IN THE CÔTE D'OR: BEAUNE, LAROCHEPOT AND ÉPINAC
In the heart of the Cote d'Or are found first of all the _bonnes villes
de bons vins_ of the French, Beaune, Pommard, Nuits, etc. Here is a
region which was literally sown with great country houses of wealthy
seigneurs; each ancient seigneurie of any importance whatever had its
own little fortress or block-house which stood forth as an advance post
at some distance from the residence of the overlord. By this means only
could the seigneurs command respect for their vineyards. One notes much
the same condition of affairs to-day. If there are no forts nor
block-houses any more, nor arrows shot from bows, nor melted lead poured
down on one from some castle wall, there are at least high stone
barriers and big dogs and guardians of all ranks to serve their masters
as faithfully as did the _serfs_ and _vilains_ of old. One is glad to
say, however, that the Cote d'Or of to-day is not an inhospitable
region.
The transformations of later years which have taken place hereabouts
have been very considerable, and the historic names one recognizes best
to-day are those used by the _chateaux de commerce_, and found
reproduced on the labels on the bottles in the chic restaurants and
hotels throughout the world.
One can not, must not, pass these great enterprises by unnoted or with
their praises unsung. Their histories are often as interesting as those
of the _maisons de plaisance_ of the seigneurs who despised trade and
robbed and grafted for a livelihood. Undoubtedly many of them did take
the wide road to riches, for the feathering of political nests by the
willing or unwilling aid of one's constituents is no new thing.
The gatherers of the grape under the Burgundians and the Bourbons were
not always the happy contented crew that they have so frequently been
pictured on canvas. The novelists, the playwrights and the painters have
limned the lily a little too strong at times. One judges of this from a
chanson which has come down through centuries.
"_Allons en vendagne pour gagner cinq sous_
_Coucher sur la paille, ramasser les poux_
_Manger du fromage qui pue comme la rage._"
It was said in the good old days that the grape-pickers were wont to eat
as much as eight kilos of the grapes a day, to say nothing of drinking
three litres of wine,--manifestly they were not so badly off, even at a
wage of only five sous for a whole day's labour.
South from Dijon the itinerary through the core of the Côte d'Or passes
in review a succession of names which one usually associates only with a
wine list. If one has studied the map of France closely the surprise is
not so great, but for many it will come as something unexpected to be
able to breakfast at Chambertin, lunch at Nuits, dine at Beaune and
sleep at Mersault or Nolay. First off, on leaving the capital of the
dukes, almost within sight of its palace towers, one comes to the great
wine district of Chénove, and more than all others of this region it is
to be revered by the lover of the history and romance of feudal lords.
Sheltered, and almost enwrapped by the mountain background, it sits on
the edge of the sunny plain where once the Ducs de Bourgogne marshalled
their armies and their courtiers.
Not one of the very first wines of the Côte d'Or Chénove comes from the
bright particular vineyards or _closes_ of the Burgundian dukes. Their
ancient cellars and _cuviers_ are still existent but the wines matured
in them are to-day the growth of American roots, planted in the last
dozen or twenty years to take the place of those destroyed by the
phylloxera, the grafted stocks serving to give that classic body and
flavour which have made the Burgundian _crus_ famous. Thus the favourite
axiom is proved that it is the soil and not the grape which makes fine
wine.
Here at Chénove there is still to be seen the wine vats and presses
which served the minions of Philippe-le-Hardi and Charles-le-Téméraire
as they pressed their masters' wines, handling the great fifty foot
levers and chanting much as do sailors as they march around the capstan.
A block of stone weighing twenty-five tons was alternately raised and
lowered with the grapes beneath in great hollowed-out troughs of stone
or wood in no far different fashion from the methods of to-day.
Below Chénove is Fixin, glorious in memory because of a striking
monument to Napoleon, placed there by one of his fanatical admirers,
Commandant Noisat. The Clos de la Perrière, and the Clos du Chapitre,
two of the grand wines of the Côte d'Or, also help to give Fixin its
fame--how much, who shall say--although this Napoleonic shrine is really
a wonder of statuesque sculpture. An alley of pines leads up to a
fountain behind whose basin rise stone seats and a rustic shelter
destined to protect the effigy of Napoleon, a bronze by the Dijon
sculptor, Rude. The whole ensemble is most effective, far more so than
the usual plaster, or cast-iron statues of the "Little Corporal" with
which France is peopled. To carry the devotion still farther, Monsieur
Noisat built the guardian's house in the form of the Fortress of Saint
Helena.
Gevrey is near by, with an old ducal chateau, still well preserved, and
supported by an ivy-grown square tower. Gevrey produces one of the most
celebrated wines to be found on the lists of the _restaurants mondains_
throughout the world. It is the "Chambertin of Yellow Seal," coming from
the Champs de Bertin, a narrow strip of land sloping down the flank of
the hillside to the plain below. Another famous vineyard at Gevrey which
festoons itself between the height and the plain is that of
Crais-Billon, which takes its name from the celebrated feudal fief of
Crébillon.
The Clos Vougeot, the cradle of an equally well known Burgundian wine,
is scarce a half dozen kilometres away and may be classed among the
historic chateaux of France. Still enclosed with its rampart of
whitewashed wall, the great square of vineyard remains to-day as it has
been since first developed by the monks of Citeaux.
The property has, it is true, been dismembered and divided among many
proprietors, but the two great square pavilions joined together
originally gave the Clos that distinctive aspect which, in no small
measure, it retains unto this day. Taken as a whole, it still possesses
a proud mediæval aspect, though the modern porte-cochère, an iron gate
which looks as though it was manufactured yesterday in South
Chicago--and perhaps was--somewhat discounts this. Years ago, when the
Clos Vougeot was the nucleus of the many Vougeots of to-day, the grapes
passed entirely through the wine-presses of the monks, who reserved the
product entire to be used as presents to Popes and Princes. Thus Clos
Vougeot was the model for all other ambitious, monastic vineyards, and
those mediæval monks who excelled all others of their time as
wine-growers were the logical inheritors of that Latin genius of
antiquity which gave so much attention to the arts of agriculture.
Hard by Vougeot is Romanée-Conti, first celebrated under the ancient
régime when the
[Illustration: B. McManus CLOS VOUGEOT
CHAMBERTIN]
court-physician, Fagon, ordered its wine as a stimulant for the jaded
forces of Louis XIV, a circumstance which practically developed a war
between the wine growers of Champagne and Burgundy, with a victory for
the Côte d'Or, as was proper. To-day we are backsliders, and "champagne"
has again become fashionable with kings, emperors and the _nouveau
riche_.
The property known as Romanée-Conti has been thus known since the
Revolution, when this princely family of royal blood came into
possession thereof. The old abbey is to-day, in part, turned into a
beet-sugar factory, its thousand brothers and sisters now giving place
to working men and women of the twentieth century, less picturesque and
less faithful to their vocation, without doubt.
Moulin-a-Vent was another of the near-by properties of the Citeaux
monks, and to-day preserves the great _colombier_, or pigeon-house, as
all may note who travel these parts by road. It is the most conspicuous
thing in the landscape for miles around, and looks as much like the
tower of a military chateau as it does a dove-cote.
The Forêt Nationale de Citeaux was once the particular domain of the
monastery, whose monks preserved and enveloped it with the same degree
of devotion which they bestowed upon their vineyards, planting villages
here and there, of which the most notably picturesque and unspoiled
still alive is that of Saint Nicholas-les-Citeaux, a red-roofed
chimney-potted little village in close proximity to the uncouth
fragments of the old conventual establishment.
Nuits, not to be confounded with Nuits-sous-Ravières, is more famous for
its wine _crus_ than its monuments or its history. Besides a picturesque
belfry and hôtel-de-ville, both excellent examples of the local
architecture, it has no monuments of remark, although a sort of
reflected glamour hangs over it by reason of its proximity to the site
of the ancient Chateau de Vergy, when it was the capital of the tiny
province belonging to the celebrated Burgundian family of this name.
The metropolis of these parts is Beaune. It has been called a "_vieille
grande dame qui s'est faite ouvrière et marchande_." And Beaune is, for
a fact, all this. But by contrast with its commercialism its mediæval
aspect is also well preserved in spite of the fact that its manorial
magnificence is much depleted.
The contrastingly modern and mediæval aspect, and to some extent its
military character, makes Beaune most interesting. The ramparts
themselves have been turned into a series of encircling boulevards, but
here and there a fragment of wall is left plunging sheer down to the
moat below, which has not yet been filled up. This gives quite a
suggestion of the part the old walls once played, an effect heightened
the more by three or four massive towers and portals flanking the
entrances and exits of the town. This at least gives a reminiscence of
what the former city must have been when it was girded in its corselet
of stone.
Here and there a sober and dignified _maison bourgeoise_ rears its
Renaissance head above a more humble and less appealing structure
suggestive of an ancient prosperity as great, perhaps greater, than that
which makes possible the comfortable lives of the city's fourteen
thousand souls to-day.
Another civic monument of more than ordinary remark is the watch-tower,
or belfry, a remainder of the cities of Flanders, a most unusual
architectural accessory to find in these parts, the only other
neighbouring example recalled being at Moulins in the Allier.
In spite of all this, Beaune's historic tale has little of blood and
thunder in its make-up; mostly its experiences have been of a peaceful
nature, and only because the dukes so frequently took up their residence
within its walls was it so admirably defended.
Beaune was originally the seat of the Burgundian Parliament. Henri IV,
who was particularly wroth with all things Burgundian, treated the city
with great severity after the revolt of Maréchal de Biron, razing its
castle, one of the most imposing in the province, to the ground. As a
part of the penalty Biron was put to death. On the scaffold he said to
his assistants "_Va t'en! Va t'en! Ne me touche pas qu'il soit temps_."
Five minutes later his head fell into the basket and his king was
avenged.
Since this time Beaune has been little heard of save in the arts of
peace; there is no city in France more calm to-day, nor "_plus
bourgeoise_" than Beaune, and by the use of the word _bourgeoise_ one
does not attempt irony.
The Hospice de Beaune is for all considerations a remarkable edifice;
its functions have been many and various and its glories have been
great. Formerly the Hospice stood for hospitality; to-day it is either a
hospital, or a matter-of-fact business proposition; you may think of it
as you like, according to your mood, and how it strikes you.
The Benedictine Abbey de Fécamp, like Dauphiny's Grande Chartreuse, is
but a business enterprise whose stocks and bonds in their inflated
values take rank with Calumet and Hecla, Monte Carlo's Casino, or other
speculative projects. The same is true of the wine exploitation of the
monks of Citeaux at Clos Vougeot, and of the famous wine cellars of the
Hospice de Beaune. We may like to think of the old romantic glamour that
hangs over these shrines, but in truth it is but a pale reflected light.
This is true from a certain point of view at any rate.
Beaune's Hospice, with its queer mélange of churchly and heraldic
symbols ranged along with its Hispano-Gothic details, is "more a
_chateau-de-luxe_ than a poor-house," said a sixteenth century vagabond
traveller who was entertained therein. And, taking our clue from this,
we will so consider it. "It is worth being poor all one's life to
finally come to such a refuge as this in which to end one's days," said
Louis XI.
The foundation of the Hospice dates from 1443, as the date on its carven
portal shows. It was started on its philanthropic and useful career by
Nicholas Rollin and his wife Guignonne de Salins. It was then accounted,
as it is to-day, "a superb foundation endowed with great wealth."
The desire of the founders was that the occupants should be surrounded
with as much of comfort and luxury as a thousand of _livres_ of income
for each (a considerable sum for that far-away epoch) should allow.
This fifteenth century Hospice de Beaune is one of the most celebrated
examples of the wood-workers' manner of building of its time. The role
that it plays among similar contemporary structures wherever found is
supreme. It is only in Flanders that any considerable number of similar
architectural details of construction are found.
The general view of the edifice from without hardly does justice to the
many architectural excellencies which it possesses. The _heurtoir_, or
door-knocker, in forged iron, still hanging before the portal, is the
same that was first hung there in the fifteenth century, and which has
responded to countless appeals of wayfarers. The iron work of the
interior court is of the same period.
With the inner courtyard the aspect changes. On one side is the
Flemish-Gothic, or Hispano-Gothic, structure of old, one of the most
ornate and satisfying combinations of wooden gables and _pignons_ and
covered galleries one can find above ground to-day. Frankly it is an
importation from alien soil, a transplantation from the Low Countries,
where the style was first developed during the Spanish occupation in
Flanders.
Save for certain modifications in 1646, 1734 and 1784 this portion of
the edifice remains much as it was left by the passing of the good old
times when knights, and monks as well, were bold. The Grande Salle,
where the Chancelier Rollin first instituted the annual wine sale which
still holds forth to-day, and the entrance portal were again restored in
1879, but otherwise the aspect is of the time of the birth of the
structure.
The Hospice de Beaune is properly enough to be classed among the palaces
and chateaux of Burgundy, for its civic functions were many, besides
which it was the princely residence of the chancellor of the Burgundian
Parliament.
The old Collége de Beaune, now disappeared, or transformed out of all
semblance to its former self, was a one-time residence of the Ducs de
Bourgogne, and in addition the first seat of the Burgundian Parliament
when its sittings were known as the _Jours Généraux_.
A near neighbour of Beaune is Corton.
[Illustration: _Hospice de Beaune_]
"_C'est le Chambertin de la Côte de Beaune_," said Monillefert, writing
of its wine. Another neighbouring vineyard is that which surrounds the
little village of Pernand. Its _cru_, called Charlemagne, has
considerably more than a local reputation. Savigny-sous-Beaune is
another place-name which means little unless it be on a wine-card. The
little town is set about with sumptuous _bourgeoise_ houses, and a local
chateau bears the following inscription over its portal, "_Les vins de
Savigny sont nourrisants, theologiques et morbifuges_." They have been
drunk by countless _bon vivants_ through the ages, and the Ducs de
Bourgogne were ever their greatest partisans. Mention of them appears
frequently in the accounts written of public and private fêtes; almost
as frequently, one may note, as the more celebrated "_vin du Hospice_."
South from Beaune is Mersault, a tiny city of the Côte de Beaune. All
about its clean-swept streets rise well-kept, pretentious dwellings,
many of them the gabled variety so like the mediæval chateaux, though
indeed they may date only from the last three-quarters of a century, or
since the Revolution.
An old feudal castle--the typical feudal castle of romance--has been
restored and remodelled, and now serves as Mersault's Hôtel de Ville.
All about is the smell of wine; barrels of it are on every curb, and
running rivers of the lees course through every gutter.
Nolay, a trifle to the west, is scarcely known at all save as the name
of a wine, and then it is not seen on every wine list of the popular
restaurants. In the good old days it was the seat of a marquisat and was
of course endowed with a seigneurial chateau. Nothing of sufficient
magnitude, seemingly, exists to-day, and so one does not linger, but
turns his attention immediately to the magnificent Chateau de La
Rochepot, which virtually dominates the landscape for leagues around.
In contrast with the vast array of _chateaux de commerce_ scattered all
through the Côte d'Or--the "Golden Hillside" of the Romans--is the
Chateau de La Rochepot, marvellous as to its site and most appealing
from all points.
It was at Nolay that was born Lazare Carnot. It is the name of the
_grand homme_ who is almost alone Nolay's sole claim to fame. His
ancestor has his statue on the little Place, and his grandson--he who
was President of the French Republic--is also glorified by a fine, but
rather sentimentally conceived, monument.
Lazare Carnot was born in a humble little cottage of Nolay, and this
cottage, after all, is perhaps the town's most celebrated monument to
the glorious name.
The ancient home of the Sires de la Roche, the Chateau de La Rochepot,
to-day belongs to Captaine Carnot, the son of the former President, who,
thoroughly and consistently, has begun its restoration on model lines.
The Sire de la Roche-Nolay, who planned the work, hired one by the name
of Pot, it is said, to dig a well within the courtyard. The price
demanded was so high that he was obliged to turn over the property
itself in payment. It was by this means, says historic fact or legend,
that the line of Pots, big and little, came into possession. This
Philippe Pot, by his marriage, brought the property to the Montmorencys
and himself to the high office of Counsellor of Anne de Beaujeau. He
became seigneur of the lands here in 1428, and was afterwards better
known as ambassador of the Duc de Bourgogne at London. His tomb was
formerly in the Abbey of Citeaux, but has been transported to the
Louvre.
After the Rochepots' tenure the property came to the Sullys, and in 1629
to the family De Fargis. During the Revolution it was acquired as a
part of the _biens nationaux_ of the government, and in 1799 the donjon
of the chateau was pulled down, the same which is to-day being rebuilt
stone by stone on the same site.
The present noble edifice is after all nothing more than a completion of
the admirably planned reconstruction of the fifteenth century; the
restoration, or rebuilding, of to-day being but the following out of the
plans of the original architect, a procedure which has seldom been
attempted or accomplished elsewhere. It was done with the sixteenth
century fountain of the Medicis in the Luxembourg Gardens (whose
sculptures according to the original designs were only completed in
1839), but this is perhaps the only instance of a great mediæval chateau
being thus carried to completion. The restorations of Carcassonne,
Saint-Michel and Pierrefonds are in quite another category.
The Chateau La Rochepot was a development of the ancient Chastel-Rocca,
which stood on the same site in the twelfth century, and which drew its
name originally from its situation.
Épinac, just to the west of La Rochepot, is in the heart of a veritable
"black country"; not the "black country" of the Midlands in England, but
a more picturesque region, where the soot and grime of coal and its
products mingle by turns with the brilliancy of foliage green and gold.
In addition to drawing its fame from the mines roundabout, Épinac owes
not a little of its distinction to its chateau, and a neighbouring
Chateau de Sully which dates from the sixteenth century.
The Chateau de Sully is a magnificent edifice built in 1567 for the
Maréchal de Saulx-Tavannes, and is to-day classed by the French
government as a "monument historique." It was built from the plans of
Ribbonnier, a celebrated architect of Langres in the sixteenth century,
and terminated only in the reign of Henri IV. It is an excellent type of
the French Renaissance of the latter half of the sixteenth century. In
form it is a vast rectangle with square _pavilions_, or towers, at each
angle set diagonally. Though varied, its architecture is sober to a
degree, particularly with respect to the _rez-de-chaussée_.
The inner court of this admirable chateau is surrounded by an arcaded
gallery whose rounded arches are separated by a double colonnette. The
gardens are of the "jardin anglais" variety, so affected by the French
at the time of the completion of the chateau, and are cut and crossed by
many arms of the ornamental water which entirely surrounds the
property.
After the tenure of the family of Tavannes, the property passed to those
of Rabutin and Montaigu, and, for the last century, has been owned by
the MacMahons. There are some fragments lying about which belong to
another edifice which dates from the thirteenth century, but not enough
to give the stones the distinction of being called even a ruined
chateau.
Épinac's chateau dates from at least two centuries before the Chateau de
Sully, and is a resurrection of an old chateau-fort. Two great heavy
towers remain to-day as the chief architectural features, beside an
extent of main building through whose walls are cut a series of splendid
Gothic window frames. Tradition has it that these towers were originally
much more lofty, but at the period when barons, whether rightly or
wrongly, held their sway over their peers and anyone else who might be
around, if the local seigneur was beaten at a tourney, the penalty he
paid was to cut the towers of his castle down one-half. This seems a
good enough tale to tack to a mediæval castle, as good as a ghost tale,
and as satisfactory as if it were a recorded fact of history, instead of
mere legend.
[Illustration: _Chateau de Sully_]
Originally these towers of the Chateau d'Épinac were of such an
overwhelming height that they could be seen a hundred leagues
around--this is local tradition again, and this time it is probably
exaggeration. Three hundred miles is a long bird's-eye view indeed!
Anyway a local couplet reads thus, and is seemingly justifiable:
"_Démène-toi, tourne toi, vire toi,_
_Tu ne trouveras pas plus beau que moi._"
Épinac, too, is noted for its bottles, the fat-bellied, ample litres in
which ripe old Burgundy is sold. "_Dame Jeans_" and "_flacons_" are here
made by millions, which is only another way of referring to demijohns
and bottles. Of their variety of shapes and sizes one may judge by the
song the workers sing as they ply their trade:
"_Messieurs, messieurs, laissez nous faire_
_On vous en donnera de toutes les façons._"
The glass industry of Épinac, if not as old as its chateau, at least
dates from the very earliest days of the art.
Retracing one's steps some forty kilometres to Chalon-sur-Saône one
comes midway to Chagny. The railroad guides chiefly make mention of
Chagny as a junction where one is awakened at uncomfortable hours in the
night to change cars. Some of us who have passed frequently that way can
call attention to the fact that Chagny possesses, among other wonders,
certain architectural glories which are worthy of consideration by even
the hurried twentieth century traveller.
Here is a fine twelfth century Roman tower, a former dependency of some
civic establishment, but now serving as the _clocher_ of the church, a
svelt but all imposing square broad-based tower of the local manor from
which the seigneur of other days, even though he was not a "grand
seigneur," stretched forth his velvet-clad iron hand in mighty
benediction over his good men and true.
Besides this there is a monstrosity of a cupola of the modern chateau
which is hideous and prominent enough to be remarked from miles around.
Clearly, then, Chagny is much more than a railway junction. No one who
stops more than a passing hour here will regret it, although its
historic shrines are not many nor beautiful to any high degree.