A
RIDE ON HORSEBACK
TO
FLORENCE
THROUGH
FRANCE AND SWITZERLAND.
DESCRIBED IN A SERIES OF LETTERS
BY
A LADY.
“I will not change my horse for any that treads but on four pasterns:
he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn
of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes; he is the prince
of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his
countenance enforces homage: nay, the man hath no wit that cannot from
the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb vary deserved praise
on my palfrey.”—SHAKSPEARE, _King Henry the Fifth_.
_IN TWO VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1842.
LONDON:
Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES and SONS,
Stamford Street.
A ride on horseback to Florence
CONTENTS
OF VOL. I.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
Page 1
LANDING at Calais—Meeting of a Custom-House Officer with
Fanny—Historical remains—John’s mode of Confession—The Hero malgré
lui—The Courtgain—St. Omer’s—The Abbey of St. Bertin and the
Cathedral—St. Denis and the miraculous St. Hubert—The strength of
the short Pepin—Lillers, and John’s precautions—St. Pol—Doullens,
the Citadel and the Corporal—The possession of Doullens by the
Huguenots—The taking of Amiens caused by love for a fair
Widow—Hernand Teillo’s stratagem—His success chiefly owing to a
body of Irishmen—Henry the Fourth’s emotion and resolve—Death of
Hernand Teillo—Amiens—The Sunstroke—The warlike show—A religious
Picture strangely imagined—The Beffroi and its tragedy—The
Cathedral and its Tombs—The travelling Crucifix—The Bishop who
sheltered Philip of Valois after the battle of Crecy—The Pavement
marked in fatal memorial—The Grave of Hernand Teillo—Characters and
portraits of the Canons—The contrite Ass and presentation of an
infant, Breteuil
CHAPTER II.
34
Clermont—Château now a penitentiary—A Stronghold of the English in
Charles the Sixth’s time—Creil, where Peter the Hermit preached
the first Crusade—Charles the Sixth’s place of confinement during
his Madness—Chantilly—Écouen—Henry last Duke of
Montmorency—Presentiment of his Father—At eighteen created Lord
High Admiral—His early love in Languedoc—His prudential Marriage
at the Louvre—His Successes at Rochelle—Coldness of Louis the
Thirteenth, and jealousy of Richelieu—His gallantry at
Veillane—Restoration of Prisoners—Humanity during the plague at
Rivoli—His anxiety to become High Constable of France—Richelieu’s
injustice—His retirement to Languedoc—Privileges of
Languedoc—Prince Gaston’s efforts to win over Montmorency—The
Duke’s arrest by Richelieu’s orders, rendered impossible through
the people’s affection—Renewed efforts of Gaston—Persuasions of
the Duchess—Montmorency’s reluctant consent—Gaston’s indecision
and high words with the Duke—Battle of Castelnaudary—His
emulation with the Comte de Moret to strike the first blow—The
ditch leaped alone as at Veillane—The troops held back by Gaston
in sight of his peril—Montmorency overpowered—Dragged from under
his dead horse and carried before Schomberg—The female portrait on
his arm discovered by a spy, and notice of his wearing it sent to
incense the King by the Cardinal—The cries of the people beneath
the Palace windows—His farewell to his wife, and legacy to
Richelieu—The emotion of his Judges—His condemnation—Religious
feeling of his last hours—His farewell to the statue of his
Godfather—His calm death, and blood sought for as that of a
martyr—His burial among the bones of the Sainted—The imprisonment
of his widow—Her sad life—Her taking the veil—Louis the
Thirteenth’s visit to her mourning cell and her reply to the
Cardinal’s messengers—The King’s remorse—The apparition in the
Hall of Écouen—St. Denis—Foundation of the Cathedral by Dagobert,
St. Denis having appeared to him in a dream—Miraculous
consecration of the church and the leper’s new skin—Tombs—The
column to the memory of Francis, erected by Mary of
Scotland—Breaking open of the monuments in 1793—Turenne in a
glass case—A lock of Henry the Fourth’s beard making a soldier’s
moustache—Plunder of a nose by an Englishman—The Caveau of the
last Condé—Devotion of a Russian General to Henry the Fourth’s
memory—The Cathedral preserved during the Revolution by being
converted into a Market-house—Paris
CHAPTER III.
70
Departure under an unlucky star—Essonne—Petit Bourg—The Czar
Peter—Fontainebleau—Palace—Apartments of the Emperor Charles
the Fifth—Chamber where Pius the Seventh said mass daily—Chapel
founded in the seventh century—Cypher of the Saviour and Virgin
placed beside those of Henry the Second and Diana of
Poitiers—Princess Mary of Orleans—Napoleon’s apartments—Marie
Antoinette’s boudoir—Carving by Louis the Sixteenth’s
hand—Monaldeschi, favourite of Queen Christina—Gallery where he
was murdered—Account of his murder by the Monk who confessed
him, of his burial at dusk in the church of Avon—Window thrown
open by Henry the Fourth, to announce Louis the Thirteenth’s
birth—Gallery of Henry the Second, called Galerie des
Réformés—Petition in which they took the name presented here by
Coligny—Open chamber above the Donjon—Arch where Louis the
Thirteenth was publicly baptized—Biron’s tower—His treason—His
denial—His last interview with Henry the Fourth—Napoleon—The
Forest—The Comte de Moret, last inhabitant of the Hermitage of
Franchard—Fanny’s sagacity—Croix du Grand Veneur—The spectre
hunt—Apparition and warning to Henry the Fourth, corroborated by
Sully—Avon—Monaldeschi, Christina’s fickle lover—The old
church—The fat porter—The grave beneath the Bénitier—The
Englishmen’s sacrilege—Monaldeschi their relative—Precautions
against travellers
CHAPTER IV.
97
Moret—The Nunnery—Louis the Fourteenth’s black daughter—Two useful
Saints—Villeneuve la Guyard—-Descriptions deceitful—Strange cure
for blood to the head—A River-god on terra-firma—Sens—St. Colombe,
Thomas à Becket’s refuge—Villeneuve le Roy—Place where the Vine was
first cultivated—Auxerre—The Chapter’s hundred years’ Law-suit
concerning fur trimmings—The Canons’ games at ball—The Cathedral
occupying the site of the first Christian Chapel—St. Germain—The
Saint’s refusal to get out of his Grave to reform England—Tombs of
Dukes of Burgundy—Ill-treatment in a Church from a School at its
devotions—Lucy le Bois—The Face in a Hole in the Wall—Taken for a
beast—Arnay le Duc—La Rochepot—A danger avoided through Grizzle’s
affection—An unamiable Carter—Chalons, Cæsar’s head-quarters—Cross
seen by Constantine—Punishment of past times for unskilful
Physicians—A Prince of Portugal, Monk at St. Laurents—Cathedral
CHAPTER V.
120
Tournus—Greuze’s grave—Mâcon—The walking Wedding—Retirement of
a Count of Mâcon, with thirty Knights, to the Abbey of
Cluny—Dealings of his Successor with evil spirits—His exit from
Earth in the Car of a black Visitor—His son turning Monk through
fear—The County sold by his Daughter Alice to France—Bloodless
occupation of Mâcon by the Huguenots—Mâcon retaken through
bribery by the Marshal of Tavannes—Madame de Tavannes’ mode of
increasing her Revenues—Sauteries de Mâcon—Farce of St.
Poinct—Assassination of Huguenot Prisoners—Sang froid of
Catholic Dames—A Russian noble—Villefranche—Privilege granted
to its married men—Descent into Lyons—Monastère des deux Amans,
supposed Herod and Herodias—Fortress of Pierre Encise—The
Prison of Cinq Mars—Fort commanding the Croix Rousse—Homage
paid to the wooden Statue of 1550—Hôtel de l’Europe—View of
Fourvières—Its Church escaping violation throughout the
Revolution—The Antiquaille on the site of the Palace where
Germanicus was born—Traces of fire in Nero’s time—Recollections
of Princess Mary of Württemberg—Her love of Art to the
last—Nourrit’s Funeral—A Racer’s determination to trot—Going
to races—Mistaken for a Candidate—Perrache—Horses, riders, and
accoutrements—Triumph of the King’s Fête—A Boat upset—The
Tower of the fair German—Croix Rousse—Wretchedness of the
Operatives—Causes of Insurrection in 1831—The most ancient
Monastery in Gaul—Church of Aisnay
CHAPTER VI.
152
Heights of Fourvières—Difficult descent—Trade in relics—Our Lady
of Fourvières—Saving Lyons from Cholera—Lunatic
patients—Dungeon where the first Christian Bishop was
murdered—Roman Ruins—The Christians’ early place of
assembly—St. Irénée—A coffin—Subterranean chapels—Bones of
the Nine Thousand—The Headsman’s block, and the murmur from the
well—Bleeding to death—Marguerite Labarge—Her abode for nine
years—Her return to upper air cause of her death—Her family
rich residents in Lyons—Mode of saving the soul—Body dispensed
with—The Pope’s Bull good for ever—A friend’s arrival—Jardin
des Plantes—Riots of November, 1831—The Préfet’s mistake—Capt.
de ——.—Defence of the Arsenal with unloaded cannon—The
murdered Chef de Bataillon—His assassin’s death—The grief of
his opponents—Their usual cruelty and their wild justice—Their
eight days’ occupation of Lyons—Capt. de ——’s defence of
Arsenal—Bearer of proclamation—Danger—Saved by a former
comrade—Interview—Threats—Empty cannon effective—Invitation
to dinner—Retreat—The Hôtel de l’Europe closed against its
master by a National Guard—Three hundred killed in St.
Nizier—The Cathedral—Second Council General—Jaw of St.
John—The ivory horn of Roland—Privilege of the Seigneur of Mont
d’Or—The first Villeroy Archbishop—Refusal to accept him by the
Counts of Lyons—His text and the Dean’s reply—Lyons refuge for
the Pazzi—Their monument destroyed in anger by Marie de
Médicis—The last Prince of Dauphiné becoming prior of the
Jacobin Convention, Paris—Procession in St. Nizier—Chapel of
Ste. Philomène—Place des Terreaux
CHAPTER VII.
184
Place Bellecour—Louise Labé—Clémence de Bourges—Her desertion
by her lover—His death—Her own—Rue de la Belle
Cordière—Abd-el-Kader—The fat Cantinière captive—Presented
to the Emperor of Morocco—The Emperor’s love—Her
obstinacy—Application made to the Consul—Her oaths and
blows—Her return—The Savoyard Regiment’s fidelity—Marquis of
—— and dogs—Cat massacre—Indignant landlady—Pont de la
Guillotière—Bridge at the same spot broken beneath Philip
Augustus and Richard Cœur de Lion—Leaving Lyons—Mont
Blanc—La Verpelière—Its accommodation—La Tour du Pin—A
lovely Country—An auberge—Destructive storms—Pont du
Beauvoisin—Curious landlady—Leeches en poste—A smiling
country—A wild pass—La Chartreuse—Valley des
Échelles—Grotto—Cascade of Cours—Chambéry
CHAPTER VIII.
209
Chambéry—The Cathedral—The Château—The Chapel—The holy shroud
distilling blood—Mules’ refusal to carry the relic
away—Respected by the flames—St. Charles of Borromeo’s
pilgrimage to its shrine at Turin—Its authenticity denied by
Calvin—Drawing made of the Saint Suaire by desire of Philip
the Fifth of Spain—Artist on his knees—Savoy—Peter of Savoy
favourite of Henry the Third of England—Savoy Palace, his
residence—The Green Count Amedée—His tournament—The Emperor
Charles the Fourth’s passage—Homage done to the Emperor—The
Banquet served by Horsemen—The Carmelites’ whitewash—The
Crusade—The Green Count’s embarkation—The Red Count
Amedée—His Death-wound in the forest of
Lornes—Poison—Physician beheaded—Duel between Estavayer and
Grandson—Its real cause—Place of combat—Bourg en
Bresse—Otho conquered—His tomb at Lausanne—Duke Amedée’s
retreat to Ripaille—His authority delegated to his Son—Six
Knights his Companions in the Monastery—Astrologers’
prediction—Author of Peace of Arras—Elected Pope—His
renouncement of the Tiara—His return to Ripaille, and
death—His tower and those of four of his knights still
standing—Fête Dieu—The priest commander of the forces—Les
Charmettes—The young Abbé—The old Governor—Censure—Severe
laws for small offences—Rejoicings—Montmeillan—Abymes de
Myans—The Black Virgin’s power—Chignin—Iron
collars—Fortress of Montmeillan—Its resistance—Sully’s
stratagem—Proof of the King’s Catholicity—Treason of the
Governor—Christina of Savoy’s confessor a captive—His vain
intrigues against Richelieu—Richelieu’s anger chiefly excited
by a satire written by Père Monod—Monod’s
death—Bourget—Amedée the Fifth—Hautecombe—Sepulchre of
Counts of Savoy—Tomb of Amedée, who defied to single combat
three English Earls—Abbey changed to a manufactory—Spectres
of the sovereigns of Savoy—Its restoration
CHAPTER IX.
245
Well merited attentions to St. Anthony—The young Countess de
S——.—Leeches paying postilions better than the English—General
de Boigne—Lemenc and its antiquities—Droit de dépouille of the
Bénédictines—Their agreement with the nobles of Chambéry—Ancient
vaults beneath the church—Colossal statues feared by the good
people of Chambéry—Tomb of an Irish Primate—Calvary—Monument of
General de Boigne—His low birth—His struggles—His success in
India—The death of his benefactor Sindiah—His gratitude shown
towards his heir—The story of his betrayal of Tippoo Saib
unfounded—His arrival in England—His marriage with the Marquis of
Osmond’s daughter an unhappy one—His return to Chambéry—His
benefactions—Created Count—His death—Aix—Its antiquities—Tower
and Cascade of Grésy—The friend of Queen Hortense—Her fate—Her
monument—Rumilly—Its convent—Siege by Louis the Thirteenth—The
courage of a nun—The three privileged houses and discipline of a
French soldiery—Frangy, an impertinent innkeeper—Fanny’s
wisdom—L’Éluiset—A sweet evening—A bad night—A welcome
dawning—Geneva—The fusillades of 94—The Secheron
CHAPTER X.
272
Early history of Geneva—Constitution—Duke Amedée the Eighth—Attempt
to become master of Geneva—The Bishop inclined to cede his
rights—The opposition of the citizens—Charles the
Third—Berthelier—Alliance with Fribourg—His courage—Geneva
taken—His refusal to fly—His arrest—A tooth-drawer named his
judge—His execution—The news of his death causing the impression he
had hoped for—Treaty—The Mamelukes—The Confrères de la
Cuiller—Advance of Berne and Fribourg—Charles the Third’s forced
concessions—Want of generosity in the Bernese—Noble conduct of
Geneva—Protestant religion gaining strength—Bonnivard—Seized on
the Jura—Cast into the dungeons of Chillon—Disputes in Geneva—The
Grand Council decides that mass be abolished—Francis the
First—Berne declares war against Savoy—Her alliance with
Francis—The Duke of Savoy’s losses—Berne’s renewed
misconduct—Proud reply of the Genevese—Bonnivard
delivered—Calvin—His early life—His flight from Paris—His
reception by Marguerite of Navarre—Persecution of Francis—Calvin’s
reception by Louis the Twelfth’s Daughter—Geneva—His over
severity—His expulsion—His return—His iron rule—Michael
Servet—His irritating conduct towards Calvin—Calvin’s vow to be
revenged—Servet’s arrest—His escape—Tracked by Calvin—Taken
prisoner on his passage through Geneva—He is accused—Calvin’s
valet—Burned at the stake outside the walls of Geneva
CHAPTER XI.
296
A vain Stork—A German coachmaker—Coppet—Ferney—Voltaire’s
Church—His habitation—Crockery Cenotaph—Shoe-blacking in his
study—The old Gardener—The morning rehearsals in tragic
costume—The story of Gibbon—Voltaire catching his pet
mare—Gibbon’s opinion of Voltaire’s beauty—Their
reconciliation—The tree which shaded Franklin—The increase of his
village—The marble pyramid broken—The gardener’s petites antiquités
and cross wife—Voltaire’s opinions of his correspondents—His
remains the property of a maimed Englishman—Denial to a visitor—His
heart in the larder—Genevese pride—Swiss troops—Swiss
penitentiaries—Genevese smuggling—The Directeur Général des
Douaness an unwilling accomplice—D’Aubigné interred in the
cathedral—The Cardinal de Brogny—A swineherd—Shoes bestowed in
charity—The boy become a cardinal—The poor shoemaker rewarded—His
compassion for John Huss—Courageous death of the latter—De Brogny’s
charity—A modest genius and tolerant cardinal
CHAPTER XII.
321
Arrival of friends—Excursion to Chamouny—The Voiron mountain—Its
monastery—The Babes in the wood—Old castle of Faucigny—Its last
possessor—Her rights over Dauphiny bequeathed to Savoy—Long war
with France—Bonneville—Cluses—Wretched inhabitants—The baronial
capital in the time of the old lords—Cavern of La Balme—The village
of Arache, and Falquet—The Nant d’Arpenas—Sallenches—Mont
Blanc—The lake of Chède filled up—Pont Pelissier—Les Motets—The
Glacier des Bossons—Evening—A tranquil night—Morning cavalcade—My
guide—The Montanvert—Fontaine du Caillet—Source of the
Aveiron—The avalanche—Mer de Glace—Passage of cattle—Priory of
Chamouny founded in eleventh century—The Grands Mulets on Mont
Blanc—Character of the inhabitants of Chamouny—Return—Versoix
destined by Louis the Fourteenth for Geneva’s rival—Coppet—The
monument—Old castle of Wufflens—Bertha—Morges—Lausanne—Cathedral
containing tomb of Duke Amedée and Bernard de Menthon—The
Faucon—The fat innkeeper abandoned—Vevay—Trois Couronnes
CHAPTER I.
Landing at Calais—Meeting of a Custom-House Officer with
Fanny—Historical remains—John’s mode of Confession—The Hero malgré
lui—The Courtgain—St. Omer’s—The Abbey of St. Bertin and the
Cathedral—St. Denis and the miraculous St. Hubert—The Strength of
the short Pepin—Lillers, and John’s precautions—St. Pol—Doullens,
the Citadel and the Corporal—The possession of Doullens by the
Huguenots—The taking of Amiens caused by love for a fair
Widow—Hernand Teillo’s stratagem—His success chiefly owing to a
body of Irishmen—Henry the Fourth’s emotion and resolve—Death of
Hernand Teillo—Amiens—The Sunstroke—The warlike show—A religious
Picture strangely imagined—The Beffroi and its tragedy—The
Cathedral and its Tombs—The travelling Crucifix—The Bishop who
sheltered Philip of Valois after the battle of Crecy—The Pavement
marked in fatal memorial—The Grave of Hernand Teillo—Characters and
Portraits of the Canons—The contrite Ass and presentation of an
infant, Breteuil.
Wednesday, July the 5th 1838.
Hotel de Meurice, à Calais.
MY DEAR WILLIAM,
When we called on you a few weeks since, on our ride from Liverpool to
Dover, you desired a journal of that which was to follow across France
and to Florence. We embarked, then, at seven in the morning of the 4th
of July, with no wind, but a heavy swell and drizzling rain: D—— and
myself, Fanny and the patient Grizzel in their horse boxes, with John
(from Cork!) beside them, combing tails and rubbing curb-chains—his
resource against ennui. Landed at ten: Fanny profiting by her first
free moment to bite a douanier who caressed her; and from his calling
obtained no more pity from the bystanders than from John, who was
grinning derision at his “big ear-ring.” Worried by the Customhouse,
though we have nothing contraband. The signalement of the horses taken
with care and gravity: it would suit any grey mare and bay pony in the
world. The officers do not quite understand the shining of their coats,
and (supposing them cleaned after the fashion of spoons) asked John
“with what powder?” he has been rather awed by the ceremony of
receiving his passport, particularly when standing up to be measured
and described. We remain here three days, as the inn is exceedingly
comfortable, but there is very little to see; on the Grande Place, near
the lighthouse tower, stood, even in 1830, the ruins of the old Halle,
where John de Vienne the governor, and Sire Walter de Mauny
communicated the hard terms of surrender to Eustache St. Pierre: there
is no trace of it now. The site of St. Pierre’s house is marked by a
neat marble slab, at the corner of the street which bears his name. The
building still called “Cour de Guise,” though it has been turned to
various purposes, rebuilt and altered, was the wool staple originally
built by Edward the Third of England; and afterwards bestowed on Guise
the Balafré, in reward of his services when he retook Calais from the
English in 1577. The church has little worth notice excepting its
altar. The vessel, which in Louis the Thirteenth’s time bore it from
Genoa, on its way to Antwerp, was wrecked on the Calais coast. With its
bassi-relievi and crowd of statues and marble columns, it wants
simplicity, and is too large for the place it occupies; for the roof
appears to crush the glory of the Saviour. The old Suisse who shows the
church is most proud of a Last Supper carved in relief, gilded and
coloured: he knocks on the head the little figure of Christ to prove
his assertion, “Monsieur c’est en bois!”
In the old revolution this church was unprofaned: a Club built before
it masked its entrance; and the then mayor of Calais warned Lebon that
he might enter if he would, but that he could not answer for the temper
of his townsmen.
The chief building in Calais is the Hôtel de Ville with its handsome
tower, and a clock which has a sweet clear chime; before it, each on
its pedestal, are the busts of Richelieu and Guise le Balafré: that of
Eustache St. Pierre holds the place of honour on the façade. To reward
for the trouble of walking up stairs, the old woman only exhibited two
rooms, “là où l’on marie” and “là où l’on reçoit,” she called them: in
the latter, Louis Philip, whom the artist intended to smile, and who
sneers instead, occupies the wall opposite a Surrender of Calais. The
citadel is forbidden ground; we were turned back by the sentinel, as we
were proceeding to search for the ruins of the Chateau of Calais, in
which, by Richard the Second’s order, the Duke of Gloucester was
imprisoned and murdered; they are built into a bastion, called that of
the “Vieux Chateau.”
John has decided that eating a dinner in France is the most wonderful
thing which has happened to him yet. He describes the spreading a white
cloth over his knees preparatory to serving up soup, fish, made dishes
and dessert; he has made acquaintance with the “Garçon d’Ecurie,” whose
thin tall figure is a contrast to his own, with its round head and
bowed legs. They keep up a conversation of signs and contortions; this
hot day they have passed seated in a wheelbarrow on the sunny side of
the court-yard: it was first Pierre’s place of repose, but beginning by
sitting on the wheel, and encroaching by degrees, John made it so
uncomfortable to his comrade, that he gained sole possession, and is
now coiled up asleep. He told me this morning that he must go to
church, the Irish father by whom he was married a month ago not having
“quite done with him in the way of confession:” I represented that
these priests were Frenchmen; that he said was of no consequence,
“Clargy spaking all kinds of languages.” He knew but one exception, and
that was the very father who married him and could not speak Irish; it
was he who (by John’s account) gave him a blow when instead of the
fifteen shillings he demanded he offered him five.
The stout waiter François, known for four and twenty years at the
hotel, is as perfect a specimen of French nature in his class, as is
John of that of Ireland. He informed me he had lately crossed to
England; an ordinary intellect would have supposed it was to see the
country, or the coronation, but no, it was to see Lablache! and being
in London he also saw Taglioni!! and her dancing, he said, went to his
very soul. While we were at dinner, a fair girl, with a wrinkled old
woman on her arm, looked in at the window and touched a bad guitar: I
said we wanted no music, and François scolded her away, but as he
stooped down to arrange the fire, muttered in a low voice, “It was true
that she was troublesome, and had only one excuse, she supported her
old mother.” We gave her something, and François, whose face had grown
radiant, told us his own story, and how he had worked from a boy with
the hope of assisting his father, and at last had purchased him an
annuity of 600 francs, which the old man had enjoyed thirteen years,
proud in the gift of a son, who, like Corporal Trim, thought that
“Honour thy father and thy mother” meant allowing them a part of his
earnings. “He had been looked on as the best son of the province;” and
his own child had promised well likewise but he died—he thought he
might have weathered the storm, but death, François said, was the
strongest and not to be battled with; and with a mixture of feeling and
philosophy, as he changed my soup-plate, he shook his head and added,
“que voulez-vous?”
D—— misses a Commissionaire, a civil fellow well known to all who
frequented the Hotel Meurice, his story being romantic from its
commencement; he has become a hero malgré lui; he was brought from
Portugal when a child by an officer of the 11th Regiment, and left here
when the army of occupation quitted France. He travelled to Paris in
the July of 1830 and was there surprised by the revolution. Being of a
peaceable temper he hid himself within doors; through some unlucky
window a ball came and grazed his arm, and, determined to profit by
events if possible, as soon as danger was passed he emerged, showing
his wounds and claiming cross and pension; he has obtained both as due
to his merit, and is now a “gros portier dans un hôtel de libéral.” We
walked this lovely evening past the Courtgain to the Pier. The
Courtgain is the fishermen’s quarter, being nothing more than a large
bastion ceded them, with permission to build, in 1622; it contains
seven very narrow streets. We watched the fishing-boats towed out
against wind and tide by their owners’ wives and daughters; the men
look picturesque in their red caps and high boots, and they crawl
through the mud and up the sides of their craft, with two oars serving
for ladder, with the dexterity of cats. It blew fresh this evening; the
boats were out at sea a few moments after the women let go the ropes at
the pier head. They did not murmur at their hard work, nor did sign or
token offer them thanks for it. The skiffs sailed on and they just
glanced at them as they lessened in the distance, and returned dragging
along and scolding disobedient children; yet the sky was wild though
the sun shone; sufficiently stormy to make one wonder they looked no
longer.
St. Omer, July 8th, Grande St. Catherine.
One may certainly ride from Calais hither, and say “it is all barren.”
The soil seems a deep sand, and we wondered that it could produce even
thin wheat and dry grass; crossed the “Pont Sans pareil,” which is
thrown over the two canals, where they meet at right angles. Twenty-six
miles of broad straight road, only enlivened by a few pollarded trees,
a great many windmills, some melancholy red chateaux with great gates
and long avenues, and here and there villages of wretched cabins each
in its unwholesome enclosure; the green pond in front and the tall
trees around it: the group surmounted by a spire. Such as they are,
they give the dead flat a look of the living: but they are scantily
scattered. Left Ardres to the right: it has been a strong place, and is
going to decay. Guines is farther on, and the field of “Cloth of Gold,”
which still bears its name, lies between them, but not on the road: but
for D——’s recollection of 1815, and some interest in tracing his old
quarters, it would have been duller still.
Approached St. Omer at last: rode between rows of stripped elms with
deplorable heads; through a long suburb; along a fine avenue skirting
the fortifications, over bridges and drawbridges unending, and we were
in the town. This is a good inn. We walked after dinner to see the
Abbey of St. Bertin; our guide the “grosse fille d’auberge.” Its
interior was burned in the old revolution, and the “Conseil Municipal,”
judging the safety of the townsmen endangered, has caused all to be
taken down, saving a side wall and its beautiful tower. English
visitors still ascend the latter for the sake of the view, but it must
be a work of danger; it is cracked to the very top, and bends awfully.
Over its porch was a fresco painting, whose outline and some faded
colours remain, and above it, sown there by some of the winds of
heaven, grows and flourishes a young pear tree.
We seated ourselves on some timber to look at the sunset and the
falling abbey, and the fille d’auberge sat down also. She said all the
small houses round were inhabited by English, who admire ruins
“furieusement.” When she was tired of talking she remembered she was
wanted and left us. We returned ourselves through handsome desolate
streets, passing some hotels of Louis the Thirteenth’s time, and many
Spanish houses, of I presume Queen Elizabeth’s date, for they exhibit
the gable peaked or in-steps of stone, but have an ugly addition of
shell-like ornaments over doors and windows. The Place du Haut Pont,
which we crossed, is surrounded by these. The Place itself, with its
crooked canal crossed by a wooden bridge and disappearing under a dark
arch of some ancient building—the boats lying on the water ready to
depart for Dunkirk—a group of people collected on its edge round a
street singer—looked in the red indistinct light like a Dutch picture
or a fragment of opera scenery.
July 9th.
The cathedral is very fine, and we regretted that an exceedingly gruff
Suisse would not allow us to stay more than five minutes in the lovely
Gothic chapel behind the altar, which would be faultless, but that it
is over-painted and gilded. Above the altar is a Crucifixion in stone,
with a background of stained glass, through which the light comes on it
with great effect, but rather theatrically. At the foot of the altar
steps was a female figure in almost modern costume, seated on the
floor, looking like a great wooden doll. What she does there I cannot
say, and the Suisse left me no time to examine. We were obliged to rest
satisfied with a passing glimpse of this, and the “grilles de
chapelles,” on either side, in fine Italian marble, and the tomb in the
nave of some monk or bishop who lies here in costly effigy. We went
thence to St. Denis. Its exterior in some degree resembles St. Bertin
and Nôtre Dame, as its square tower has the same character, but it has
been pieced and renewed within. It was “fête” in this church, an old
man said, and to do it honour the high altar was ornamented with
hundreds of roses, and myrtle and orange-trees in their tubs, ranged in
the choir beneath the church banners. On the right of the choir is the
altar of the “Sacré Cœur,” on either side of which hang strings of
silver hearts as big as the palm of the hand, offerings of the faithful!
On the left, in a hole sunk in the wall, framed and lined with
room-paper, except on festivals screened from profane eyes by little
pink calico curtains, is a gilded bust of St. Bertin, adorned with
steel court buttons. Walking down the aisle on this side we arrived
before the chapel of St. Hubert; we looked through the grille, and saw
on the opposite wall a larger recess, its folding-doors thrown back for
the holiday. Within, the saint (a foot high) kneels in a flowing wig
and Roman toga! a tiny tin cor de chasse, such as you have seen on the
caps of the light infantry of the National Guard, tacked to his side!
The background, a piece of room-paper representing a great green tree;
on which (in relief of course) shines out a second and similar hunting
horn! The saint’s dog, in an attitude of astonishment, gazes, as does
Hubert, on a small wooden stag, who stands on a rock; the Crucifix and
two Thieves springing from his forehead in place of antlers. Below is
written, “The Conversion of St. Hubert.”
In a second recess of the same chapel, St. Hubert reappears, rewarded;
in gilded canonicals and holding a bunch of flowers, but still hangs at
his girdle, to prove his identity, the tin cor de chasse of the bonnet
de Voltigeurs.
I saw lower down a devout inscription praying that “St. Joseph’s
presence in that spot might protect all carpenters,” and near the
entrance an ancient basso relievo brought from the tomb of the Abbot of
St. Bertin.
We walked on to the college, and round its fine courts. Some of the
buildings bear the date of Francis the First, but the church and
college themselves were erected by the Jesuits in the time of their
power—1629. The former merely presents to the street a high ornamented
gable, and a vast space within not worth looking at. Its curiosities
(placed here temporarily) are some bassi relievi of Spanish
processions, dug up some miles from St. Omer, and a group representing
St. Pepin (who was the dwarf of his century) killing with his fist a
lion, who is gnawing a bull.
The fire-engines are also here till the Hôtel de Ville, which is in
progress, shall be ready to house them. I was surprised to see their
buckets are baskets saturated with pitch, and hempen vessels of the
same form, and to hear they answer perfectly. We walked on the ramparts
which command the view of the prodigiously strong fortifications, and
the flat, which can at pleasure be inundated a mile round; but like the
broad desolate streets, the prospect is surpassingly melancholy.
Lillers, Hotel de la Poste, July 10th.
A fine avenue, leaving St. Omer; and a rather more interesting country,
through which flows the little river. One hill in the distance (which
we took for Cassel) breaking the flat, and here and there, some rather
pretty looking hamlets—each cabin within its prairie; but between
these no sign of habitation. The light sandy soil is extremely
cultivated, and the unending plain less sad now than it will be later
in the season, as the corn is in ear, and the bean and poppy fields are
in blossom. From the seed of this purple and white poppy is expressed
salad oil. Aire, which we passed through, is a picturesque, fortified
town, its ramparts shaded with fine green trees. Beyond Aire, on each
side of the grand route, are numberless gardens, and it was gay and
sweet with flowers.
At every mile we pass a “petite chapelle,” being usually a small wooden
case with a glass door, perched on a pole, planted at the road-side;
and within, a tiny figure of the virgin, attired in white muslin. I saw
Nôtre Dame de Grâce, Nôtre Dame de Guerison, and Nôtre Dame de Bonne
Fin; the last with no great pleasure, thinking she might be there
installed on account of the arrival of the black fever, which is in
Flanders. We fancied the villagers looked pale, and passed at a gallop.
John had arrived before us at Lillers; and fearing the diligence had
taken him too far, and unable to ask the name of the place in which he
was deposited, he locked up our baggage in a room of the inn, and, with
the great key in his hand, was contemplating a walk back to St. Omer.
This inn is a mere farm-house with bad accommodation; the landlord and
his friends sat smoking in the room where we dined; he regrets we will
not walk three quarters of a league to the fête, and the servant and
the landlady’s daughter are now describing Dominique’s dancing, and a
minute ago had nearly come to high words about Dominique.
St. Pol, July 11th.
Started in burning weather, having found no conveyance for John, who
trudged after cheerfully, though he says “it is these straight roads
what breaks the heart of a traveller.” Stopped to rest whenever the
shade of a bush made it possible, for the fine trees which grew here as
well as on most of the grandes routes of France are all felled. Saw no
traveller, excepting a white haired bishop, in his purple robes, who
passed in his carriage. John said “he would have kneeled to ax a
blessing but he took him for an officer;” at last we came up with a
petite voiture, within which we deposited John, who directly commenced
a conversation no one was likely to sustain. Arrived here ourselves,
having suffered a good deal from the intense heat; and drank some beer
which a peasant sold at four sous a quart, and explained to her how I
sat on Fanny having no one behind to hold me on. Avoid this inn on pain
of bad meat, and bad beds, and mistakes in the bill. Strolled out, for
refreshment, in the heavy dew, and finding a rather pretty walk
compared to the frightful plain, hailed as if it had been Swiss scenery
the dry bed of a little stream with a bridge and broken bank, shaded by
young birch trees, and a path winding upwards from it through corn and
bean fields and a tiny copse to the town.
Doullens, le Grand Turc, July 12th.
Left St. Pol at four in the afternoon, to avoid the heat, and found it
still so excessive that we sat under the shade of the first trees we
found, and let the horses feed until the sun declined. John was to
follow in the “Service des Dépêches,” a heavy cab with a raw-boned
horse. The peasantry hereabouts are worse lodged and more filthy than
between Calais and St. Omer. Woe to whom penetrate within the prairie,
or step across the floor. The evening grew dark so suddenly that we had
some trouble in finding (not the road, for there are no cross-ways or
green lanes) but its least stony part, in the steep rough descent to
Doullens; took a poppy field for a lake; it struck ten as we arrived in
the bad air of the narrow street, where reigns the Grand Turk the moon
rising as our ride ended. John appeared in the mail a few minutes
after; it had changed horses on the road, but certainly not fatigued
either, for ours were not put out of a walk. The fille d’auberge
blinded me by holding her candle in my face to examine hat, habit, and
wearer, before she thought proper to lead the way to a room. The
atmosphere abominable, and the draught which, when I threw open the
windows, came in from the narrow street and dirty yard, worse than the
air it expelled. Nothing to be had but café au lait and cherries, but
the beds comfortable and the dark-eyed bonne good humoured. She swept
the room before breakfast this morning, and the floor bore witness to
its being a favour.
We walked to the citadel, which is just without the town, now occupied
by only twenty-five men; a pretty avenue leads to it up the glacis. We
were admitted without difficulty, though with some formality. The
soldier at the gate summoned the Corporal; the Corporal asked
permission of the Commandant, and returned to conduct us across the two
drawbridges. The form of the citadel is a square, flanked at each angle
by a bastion, and defended by outworks. From his manners and
conversation, the Corporal might have been a nobleman—for he had
perfect ease and no familiarity; he offered his hand to assist me in
climbing where it was rough and steep, but only when assistance was
necessary. On the side of the citadel furthest from the town is the
place where political offenders were confined some years back; it is a
fort within a fort, and has its own defences. The rampart commands it,
and its sentinel kept a constant look out, yet, in spite of all
precautions, some escaped. They were retaken, but unpunished, Louis
Philip having shortly after proclaimed his “general amnesty.”
Subterranean passages opening from this citadel conduct to the town,
and completely mine it. The heat was so intense that we could not make
the entire tour, though it was only eleven o’clock; the Corporal
regretted being deprived of the pleasure of accompanying us further,
and accepted the silver put in his hand without looking at it, and with
seeming reluctance, as a physician does his first fee.
Doullens has belonged to many masters: to the Huguenots during the wars
of religion, then to their enemies, afterwards to the Spaniards, who
took it when Henry the Fourth was yet unsettled on his throne. It was
in 1595, and the surprise of Amiens, which took place two years after,
was accomplished by the governor of Doullens’ love for a fair widow.
The governor was the famous Captain Hernand Teillo, and the lady the
Dame de Monchy, who was rich as well as noble and beautiful. “I was
born at Amiens,” she replied proudly, when he besought her to accept
his hand: “I will espouse no man unless we obey the same royal master;
either abandon the King of Spain and become French as I am, or take
Amiens and make me a Spanish subject.”
Adopting this last alternative, and having sworn to succeed, the
Spaniard Hernand Teillo marched with his troops towards Amiens; before
day broke a strong detachment lay concealed behind hedges near the
town, the chapel of St. Montain and la Madelaine were occupied, and the
cavalry concealed in a valley; at dawn, Hernand Teillo having made
choice of sixteen soldiers and four officers on whose resolution he
could rely, disguised the former as peasants and market women, and sent
them by different paths to the gate of Amiens, carrying on their backs
market baskets of walnuts and apples; the four officers, disguised in
like manner, walked beside a heavy cart laden with wood covered over
with straw; one acting as waggoner. The movement of troops, however
secretly made, could not be entirely concealed, and some peasants not
counterfeits apprized the governor of Amiens of what was passing; it
was said he had been bought over, at all events he treated it as an
idle report. At six o’clock, the gates of the town being opened, the
sixteen soldiers, preceded by their officers and waggon, boldly
presented themselves for admission at the gate called Montre Écu;
arrived under the entrance arch, the waggon stopped, and the waggoner
silently cut the traces that the portcullis might be arrested in its
fall; at the same moment, one of the pretended peasants undid, as if by
mistake, the cord which fastened the mouth of a sack of walnuts, and
its contents were scattered on the pavement. The guard was composed of
wretched mechanics (for Amiens, in her pride, had refused a royal
garrison); they abandoned their post to seize on the prize, and the
Spaniards, drawing their arms from beneath their clothes, in the course
of a few moments had massacred their unresisting enemies, and gained
possession of the guard house. The sentinel placed on the gate heard
the cries of the wounded, and cut the ropes which upheld the
portcullis, but the waggon was exactly beneath, and the portcullis fell
on it and fixed it there, leaving the way open to the foe. The citizens
roused, came in numbers to repulse the Spaniards who poured in, and to
a body of Irishmen under his command Hernand Teillo owed in a great
measure his success. In their gallant defence of the town, perished
numbers of its inhabitants: the Comte de St. Pol, governor of the
province, failed to imitate their noble example; for he fled, as soon
as from the tower of the royal chateau he inhabited he recognised the
red scarfs of the Spaniards. The townsmen were disarmed the same day;
the sack of Amiens permitted for eight more; and these past, the
already ruined citizens reduced to starvation by the exaction of heavy
sums of money. Married to the Lady of Monchy, Hernand Teillo was
rewarded for his success: and Henry the Fourth of France, after a night
passed at a ball, had just lain down to rest when the courier arrived
with news of the surprise of Amiens. Sully was summoned to his bedside,
and Henry, grasping his hand in strong emotion, said, “I have played
the part of king of France long enough; I must return to that of king
of Navarre.”
All the nobility of France encamped before Amiens; the effective force
amounted to 18,000 men, and Hernand Teillo, reduced to extremity,
implored the assistance of the Archduke Albert, who was at Arras, and
who arrived at the head of 4,000 horse and 15,000 foot. It is told that
the day on which Henry was informed of their approach, he rode to a
height whence he could distinguish the Spanish army advancing in good
order; and leaning over his saddle bow, he prayed heaven, “If his sins
deserved heavy punishment to strike the guilty: but not to scatter the
flock for the fault of the shepherd.”
Hernand Teillo never knew that relief was so near; he had already
fallen by a musket shot, near the Porte de Montre Écu—that very gate
by which he entered. Beside it canvass had been spread to conceal the
workmen while they repaired the breaches made in the rampart: a French
soldier fancied he saw a shade through, and fired—it was Hernand
Teillo. His successor Montenegro surrendered Amiens to King Henry on
the 25th of September.
We left Doullens at twelve, for I thought no sun could be so terrible
as the Grand Turk’s air; but the heat proved more intense than I ever
felt it in France, and whenever we found shade, which was but three
times, we stopped exhausted. Overtook, travelling at this rate, John in
the diligence; woke a half-naked child which was blistering in the sun;
let the horses drink in a pool of abomination, and bought sour wine for
ourselves—though the greasy glass clasped in the black paw almost
conquered thirst. We began to feel the effect of the rays on our head;
I could not without consideration recollect where we were—and talking
became so painful, that we rode some hours in perfect silence, till we
came to a few yards of turf under half a dozen trees, the first for
miles; it was like a bit of paradise. We staid there, the horses
feeding till the sun was low; and even then the heat seemed
undiminished, and the remaining three leagues interminable, for
cathedral and town being built in a hollow, the former towers in sight
long before houses are visible. Just as we were reviving in expectation
of an inn we came to a windmill, slowly turning its sails in the light
air, and throwing long shadows, changing as they turned, on the road
before the horses’ feet: it proved a foe to us as it did of yore to Don
Quixote; Fanny kicked, and the patient Grizzel plunged, and a half
hour’s course of backing and beating was necessary to induce them to
pass. When we dismounted at the Hôtel d’Angleterre a fat old gentleman,
an “habitué,” seated on the wicker-seat on the shady side of the Cour
under the Laurier-rose, asked the landlady, if we could be in our
senses who travelled in such weather, and in such a way? but D—— has
suffered no injury, and I, saving faintness and giddiness, have escaped
also.
13th July.
We are warned against repeating our folly, by the sight of a poor
fellow, who, as I crossed the court-yard, I found placed there in a
chair between two women, one of whom was sobbing violently; I asked
“what ailed her?” She said she was his sister, and the other his wife;
that he had quitted home to come on a journey here, and two days before
on the river had received a sunstroke. They were sent for, and came
instantly: he had not recognized them or spoken; the physician said his
tongue was paralyzed. He had always been a good husband, yet now when
his fits of fury came on, his violence was wholly directed against his
wife,—(I had not noticed before that he wore a strait waistcoat): the
poor wife said nothing; she leaned on his chair looking at him with red
eyes, which seemed to have no moisture left; and only shook her head,
when her sister added, that the Doctor rested a last hope on his being
taken home to his children. I inquired if they wanted money? She said,
“they had been comfortable while they depended on him, and would try to
aid him in turn;” she seemed too miserable to care about it, or even
glance at what was given her. The horses were put to a few minutes
after, and they led him to the coach; he walked like a man in his
sleep, and I think his sight is impaired, for tho’ his face was
flushed, his eyes were like stone. While we were at the table d’hôte, a
very undaunted looking ballad-singer brought her harp to the door, and
reaped a good harvest: the landlord tried to get up a subscription for
the unfortunate peasant, but failed.
Here is the prettiest fair in the world: but held within the precincts
of an ancient church and monastery, whose outer wall, still standing,
exhibits the remains of fine tombs defaced and broken: part of the
cloister, its arches filled up with masonry, is there also; and these
make strange boundaries to ranges of shops forming streets between
avenues of lime-trees, shows and buffoons, feats of horsemanship and
rope-dancing. If the nuns who lie beneath the old monuments could look
forth, they would understand the meaning of revolution. We walked to
the fair after dinner, when it was brilliantly lighted, and the gay
standings and green branches showed to advantage. It is the resort of
the beau monde of Amiens, and its theatres and temporary cafés were
crowded. I asked the meaning of the frequent discharges of musketry we
heard—“Madame,” said a grave shopman, “c’est la prise de Constantine!”
The exhibition of paintings by Amiens artists is held in the Hôtel de
Ville, and does them no great honour: the subject of one picture you
will think curious. I copy from the catalogue: “Christmas Eve: some
good children are employed in reverently gathering together miraculous
playthings, sent them by the _Enfant Jésus_ down the chimney”!!!
The Gaol joins the Hôtel de Ville. As we came out, we saw a crowd
collected round a large machine like an omnibus, except that it
received light and air from apertures in its roof: it was marked
“Service des Prisonniers,” and is destined to convey some convicts to
Bicêtre to-night: a better mode of transport than dragging them along
the road in chains.
The Beffroi, a strange looking tower which rises alone on the Place de
l'Hôtel de Ville, now serves as a prison for minor offences: it
contains the great bell tolled on solemn occasions. It is said that
this tower was raised by Louis le Gros, but the town records make no
mention of it till the year 1244; it has been twice consumed by
fire—the first time in 1524, when it was the scene of an awful
tragedy. The keeper had ascended to the lantern at its top before the
flames broke forth: and when about to descend, found, to his horror,
that smoke and fire barred his passage. He attempted to force his way,
and they drove him back; he rushed to the top once more, and shrieked
for assistance to the terrified crowd: it was impossible to afford it;
and as the floor heated beneath his feet, he implored, in his agony,
that some one present would fire on him. His sad prayer was granted;
and having recommended his soul to God, he fell dead from a harquebuss
shot.
There is a fine “Établissement des Bains” near our hôtel, supplied by
the river, but before you go thither, do not, as I did, walk in view of
the filthy buildings which hang over the Somme, as the muddy water
causes disagreeable associations, particularly as it also washes the
walls of the church in the principal street, now converted into a
splendid hospital.
I have said nothing of the Cathedral, yet there we have passed the
greater portion of our time; and for its sake remain three days at
Amiens. Its foundations were laid in 1220, when Everard was Bishop of
Amiens, and Louis the Eighth King of France. Excepting its towers, it
was finished about 1288.
415 feet long within, 132 in height, its proportions are so perfect,
that its size fails to strike, except by comparison. I was made aware
of it only by looking at a human figure in the aisle. What a pity that
bad taste should have covered a great part of the carved stone work,
and several tombs in the chapels, with painted and gilt wainscotings!
Among the latter, one in black marble of the churchman who united
Isabella of Bavaria, of infamous memory, to Charles the Sixth, the
royal maniac. The gilding of the altar, railings, &c. was lately
renewed by the testamentary donation of an Englishman, who, together
with his wife and family, embraced the Catholic religion here. They
were converted, the landlady tells me, by the wife of the English
clergyman! who herself had abjured protestantism shortly before!! The
little angel, who beside the kneeling figure of a bishop weeps behind
the high altar, was so prized by the English, that it is said they
offered to purchase him for his weight in gold. He sits with his head
leaned on his hand, and his legs hung carelessly down—an image of
all-absorbing sorrow. The monument was an offering of gratitude from
its sculptor to the memory of the prelate who had been his patron; but
why an ill-executed figure of the Virgin is placed so close as to spoil
the effect, no one can tell.
The organ is voiceless still, notwithstanding the 40,000 francs spent
this year on its repair.
As we are to leave Amiens in the morning, we returned to the Cathedral
after dinner, as I wished, in company of its Suisse, to walk round it
once more—but that this man is straight, and has two eyes, he might be
the original of Quasimodo. We were too early, and staid outside to look
again at the three beautiful porches, deeply sunk in the noble façade,
among whose multitude of carved saints innumerable birds have built
their nests, in cavities made by decapitated heads, and limbs wanting;
they were flying about in quantities. As we entered, the priest was
about to conclude his evening sermon; we waited its close, and I
thought I had not seen the cathedral to advantage before. The weather
was burning and cloudless; and while the coloured rosace of the
transept opposite us looked deeper and richer, because, not fronting
the west, it admitted no sunbeams; they came through a side window, and
the whole cross aisle was a flood of light: roof, columns, and arches
illuminated in all their details; and the figure of Fenelon’s friend,
half reclined on his tomb, seemed about to start up. Through the
stained glass of the large rose above the organ, and the smaller one on
each side, the glory from the west streamed in likewise, brightening
the gay dresses of the still congregation, and the bare head of the
energetic priest, and the pulpit, supported by the three Cardinal
Virtues, and surmounted by an angel whose foot seems hardly to rest on
its roof, and whose hand points upward. You would have moralized on the
Virtues cowering in shadow, and the winged form above them (like their
emanation) floating in splendour.
The Suisse came to conduct us: his pride seemed centered in the
cathedral, and in the study of its walls he says he has passed wakeful
nights. The two bronzed monuments, hardly raised from the floor to
right and left of the principal entrance, a human figure rudely
outlined on each, are those of the founder Everard and his successor
Godefroy.
Walking up the left-hand aisle, the Suisse pointed to the Crucifix
Miraculeux: it is of the seventh century, clad in long gilded robes,
wearing an expression, not of pain, but triumph; such being the mode of
representing the Saviour before the time of Charlemagne. The miracle on
which rests its fame consists in a change of lodging it one night
effected, for it was originally placed in a chapel on the right of the
nave. Why it preferred one opposite, the tradition does not tell.
Here, where the transept crosses the nave, is the tomb of the
ambassador who negotiated peace between Francis the First of France and
the Emperor Charles. The emblematical figures are those of Force
wresting a Salamander from the grasp of Peace—Francis paid tribute. An
altar opposite, erected during a plague, conceals the monument of a
bishop, who, holding the see of Amiens at the period of the battle of
Crecy, received and sheltered Philip of Valois. A pavement stone in the
transept marks the grave of Gresset. The chapel near contains, in a
superb reliquary, a piece of the skull of John the Baptist! and each
time we have visited the cathedral, we have seen the same old lady
kneeling before it, in immovable devotion. The curious stone screen
raised outside the choir represents the various events of John the
Baptist’s life; the small figures, though rudely drawn, have great
expression; arches, canopies and pinnacles, carved above them in the
same stone, form a light and beautiful frame. Formerly this screen
surrounded the choir; the taste of Louis the Fifteenth’s time
substituted the gilt bronze railing. The Suisse stopped a moment to
admire the weeping cherub and criticise (not unskilfully) a beautiful
Virgin, carved by the same hand, in the chapel, behind the high altar.
A few steps further, the pavement stones for a considerable space are
marked each with a deeply carved cross. It would seem that here, during
the religious wars, there once took place a conflict between Huguenots
and Catholics, in which many of the latter died. The pavement of the
transept has one grave-stone more near the side entrance to the right;
the initials it bears are H. T. (Hernand Teillo), for he was buried
here; and it was of him that Henry the Fourth, viewing his small
armour, said, “I had not believed so mighty a spirit could be lodged so
narrowly!”
The carving of the screen, the canons’ seats, &c. of the choir, as they
are celebrated for their beauty, we wished to see nearer; but their
exhibition did not lie in our cicerone’s department—he went in search
of a fat woman who has the key in charge. “Monsieur,” he said, smiling
as he presented her, “c’est la dame du cœur!”
The sculptor of this fairy-work was by agreement bound to sacred
subjects; and only an oversight left to his own taste the adorning of
the wood-work which divides the canons’ seats. The artist was
acquainted with their persons and histories; and when his task was
done, each found his elbow resting on an indiscreet allusion to his
life or himself. Some chafed over their own grotesque portraits; a meek
looking young ass dressed in canonicals gazed sympathetically in the
face of another; and the most unkindly treated of all beheld his own
figure in a contrite attitude, his own hands receiving an infant from
the hands of a lady! We staid in the cathedral till the daylight
failed; and the high roof looked loftier when we could barely
distinguish where it rested on the groups of slender columns. It will
be long ere we forget its beauty, and the beautiful changes of its
aspect; from the time its three portals thrown open after evening
service admitted the whole flood of sunset, which lit it up as for a
rejoicing, till the glow had faded; which it did so slowly, as if it
had been loth to leave it.
Went to bed at twelve; a violent thunder-storm; up again at three; off
at four; and but that the two hotel dogs followed us and we turned back
fearing to lose them, we were in a fair way for Rouen; as the roads
join and we had chosen the wrong one. A beautiful sunrise and
uninteresting country. Arrived at half-past eight this 17th of July at
Breteuil, and its Hôtel de l’Ange, a fallen one!
Doubtful meat, sulky servants, dirty floors; windows commanding the
view of a farrier’s premises, admitting the scent of the smoking hoofs,
which since nine this morning have accommodated themselves to red-hot
shoes; nothing to be seen but “a belvedere,” that is, a circular seat
at the top of a mound, which having climbed, we may look at the road we
have travelled. Starved with the semblance of a dinner, disgusted with
the stairs which act as fowl-house, and some of whose steps the bonne,
to prove her cleanliness, scraped with a dinner knife! Walked out,
weary of the farrier, the two comrades who assist, and the boy who
dusts the flies away, and were driven back by the still dirtier town.