steep zig-zags, into the heart of the C\u00f4te d'Or. The\nview that opens out is quite Swiss in quality and magnificence. You\nlook from the summit of a gigantic devil's cauldron, down rocky steeps,\nshaped like cathedral organ-pipes, whose eerie mountain music cheers\nthe vignerons at their work below. All this great expanse of brown,\ncliff-bound upland, dappled in spring-time with blossoming fruit trees,\nis curiously chequered by dark hedges and white serpentine roads.\nStage by stage the land falls away from you, until all detail is lost,\nand far away, over range after range of shining hills, the boundless\nplains of lower Burgundy merge imperceptibly into the sky.\n\nSo the train puffs up to the col, then rattles down into the quaint\nvillage of Lusigny. The road to Cussy climbs the opposite hill for two\nkilometres or so, before switchbacking through the village of Montceau\nto this lovely spot that the Romans, or Gallo-Romans, have so chosen to\nhonour.\n\nNot a human being could we discover in all Cussy. Some destroying\nangel, I thought, must have passed over, leaving only chickens alive,\nand, by oversight, one old woman, of whose close-fitting, white cap we\ncaught a glimpse through an open window.\n\nBut my wife would not accept that solution.\n\n\"No; there has been no destroying angel here. There has just been a\nmost wicked old witch, who, in revenge for some insult, has changed\nall the villagers into ducks and hens. Let's speak to them. I'm sure\nthey'll answer.\"\n\nShe addressed a lanky, yellow hen, that had left scratching, to watch\nus. Poised on one leg it stood, with its head bent inquiringly.\n\n\"Please, Mrs. Hen; can you tell me the way to the colonne?\"--only, of\ncourse, it being a French hen--if it was really a hen at all--she spoke\nto it in French. The hen moved its head to the other side.\n\n\"La colonne, Madame, est l\u00e0 bas, dans la prairie.\"\n\nMy wife danced for joy. It _was_ a talking hen. The people were really\nbewitched! \"How lovely!\" But I knew all the time that she was wrong.\nThe hen had not spoken--not a word. No such luck. It was that dark\ngirl, who had been watching us from the shed by the house. So we just\nthanked her, for politeness sake, and walked sadly down the hill\ntowards the Colonne. I looked round. The hen was scratching again.\n\nWe found the Colonne at last--a fine one, of the composite Corinthian\nstyle, its shaft beautifully ornamented with the favourite Roman\nleaf pattern. Round the base are eight statues in relief. Every\nantiquary in the kingdom has puzzled his brains over the motif of this\ncolumn; and, except Courtep\u00e9e, who says that \"selon toute apparence\nc'est un monument s\u00e9pulcral,\"[187] and Lempereur and Montfau\u00e7on,\nwho respectively believed it to be a Gaulish tomb, and a religious\nmonument, all agree that it is in memory of a great victory.\n\nBut what victory? One has said that it commemorates the triumph of\nC\u00e6sar over the Helvetii B.C. 58; another that it was raised by the\nEmperor Claude, conqueror of the Goths; others believe it to have been\nerected by the Aedui to Maximian Hercules, after his victory over\nthe Bagaudes in 286 A.D.; finally the Burgundian, Girault, maintains\nthat the monument remembers the victory of Silius over Sacrovir in 22\nA.D.[188]\n\nBeyond expressing a doubt whether the column is of later date than 100\nA.D., and my conviction that it is triumphal not monumental, I venture\nno opinion upon any of these interesting theories. The antiquarians\nmust settle that among themselves.\n\nMeanwhile, let me inform the visitor who may find himself there in\nthe autumn, that blackberries of a very choice quality grow in those\nprairies of the Colonne. I devoured them steadily, while the cows\nchewed their cud, and my wife sketched. She sketched; but she was not\nhappy, as she usually is when thus occupied. A cruel wind came out of\nthe north, and chilled her to the bone. She shivered; almost she wept.\nI, too, in spite of blackberries, was all comfortless within, and felt\nan uncanny sensation in the small of my back.\n\n\"Come along, Marjorie; you were quite right. It _was_ the hen who\nspoke. This place is bewitched.\" She cheered up.\n\n\"How lovely! I was so afraid witches had quite died out.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThen we went home in the gloaming, by the same plucky, cheerful, little\ntrain that puffed up the hills, and chattered tumbling down them.\nOpposite to us, in the dimly-lit, bare apartment, a fat farmer and a\nslim little sister of mercy slept, nodding in time to the jerks and\nvibrations that shook them from head to foot.\n\nAt the first station a wrinkled old woman, leaning out of the window,\nheld so animated a debate with another on the platform, concerning\npeaches, that the company were constrained to chip in, as one may do in\ndemocratic France. Across the compartment came the laconic tones of an\nunseen listener.\n\n\"Twenty sous the livre, for peaches! eh! ma foi!\"\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7ROMAN COLUMN AT CUSSY\u00b7]\n\nThe train started, snorting violently; the old lady sat, firm-lipped,\nvigilantly on guard among her baskets of fruit. There arose around\nher a running commentary concerning peaches, and the ethics of trade\ntherein.\n\n\"Moi, je vous dis\"--\"Eh bien moi je vous dis....\"\n\n\"And half of them were rotten--the robber!\" \"Et quand m\u00eame!\" The old\nlady defended herself warmly.\n\n\"Rattle, rattle, rattle,\" commented the train, as it plunged downhill\ninto the pitchy darkness of the valley of Nantoux. Still the passengers\nbabbled. I grew weary of it, and my dreams went back to St. Martin,\nand the Christianity he planted there. Were they really honest, these\nchattering peasants? I thought of all the bad money palmed off on us in\nBurgundy--the Italian, Spanish, Belgian rubbish; any coin at all that\nyour carelessness or trustfulness will accept. I thought of the lumps\nof lead unblushingly handed to me in the dark by a Paris cabman, on the\nsteps of St. Lazare. I thought ... I yawned ... I joined the fat farmer\nand the slim nun in dreamland.\n\n\"Beaune Ville!\" said the guard. And the drowsy company searched\nvacantly--every man for his pack.\n\n * * * * *\n\nDuring a hunt for Burgundian lore and legend among the libraries of\nBeaune, we found ourselves in conversation with a very entertaining\nbookseller, who described to us his boyhood holidays in the valley of\nNantoux, and the legendary haunts of St. Martin.\n\n\"Many a summer afternoon,\" he said, \"we spent climbing the valley\nhills, and playing upon the rock in which is St. Martin's well; and\nnever once, not even in the hottest summers--and some were very\nhot--did we find the well dry. Always there was water in it. I cannot\ntell why. But it was so.\"\n\nNext morning I mounted my bicycle, and went to see for myself, whether,\nafter a week of cloudless October skies, I should find water in St.\nMartin's well.\n\nFollowing the valley road as far as Pommard--every name hereabouts\nis borrowed unblushingly from a wine-list--you turn northward, and,\nalways following the railway, come to the little, grey village of\nNantoux, where the valley narrows, until you see, on your right, almost\noverhanging the road, a ridge of jagged, grey rock, crossing the\nsparsely-wooded hill. Just before it, on the Nantoux side, at a rather\nlower elevation, projects another shoulder of the rock. There is the\nPuits de St. Martin.\n\nIf you call a passer-by, or one of the workmen in the roadside\nquarries, he will show you the way, or take you up. It is not very\neasy to find without help. You pass the overhanging cliff, and take\na narrow path, at the first bend of the road; not the wider one at\nthe top of the slight ascent. I enlisted the services of a brawny,\ngood-tempered, blue-trousered young quarryman, who landed me in a trice\nupon the terrace of weather-worn rock, known locally as the Saut (leap)\nde St. Martin. As I stood facing the gorge, my guide pointed to an\noval-shaped, red-edged basin, not a foot in diameter, filled, to within\na few inches of the surface, with clear water.\n\n\"That is St. Martin's Well, Monsieur; it is never empty. And see, here\nbeside it is the mark of his horse's hoofs clear-cut in the rock. Those\nlong marks there were made by the lash of his whip. There are more\nhoof-prints nearer the edge. He jumped clean across, in one bound. Ma\nfoi! it needed jarrets!\"\n\nWe looked down at the rough-hewn gashes in the limestone. Gold-green\nmosses, ivy, and warm, red rock plants were creeping out from every\ncranny of the terrace, where of old the people beset St. Martin.\nElderberry bushes trembled in the breeze.\n\n\"Now look down the valley, Monsieur! There is Nantoux, towards the midi\nwhere the rains come from. No rain while the sky is clear there. Come\nnow, and see the view up the valley.\"\n\nClimbing to the topmost northward ridge, we found ourselves standing\nbefore a majestic amphitheatre of dusky, brown hills of the C\u00f4te\nd'Or, whose threatening, almost terrible, aspect suggested rather the\nwicked brew of a devil's cauldron, than the juice of the merry vines\nover which black spider workmen were bending. Threatening clouds,\ndriven before a rising wind, darkened with flying shadows the narrow\nroads that serpented up to the lofty, lonely villages of Mavilly and\nMandelot. A rumbling sound broke the silence. Below us we saw, writhing\nand snorting up the hill, like a legendary, fire-breathing demon, a\nblack train, fouling with wreaths of purple smoke the lovely valley of\nNantoux.\n\nWe returned to the Puits de St. Martin. Sitting on the very edge of\nthe cliff, we looked across at the wooded hill where the Saint alit,\nand down the road, over the scrub, the vines, and the red quarries,\nstill echoing the sound of the pick; over the winding row of silvery\nwillows and dark alders that mark the valley stream bubbling towards\nthe welcoming roofs of Beaune.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7THE VALLEY OF NANTOUX\u00b7]\n\nThere, in the very spot where it happened, the young quarryman told me\nthe story of St. Martin's Well. But I shall tell it you in my words,\nnot his--for story-telling was not his forte.\n\nIn the second century of the Christian era, Saint B\u00e9nigne and his\ncompanions, coming from Asia, brought the Gospel of Christ into\nBurgundy. The good news spread rapidly through the towns, but gained\nonly a slow hearing in the villages and the hamlets. Idol worship,\ndriven from the cities, found refuge among the remote hills and valleys\nof the land.\n\nMavilly, which, for centuries past, had possessed a college of Druids,\nremained faithful to its gods, its priests, and its temple. Vauchignon,\ntoo, whose hills, rocks, and woods, full of murmuring sounds and\nmysterious terrors, was one of those natural sanctuaries dear to the\nheart of the Gaul, still practised the heathen cult.[189]\n\nIt is a warm autumn day; the holy missionary, Saint Martin, whose\ngood horse has borne him over the rugged mountain which rises between\nMavilly and the plain, has passed, one by one, through the villages\nof the C\u00f4te d'Or. At a crossing of the ways, in the midst of a great\nwood, he meets a little, ragged, red-haired man, with fiery eyes and an\nanxious countenance. The bishop offers him alms.\n\n\"Keep your silver piece,\" replies the stranger, \"for I am more rich\nthan you.\"\n\nSaint Martin, taking him for a herdsman of the country, asks him the\nway to Mavilly.\n\n\"I know your object,\" replies the unknown man, laying hold upon the\nhorse's bridle, \"and I will be your guide.\"\n\nThey go on in silence, and come, at length, to the slope of a\nvine-covered hill where peasants are busy at the vintage. Martin, like\nBoaz of old in the fields, salutes them:--\"The Lord be with you!\"\n\n\"Vintagers!\" cries the guide, \"Come hither in haste; I bring you the\ngreat enemy of the gods. This man, on his way, destroys their statues\nand breaks down their altars; he is come to destroy the temple that is\nthe glory and safety of your country. Rise and defend your gods!\"\n\nThe angry peasants come running towards the speaker. They surround\nthe Saint and threaten him with the billhooks with which they are\ncutting the grapes. Serenely the aged bishop looks round upon them; his\ncalmness disarms their anger. He is about to speak to them, but the red\nman knows well that his cause is lost, if once the missionary obtains a\nhearing.\n\n\"Let us shut his impious mouth!\" he cries to the vintagers. \"His\nblasphemies will bring down upon us the wrath of heaven. Cry aloud,\n'Death! death to the denouncer of the gods!' Away with him to the edge\nof the cliff, and hurl him down into the torrent!\"\n\nLoud rise the angry shouts of the crowd, as the guide leads away the\nhorse. Already they have reached the brink of the abyss. All is over;\nthe saint must die. Hemmed about on all sides, Martin cries:\n\n\"Come to my aid, O my God! make haste to help me!\"\n\nHe signs himself with the cross, strikes, with his whip, the rock and\nthe flanks of his horse. The animal, with one mighty bound, clears the\nvalley, and alights upon the opposite peak. Immediately, around the\nspot which he has just left, the earth trembles with an awful rending\nsound; a rock is torn from the flank of the hill, and plunges into\nthe torrent beneath, bearing with it the false prophet, whose fall is\nmarked by a flash of sulphurous lightning. The troubled waters boil and\nbubble, as they close over his body.\n\nAt the sight of such wonders, the vintagers stand dumb with\nastonishment. Imprinted upon the granite rock they see the stroke of\nthe rider's whip, and the hoof-print of his horse, from which, already,\na stream of limpid water is flowing.\n\nThe old man, calm and majestic as before, standing motionless upon\nthe opposite peak, casts upon the peasants a compassionate glance.\nTerror-stricken, they acclaim him a divine being. Then, swarming down\nthe mountain path to the valley, they climb the opposite peak, and\nagain surround him. But, this time, they lie prostrate at his feet,\nand, with prayers for pardon, are about to adore him.\n\n\"Rise,\" says the bishop; \"I am but a mortal, a vintager of Christ; and\nyour souls are the grapes I have come to gather in His name.\"\n\nHe bids them sit down upon the hill side, and there, before the temple\nof the false gods, on the brink of the abyss into which Satan fell\nlightning-struck, he speaks to them of the emptiness of their past\nworship, and reveals the power, the beauty, and the tenderness of the\nGod of the Gospel. The peasants, won at last from Paganism, descend\nto the temple, overthrow the images, and bury them in many a deep\ntrench.[190] They would destroy the temple itself, but the pontiff\nrestrains them.\n\n\"Not so; let us offer it to the true God, as a trophy won from the\npowers of darkness; let Jesus be adored upon the altar whence Jupiter\nhas fallen; and let the Virgin Immaculate stand in the place of Venus.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" replies the crowd, with one voice; \"Let Christ reign and\nrule, here where He has overthrown the Devil.\"\n\n [Illustration: End of chapter XVII; St. Martin Preaching]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[181] Rochepot has been inhabited by many other noble families of the\n house of Burgundy, notably those of Montmorency, Silly, Angennes,\n Legoux, Blancheton.\n\n[182] Born 1428.\n\n[183] L\u00e9gendes Bourguignonnes; \"Philippe Pot\" p. 154. By l'Abb\u00e9 B----.\n\n[184] Sovereign Lady, of thy grace,\n Save me from this fearsome place,\n Where but cruelty is seen;\n Come thou me and harm between,\n Pity all who seek thy face,\n Mother of God.\n\n[185] Great her worth was, aye, and is\n To her seekers all, I wis;\n So of her he speaketh--so,\n The poor suppliant Philippe Pot--\n Shielding him from miseries,\n GREAT HER WORTH.\n\n[186] Those interested in Philippe Pot can find his tomb in the\n medi\u00e6val gallery of the Louvre at Paris. It is one of the best\n monuments of its kind in existence, certainly inspired by the\n work of Claus Sluter, and possessing the dramatic qualities of\n that school. It was completed in 1477-1483, and placed originally\n in the Abbey of Citeaux. See picture on preceding page.\n\n[187] Description de Bourgogne, tom. iii, p. 33.\n\n[188] \"Lettre sur les Richesses historiques de la Bourgogne.\"\n Abel Jeandet.\n\n[189] St. Martin, bishop of Tours, who visited Burgundy, probably\n in the year 376 A.D., was mainly instrumental in putting an\n end to Paganism among the Gauls.\n\n[190] The debris referred to were discovered in the 18th century.\n Among the images identified were those of Jupiter, Neptune,\n Minerva, Pan, Vulcan, Venus, Apollo, Diana, and Esculapius.\n Histoire de Beaune. M. Rossignol, p. 39.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter XVIII; Burgundian Ox-cart]\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nIN RURAL BURGUNDY\n\n\nThe little town of Verdun sur le Doubs has no particular attraction\nfor the arch\u00e6ologist nor for the tourist, yet it is a place with which\nall visitors to Beaune who wish to keep themselves in touch with the\nreal Burgundy, with the life of the village and the ville de Canton, as\nwell as with the larger movements of the great cities, cannot afford to\nneglect.\n\nFor myself, the little town will always be associated with happy\nsouvenirs, and with gracious pictures of country life, as it has been\nsince first I rode there, on a warm September afternoon, along a\npleasant, undulating road, through typical, low-lying lands of fertile\nBurgundy, sometimes running quite straight for several kilometres,\nsometimes curving slightly through golden vineyards, and fields of\nbearded maize, and crimson clover. I passed through St. Loup, a village\nwith a delightful Romanesque church, and through other attractive\nhamlets crowned with Gothic towers; by hay fields, where a late second\ncrop was being taken in, by rich arable lands, where yoked oxen were\nploughing with attendant women clearing the way for the plough-share\nwith a stick. I passed patches of fragrant wild flowers, and ill weeds\ngrowing in tangled masses by the road side, by rich grasses that lean\ncattle were stolidly munching.\n\nOne of the boys who looked after them was singing a song. I could not\ncatch the words exactly, nor the air, but I fitted the snatch of melody\nto the best of all Burgundian folk-songs, an exquisite little poem with\na curious and very pretty history, that I am going to tell. This is the\nsong. It is sung to-day, with local variations, not by the shepherds\nof Burgundy only, but throughout all France almost; in Dauphin\u00e9, in\nChampagne, in the lonely forests of the Ardennes.\n\n Eho! \u00e9ho! \u00e9ho!\n Les agneaux vont aux plaines,\n Eho! \u00e9ho! \u00e9ho!\n Et les loups sont aux bos.\n\n Tant qu'aux bords des fontaines,\n Ou dans les frais ruisseaux\n Les moutons baign'nt leur laine,\n I dansont au pr\u00e9au.\n Eho! \u00e9ho! \u00e9ho!\n\n Mais, queq'fois par vingtaines\n I s'\u00e9loign'nt des troupeaux\n Pour aller sous les ch\u00eanes\n Qu'ri des herbag's nouviaux.\n Eho! \u00e9ho! \u00e9ho!\n\n T'es mon agneau, ma reine;\n Les grand's vill's, c'est les bos ...\n Par ainsi donc Mad'leine\n N't'en vas pas du hameau.\n Eho! \u00e9ho! \u00e9ho!\n\n Et ses ombres lointaines\n Leurs y cach'nt leurs bourreaux;\n Car, malgr\u00e9 leurs plaint's vaines,\n Les loups croqu'ent les agneaux.\n Eho! \u00e9ho! \u00e9ho!\n\n Eho! \u00e9ho! \u00e9ho!\n Les agneaux vont aux plaines\n Eho! \u00e9ho! \u00e9ho!\n Et les loups sont aux bos.\n\nThe French is so simple that, though I have appended no translation,\nnearly all my readers will be able to feel some of the charm and lilt\nof the original.\n\nGenerally speaking, of course, a folk song is not the work of one\nindividual, but of many; it is essentially a local product, that grows\nwith the years, and reflects truly the spirit of the land which gave it\nbirth. Yet, strangely enough, this particular song, though it has all\nthe virtues of its kind--the simplicity, the melody, the descriptive,\npastoral, and amorous characteristics of a semi-southern race--is an\nexception to the general rule.\n\nWhen it first appeared, in 1840, in the Burgundian section of an\nimportant work, \"Les Fran\u00e7ais peint par eux-m\u00eames,\" the whole\nFrench nation welcomed it as one of the best of its kind; and other\nprovinces, as I have said, did not hesitate to adopt it. It was held\nto be one of the most naive, and authentically popular songs of all\nBurgundy,--Burgundy itself, even, had no doubt whatever upon the\nsubject. It was discussed everywhere in literary circles; and that\neminent writer, M. Catulle Mend\u00e8s, one evening, in the presence of\nmany other French lit\u00e9rateurs, openly expressed the opinion that it\nwas written by a young Burgundian shepherd, very much in love. Then a\nstrange thing happened. One of the oldest men present, the Burgundian\npoet, M. Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault, walked up to Mend\u00e8s, and said, with a\nsmile: \"Eh, bien Monsieur, then I am that young Burgundian shepherd.\"\n\nAll the world wondered. The thing was impossible! It was not\nimpossible; it was true. Indeed, rightly regarded, it was simple, and\nnatural. M. Fertiault, living among the peasants and loving them, had\nabsorbed all that of which the folk song is born. The poetic spirit of\na rural people had, indeed, passed into him. What he had heard sung\nwithin him, he wrote. M. Fertiault, still hale and hearty, after ninety\nseven years of active life, told us the story himself, in his library,\nin the Rue Clausel, at Paris.\n\n\"I had to get material for this work,\" he said; \"And though, for a\ndance song, I had ready a Bourr\u00e9e Charollaise, and for a religious\nsong, one of De La Monnoye's Noels Bourguignons, I could find no\nexample of the Chanson, properly so called; nothing, nothing at all,\nthat was complete enough to be representative. The first part of my\narticle was already published; the remainder must go to press. What\ncould I do? Then an idea came to me. Only to attempt to carry it out\nwas absurd. A minute later the attempt seemed to be audacious; then\nmerely bold; then perfectly possible. Soon I knew that I must do\nit. The idea was growing in my brain. I felt something at work here\n(tapping his forehead), something alive. I could see my country; I\ncould see my peasants. I was listening, listening. It all came to\nme--an impression straight from life, with the scent of the fields in\nit. I heard couplets, and a refrain. Yes, through the sweetness of the\ndream, came a song. I heard words and music.\n\n [Illustration: IN THE COUNTRY]\n\nFor the words it was simple enough; but what to do for the tune?\nTechnically I was ignorant of music; I could not read the hieroglyphics\nthat are the language of Gounod and Rossini. I thought. Then I\nremembered Scheffer; he knew of my search for a song. He would\nunderstand. It was nearly eleven at night. With a feverish hand I was\nknocking at Scheffer's door.\n\n\"You are not in bed?\"\n\n\"Not yet; but it's about time.\"\n\n\"Are you sleepy?\"\n\n\"I could be--if I liked.\"\n\n\"In that case, let me come in.\" My friendly neighbour opened wide the\ndoor of his room. I hurried in.\n\n\"What is it?\" said he, briskly.\n\n\"I have got my Burgundian song,\" said I, with an air of triumph.\n\n\"Bravo! Where did you unearth it?\"\n\n\"I didn't. I made it. And as it needs you, here it is.\" Scheffer stood\nin unspeakable astonishment. I told him my story. Then I added: \"My\ncrime is double,--the air came to me with the words.\" My neighbour's\neyes opened wide. He thought me very mad indeed. \"And,\" I added,\n\"musician that I am, I bring you my air; I can hear it buzzing in my\nhead; but my throat will not translate it properly.\"\n\n\"What shall we do?\" said he.\n\n\"I will hum it over to you, and we will piece it together on the piano.\"\n\n\"Bon. J'y suis. And together it was done--well done. We kept silence.\nThe next day the compositors were busy; and soon everyone was reading\nthe Burgundian Folk-Song, 'Eho.' I had succeeded.\" Now you understand\nwhy one remembers a d\u00e9jeuner with Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault.[191]\n\n * * * * *\n\nHere we are at the shining Sa\u00f4ne, crossed by a suspension bridge that\nrocks under the weight of every carriage we meet; and here, at the end\nof the long avenue of poplars, beside the junction of the two rivers,\nis Verdun sur-le-Doubs.\n\nNow that we are here I do not know that I have much to say about the\ntown itself, except that it is a peaceful little place, lying snugly\nbeside its waters that flow over golden sands.[192] In the 14th\ncentury, however, Verdun was a bonne ville ferm\u00e9e, one of the most\nancient baronies of Burgundy, with fortress, fairs, markets, fiefs,\nvassals, and all the other appointments of a medi\u00e6val town; but the\ntides of war, sweeping, time after time, over this part of the country,\nhave left not even a ruin to remind us of its past.\n\n [Illustration: Junction of Rivers Doubs and Sa\u00f4ne]\n\nYet some incidents of that past are worth remembering; notably the\nsiege of 1350, following on a disastrous war between the Sieurs de\nViennes and the Seigneurs de Verdun, and again, in 1477 and 1478, when\nthe Verdunois, always prominent in their adherence to the Burgundian\ncause, refused to accept the merger of their province into Louis XI.'s\ngreat kingdom of France.\n\nBut the most memorable of all the bloody scenes in which Verdun has\nplayed a part, was the great struggle of 1592, when the little town,\nthe strongest holding for Henry IV. in all Burgundy, sustained a\ndesperate attack under the Ligueurs, commanded by the Vicomte de\nTavannes. At the head of the Verdunois was H\u00e9liodore de Thiard de\nBissy, and his brave wife, Marguerite de Busseul-Saint-Sernin, who, to\nsustain the courage of the defenders, voluntarily shared the fatigues\nand dangers of the fight.\n\nShe took upon herself the duty of distributing, with her own hands,\npowder and ammunition to her soldiers; until a spark set light to the\nbarrels, and the brave girl, blown to pieces, met a warrior's death.\nYoung, beautiful, generous, intrepid, and of noble birth, though she\nwas, her heroic deed, by some strange caprice of destiny, has not\nrescued her name from oblivion.\n\nBut the thoughts uppermost in my mind, in connection with Verdun, are\nnot historical, nor are they arch\u00e6ological. They hover rather about\nrural Burgundy; the folk-lore, the old superstitions, and the intimate\nlife of the peasants, such as that of which M. Fertiault has made such\ngood use in his charming little story \"The First of March.\"\n\nEvery year on the last day of February, when they think it will soon\nbe midnight, the women of the village leave their beds--I mean, of\ncourse, the young women, the maids, with roses in their cheeks, and\nlove in their hearts--and await impatiently the first minute of the\nfirst hour of March, the decisive minute for them. At the first stroke\nfrom the belfry tower their windows fly open, each girl leans out, and\nwhispers in the darkness her prayer to Mars: \"Bonjour, Mars; Comment te\nportes-tu Mars? Montre-moi dans mon dormant celui que j'aurai dans mon\nvivant.\"[193]\n\nThen they go back to bed, and their lovers come floating into their\ndreams.[194]\n\nNot very long ago in Arcy, the hamlet which gave its name to the famous\ngrottos that so many travellers have visited and described, dwelt two\nsplendid cocks, whose voices were the pride of the village. But a day\ncame when they were heard no more. The birds stood downcast, each upon\nhis favourite waste-heap, wheezing vainly from a voiceless throat. Then\nit was known that they had been bewitched by a wicked sorcerer. Their\nowner was in consternation. For who would wake him now in the morning\nand hearten him cheerily for his day's work? So he went off to discuss\nhis trouble with one in the village who was known to be wise in these\nmatters; and this man told him at once the remedy.\n\n\"You must give the cocks,\" he said, \"barley cooked at the rising of the\nmoon.\" The owner went home straightway; did as he was bid, and in the\ngrey light of the following morning, to his great joy, he was awakened\nby his two chanticleers announcing lustily, from rival dung-heaps, the\ncoming of the dawn.\n\n [Illustration: OXEN PLOUGHING\n _Facing page 264_]\n\nNot less fantastic, nor less poetical in conception, are some of the\nmeasures adopted for the cure of personal ills. \"Indeed,\" says M.\nFertiault, \"it is difficult to conceive the amount of imaginative\nlabour these rustic intelligencies impose upon themselves, in their\nefforts to heal those who are dear to them. They vie with one another\nin rummaging among old customs, to find the best cure. Antoinette will\ntake her sick Pierre to the church, and, somehow or other, holding him\nby the hands and under the arms, will lead him nine times round the\naltar so that health may come again; well she knows, too, what healing\nvirtue there is, for children's fevers, in the sweet odour of hawthorn\nin spring; for did not the murderers of Christ weave for him a crown of\nthorns.\"[195]\n\nIt is around such places as Verdun, where the mind is not too much\ndistracted by arch\u00e6ological interests, that one's thoughts can escape\nfrom the town, into the fertile surrounding lands, and picture scenes\nthat M. Fertiault has described for us so vividly, such as the autumn\nf\u00eate of the grand teillage when they work far into the night, beside\nthe great bonfires, the boys and girls sitting around the piles of\nhemp. The work goes ahead speedily; and much chaffing and many a merry\njest inspire deft fingers to outdo one another in peeling the hemp.\nThe little mountains grow smaller, disappear. The workers gather up\nwhat is left of the peeled stalks, and pile them upon the fire which\nblazes again into a feu de joie. All dance round it gleefully; some\neven jump through the tongues of flame, believing that courage will\nmake them incombustible. Then each takes his girl, and together they go\nhome through the autumn night, the maid and the boy she had seen in her\ndreams six months ago, when, with her long hair falling about her face,\nshe had leaned from the window, to say \"Good-morning\" to March. And as\nthey go, they sing:\n\n \"Le mariage fait heureux\n Les Amoureux.\"\n\n\"And if ever one day you love me less than you love me to-night?\"\n\n\"Eh ben! ma foi?\n\n\"Eh ben! Pierre ... je mourrais.\" 'Tis time to say \"Good-night\" at the\ncottage gate.\n\nOr it is a winter scene that comes. The copper lamp, hanging from a\nbeam, does its best, though not quite successfully, to play the part\nof the moon upon a harvest field. Catherine plies her distaff busily,\nmaking her bobbin hum; Toinette knits, steadily as a machine, a thick,\nwoollen stocking; Jacquot mends, with osier rushes, a basket for next\nsummer's vintage. Justin, sitting with his face to the back of his\nchair, is cutting, upon the blade of an iron shovel, bunches of maize,\nof which the grains go raining down and dancing up from the heaps in\nthe vessel below. The old father, Claude, does just nothing at all. A\nlong life of hard work has well earned him some idle hours; and he is\ncontent to sit and doze by the fireside; just throwing in a word now\nand again; when the right cord is struck, or something reminds him of\na story of his early escapades, in the days when he was as Jacquot\nis--with a good hand for the plough, a good heart for the girls, and a\ngood stomach for a bowl of la Pochouse.[196]\n\nSo, through the quiet round of French rustic life, the generations are\nborn, are married, and pass again to the keeping of the earth that kept\nthem.\n\nThe second of these episodes, marriage, in a family of any consequence,\nin the olden time, was a charmingly elaborate and picturesque function.\nMuch of the poetry of it has now passed for ever; though, a few years\nback, a prominent citizen of the locality decided to revive all the\nceremonies at his daughter's wedding, and did so with complete success.\n\nI have not the space here to describe in detail, as I would--as\nM. Fertiault has done so effectively in \"Une Noce d'Autrefois en\nBourgogne,\"--all that took place. But I cannot pass it by wholly in\nsilence.\n\nThe wedding festivities extend over three days. The first day is full\nof processions, and fife and drum, and flying ribbons, and sweetmeats,\nand official journeys to summon from their abodes the Dames d'honneur,\nwho attend upon the bride. Then comes the municipal ceremony at the\nmairie--the official marriage--and then the return to the H\u00f4tel des\nTrois Maures, where the bride and bridegroom, who, all the time have\nbeen scattering sweetmeats right and left, receive, in their turn, an\naspersion of grains of corn, which come showering down upon them from\nthe upper windows. This is the ceremony of \"Sowing the \u00e9pous\u00e9s\"; the\ngolden rain is a blessing upon the marriage, a poetical invocation of\nthe good-will of Plenty's Goddess.\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7 BURGUNDIAN PEASANT'S HOUSE \u00b7]\n\n \"Scarcity and want shall shun you\n Ceres' blessing now is on you.\"\n\nThen before the spread feast, comes the _tremp\u00e9e_, the health-drinking,\na very significant function in a wine country. But first they clink\nglasses--for franc Bourguignon, on ne boit jamais sans trinquer--and\nhaving drunk, clink again, and all relatives and intimates--relatives\nembrace cousins, as the boy's latin book darkly hints--give the bride\nthe baiser de la tremp\u00e9e.\n\nThen there is feasting, more healths, more music; then a general cry\nfor the farandole, and in an instant they are wreathing it, uninvited\nand all, in hall, and lane, and street; fife and tambourine and\nflying feet are at it with an \u00e9lan that even that sunny land of song\nand dance, Provence, would find it hard to equal. In the evening\nthere is a great ball given to the guests, and, on the next days,\nmore processions, and a ball for the uninvited, at which the bride\nand bridegroom appear for a few minutes, open the dancing with a\ncontre-danse, and then withdraw.\n\nThe third day's round is somewhat similar, but there are fewer ladies\npresent--many of them have had enough--and one notices, walking behind\nthe drums and fifes, an individual carrying a laurel--not a branch, but\na bush, well-grown and decked with ribbons. At the maison paternelle a\nhalt is made, and all gather round to admire the laurel. Then he calls\nfor the strongest volunteers to assist the bearer.\n\n\"Are you ready, you six?\" \"Yes,\" in six voices.\n\n\"You know the job is none so easy--dangerous too?\"\n\n\"No fun if it wasn't.\"\n\n\"To it, then.\"\n\n\"Tie it well!\"\n\n\"And as high as you can!\"\n\n\"Come down now--and take care!\"\n\nThey have to tie the laurel to the highest chimney of the house.\n\nThey mount gaily, for they are very excited, and, moreover, have a\nbottle with them, a bottle of good wine; good, sparkling, red wine that\nis pushing at the cork. They are going to sprinkle the tree with it.\nHappy tree!\n\nBut the boys have had their share these days--'tis fairly the tree's\nturn. So they mount to the roof, called the _lid_ in the locality.\n\n\"Not too steep, is it?\"\n\n\"Not a bit.\"\n\n\"Can you stick it?\"\n\n\"Rather--comfortable as an armchair!\" At last it is done, well done,\nwith a good stout cord.\n\n\"Look out for the baskets, John!\" John pours prodigally, till the wine\nis trickling down the wall, and making a little rivulet in the street.\n\n\"Long life to the laurel\" yell the five others. \"Long life to the\nporteur.\"\n\n\"A la sant\u00e9 des camarades.\"\n\nAll glasses are charged; then comes the clash of a trinquade, and, in\nan instant, every glass is drained. Jests fly about, and laughter.\nThere is more drinking, more trinquades.\n\n\"La ronde, the round of the laurel! Allons!\"\n\n\"Hands for the round--and hold tight.\"\n\nBeating time with their feet, they dance round the chimney, until the\ntiles resound, singing:\n\n Il est plant\u00e9, le laurier;\n Le bon vin l'arrose.\n Qu'il am\u00e8ne aux mari\u00e9es\n M\u00e9nage tout rose!\n Tout rose,\n Tout rose.\n\n Autour buvons et chantons;\n Ayons l'\u00e2me en joie!\n Qu'en gentil rejeton\n La m\u00e8re se voit\n Se voie,\n Se voie!\n\n Que le rejeton grandi\n Plus tard se marie,\n Pour qu'un laurier reverdi\n Leux charme la vie!\n La vie,\n La vie!\n\n Que des ans et puis des ans\n Passent sur leur t\u00eate!...\n Et nous, sur ce Toit plaisant,\n C\u00e9l\u00e9brons la f\u00eate.\n La f\u00eate,\n La f\u00eate!\n\nThe laurel is well fixed, the drums cease. From every window of the\nhouse, besieged by the gamins, pours down a shower of sugar plums. The\ntimid ones get what they can, the greedy fight and struggle. After the\nmass it is still worse; there is many a sore head for souvenir. Fameux!\nFameux les enfants! But the thing has been mightily well done.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7CHATEAU DE MOUX\u00b7]\n\nWhile we are talking about these ancient customs, let us spare a word\nor two for the tongue which was heard through so many of them--the\npatois. The Burgundian patois, to use Sainte-Beuve's picturesque\nexpression--\"a eu des malheurs\"; it has never become a living language\nas the Breton and the Proven\u00e7al have, and is therefore doomed, I\nsuppose, to early destruction; as its older devotees die off, and the\nyoung peasant, versed in the language of towns, learns to despise his\nfather's tongue.\n\nM. Perrault-Dabot, in his excellent little work on the subject,[197]\ntells us that, as might have been expected, all the many races that\nhave inhabited or influenced Burgundy--the Eduens, the Romans, the\nFlemish--have left their traces upon its local tongue. Its chief\ndefect, he adds, is that, like the country itself, half plain half\nmountain, it lacks unity. Placed between the two great centres of the\nLangue d'Oil and Langue d'Oc, it has naturally drawn from both. In\naccent, its chief characteristics are vivacity, expression, and charm;\nit comes between the northern lisp and the resonant redundance of\nthe southern tongue, and is spoken in a sing-song manner not easily\nrendered typographically. It has many peculiar words, phrases, and\nidioms, but does not appear to have taken definite form until the\nseventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when it was spoken in all the\nprovinces of eastern and central France, and also in the Canton of\nGeneva (Switzerland), which once formed part of the ancient kingdom of\nBurgundy.\n\nTo the practised ear, a Burgundian reveals his origin at once, by the\nway he pronounces his _a's_. A becomes \u00e2 (ah) in all words such as\n_cave_, _table_, _Jacques_, terminated by a dumb syllable, and the O\nis shortened in all words ending in _ot_ or _op_, such as _gigot_ or\n_sirop_.\n\nThe Burgundian offers no exception to the general rule that the words\npeculiar to a dialect are often very beautiful. Provence gives us\n\"voun, voun\" for the hum of the bees, Normandy gives us \"boisettes\"\nfor the dead sticks that the peasants gather for faggots; while from\nBurgundy we get \"faublette\" for a little tale. For \"beggar,\" instead of\na brutal word like \"mendiant,\" they say \"cherchou de pain.\" There is\npurity in their dialect, as in their customs.\n\nWhile writing these pages upon the old creeds and customs of rustic\nBurgundy, I have felt strongly, as a foreigner, my inefficiency for\nsuch a task, and have wished that I could hand over my pen to the\nBurgundian poet, my friend, M. Fran\u00e7ois Fertiault, by whose kind\npermission I am able to make use of so much material that is his, and\nto whom any merit there may be in this chapter is wholly due. Had his\nstill firm and active, though aged hand, taken up my task, my readers\nwould well have been able to say, as the peasants of Burgundy, with one\nvoice, have said of his work: \"Y\u00e9 ben vr\u00e2 qu' tout c'qui s'passe cheu\nnous.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[191] \"L'Histoire d'un Chant Populaire.\" F. Fertiault.\n\n[192] Abel Jeandet, in the Feuilleton de Paris, March 1851, records\n several historical instances of the discovery of gold in the\n sands of Doubs.\n\n[193] \"Good morning, Mars. How are you Mars? Show me in my sleep him\n I am to have in my waking life.\" This is an interesting poetical\n relic of pagan worship.\n\n[194] \"Le Premier de Mars\" by F. Fertiault, published in the Feuilleton\n de Paris.\n\n[195] \"En Bourgogne.\"\n\n[196] A national dish of fresh-water fish cooked in white wine and\n seasoned with garlic and aromatic herbs. It is not unlike the\n proven\u00e7al bouillabaisse.\n\n[197] \"La Patois Bourguignon\" A. Perrault-Dabot.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter XIX; Nantua and the Lake]\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nA LAKE IN THE JURA\n\n\nWhen the train from Bourg had left the valley, and commenced its\nmountainous passage across the Jura, en route for Nantua, we felt that,\nhistorically, if not geographically, we were leaving Burgundy for an\nintermediate land that, while ceasing to be France, was not quite\nSwitzerland. Yet, for all that, the journey is worth making, for the\nsake of the loveliness of the hills, and the links it forms in your\nmind between what you have left, and the regions of lake and mountain\nthat once formed part of the old Kingdom of Burgundy.\n\nThe passage of the viaduct over the Suran soon reconciles you to the\nCimmerian darkness of Jura tunnels. Hundreds of feet below winds the\nblue river mackerel-backed, beside terraced lawns of rich, green grass,\nbetween banks of dark fir-wood, through which silvery, snowy waterfalls\ncome swirling and splashing down to the valley stream.\n\nAlmost equally beautiful is the crossing of the Ain that follows. At\nlength, after some fifty kilometres of charming surprises, you leave\nLa Cluse and jog onward, until the bend of the line shows you the red\nroofs and white church-tower of the little town of Nantua reflected in\nthe dark waters of the placid lake, ringed round with upland meadows,\nand steep, fir-clad hills.\n\nHere, for a few days, we ceased to see things. We just idled, lounged,\nlooked on. Only too soon we learned that this is not Burgundy, but a\npocket edition of Switzerland, a tourist resort, where the hotel is\nmore expensive, and the gamins hail you with cries of \"Oh! yes!\" But if\nthis spot has Swiss drawbacks, it has Swiss beauties, too; ce que est\nd\u00e9j\u00e0 quelque chose.\n\nIt was on a lovely autumn morning, that, after a breakfast made\nmemorable by mountain honey, we climbed the hills above the town, and\nbasked in the rays of the sun, that shone from a cloudless sky. Such\nsun-heat has not been felt in Burgundy all this frozen summer and\nvineless fall. We bathed in it with infinite joy. Below us flickered,\ngolden green, the grasses of an upland meadow, where the hay-makers\nwere busy raking over the last crop. Lower down, across a fringe of\nbranches tossing in the north wind, shone in soft, warm colours, grey,\nbrown, and red, the roofs and walls of ancient Nantua, crowned with the\ntower of the Romanesque Church, whose sides and sculptured shafts and\ncapitals challenged, in the fierce morning light, the pitchy shadows\nthat lurked in every rounded arch.\n\nThrough the angle, formed by the tower and the mottled roof of the\nnave, one caught a glimpse of shops in the main street. From the gable\nof one of them flapped the tricolor flag of France. People passed\nbeneath it--black specks, like flies walking. Beyond lay the blue\nlake, breeze-ruffled, striped like a fish's back in shades of azure\nand grey, passing now and then into buff and yellow, where the waters\nreflected the naked rock--the whole framed, hemmed in by rugged cliffs,\nwhose lower slopes are clothed in scrub and trees of every tint, from\nblack to green and gold. The topmost rocks--jagged, bare, vertical\nfaces broken with black patches, and streaked, on the sunny side, with\nbright, zig-zag paths--threaten the town and lake beneath. Unbroken\nshadows still enveloping the eastern cliffs, throw into stronger relief\nthe gleaming water, and opposite shore quivering in the morning light.\nWestward only can the eye escape from these rugged beauties to the\ngentler slopes of the Jura beyond La Cluse.\n\nWandering dream-hunter that I am, it is there that I find myself\ngazing, at these shining, shining waters, and beyond them, to the real\nBurgundy, to the memories of her glorious past still lingering in the\nPalace of Dijon, and the mother abbeys of the west. While my wife\nsketched Nantua, and envied the hay-makers their arms, I thought of\nCluny and of Citeaux, of things, in fact, symbolized in that Romanesque\ntower below.\n\nWalking through the town, on our way back to our hotel, we entered a\nshop, and nearly fell over a small child--some seven years old--who was\nplaying on the doormat with shells and bits of glass. She jumped up at\nonce, adjusted her long, straight, red hair, worn in two plaits; and\nturned to us a round, sweet, intelligent little face.\n\n [Illustration: NANTUA FROM THE HILL]\n\n\"Bonjour, Monsieur et Dame!\" she said.\n\n\"Bonjour, Mademoiselle,\" we replied; and looked round for the\nshop-keeper. There was no other. This was the shop-keeper--this baby,\nwith the sweet face and red plaits; now a woman, official, dignified,\nalert.\n\n\"You desire post-cards, 'Sieur et Dame? Here is a tray-full--please\nchoose.\"\n\nWe chose. Our dame de comptoir looked on, graciously. The cards were\nhanded to her to count: The little red head was ready first with the\nfigure.\n\n\"Ca fait dix-neuf sous, Monsieur. Yes, I have change. Do you desire\nstamps?\" Stamps and change were instantly forthcoming.\n\n\"Voil\u00e0, Bonjour M'sieur-Dame!\"\n\nFrom twenty yards away we looked back. A sweet child with ted pigtails\nwas playing with shells on the doormat.\n\nDon't believe people who tell you that French women are not born\ncapable.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe church of Nantua is worth a visit. It has a good Romanesque fa\u00e7ade,\ncarved with the usual energy and freedom of the Burgundy school; but\nthe capitals are mutilated, as is the tympanum at the first order of\nthe arch. The interior is in the usual Burgundian style. The nave has\nsquare pillars with engaged vaulting shafts; but the original ceiling\nhas been replaced by a thirteenth-century ribbed vault, springing\nfrom corbel-capitals at the same height as the vaulting shafts. The\nthrust of the vaults has forced the pillars outwards both ways, and\nflying buttresses of a very substantial kind have been built to hold\nthe church together. The tower, of later date than the body of the\nchurch, is the best in the district. Other points worth noticing are\nthe barrel-vaulted transept, the primitive vaulting of the ceiling, the\nfrescoes in the choir, and the westward slope of the floor.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: Heading, chapter XX; Princess Margaret's Tomb]\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nPRINCESS MARGARET'S CHURCH\n\n\nOur strongest impression of Bourg en Bresse--apart from its\nassociations with the Eglise de Brou--was that it brought us almost\nwithin hail of the beloved Midi. As at M\u00e2con, the sun, when it shone,\nwas aggressive. You welcomed the sight of leafy plane trees, you hugged\nthe shady side of the road. Good peaches were to be had for a sou la\npi\u00e8ce; and the cattle wore hats--red and yellow tassels and elaborate\nstring fly-protectors bound about their foreheads. These things are\nfull of significance for one who has seen the south.\n\nAnother memory is the ill-manners of the townspeople. The attentions of\nthe folk at Paray were but neglect when compared with the fixed stare\nof Bourg. One delinquent was so absorbed in us that he nearly wrecked\nhis motor in the open street: another fell down the hotel stairs;\nthere were three cases of abrasion. The fact that these victims had\nobviously not forgotten the \"convenances,\" only made more striking\ntheir failure to observe them. They appeared to have no control over\ncertain faculties. Both sexes had forgotten how to blush. They wrought\nme to anger, and my wife to tears.\n\nBut such trifles, after all, are merely the \"petit d\u00e9sagr\u00e9ments\" of\ntravel--remembered only with a smile; relics of primitivism, such as\nwas the service de la gare--omnibuses still running, not so much as\nvarnished since the French Revolution.\n\n\"C'est ancien\" said a hotel porter, with a wave of the hand. \"C'est un\nmonument historique,\" added a bystander. The porter smiled, as his hand\nclosed mechanically over a franc.\n\nWe rode, that first afternoon, to Cezenat, on the slopes of the Jura.\nThe aspect of the country round was harsher than that of central\nBurgundy, and the light fiercer; the landscape, as a whole, lacks\nthe soft charm of the vine-clad C\u00f4te d'Or, without attaining to the\nromantic quivering whiteness of the vrai midi. It was very delightful\nto rest before the caf\u00e9 opposite to the church of Revonnat, and\nwatch the shapely, creamy cattle, following the swarthy maid to the\nwater-trough beneath the virgin-crowned fountain. They drank steadily,\nuntil a long stick, rattling about their shiny muzzles, made them raise\nmildly-protesting heads. They walked home with unruffled dignity, a\nprocessional frieze of madonnas--their faces veiled, as befits holiness.\n\nMore, and then more, came tinkling by, driven by a diminutive boy. They\ndisappeared down a winding lane, and were followed by four horses,\nharnessed tandem, wearing the three-horned attelage of the Midi, and\nstamping, swishing their tails, and tossing heads, till all the village\nwas vocal with their music. After them waddled a fat woman, leaking\nseed, and followed by a hundred hungry fowls. Last of all, two piebald\noxen, harnessed in front of a skinny pony, tugged wearily up the hill\nthe household goods of a whole family piled upon a creaking cart.\n\nWith the exception of a few old houses and the world-famous Brou, there\nis very little architecture worth seeing in Bourg. Or, if there is,\nit did not detain us long. We made at once for Princess Margaret's\nChurch, rather more than a kilometre distant from the lower part of\nthe town, at the end of a long, straight, squalid road. There we found\nit--this jewel ill-set. The authorities, with the cynical apathy, or\nignorance, that characterises French ecclesiasticism, have surrounded\nthe building, on the west and north, with a gravelled open space, like\nthe playground of a board-school, adorned with a tawdry crucifix, and\na lavatory, the whole enclosed within an ignoble wall. Why the French\npublic tolerate such outrages is a mystery!\n\n [Illustration: \u00b7IN THE STREET\u00b7]\n\nI suppose that, in this case, darkness is just ignorance.[198] Yet\nbefore their very eyes are evidences that it was not always so. The\npictures in their church show that the \"parvis\" was originally planted\nwith shrubs, which would grow as readily to-day as they did then;\nfailing a grassy lawn, and the money or men to keep it green and trim.\n\nEnough of the setting--what of Princess Margaret's Church? Looking\nup at it, we are reminded, at once, of her Flemish sympathies. The\nhigh gables of this west front--of which the centre one is lightened\nby a rose and three triangular windows, symbols of eternity and the\nTrinity--recall the splendid architecture of Bruges and the Rhine\ncountry. Rich flamboyant carving is to be seen everywhere; yet the\neffect is more striking than successful. The fa\u00e7ade is surrounded with\nelaborate embellishments, that, jostling with one another, break the\nharmony of line; the ornament is tortured, and conveys the impression\nthat it is merely hung upon the Church; the figures in the tympanum\nbelow the flat-arched portal, are poor in execution; the tower is\nmean and insufficient. Yet we must not hasten to condemn. This fallen\nGothic, though marred by the defects of its qualities, and, beyond\nquestion, fundamentally decrepit, has yet wintry graces all her own.\nHer death days were neither ignoble, nor frozen; rather they were\ninstinct with a repentant animation, and warmed by a delicate flush,\nthe hope and vision of coming spring.\n\nYes, despite the wanton waste of ornament, despite intemperance and\nlack of restraint, there is pathos, there is beauty, even, in these\nsplendid agonies of a matchless art. That proud princess of ancient\nlineage, lying stricken in her darkened chamber, where yet lingered\nthe shadows of a passing night, bent timidly, fearfully, her dreamy,\ndying eyes upon the before and after, upon what had been and was yet\nto be; until, gathering strength for a last effort, the frail, fair,\nwhite hand, drawing apart the silken folds of the curtain, caught,\nthrough the glowing casement, a glimpse of a golden dawn brightening a\nyet lovelier world, and smiled to see the pure radiance of a happier,\nmore human belief touching with the tender light of a new-born hope the\nsterner mysticism of her earlier discarded faith. The discarded faith\nwas medi\u00e6valism; that new-born hope we call the Renaissance.\n\nCome with me into the building, and, before I tell Margaret's story,\nlook, for a moment, round this amazing church. The nave, though it\nconveys at once to the mind of the devotee of pure Gothic, a sensation\nof wintry decadence, that neither the richness of the lovely _jub\u00e9_,\nnor a glimpse, through its open door, of the wonderful marble tombs\nwithin the choir, can quite dispel, is pleasing in its grace and\nsimplicity, qualities which the exterior would not have led you to\nexpect. So restful, too, are the flowing lines of the columns and\nengaged colonnettes rising, unbroken by capitals, to the low vaults,\nthat one imagines the architect to have planned deliberately this cool,\nwhite marble hall, in which worshippers could soothe spirits wrought to\nintensity by sights seen within. They may well have needed such repose,\nsince we need it to-day; though the love which brought this church into\nbeing was left lonely four hundred years ago. Pass through that open\ndoorway, and see for yourself. You stand in a maze of sculptures, among\na thousand flowers, figures, emblems, devices, and myths, feminine\nfantasies carved everywhere, in regal profusion upon many a pedestal\nand column, upon shadowy niches and overhanging tabernacles, upon\ndainty shaft, and lightest fretwork pinnacle, their marble whiteness\nall warmed in blue, crimson, and golden light streaming from the\npainted windows. Whether you look down upon the blue enamelled bricks\nat your feet,[199] at the silent figures beneath those strangely\ndecorated canopies, and the myriad carven shapes about them, or whether\nyou look up at the resplendent saints, kings, and nobles ablaze upon\nthe panes, your sensation is one of unsatisfied wonder, and you know\nyourself to be in a building, that, for all its faults, is unrivalled\nin the world of art. Let me tell how it came to be so.\n\nThe story of Margaret d'Autriche, the unfortunate princess to whom\nwe owe this extraordinary Eglise de Brou, is closely linked with\nevents and personalities already mentioned in these pages. Born in\n1480, she was the daughter of Maximilian and Marie de Bourgogne,\nand grand-daughter of Charles le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire. In the closing years of\nhis life, that old fox, Louis XI., had chosen her out as the future\nwife of his Dauphin, and would, no doubt, have had his will, had not\nhis erstwhile ally, death, turned against him at last, and claimed\nforfeiture.\n\nThe childhood of Marguerite passed peaceably in that lovely Ch\u00e2teau of\nAmboise by the Loire, in the company of her official husband, Charles\nVIII., and his French Court, was not foreshadowed by sorrows that\nwere soon to come. The King torn between desires to unite Burgundy\nand Brittany to the French crown, and finding that he could not have\nboth, decided in favour of the latter. Acting upon that decision, he\nbroke his sworn faith to Marguerite, dismissed his fianc\u00e9e, and married\nAnne of Brittany. Marguerite left in anger; nor did she ever forgive\nCharles. Henceforth, France was her enemy. So, for many years, was\nFortune. The next stroke fell swiftly.\n\nIn April, 1497, Marguerite married Juan, Prince of Castille, the son\nof Ferdinand and Isabella, who died of fever at Salamanca in the same\nyear--a misfortune that--if we are to believe her historiographer,\nJean Lemaire--neither crushed the girl's spirit, nor extinguished her\nnatural wit; \"for, being on shipboard, and having passed a horrible and\ntempestuous night, in fear of perilous shipwreck, as the following day\nthe sea had been calm and tranquil, while Marguerite was conversing\nwith her maids upon their past fears and perturbations, the proposal\nwas made that each should compose her own epitaph; whereupon she\npromptly composed her own in this manner\":\n\n \"Cy gist Margot la gentil' Damoiselle,\n Q'u ha deux marys et encore est pucelle.\"[200]\n\nTruly a very joyous epitaph, as Lemaire says, \"si plein de vraie\nurbanit\u00e9.\" Not so did she salute the death of her next husband.[201]\n\nIt was on the 26th of September, 1501, that was signed the treaty of\nher marriage with Philibert le Beau, Duke of Savoy--the event that\nfirst links Marguerite's story with that of Brou.\n\nThe fifth of August in the following year, when Philibert and\nMarguerite paid their first visit to Bourg, was a memorable day in the\nannals of the town. Artillery boomed, joy bells clashed; every house\nwas bright with gay hangings of all colours, with festoons, and the\narms of Burgundy and Savoy. Soon the call of the trumpet drew all the\ncrowd to the Town Hall, whence issued the corps municipal, preceded by\nthe syndics clothed in red robes, one of whom bore the keys of the town\nupon a silver plate.\n\nThe procession moved slowly forward, to the beat of music, until a\nwarlike fanfare of trumpets, and the neighing of horses, announced the\ncoming of the ducal cort\u00e8ge, at the head of which rode Philibert and\nMarguerite. Loud were the cries of joy that greeted the young couple.\nOn a prancing steed, decked with rich draperies, bearing the arms of\nBurgundy, its beautiful head plumed with tossing white feathers, rode\nMarguerite, wearing the ducal crown. Through the folds of her silver\nveil, spectators could obtain a glimpse of a gracious face, and long\nfair tresses. Her dress was of crimson velvet, embroidered in gold,\nshowing upon the skirt the escutcheons of Austria and Savoy. In one\nhand she held her reins, the other was lifted in gracious salutation\nto the crowd. At her right ambled the Duke Philibert, proud of the\nreception that Bourg was according his lady.\n\nPhilibert le Beau was a handsome, gay, debonair prince, who loved to\ngive to music and good cheer all the hours he could spare from his\nfavourite pastime of the hunt. He left to his ministers exclusively\nall such troublesome matters as affairs of State. Such was the young\ngallant who rode by Marguerite's side through the streets of Bourg.\n\nEvery house, as we have said, was gay with blazoned arms and bunting.\nOn a great scaffold before the Church of Notre Dame, the preaching\nfriars were presenting mystery plays, the Christian legends of St.\nGeorge and of the Archangel St. Michael. On the scaffolds, in various\nparts of the town, were figured scenes from mythological history. The\nLabours of Hercules, or Jason's encounters with monsters and dragons\nduring his quest of the Golden Fleece. Before the town wall, in the\npresence of a crowd so dense that a way could scarcely be cleared for\nthe duchess, was represented the allegory of \"The Fountain and the\nMaid,\" in which, from the metal breasts of a gigantic female figure,\ntwo jets of wine splashed into the basin below.\n\nDuring the three short years of Philibert's married life, the peace\nof Europe was untroubled, and the Duke of Savoy was forced to appease\nhis military ardour in tournament and hunt. A chronicler of the time\nhas left us a detailed account of the jousts held on the occasion\nof the marriage of Laurent de Gorrevod, at the Castle of Carignan.\nPhilibert bore himself so bravely in the lists, that the ladies, with\none consent, \"benign and not ungrateful, knowing the honour and the\ngreat and mighty feats of arms done for love of them, advised that by\nright and without favour, the honour and prize of the combat should be\ngiven to Duke Philibert. Wherefore the said ladies desired him that he\nwould of his grace accept the ring presented to him on their behalf by\na young and fair demoiselle--which supplication, as one full of honour,\ncourtesy, and benignity, thanking the said ladies, their said ring and\npresent he graciously accepted.\"[202]\n\nThe Duke's favourite hunting-seat was at Ch\u00e2teau de Pont-Ain,[203]\nhigh up on the hill overlooking Bresse and Bugey. Many a day the dark\nwoods around echoed the merry note of the horn, and the deep bay of his\nhounds, as Philip and Marguerite rode forth together. She with \"the\nivory horn hung in a sling, mounted on a spirited palfrey, followed her\nvery dear lord and spouse, in hot chase of the horned stags, by wood\nand plain, by mountain and valley, fearing not the ardour of the sun\nnor the toil of the hunt, so that by her careful presence she could\nguard him from all misfortune.\"\n\nOn a very hot morning, in September, 1504, the young prince, led far\nafield by the excitement of the chase, \"and almost separated from his\nparty, who could follow him no longer, was passing, at mid-day, a long\nand narrow valley, on foot, because his horses, by reason of the long\nride, were dead or broken down.\"\n\nArriving, breathless and bathed in perspiration, at the Fontaine St.\nVulbas, he was charmed by the cool shade of the place, and ordered his\nmeal to be served to him there. Before long, feeling himself seized\nwith a sudden shivering fit, he ordered his horse, and began his\nhomeward journey, \"holding his hand to his chest, then commencing to\nbend forward and to be in great agony.\" He reached the Castle at last,\nand threw himself down upon a camp bed, \"beside which came soon, all\ntroubled in heart, the very dear Duchess, his very dear spouse and\ncompanion, who, seeing her lord and friend lying ill, and nevertheless\nnot knowing as yet of her great mourning so soon to be, began to\ncomfort him very sweetly, and to cheer him with all her power.\"\n\nFor several days the young prince battled with a violent attack of\npleurisy; but, at last, in spite of bleeding and many prayers, even his\nstrong constitution gave way, and the lovers knew that they must part.\n\"And himself feeling his end drawing near, rose and would fain bid an\neternal farewell to his very loved companion, holding her in a strong\nembrace.\" He died in the arms of Marguerite, on the 10th September,\n1504, in the very room in which he had been born, twenty-four years\nbefore, in the Ch\u00e2teau de Pont-d'Ain.\n\nThe brief days of Marguerite's happiness were closed. Coming years\nwere to bring their measure of consolation to the stricken woman; but,\nas she herself, a poetess of sorrow, wrote in verse, whose graceful\nmelodies recall the plaintive notes of Charles D'Orl\u00e9ans, henceforth\nfor her\n\n Deuil et ennuy, soussy, regret et peine,\n Ont eslongu\u00e9 ma plaisance mondaine,\n Dont a part moy, je me plains et tourmente;\n Et en espoir n'ay plus un brin d'attente:\n V\u00e9ez l\u00e0, comment Fortune me pourmeine.\n\n Ceste longheur vault pis que mort soudaine;\n Je n'ay pens\u00e9 qui joye me rameine;\n Ma fantasie est de d\u00e9plaisir pleine;\n Car devant moy \u00e0 toute heure se pr\u00e9sente\n Deuil et ennuy.[204]\n\nSo poor Marguerite adopted a new device, the last and saddest of three\ncomments upon her destiny.[205] You may read it to-day, a hundred\ntimes, on the walls, the tombs, the windows of the church of Brou.\n\n\nFORTUNE. INFORTUNE. FORT UNE.[206]\n\nIt was in the spring of 1505 that Margaret laid with her own hand the\nfirst stone of the building she had dreamed of ever since her husband's\ndeath, a church which would, at the same time worthily perpetuate\nthe memory of their loves, and accomplish the unfulfilled vow of her\nmother, Marguerite de Bourbon, who had sworn many years before to\nerect a church to the glory of God, should her husband recover from an\nillness that then threatened his life.\n\nThe princess chose for her architect Loys van Boghen, a Flamand of\ngreat ability, under whose direction the whole fabric of the church\nwas constructed. The statues and sculptures were in the hands of\n\"Maistre Conrard, le consomm\u00e9 tailleur d'ymages,\" between whom and the\ndifficult, quarrelsome Loys considerable friction seems to have arisen.\nThis we gather from the archives of Ain.[207]\n\n\"Insomuch as Maistre Loys is somewhat light of word and threat towards\none and another, both ecclesiastic and secular, whence much scandal\nmay arise, as indeed has already chanced, and our Lady's work thereby\nretarded, the said Maistre Loys is thereby expressly forbidden and\nprohibited henceforth from using such threats and words; and should he\nnotwithstanding attempt to do so, he will be held accountable therefore\nto our Lady in his person and goods. The same shall be said to Maistre\nConrard and to all other whom it may concern.\"[208]\n\nAt length, stone by stone, in spite of Maistre Loys' temper and the\nawful famine and pestilence, which, in those years, were ravaging the\ntown of Bourg, Marguerite's darling project approached completion. Many\na day would she ride over from the Castle of Pont d'Ain, where she was\npassing the early years of her widowhood, to watch her beloved building\ngrowing beneath her eyes.\n\n On her palfrey white the Duchess\n Sate and watched her working train--\n Flemish carvers, Lombard gilders,\n German masons, smiths from Spain.\n\n Clad in black, on her white palfrey,\n Her old architect beside--\n There they found her in the mountains,\n Morn and noon and eventide.\n\n There she sate and watched the builders,\n Till the Church was roofed and done.\n Last of all the builders reared her\n In the nave a tomb of stone.[209]\n\nThe closing years of Marguerite's life were passed in administering,\nwisely and justly, the affairs of the Pays Bas, of which country she\nhad long been appointed governor. Her wealth, her great abilities, and\nher exalted rank all combined to render her one of the most prominent\nfigures in the political life of the time.\n\n [Illustration: SAINTE MADELEINE: TOMB OF MARGUERITE D'AUTRICHE: BROU.]\n\nFrancis I., after his defeat at Pavia, sought her good graces; she was\ncourted of many; her voice was loud in the counsels of Europe. But\nMarguerite, who had already refused the hand of Henry VII. of England,\nwas not to be dazzled by the glitter of a crown. Long ago she had\nrenounced wedded life, until friendly death should lay her once more\nbeside Philibert in those bridal tombs. Her inmost thoughts, far away\nfrom thrones and principalities, were turning towards the cloister, as\na fitting refuge from the cares of state, when, in 1530, her unhappy\nlife was brought to a sudden close. This is the traditional story of\nher death, as told in a manuscript of the eighteenth century.[210]\n\nOn the fifteenth of the month of November, in the morning, before\nrising, she asked for a drink of water from one of her attendants,\nMagdeleine of Rochester, who, obeying her immediately, brought the\nwater in a crystal cup; but, while taking it back, she unfortunately\nlet the glass fall in front of the bed, where it was smashed to pieces.\nThe girl gathered the fragments up, as carefully as she could, but\ndid not think of looking into her Royal mistress's slippers. Some\nhours later, Princess Marguerite put on her slippers, and walked to\nthe fire. Feeling a violent pricking sensation in her left foot, she\ncalled a lady in waiting, who found a fragment of the broken cup firmly\nembedded therein. This she drew out, as carefully as she could, and\nthe princess, with her usual courage, made light of the matter, and\ndismissed it from her mind.\n\nSome days after, she began to feel great pain in the foot, and noticed\nthat the limb was swollen. Physicians were summoned, who, after private\nconsultation, decided that the wound was gangrened, and that amputation\nwas the only practicable means of saving the patient's life. They\ncommunicated their decision to Mont\u00e9cut, the princess's confessor, and\nasked him to break the news to his mistress. She was much surprised,\nbut bore bravely what she must have known to be virtually a sentence of\ndeath. The next few days having been passed in confession, absolution,\nand the settlement of her temporal affairs, she submitted herself to\nher doctors, who proceeded to administer to their patient so large a\ndose of opium \"that they put her to a sleep so sound that it is not yet\nended, and will not end until the Resurrection of all the dead.\"\n\nMarguerite was buried at Malines, where her body lay for two years,\nuntil, her tomb being ready, she was laid, in 1532, according to the\nexpress terms of her will, beside her \"lord and husband,\" who was to\nrest between his mother and his wife.\n\nThere you may see her to-day lying, proud and lovely, as in life, her\nroyal face still turned to the man to whose glory, rather than to\nGod's, she had raised those astounding memorials of a woman's devotion.\nThere, in flaming colour upon the purpled panes, in blazoned device\nupon floor and wall, in a thousand delicate fancies, wrought, with most\nexquisite art, upon the pale, white marble of the tombs, and altar\npieces, you may read the story of her life.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWe are now in a position to realize why the church, though built by\nmen, breathes femininity. It was the expression of a woman's mind, the\nlove offering of a lady to her lord. As such, all women's virtues are\nexpressed in it--dignity and grace in the flowing lines of the nave,\npurity in the whiteness of the marble, wit and ingenuity in the legends\nand devices, daintiness in the exquisite detail; courage, patience, and\ndevotion, revealed everywhere in the complete unity of the whole.[211]\nAnd those women's virtues carried with them women's faults--a certain\nlack of breadth and vision; over-elaboration of detail, and a love\nof prettiness that verges upon the petty.[212] All these things are\napparent. But the greatest defect of all--the subordination of design\nto ornament--is as much the fault of the age as of the individual.\nThese were the years of transition.\n\nThe old greatness had passed; the new greatness in building was not yet\ncome. In that sense this church is inherently decadent.\n\nWhen men of the early middle ages reared their mighty fanes to God\nand to his saints, they lifted vault and roof into echoing airy\nspaces, where the rapt worshippers, looking upward, might seek haply\nafter God; but here is no upward call. This roof is low, flattened,\nheavy; threatening, almost, to fall upon the heads bent in prayer.\nThe builders of pure Gothic loved to ornament their churches with the\nrichest sculpture that skilful, reverent hands could carve; and they\nsought their inspirations in Nature alone, who shapes the tree before\nshe decks it with leaves, and fashions the plant before the flower.\n\nBut these later men, losing sincerity, lost truth; they thought of\nthe leaf before the limb, and of blossom rather than of bough. That\nis why Brou leaves us unsatisfied. Yet, as I have said, we must not\nblame utterly. Whatever architect and sculptor may have lacked, one\nthing they did not lack--patience. And if patience were indeed genius,\nas Buffon says it is, then is genius here, too. Surely, the most\nfastidious spectator may say with Paradin, the old chronicler of Savoy,\n\"apr\u00e8s tout estant l\u00e9ans (\u00e0 Brou), semble que voyez un songe, et ne\nsavez \u00e0 quoi premierment addresser vos yeux pour les repaistre, parce\nqu' une chascune chose se convie \u00e1 regarder comme un nouveau spectacle.\"\n\nWe have no space left in which to deal with details of the tombs, the\nchoir stalls, altar pieces, and other marvels the church contains. The\nreader must discover them for himself; we can only give a few general\nimpressions.\n\n [Illustration: Ornament from the Tomb of Marguerite d'Autriche]\n\nAs you face the east end of the Church, the tomb of Marguerite\nd'Autriche is on your left, that of Philibert le Beau in the centre,\nand that of Marguerite de Bourbon on the right. This last, the earliest\nof the three, is obviously inspired by the royal tombs at Dijon, but,\nhaving no base, it lacks their dignity, just as it lacks their harmony\nand simplicity. The pleurants are very poor, when compared with those\nof Claus Sluter and his nephew. The minute detail is extraordinarily\ngood, but there is a superabundance of ornament, and the whole is\ntortured and conscious. The meaning of the device bearing the letters F\nE R T has been much debated. Some say that it represents Fortitudo Ejus\nRhodum Tenuit, or Tuetur, in memory of Am\u00e9dee le Grand's victory over\nthe Turks; others that it is a chevaleresque French device; Frappez,\nEntrez, Rompez Tout. The guide, however, gave us Fide et Religione\nTenemur, as the true solution.\n\nPhilibert's tomb is quite fittingly the best of the three, as being the\nsimplest and most dignified. The detail is very Flemish, some of the\nfigures recalling in pose as well as in costume, the manner of Van Eyck\nand his school.\n\nThe tomb of Marguerite d'Autriche is beautifully proportioned, but much\nof the ornament has so little relation to the design that it appears\nto be appliqu\u00e9. Tortured lines are the inevitable result. Many of the\nfigures however, are very charming; notably the Madeleine holding her\nhair, and Catherine of Alexandria trampling down the Emperor Maximilian\nof Italy. The Marguerites make effective and appropriate ornament, as\nalso do the briquets of the house of Burgundy--two sticks in the form\nof St. Andrew's cross.\n\nThe altar piece of the virgin in the north transept is one of the\nmost extraordinary productions of its kind that I know. It is more\nmagnificent even than the tombs, and far exceeds them in grace, charm,\nand realism. The seven scenes represented are: The Ascension of the\nVirgin; the Visitation; the Annunciation; the Nativity; the Adoration;\nPentecost; Christ appearing to His Mother. In the oratory of Marguerite\nd'Autriche there is a curious oblique arch, enabling her to see both\naltars at the same time.\n\nLet me close these few notes on the church of Brou with some lively\ncomments from Paradin's Chronique de Savoie.\n\n\"As to the pavement, even that which is in the choir as well as that\nwhich is in the chapel of my said Lady Marguerite d'Autriche, it is\nin truth a thing as pleasant and delicious to see as may possibly be\nfound, being all such joyous and singular leadwork mingled with very\ndivers picturing ... which so pleases spectators that almost with\nregret one walks upon it. I remember that, being there, was a gentleman\nwho feeling scruples at walking on this pavement, spat in the face of a\ngreat rascal of a pastrycook, whose nose was all beflowered with knobs\nof scarlet tint, saying that there was no spot in all the church more\ndirty to spit on than that.\"\n\n\"I remember also having seen descend (here), the late King Francis[213]\nwhen he came to Bourg, who, having seen this church, was ravished with\nadmiration, saying that he had never seen nor heard of a temple of such\nexcellence for what it contained. And true it is that he noted (as he\nwas a Prince exceeding in good sense all the kings of his time) that\nthis white stone of which the Church is built, would not well endure\nfrost, being too rare and tender. And it was since found that he spoke\ntruly; for long after there fell from the clock tower some of the great\nbastions or gargoyles which take the water over the roof, on the side\nof the cloisters, a thing which did much hurt to the building.\"\n\nThe revolutionary mob were proposing to do still greater hurt to the\nbuilding, and would have done so, had not the wisest man in all Bourg\nfilled the church with hay which the sans-culottes could not bring\nthemselves to burn. So Brou is ours, we hope, for many centuries to\ncome.\n\n [Illustration: THE END; Princess Marguerite d'Autriche]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[198]\n The English public are supposed to be extraordinarily tolerant,\n yet the French are undoubtedly more so. The inconveniences of such\n a large railway station as that at Dijon, for example, with its\n almost impassable doors and swinging gates that bang all day long\n with a report like that of heavy artillery, are such as would be\n dealt with sternly by an English public. But the French take quite\n good-humouredly the evils of railway monopoly--and other ills besides.\n\n[199] Azulejos--from the Arab word _Azul_, blue.\n\n[200] \"Within this tomb the sweet Margot is laid,\n Who has two husbands and is still a maid.\"\n\n[201] \"Eglise de Brou,\" by Jules Baux, p. 22.\n\n[202] Beaux's \"Eglise de Brou,\" 52.\n\n[203] The Ch\u00e2teau de Pont D'Ain does not seem to have met with general\n favour, to judge from the following humourous lines which Jean\n Lemaire imagined himself addressing to Marguerite.\n\n \"Ha! Le Pont d'Ain, que tu fusses p\u00e9ry!\n Lieu ex\u00e9crable, anath\u00e9matis\u00e9,\n Mal feu, puist \u00eastre en tes tours attis\u00e9!\n Au moins, Princesse, en extr\u00eame guerdon,\n Je te requiers et te supplie ung don:\n C'est que mon corps n'y soit ensevely;\n Ains le netz en quelque lieu joy,\n Bien tapises\u00e9 de diverses flourettes\n O\u00f9 pastoureaulx devisent d'amourettes.\"\n\n[204] Mourning and care, regret and grief and pain,\n Within my heart all worldly joy have slain,\n Wherefore, apart, I make my moan and grieve\n That hope no more my anguish may relieve,\n For see how Fate to do me hurt is fain.\n\n Far less to sudden Death would I complain,\n Than life drawn out--nor ever joy again;\n But fancy leading phantoms in her train,\n For here, all day, all year long, I receive\n Mourning and care.\n\n For complete poem see Baux's \"Eglise de Brou,\" p. 66.\n\n[205]\n The first, adopted after her dismissal from the Court of France by\n Charles VIII., was a windswept mountain, with the motto, \"Perflant\n altissimo venti.\" The second, taken after the death of John Castille,\n and her child by him, was a fruit tree split by lightning.\n\n[206]\n This enigmatic device has been variously deciphered, but two\n contemporary authors agree in interpreting it \"_Fortuna infortunat\n fortiter unam_,\" which means \"Fortune tries cruelly a woman.\" Murray's\n guide gives incorrectly, \"Fortune infortune forte une,\" meaning \"Here\n is a woman strong in fortune or in misfortune.\"\n\n[207] Beaux's \"Eglise de Brou,\" p. 57.\n\n[208]\n The fabric, however, does not seem to have suffered as much from the\n quarrels of the builders, as from the extraordinary failure of the\n architect to provide efficiently for carrying away the roof water,\n with the result that heavy rains nearly destroyed the building before\n even it was finished. Loys had probably forgotten structural soundness\n in his efforts to satisfy his employer's passion for decorative\n effect.\n\n[209]\n Matthew Arnold's poem, \"The Church of Brou,\" is marred by a number of\n unnecessary inaccuracies. Philibert was not slain by a boar, he died\n of pleurisy. Marguerite's Tomb is at the \"Crossing East of the Choir,\"\n and not in the nave, moreover, the poet seems so uncertain whether the\n Church is in the mountain or in the valley, that one is led to doubt\n whether he really knew.\n\n[210] \"Description Historique de la belle \u00e9glise et du couvent royal\n de Brou.\" Quoted Beaux pp. 126-8.\n\n[211] Baux points out that the church does not contain one statue of\n St. Nicholas of Tolentin, its patron saint.\n\n[212] Michelet vii. cap. xii.\n\n[213] Francis I.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \u00b7SKETCH MAP TO\u00b7 ILLUSTRATE P. ALLEN'S \"BURGUNDY\"\n _Facing page 292._]\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n PAGE\n\n Ab\u00e9lard 89, 146, 153\n\n \" At Paris 146\n\n \" Marriage with H\u00e9lo\u00efse 148\n\n \" Fulbert's crime 149\n\n \" At St. Denis & St. Gildas 150\n\n \" Paraclet & correspondence 151\n\n \" Death 152\n\n Aedui 13, 16, 32\n\n Agrippa, Voie de 21, 36, 63\n\n Aimard, Abbot of Cluny 91\n\n Ain, The 272\n\n Alb\u00e9ric 174, 176, 178\n\n Albigensian Crusade 123\n\n Alen\u00e7on, Duc d' 106\n\n Alesia 15\n\n Alethea (Al\u00e8the) 115, 209\n\n Alexandre de Bourgogne 242\n\n Aligote (wine) 247\n\n Alonzo VI., King of Castille 71\n\n Amalon, Duke 138, 140\n\n Amboise, Jacques de 88, 94\n\n Amboise, Ch\u00e2teau de 281\n\n Ambulatorium Angelorum, Cluny Abbey 75\n\n Amphitheatres 39\n\n Andrew 18\n\n Anjou, Duke of 136\n\n Anne of Brittany 281\n\n Anselm 89\n\n \" Bishop of Laon 146\n\n Antoine-le-Moiturier 192\n\n Antigny-le-Ch\u00e2tel 179\n\n Antony de la Marche 156\n\n Apollo 32, 50\n\n Apollo, Temple of 21, 32, 34\n\n Aquitaine, William, Duke of 60, 61, 63\n\n Argenteuil, Convent of 147, 149\n\n Ariovistus 14\n\n Arles 32, 36, 100\n\n Armagnacs et Bourguignons 105, 200\n\n Arnay-le-due, Road to 179\n \" Town 180, 182, 183, 248\n\n Arnaud, Abbot of Citeaux 123\n\n Arnold, Matthew, \"Church of Brou\" 286\n\n Arverni 13\n\n Aseraule, Monastery of 178\n\n Asile des Ali\u00e9n\u00e9es, Dijon 189\n\n Augustodunum (See Autun) 33\n\n Augustus 11\n\n Autun 8, 10-58\n\n \" Amphitheatres 39\n\n \" Cathedral St. Lazare 12, 26, 42, 51\n\n \" \" translation of Relics 42\n\n \" \" Destruction of Tomb 48\n\n \" \" Alterations to 48\n\n \" \" Capitals 49\n\n \" Capitol 21, 32, 34\n\n \" Castrum 21, 26, 55\n\n \" Caves Joyaux (See Theatre)\n\n \" Champ de Mars,\n Place du 11, 26, 55, 56\n\n \" \" des Urnes 20\n\n \" Crot Volu (Amphitheatre) 39\n\n \" Ecoles M\u00e9niennes 21, 22, 33, 34\n\n \" Faubourg d'Arroux 11, 24, 27\n\n \" \" des Marbres 34\n\n \" Forum 21\n\n \" Fountain of Pelican 28, 51, 52\n\n \" H\u00f4pital St. Nicholas 53\n\n \" H\u00f4tel Rolin 51-53\n\n \" \" de Ville 55\n\n \" \" St. Louis 31, 41\n\n \" Hospice St. Gabriel, 34\n\n \" Jambe de Bois, Rue de la, 21\n\n \" Lazarus (See St. Lazare)\n\n \" Marbres, Faubourg des, 34\n\n \" \" Promenade des, 34, 39\n\n \" \" Porte des, 21\n\n \" Martha (See St. Martha)\n\n \" Mary (See St. Mary)\n\n \" Mus\u00e9e lapidaire, 43, 53-55\n\n \" Mus\u00e9e municipal, 55\n\n \" Porch of Cathedral, 44, 45\n\n \" Porte d'Arroux, 26, 27\n\n \" \" des Marbres (Porte de Rome), 21\n\n \" \" St. Andoche, 39\n\n \" \" Andr\u00e9, 27\n\n \" St. Andrew, 43\n\n \" Saint Lazare, 41, 46;\n Tomb of, 43, 48;\n Cathedral of, 12, 26, 42, 51\n\n \" St. Martha, 41, 43, 46, 54\n\n \" \" Martin, Abbey of, 154\n\n \" \" Mary, 41, 43, 46, 54\n\n \" Rue de la Jambe de Bois, 21\n\n \" Sand, Georges, 57\n\n \" Temple of Appollo, 21, 32, 34\n\n \" \" \" Janus, 12, 16, 22, 24\n\n \" Theatre (Roman), 35-37, 39\n\n \" Tour des Ursulines, 29\n\n \" Voie d'Agrippa, 21, 36\n\n Auvergne, Mountains of, 10, 13\n\n Auxerre, 184\n\n Auxey-le-Grand, 240, 246\n\n Avignon, 136\n\n\n Babuti, Mdlle. (Mme Greuze), 169\n\n Bagaudes, The, 250\n\n Baleuse, Julian de, 91\n\n Balme, Monastery of, 64\n\n Bar, Tour de, Dijon, 215\n\n \" Duc de, 213\n\n Batonard, Citizen, 85\n\n Baufremont, Jeanne de, 242\n\n \" Pierre de, 242\n\n Beauchamp, Guillaume de, 53\n\n Beaune, Vicomte de, 112;\n Castle of, 208\n\n \" Maison du Colombier, 230;\n Flemish Belfry, 232;\n Hospice de la Charit\u00e9, 232;\n Notre Dame, 232;\n Hotel Dieu, 233-236\n\n Bees, Alb\u00e9ric's Dream of, 177\n\n Belfry of Beaune, 232\n\n Belle Pierre, Cluny, 94\n\n Berecynthia, Cybele, 50\n\n Bernard (see St. Bernard)\n\n Bernon, Abbot of Gigny, 61\n\n Berri, Jean, Duke of, 196, 199\n\n Bertille, 137-144\n\n Bertrand, Mar\u00e9chal, 56\n\n Besan\u00e7on, 24\n\n Beuvray, 2, 4-10, 13, 15, 16, 53\n\n Berz\u00e9-le-Ch\u00e2tel, 103-106\n\n B\u00e9ziers, 123\n\n Bibracte, Oppidum (see Beuvray), 5\n\n \" Goddess, 6\n\n Blanche de Castille (Queen), 103, 123\n\n Bligny-sur-Ouche, 178, 179\n\n Boniface VIII., Pope, 89\n\n Bouilland, 237\n\n Boulogne, 24\n\n Bouillon, Cardinal de, 98\n\n Bourbon, Jean de, 88, 89, 91\n\n \" l'Archambaud, 24\n\n \" Marguerite de, 285\n\n Bourg-en-Bresse, 276, 277\n\n Bourgogne, Canal de, 215\n\n \" Marie de, 250\n\n Bouxaise, Valley of the, 237\n\n Brasey, Guillaume de, 53\n\n Brayer, General, 56\n\n Bresse, Pays de, 276, 277, 283\n\n Broederlam, Melchior, 204\n\n Brou, Eglise de, 204, 277-292\n\n Brunehault, Queen, 54\n\n Bugey, 283\n\n Buligneville, Battle of, 213\n\n Bulliot, 6, 9, 16, 53\n\n Burgundian Dreams of Empire, 205, 206, 208\n\n \" Patois, 270, 271\n\n \" Sculpture, 44, 45, 49, 191, 192,\n 194, 204, 212\n\n \" Wedding, 266-270\n\n Busseul-Saint Sernin, Marguerite de, 263\n\n\n C\u00e6sar, Julius, 5, 10, 13, 14, 250\n\n Canal de Bourgogne, 215, 216\n\n Canossa, 67\n\n Capitals, Cluny Abbey, 93;\n Autun Cathedral, 49\n\n Carignan, Ch\u00e2teau de, 282, 283\n\n Carnot, 240\n\n Caves Joyaux, 34\n\n C\u00e9lestins, Church of the, 199\n\n Cezenat, 277\n\n Challant, Jacques de,\n Seigneur de Manille, 219, 220\n\n Chalonnais, 137\n\n Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne, 136, 137, 153, 158;\n \" Cathedral of, 158\n\n Champeux, 146\n\n Champs des Urnes, Autun, 20\n\n Chandios, Pierre de, 154-158\n\n Chapelle Bourbon, Cluny, 87, 88\n\n Charlemagne, Tree of, 210, 217, 220\n\n Charles V. of France, 185, 186, 188\n\n Charles VI. of France, 89, 185;\n madness of, 188, 201\n\n Charles VII. of France, 91, 105;\n as Dauphin, 201, 202\n\n Charles VIII. of France, 20;\n at Autun, 56, 94, 281\n\n Charles le T\u00e9m\u00e9raire, 53, 203, 205;\n death of, 206-208, 280\n\n Charles the Simple, 61\n\n Charmeur de Vip\u00e8res, 134, 135\n\n Charney, Lord of, 156, 217, 219, 220, 242\n\n Charolles, 135\n\n Charolois, Count Charles of, 153\n\n Chartreuse de Champnol, 189, 191\n\n Chastelux, Pierre de, 88\n\n Ch\u00e2teau-neuf, 246\n\n Ch\u00e2tigny, Forest of, 166\n\n Ch\u00e2tillon-sur-Seine, 111, 115\n\n Childebert, 137\n\n Chilperic, 137\n\n Cicero, 13, 14\n\n Circateurs, 79\n\n Cistercian Architecture, 120, 145\n\n \" Order and Rule, 111, 112, 113\n\n \" Sites, 113\n\n \" to-day, 124-126, 177, 184, 204\n\n Citeaux, 59, 111-126;\n\n \" Foundation of, 112\n\n Clairvaux, 111, 117, 125\n\n Claude de France, 20\n\n Claude de Guise, 94\n\n Claudius, Emperor, 250\n\n Claus Sluter (see Sluter)\n\n \" de Werve, 190, 191\n\n Clermain, village of, 63, 110\n\n Clotaire, 11, 54\n\n Clous, Valley of the, 240\n\n Cluny, 26, 59-110, 111, 120, 127, 184\n\n \" Eglise Notre Dame, 97\n\n \" \" St. Marcel, 97, 99\n\n \" H\u00f4tel Dieu\n\n \" \" de Bourgogne, 60, 88, 100, 101\n\n \" \" des Monnaies, 97\n\n \" \" de Ville, 94\n\n \" Impressions of, 59, 60, 99\n\n \" Women of, 99, 100\n\n Cluny Abbey, 75\n\n \" \" Ab\u00e9lard at, 152\n\n \" \" Arms of, 91\n\n \" \" Basilica, Interior of, 74\n\n \" \" Boar, Legend of the, 65\n\n \" \" Capitals, 93\n\n \" \" Chapelle Bourbon, 87\n\n \" \" Consecration by\n Innocent II., 70\n\n \" \" Crumbs, Legend of the, 64\n\n \" \" Description, 71-73\n\n \" \" Dream of, 102\n\n \" \" Exterior, 75, 76\n\n \" \" Foundation, 60, 61, 63\n\n \" \" Gateway, 89\n\n \" \" Hugues, Death of St., 82\n\n \" \" Luxury, 84\n\n \" \" Monastic Revival, 65, 66\n\n \" \" Monks Vision, 69\n\n \" \" \" Purpose of, 73\n\n \" \" Palace of Pope G\u00e9lase, 86\n\n \" \" Palais Abbatial, 89\n\n \" \" Pascal II. at, 70\n\n \" \" Raoul Glaber at, 163\n\n \" \" Revolution, 85\n\n \" \" Romanesque Houses, 95\n\n \" \" Rule of, 76-82\n\n \" \" Tour de l'Eau B\u00e9nite, 89\n\n \" \" \" l'Horloge, 87\n\n Colonna, Jean Baptiste, 207\n\n Conrad, Maitre, 285, 286\n\n Constantine, 21, 28, 32\n\n \" Emperor of Byzantium, 242\n\n Constantius Chlorus, 32\n\n Correggio, 99\n\n Cosse (Broom-pod) Order of, 185\n\n Costumes of 15th century, 185, 186\n\n C\u00f4te-d'Or, 216, 230-257, 240, 248, 253\n\n Couhard, Pierre de, 16, 18, 20-22\n\n Court\u00e9p\u00e9e, 249\n\n Courtrai, 212\n\n Creux du Diable, 221, 222\n\n \" \" Legend of, 222-229\n\n Cross of St. Andrew (Burgundian Badge), 200\n\n Croix de Rebout, 5\n\n Crumbs, Legend of, 64\n\n Cussy, 248-250\n\n \" la Colonne, 248-250\n\n Cybele (Berecynthia), 50\n\n\n Damien, Pierre, 80, 89\n\n Dame des Pleurs, Tournament of, 153-158\n\n Dance des Morts, 186\n\n D\u00e9chelette, 27\n\n De la Monnoye, 260\n\n Delmace, 66\n\n Devil's Pit, 221, 222\n\n \" \" Legend of, 222-229\n\n Diana, 50\n\n Digoin, 135\n\n Dijon, 21, 184-220\n\n \" As it was in the 14th century, 184\n\n \" Asile des Ali\u00e9n\u00e9es, 189\n\n \" Bar, Tour de, 189\n\n \" Castle of, 205\n\n \" Chartreuse de Champnol, 189\n\n \" Louis 11th, Entry of, 208\n\n \" Mus\u00e9e, 203-205\n\n \" Murder of Duc d'Orl\u00e9ans, 196-199\n\n \" Notre Dame, Church of, 204, 210, 212,\n 220, 242, 244\n\n \" Palais de Justice, 204, 210, 215\n\n \" Palais des Ducs, 213, 244\n\n \" Post Office, 205, 209\n\n \" Prisons of, 173\n\n \" Puits des Proph\u00e8tes, 189, 190\n\n \" St. Michel, Church of, 204, 210\n\n \" Tomb of Jean Sans Peur, 192, 194\n\n \" \" Philippe le Hardi 191, 192\n\n \" To-day, 209-215\n\n Divitiacus, 13, 14, 31, 34\n\n Druids, 13\n\n Dumnorix, 14, 15\n\n\n Edward I. (King of England), 158\n\n Edward IV. \" \", 186\n\n Eglise de Brou (see Brou)\n\n \"Eho\" (Folk Song), 258-262\n\n Epinac, 58\n\n Eringarde, 111\n\n Etzebon, 71\n\n Eudes I., Duke of Burgundy, 115\n\n Eudes II., Duke of Burgundy, 42\n\n Eudes III., Duke of Burgundy, 123\n\n Eug\u00e8ne III., Pope, 117, 118, 122\n\n Eumenes, 26, 28, 32, 33, 34\n\n\n Famine in France, 165-168\n\n Faurtride, Abbot of Clairvaux, 118\n\n Ferdinand, King of Spain, 281\n\n Fertiault, Fran\u00e7ois, 260, 262, 271\n\n F\u00eate des Tr\u00e9pass\u00e9s, 244\n\n First of March, 264\n\n Folk Song, 258-262\n\n Fontaine-les-Dijon, 115, 216\n\n Fontaine St. Vulbas, 283\n\n Fontenay (M. De), 22, 24, 26, 27, 34, 36\n\n Fountain of the Pelican, Autun, 51, 52\n\n For\u00eat au Maitre, 237\n\n Fran\u00e7ois I., 20, 21, 54, 129, 288, 291\n\n Froissart, 212\n\n Froissy, 179\n\n Fulbert, Canon, 147-149\n\n\n Gabriel de Roquette, 36\n\n Gamay, Wine, 247\n\n Gaul, 6, 9, 10, 14, 15\n\n Gaulish Coins, 16\n\n Gaulish Remains, 6\n\n G\u00e9lase II., Pope, 74, 86, 89\n\n Gemeaux, 228\n\n Geneva, Canton of, 271\n\n Geoffrey (St. Bernard's Secretary), 118\n\n \" de Berze, 104\n\n Geraldus, 43, 44\n\n G\u00e9rard (Brother of St. Bernard), 116\n\n Gisilbertus, 46\n\n Glaber, Raoul, 163-167\n\n \" History of his Time, 164\n\n Gloze d'Ez\u00e9chiel, 147\n\n Golden Fleece (Toison d'Or), 156-158,\n 244, 246\n\n Gontran (King of Burgundy), 137, 140-144\n\n Gorrevod, Laurant de, 282\n\n Goujon, Jean, 51\n\n Goux, Pierre de, 155\n\n Grandson, Battle of, 53, 206\n\n Grancy, Ch\u00e2teau de, 116\n\n Gregory of Tours, 54, 143\n\n \" VII. (Pope Hildebrand), 67-69\n\n Greuze, 99, 167-169\n\n Guigonnes de Salins, 234, 236\n\n Guillain, Nicolas, 49\n\n Guillaume de St. B\u00e9nigne, 164\n\n Guillaume de Vaudray, 220\n\n \" Lord of Marigny, 174-176\n\n Guise, Claude de, 94, 106\n\n\n Hamerton, P. G., 9, 10, 27, 42, 55\n\n Harding, Stephen, 112-114, 178\n\n H\u00e9liodore de Thiard de Bissy, 263\n\n H\u00e9lo\u00efse, 146-153;\n meets Ab\u00e9lard, 147;\n marriage, 148, 149;\n at Paraclet, 150, 151;\n death of, 153\n\n Helvetii, 14, 250\n\n Henry I. (King of England), 71\n\n \" IV. (King of France), 106, 263\n\n \" IV. (King of the Germans), 67, 68\n\n \" V. (King of the Germans), 86\n\n \" VII. (King of England), 288\n\n Heraclicus, 50\n\n Hercules, Maximian, 250\n\n Hildebrand de Mans, 75\n\n \" Pope Gregory VII., 67, 68, 89\n\n Holy Tear, 175\n\n Hospice de la Charit\u00e9, Beaune, 232\n\n Hotel Chr\u00e9tien, Arnay-le-Duc, 183\n\n \" des Ambassadeurs,\n Maison Richard, Dijon, 213\n\n \" de Bourgogne, Cluny, 60, 68\n\n \" de Cluny, Paris, 91\n\n \" Dieu, Beaune, 232-236\n\n \" Dieu, Cluny, 97, 98\n\n \" Rolin, Autun, 51\n\n \" St. Louis, Autun, 51\n\n Huerta, Jean de la, 191\n\n Hugues, Abbot of St. Martin, Autun, 61\n\n \" Abbot of Cluny, 66-70, 74,\n 80, 82, 91\n\n \" II. Abbot of Cluny, 83\n\n \" II. Duke of Burgundy, 115\n\n \" III. \" \", 45\n\n \" IV. \" \", 122\n\n \" le Pacifique, Duke of Burgundy, 175\n\n \" de M\u00e2con, 117\n\n \" Sambin, 204, 210\n\n Huguenots, 105\n\n Humbert de Bage, 42\n\n Huns, 137, 144, 160\n\n\n Ingres, 49, 50\n\n Innocent II., Pope, 42, 71, 119\n\n \" III., Pope, 68, 123\n\n \" IV., \" , 89\n\n Isabella, Queen of Spain, 281\n\n Isabeau de Bavi\u00e8re, Queen, 196\n\n Is-sur-Tille, 229\n\n\n Jaquemart, Clock, 212\n\n Jacques d'Ambois\u00e8, 88, 94\n\n \" de Baerze, 203\n\n Janus, Temple of (See Autun)\n\n Jayet, Pierre, 129\n\n Jean de la Huerta, 191\n\n \" de Bourbon, 88, 89\n\n \" de Marville, 191\n\n \" Petit, 199\n\n \" sans Peur, Tomb of, 192, 194;\n character, 194, 195, 198, 199, 201;\n murder of, 202, 204\n\n Jeannin, Pierre, 49\n\n Jeanniot, G.H.P., 205\n\n John VIII., Pope, 146\n\n Josephine, Empress, 56\n\n Juan, Prince of Castille, 281\n\n Judith Chalonnaise, La (Bertille), 137-144\n\n\n Labussi\u00e8re, Abbey of, 173-178\n\n \" Church, 178\n\n La Cluse, 272, 273\n\n La Fert\u00e9, Abbey of, 117, 125\n\n Lalain, Jaques de, 154-158\n\n La Marche, Olivier de, 153, 207,\n 218, 219, 234\n\n \" \" Anthony de, 156\n\n Lamartine (de Prat), 107-110\n\n Lancaster, Duke of, 185\n\n Langue d'Oc, 271\n\n Langue d'Oil, 271\n\n Laurel, Fixing and Song of, 268-270\n\n Lemaire, Jean, 281\n\n Lempereur, 249\n\n Leo XIII., Pope, 125\n\n Les Carmes, Church of, 155\n\n Lichfield Cathedral, Spire of, 44\n\n Ligueurs, 263\n\n Loire, Valley of, 10\n\n Lois von Boghen, 285, 286\n\n Lou\u00e9e, la, 1\n\n Louis VII., of France, 42, 122, 152\n\n \" IX. \", 89, 122, 123\n\n \" XI. \", 194, 205, 206, 208, 233,\n 236, 263, 280, 281\n\n \" XIV. \", 98\n\n \" d'Orl\u00e9ans, murder of, 196-199\n\n \" le Gros, 122\n\n Louise de Savoie, 20\n\n Lourdon, Ch\u00e2teau de, 106, 107\n\n Ludwige, 137, 138, 142, 144\n\n Lusigny, 248, 249\n\n Lux, Village of, 221, 222\n\n\n M\u00e2con, 63, 104, 135, 171, 172\n\n Maeniana, 33\n\n Magdeleine of Rochester, 288\n\n Maison de Bois, Chalon-sur-Sa\u00f4ne, 158\n\n \" Colombier, Beaune, 230\n\n \" des Caryatids, Dijon, 213\n\n \" Milsand, Dijon, 213\n\n \" Notre Dame, Paris, 196, 198\n\n \" des Pompons, 129\n\n \" Richard, Dijon, 213\n\n Mahomet II., Sultan, 242\n\n Maitre, Foret au, 237\n\n Malines, 289\n\n Malvaux, Gorge of, 6\n\n Mandelot, 253\n\n Manoir des Ducs de Bourgogne,\n Arnay-le-Duc, 182\n\n Marbres, Les, Autun, 28\n\n \"March, First of\", 264\n\n Marcilly, Etang de, 229\n\n Marcus Aurelius, 50\n\n Mar\u00e9chal de Rieux, 196\n\n Marguerite d'Autriche, 280-292;\n Devices of, 285;\n closing years of, 286;\n death of, 288\n\n Marguerite de Bourbon, 285\n\n \" de Busseul-Saint-Sernin, 263\n\n \" de Flandres, 190\n\n \" Ste. Abbey and Legend of,\n 237-240\n\n Marigny, Ch\u00e2teau de, 174\n\n Marie de Bourgogne, 280\n\n Martha (see St. Martha)\n\n Martial d'Auvergne, 188, 189\n\n Martin of Autun, 43, 48\n\n Marville, Jean de, 191\n\n Mary (see St. Mary)\n\n Mathilde Duhesme, 247\n\n \" Lady of Marigny, 175\n\n Matthew Arnold's \"Church of Brou\", 286\n\n \" Bishop, of Westminster, 68\n\n Mavilly, 248, 253, 255\n\n Maximilian d'Autriche, 280\n\n \" of Italy, 291\n\n Melchior Broederlam, 204\n\n Melin, 240\n\n Melun, 164\n\n Mendes, Catulle, 260\n\n Meursault, 240\n\n Michael Angelo, 190\n\n Milly, Comte de, 103, 106\n\n Milly, Village of, 107\n\n Mirebeau, Lord of, 156\n\n Mol\u00eame, Forest and Abbey of, 111, 112\n\n Monnoye, De la, 260\n\n Montagne Ste. G\u00eanevi\u00e8ve, Ab\u00e9lard at, 146\n\n Montbard, Counts of, 115\n\n Mont Beuvray (see Beuvray)\n\n Montceau, 249\n\n Mont\u00e9cut, 288\n\n Mont\u00e9gut, Emile, 31, 49, 99, 123, 129\n\n Montereau, 191;\n Murder at Bridge of, 202\n\n Montfau\u00e7on, 249\n\n Monthelon, 10\n\n Montjeu, Chateau de, 47\n\n Montlh\u00e9ri, Battle of, 206\n\n Morat, Battle of, 206\n\n Mor\u00e9e, Prince de\n (Alexandre de Bourgogne), 242\n\n Morimond, 117, 125\n\n Morvan, 2\n\n Moses, Well of, 100\n\n Motte Forte, Tour de la, Arnay-le-Duc, 180\n\n Mus\u00e9e Lapidaire, Autun, 43, 53-55\n\n \" Municipal, Autun, 55\n\n\n Namours, Duc de, 105\n\n Nancy, Siege and Battle of, 206, 207\n\n Nantoux, Valley and Gorge of, 248, 252, 253\n\n Nantua, 272-275;\n Church of, 275\n\n Napoleon Buonaparte, 56, 57, 169\n\n Narthex, Purpose of, 73\n\n \" of St. Philibert, Tournus, 160, 161\n\n Nicolas Rolin, 44, 53, 233, 236\n\n \" V., Pope, 242\n\n \"Noce d'autrefois en Bourgogne\", 266-270\n\n Nogent, 150\n\n Noirmoutiers, Monastery of, 162\n\n Notre Dame, Beaune, 232\n\n \" Cluny, 97\n\n \" Dijon, 204, 210, 212,\n 220, 242, 244\n\n Nuits, 217, 218\n\n\n Odilon, Abbot of Cluny, 65-67, 74, 163\n\n Odon, 64, 74;\n Legend of the Crumbs, 64\n\n Olivier de la Marche (see La Marche)\n\n Orbandale, 137\n\n Otellot, Wine, 247\n\n Ouche, Valley of the, 172-183, 215, 216\n\n\n Palace of Pope G\u00e9lase, 86\n\n \" \" the Dukes, Dijon, 213\n\n Palais Abbatial, Cluny, 89\n\n \" de Justice, Dijon, 204, 215\n\n Palermo, 67\n\n Pallet, Seigneur de, 146\n\n \" Bourg du, 148\n\n Papillon, Canon, 236\n\n Paraclet, 150, 151, 153\n\n Paradin, Chronicler of Savoy, 291\n\n Paray-le-Monial, 127-135;\n Hotel de Ville, 129;\n church, 129-134\n\n Pascal II., Pope, 70\n\n Paris, Massacre of the Armagnacs, 200;\n famine, 201\n\n Patois, Burgundian, 270, 271\n\n Perrault-Dabot, 271\n\n Petit, Jean, 199\n\n Philibert le Beau, Duke of Savoy, 281-284;\n death of, 284;\n tomb, 290\n\n Philintus, 146\n\n Philippe le Bon,\n Duke of Burgundy, 191, 203, 206,\n 218, 234, 244\n\n \" de Rouvre (see Philippe le Hardi)\n\n \" le Bel, 89\n\n \" le Hardi, 136, 184-190, 204, 212, 217\n\n \" III., King of France, 158\n\n \" Pot, 210, 240-246\n\n Pierre Damien, 80, 89\n\n \" de Chastellux, 88\n\n \" de Chandios, 154-158\n\n \" de Couhard, La, 16, 18, 29-32\n\n \" de la Wivre, La, 6, 8\n\n \" le V\u00e9n\u00e9rable, 75, 79, 111,\n 117, 120, 146, 152\n\n \" Jayet, 129\n\n \" Salvee, La, 9\n\n \" de Vasco, 153\n\n Pinot, Wine, 147\n\n Pius VII., Pope, 146\n\n Planoise, Forest of, 20\n\n Pleurants, 191, 192, 194\n\n Plombi\u00e8res, 215, 216\n\n Pochouse, La (national dish), 266\n\n Poillot, Denis, 54\n\n Poirer aux Chiens, 4\n\n Pommard, 252\n\n Pons, Abbot of Cluny, 75\n\n Pont d'Ain, Ch\u00e2teau de, 283, 284\n\n Pontigny, Abbey of, 117, 125\n\n Porcheresse, Ch\u00e2teau de, 20\n\n Porch of Cathedral, Autun, 44, 45\n\n Porte d'Arroux, 24, 26, 27, 29, 47\n\n \" des Marbres, 21, 28\n\n \" de Rome (See Porte des Marbres)\n\n \" St. Andoche, 24, 28, 29\n\n \" St. Andr\u00e9, 24, 27\n\n Post Office, Dijon, 205, 209\n\n Pot, Philippe (see Philippe Pot)\n\n \" Ren\u00e9, 242\n\n Prat family (Lamartine), 107\n\n Prudhon, 99, 168\n\n Puits des Proph\u00e8tes, Dijon, 189\n\n\n Raoul Glaber, 163-167\n\n Richelieu, 106\n\n Rieux, Mar\u00e9chal de, 196;\n Hotel de, 198\n\n Ren\u00e9e (Duc d'Anjou, Duc de Bar,\n \"Good King Ren\u00e9e\"), 213\n\n Ren\u00e9 (Duke of Lorraine), 207\n\n Revonnat, 277\n\n Robert I., Abbot of Cluny, 73\n\n Robert, Abbot of Mol\u00eame (see St. Robert)\n\n Rochepot, Castle of, 240-243\n\n Rolin, Cardinal, 44, 53\n\n \" Hotel, 51-53\n\n \" Nicolas, 44, 53, 233, 236\n\n Roman Buildings (see Autun)\n\n \" Column (see Cussy la Colonne)\n\n Romanesque Houses, Cluny, 95\n\n Rouvres, 123, 124, 217\n\n Rude, 205\n\n\n Sacr\u00e9 C\u0153ur, Cult of, 127\n\n Sainte Larme, Fontaine de, 176\n\n \" \" (Holy Tear), 175, 176\n\n Saint Agricole, 145, 165\n\n \" Alb\u00e9ric, 113\n\n \" Antony, Temptation of, 204\n\n \" B\u00e9nigne de Dijon, Abbey of, 163, 184;\n Cathedral, 208, 209\n\n \" \" Missionary, 255\n\n \" Benedict, Rule of, 76-82\n\n \" Bernard, 83, 115, 150, 152, 216;\n takes the Cowl, 114;\n Legend of his birth, 115;\n His Austerities, 116;\n Appointed Abbot of Clairvaux, 117;\n His Character, 118;\n Correspondence with Pierre\n le V\u00e9n\u00e9rable, 120-122;\n Cup of, 204;\n Home of, 216, 217\n\n Saint Catherine, Martyrdom of, 203, 204\n\n \" C\u00e9cile, 63\n\n \" Denis, Abbey of, 149, 150\n\n \" Germain d'Auxerre, Abbey of, 163\n\n \" Gildas, Abbey of, 150\n\n \" Hubert, Confraternity of, 4\n\n \" Lazare, and Cathedral of (see Autun)\n\n \" Leger-sous-Beuvray, 1-4, 8\n\n \" Louis (see Louis IX.)\n\n \" Loup, Village of, 258\n\n \" Marcel de Chalon, 137, 140, 142,\n 145, 146, 152\n\n \" Marcel, Eglise de, Cluny, 97\n\n \" Marguerite, Abbey and\n Legend of, 237-240\n\n \" Martha, 41, 42, 43, 54\n\n \" Martial Chapel of, Cluny, 88\n\n \" Martin, Abbey of, Autun, 54, 6, 9,\n 255-257\n\n \" \" Count of, 219\n\n \" \" de Tours, Tomb of, 208\n\n \" \" Legend of, 255-257\n\n \" \" Saut de, 253\n\n \" \" Puits de, 252-255\n\n \" Mayeul, Abbot of Cluny, 74\n\n \" Mary, 41, 43, 46, 54\n\n \" Michael, Church of, Dijon, 204, 210\n\n \" Nicholas, Church of, Paray, 129\n\n \" Odilon (see Odilon)\n\n \" Pierre, M\u00e2con, 172\n\n \" Philibert, Tournus, 160-162;\n Dijon, 185\n\n \" Point, Chateau and Village of, 107-110\n\n \" \" Church, 108\n\n \" \" Guillaume de, 109\n\n \" R\u00e9my, Provence, 110\n\n \" Robert, 111, 112;\n Cross of, 204\n\n \" Stephen, Stoning of, 232;\n Chapel of, Cluny, 88\n\n \" Symphorien, 49-51\n\n \" Val\u00e9rien, 161\n\n \" Victor, Village of, 174\n\n Saint Vincent, M\u00e2con, 172\n\n \" \" Cathedral of,\n Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne, 158\n\n \" Vulbas, Fontaine de, 283\n\n Salamanca, 281\n\n Salernes, Jean de, 64\n\n Sambin, Hugues, 204, 210\n\n Sand, Georges, 57\n\n Sandon, Lord of (Anthony de la Marche), 156\n\n Sarcy, Guillaume de, 155\n\n Savigny, 237\n\n Scheffer, 262\n\n Sens, Council of, 152\n\n Seyl, Lord of, 156\n\n Sluter, Claus, 192-194, 246\n\n \"Snake-Skin\" tiling, 210\n\n Soissons, Council of, 149\n\n Suran, The, 272\n\n\n Tacitus, 13, 32, 35\n\n Talant, 216\n\n Tanneguy du Chatel, 202\n\n Tavannes, Vicomte de, 263\n\n Tebsima-Ben-Beka, 174-177\n\n Tebsima, Legend of, 174-177\n\n Teillage (Autumn F\u00eate), 265\n\n Tescelin le Roux, 115, 117\n\n Tetricus, 21, 28, 32\n\n Theatre of Ephesus, 36\n\n \" \" Roman (see Autun)\n\n \" \" Smyrna, 36\n\n Thermes, Palais des, Paris, 88\n\n Thomas, Eden, 36\n\n Touleur, 8\n\n Toulongeon, the Herald, 154\n\n \" Tristan de, 155\n\n \" Claude, 155\n\n Tour des Fromages\n\n \" de l'Eau B\u00e9nite, Cluny, 87, 99, 100\n\n \" de la G\u00eanetoie, 24\n\n \" de l'Horloge, Cluny, 87\n\n \" du Logis du Roi (Tour de la\n Terrasse) Dijon, 204, 213\n\n Tour du Moulin, Cluny, 88\n\n \" des Ursulines, 29\n\n Tournament of La Dame des Pleurs, 153-158\n\n \" \" the Tree of Charlemagne, 217\n\n Tournoi (see Tournament)\n\n Tournus, 99, 160-171\n\n Tramaye, 110\n\n Tremp\u00e9e, La, 268\n\n Tres Valles (Three Valleys), 177\n\n\n Udalric, 77, 80\n\n\n Vall\u00e9e d'Absinthe, 152\n\n Valois, Duke of House of, 185;\n Madness of, 203, 205\n\n Van Boghen, Lois de, 285, 286\n\n \" der Weyden, Roger, 100, 234, 236\n\n \" Hemerren, 203\n\n Varennes, Bernard de, 82\n\n Vauchignon, 82\n\n Vaudrey, Guillaume de, 220\n\n Velours, Forest of, 221\n\n Vercingetorix, 15\n\n Verdun-sur-le-Doubs, 258, 262-264\n\n \" Seigneurs de, 263\n\n Vergy, Castle of, 238\n\n \" Maid of (see Marguerite)\n\n Verri\u00e8re, La, 10\n\n Vesentio, Road of, 36\n\n Vespasian, 18\n\n V\u00e9zeley, 42, 45\n\n Vienne, Sieurs de, 263\n\n Violet-le-Duc, 22, 24, 27, 131, 161, 234\n\n Vitruvius, 16\n\n Voltaire, 47\n\n Vulfrand, 137, 138, 142-144\n\n\n Well of St. Martin, 252-255\n\n Well of the Prophets\n\n Werve, Claus de, 190, 191\n\n William I., of England, 89\n\n Wines, qualities of, 247\n\n Wivern, 9\n\n\n NEWPORT, SALOP:\n BENNION, HORNE AND CO., LTD., PRINTERS.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's notes:\n\n--Different spelling of Citeaux and Cit-eaux results from usage in\n text.\n--Chalon-Sur-Sa\u00f4ne (city) is different from Chalon and Ch\u00e2lon. No\n further change to spelling.\n--Other differences in spelling like Hotel/H\u00f4tel remain in text as\n intended by the author. Many of those result from usage of English\n AND French texts.\n--Caret character ^ used for superscripts","title":"Burgundy: The Splendid Duchy. Stories and Sketches in South Burgundy","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":105705}