and where his time is limited, must have experienced a difficulty in
classing and forming, as it were, into a mental map, the various objects
around him, and in familiarizing his eye with the relative position of
the most striking features. To meet this difficulty, I should advise any
one visiting Lyons, to direct his first walk to the eastern bank of the
Rhone, and after crossing a long stone bridge called the Pont la
Guillotiere, to follow the course of the river for about a mile along
the meadows, towards its junction with the Saone. From this point of
view, Lyons really presents a princely appearance.[5] The line of quays
facing the Rhone, and which constitute the handsomest and most imposing
part of the city, extend along the opposite bank in a lengthened
perspective, in which the Hotel Dieu and its dome form a central and
conspicuous feature. In the back ground, the heights which divide the
Rhone and Saone from each other rise very beautifully, covered with
gardens and country seats. More to the left, and on the other side of
the Saone, the hill of Fourvieres (anciently Forum Veneris) presents a
bold landmark, and forms a very characteristic back-ground to the city.
Instead of continuing his walk towards the junction of the Rhone and the
Saone, which possesses nothing worthy of notice, I should recommend the
traveller to re-cross the Pont la Guillotiere, and make for this
eminence. In his way he may pass through the Place Louis le Grand,
formerly the Place de Bellecour, of the architecture of which the
Lyonnais are very proud, and which is a marked spot in the revolutionary
history of Lyons. Though on a costly and extensive plan, its proportions
want breadth, and are too much frittered away to convey the idea of
grandeur or solidity; and the inscription Vive le Roi, which occupies a
place on two of its sides, in enormous letters, assists in giving it the
air of a temporary range of building for a loyal fete. Not so the
beautiful[6] Pont de Tilsit, by which you cross the Saone soon
afterwards. This bridge, built by Buonaparte, to commemorate the treaty
of Tilsit, unites elegance, solidity, and chasteness of design in a very
great degree. Some of the stones, which I measured, are eighteen feet in
length, and proportionably large, and altogether it reminded me of
Waterloo bridge upon a smaller scale, and divested of its columns. The
cathedral, which stands on the other side of the Saone, nearly at the
foot of this bridge, is a venerable black old building of great
antiquity, and though far inferior to those of Beauvais, Tours,
Abbeville, or Rouen, in its general outline, possesses many detached
parts of rich and curious architecture. It bears no marks of the
devastation which it suffered in the Revolution, or during the late war,
when, as we were told, the Austrians stabled their horses in it. Much of
its repair has been owing to Cardinal Fesch, the late archbishop. The
windows, rich as they are, have a gloomy effect, from being entirely
composed of painted glass; and prevented us from distinguishing much
very clearly. A statue of John the Baptist, however, crowned with
artificial roses, should not be forgotten. A considerable part of the
old town of Lyons lies on this side of the Saone; but as it will not
repay the trouble of exploring, the traveller will do well to proceed
immediately, or rather climb, to the church of Notre Dame de Fourvieres.
The fame of peculiar sanctity which this church enjoys, attracts many
daily visitors from Lyons, though from its situation, it reminds one of
the chapel in Shropshire, which as country legends tell, "the devil
removed to the top of a steep hill to spite the church-goers." The
continual resort of all ranks hither has attracted also a host of
beggars, who have taken their stations in the only footway leading up
to the church, some singly, some in parties, every four or five yards,
and all besetting you in full chorus. The same cause has drawn to the
terrace in front of the church a seller of Catholic legends, who to suit
all tastes, mingles the spiritual, the secular, and the loyal, in his
profession. The legend of St. Genevieve, Le Testament de Louis XVI.,
L'Enfant Prodigue, Damon and Henriette, Judith and Holofernes, and Le
Portrait du Juif ambulant, might all be bought at his stall, adorned
with blue and red wood-cuts. Poor Damon cut but a sorry figure in this
goodly company; for though adorned with a crook secundum artem, he
looked more rawboned and ugly than Holofernes, and more villainous than
the wandering Jew: fully justifying the scorn with which the
stiff-skirted Henriette seemed to treat him. It is almost misplaced
however to enumerate such follies in a place, which on a fine day
presents perhaps one of the most varied and magnificent views in the
world: and which a person who had only an hour to spare in Lyons, ought
to visit, to the exclusion of every other object of curiosity. By
changing one's position from the terrace of the church to some rude and
imperfect remains of Roman masonry on the western side of it, a complete
panorama of the surrounding country is obtained. The Rhone and Saone are
both seen inclining towards each other from the north and north-east,
like the two branches of the letter Y; the former issuing like a narrow
white thread from the distant gorges of the Alps, and widening into
broad reaches through the intermediate plain; and the latter issuing
suddenly from among the hills of the Mont d'Or: till after inclosing the
peninsula in which the principal part of Lyons is situated, and which
lies like a map under your feet, they unite towards the south; and the
broad and rapid body of water formed by their junction, loses itself at
length among ranges of hills surmounted by Mont Pilate, a lofty mountain
near Valence. Towards the east, north-east, and south-east, the view is
of the same description as that from Rochepot; a wild chain of Alps seen
over a plain of great extent and richness. In a western direction, the
broad hilly features of the adjoining country are enlivened by a
continual succession of vineyards, woods, gardens, and villas of all
sizes, absolutely perplexing to the eye from its undulating richness:
with which the sober gray of distant ranges of mountains contrasts well.
One cannot form a better idea of this part of the view, than by fancying
the most hilly parts of the country near Bath, clothed in a lively
French dress; the only deformity of which consists in the high stone
walls that enclose every tenement, and whose long white lines cut the
eye unpleasantly. Most persons can point out the Chateau Duchere, which
is visible from this spot at the distance of about a mile on the
north-west side, and was the scene of a sharp action between the French
and Austrians in 1814.
[Footnote 5: Vide Cooke's View.]
[Footnote 6: Vide Cooke's Views.]
If an hour or two of leisure remain after this walk, they may be filled
up by a visit to the public library and the Palais des Arts. The former
contains, they say, ninety thousand volumes, rather an embarrass de
richesses to a hurrying traveller. I confess I was more amused by the
importance with which the little old woman, who acted as concierge,
talked of the "esprit mal tournu de Voltaire." The latter building
adjoins the Hotel de Ville, in the Place des Terreaux, the scene of one
of the revolutionary fusillades. It contains, besides, several good
pictures hung in bad lights, a large collection of Roman altars and
sepulchral monuments, arranged in a cloister below, which serves as the
exchange; and a cabinet of Roman antiquities found in the environs. The
Hotel de Ville itself is a massy stone building, a good deal in the
taste of the Tuileries, and containing two fine statues of the rivers
Rhone and Saone, which deserve notice. Whether the interior of Lyons can
boast of any thing else worth notice I know not, but from the specimen
which we had, too minute a survey of it can hardly be edifying to any
one but a scavenger; and no single building can be named of any
particular beauty, though its masses of tall well-built houses are
imposing at a distance. To complete the short general survey of Lyons,
which I mentioned, another not very long walk will suffice; traversing
first the fine line of quays which front the Rhone, from the Pont la
Guillotiere to the Quai St. Clair. From this point ascend the highest
part of the city, called the Croix Rousse, and inquire for a place
called Chateau Montsuy, which stands bordering upon its outskirts, and
is best described as the most elevated spot on this line of heights.[7]
From hence the view of Mont Blanc and the vale of the Rhone is
peculiarly fine on a bright evening; and the whole prospect as rich and
extensive as that from Fourvieres. Beware of being persuaded by the
laquais de place to visit La Tour de la belle Allemande, which is one of
their show spots, and so called from some old legend of the imprisonment
of a German lady. The view from Chateau Montsuy must, from the nature of
the ground, be just the same, or, perhaps, even superior: and, what is
more to the purpose, the Baroness de Vouty, in whose garden this old
tower stands, seldom admits either Lyonnese or strangers to see it. On
descending from the Croix Rousse, cross the Rhone by the Pont Morand,
the wooden bridge next to that of La Guillotiere. Near the foot of this
bridge is situated a large open space of ground, called Les Brotteaux,
where the most atrocious of the revolutionary massacres took place. The
site of the fusillade, by which two hundred and seven royalists perished
at one time, is marked by a large chapel, dedicated to the memory of the
victims, in the erection of which they are now proceeding. Three only
are said to have escaped from this massacre, and to be still living.
One of them finding his cords cut asunder by the first shot that reached
him, escaped in the confusion, and plunging amid the thick bushes and
dwarf willows which bordered upon the Rhone, baffled the pursuit of
several soldiers. There is nothing remarkable in the appearance of the
Brotteaux at present; but no true lover of his country ought to neglect
visiting a spot associated with such warning recollections. One of the
stanzas inscribed by Delandine on the cenotaph of his countrymen (which
has been removed to make room for the chapel above mentioned), expresses
briefly, and much in the spirit of Simonides's well known epitaph on the
Spartans, the impressions conveyed by the sight of this Aceldama:
Passant, respecte notre cendre;
Couvrez la d'une simple fleur:
A tes neveux nous te chargeons d'apprendre
"Que notre mort acheta leur bonheur."
This passage is, indeed, prophetic of the salutary effects of a lesson,
which these and a thousand more voices from the tomb will proclaim to
future ages; if, indeed, future ages will believe, that a[8] dastardly
stroller was allowed to glut his full vengeance on the kindred of those
who had hissed him from their stage, and to vow in a fit of wanton
frenzy, that an obelisk only should mark the site of the second city in
France; that he found himself seconded in this plan of destruction by
thousands of hands and voices; that one citizen was executed for
supplying the wounded with provisions, another for extinguishing a fire
in his own house; and that when these pretexts failed, such ridiculous
names as "quadruple" and "quintuple counter-revolutionist" were invented
as terms of accusation. Such facts as these, written in the blood of
thousands, furnish a strong practical comment on the consequences of
anarchy, and the uncompromising firmness which should be displayed in
checking its first inroads; the nature of which was never more
eloquently or instructively described than in Lord Grenville's words.
"What first occurred? the whole nation was inundated with inflammatory
and poisonous publications. Its very soil was deluged with sedition and
blasphemy. No effort was omitted of base and disgusting mockery, of
sordid and unblushing calumny, which could vilify and degrade whatever
the people had been most accustomed to love and venerate. * * * * * * *
And when, at last, by the unremitted effect of all this seduction,
considerable portions of the multitude had been deeply tainted, their
minds prepared for acts of desperation, and familiarized with the
thought of crimes, at the bare mention of which they would before have
revolted, then it was that they were encouraged to collect together in
large and tumultuous bodies; then it was that they were invited to feel
their own strength, to estimate and display their numerical force, and
to manifest in the face of day their inveterate hostility to all the
institutions of their country, and their open defiance of all its
authorities."
[Footnote 7: Vide Cooke's Views.]
[Footnote 8: Collot d'Herbois.]
A vivid description this, and strikingly applicable to the operations of
that evil spirit which is still at work, with less excuse and
provocation than France could plead for her atrocities. Such are the
first and second acts of the drama of modern sedition; the fifth is well
delineated in a tract by M. Delandine, the public librarian of Lyons in
1793, as introduced in Miss Plumtre's Tour in France. This interesting
narrative, intitled "An Account of the State of the Prisons at Lyons
during the Reign of Terror," bears a character of truth and feeling,
which bespeaks him an eye-witness of the horrors he describes. Torn from
his family without any assignable cause, and imprisoned in the hourly
expectation of death, his own apprehensions seem at no time to have
absorbed his interest in the fate of his suffering friends; and to their
merit and misfortunes he does justice in the verses before alluded to.
The following is a free translation of them.
Oft, Lyonnese, your tears renew
To those who died upon this spot;
Their valour's fame descends to you,
In life, in death, forget them not.
Here calm they drew their parting breath,
Soul-weary of their country's woes,
Here, fearless, in the stroke of death
Met honour,--victory,--repose.
Pilgrim, revere their dust, and strew
One flow'ret on this lowly tomb;
Then say unto thy sons, "For you,
"Children of France! they braved their doom."
Thou fatal, hallow'd spot of earth,
Immortal shrines shall mark thy place!
Alas! what genius, valour, worth,
Lie mouldering in thy narrow space!
Within less than half an hour's walk of the Brotteaux, and on the same
side of the river, stands the Chateau la Motte, in which Henry IV.
received Mary de Medicis as his bride. The way thither is best found by
following the street leading to the Turin road for about a mile, when a
turn to the right, not far from the junction of the road to Vienne,
brings you in the course of a few minutes to the castle. When seen at a
distance either from the Croix Rousse or Fourvieres, its four turrets
and a watch-tower give it an air of grandeur consistent with its former
history, and distinguish it from the adjoining suburb. In a nearer point
of view, indeed, its patched and dilapidated appearance shows the vain
attempts which have been made to repair the ravages of the Revolution.
At that period it belonged, as we were informed, to M. de Verres, a
brave royalist gentleman, whose activity against the Revolutionists
drew their marked vengeance upon himself and his possessions. At the
time of the siege of Lyons, he garrisoned the Chateau la Motte with a
strong detachment of chasseurs; and, as a peasant informed us, "fought
like a devil incarnate," obstructing the operations of the sans-culotte
army materially, and retarding their success against Lyons by his
obstinate resistance. The position of his extensive premises, detached
from the rest of the suburb, and surrounded with a wall, added to the
advantage of a gently rising ground, must have enabled him to prolong
the contest with effect. His fate was like that of so many other loyal
and intrepid Lyonnese: being forced at last to surrender, he underwent,
as may be supposed, a very summary trial, and was shot on the Brotteaux,
in sight of the distant turrets of his own house. The property was
confiscated, and great part of the chateau pulled down; but fortunately
the round tower, containing Henry the Fourth's bed-room, still remains,
rather owing in all probability to the ignorance of the Jacobins, than
their good will. A part of the estate has been restored to his daughter,
Mad. d'A., together with the chateau, which she inhabits; but I have
reason to fear this part is but an inconsiderable one. Observing us
wandering round the chateau with an air of curiosity, she politely sent
to invite us to walk in. The room in which she was sitting opened upon a
terrace, commanding a fine view down the Rhone towards Mont Pilate; and
its interior was decorated with a few specimens of magnificent old
furniture, which contrasted strongly with the air of desolation visible
throughout. Two fauteuils of rich crimson velvet, with massy gilt
frames, and two commodes inlaid and ornamented with brass, seem all the
remains of the splendour of this once royal residence. From hence we
visited Henry's apartment, which occupies the middle story of a large
turret. It commands a fine view of Lyons and its noble environs; and the
ceiling and walls bore some remains of the golden fleurs-de-lys on a
blue ground, which had once ornamented them. Nearly the whole, however,
had been white-washed during the Revolution; and on the advance of the
Austrians, in 1814, the whole building suffered more by the hands of the
combatants, than during the former sanguinary times. "Cependant il est
bien connu," as Mad. d'A. answered with a proud smile, when we expressed
our surprise at having found a well dressed person who could not direct
us to Chateau la Motte. It may claim, indeed, to be well known to every
good Frenchman, both from its former and latter history. It is singular,
that in the course of the same day we should receive attentions from two
persons, both of whom had lost their dearest friends in the carnage
which followed the siege of Lyons. While I was sketching Mont Blanc and
the course of the Rhone from the environs of Chateau Montsuy, a tall
genteel old man, looking very like a Castilian, accosted us civilly,
and, having peeped over my shoulder for a moment or two, invited us into
his garden, which commanded the same view in a much superior manner. His
sister-in-law, who was walking with him, had, he informed us, lost her
husband and son in the fusillade. Yet, perhaps, when we consider the
extent of the havoc, it would seem more singular to find a family who
had not suffered, nearly or remotely, from its consequences.
In returning over the Pont la Guillotiere, we were led to remark the
probable antiquity of its construction. The centre still retains the
drawbridge; and the whole fabric appears to have been widened, when
wheel carriages came into fashion, with a supplementary parallel slice,
riveted on to it by iron bolts. This expedient rather reminded me of a
story which I had heard in my infancy, of a prudent housewife, who first
roasted half a turkey for the family dinner, and when it had been twenty
minutes on the spit, sewed on the remaining half to welcome an
unexpected guest.
Our excursion on the Saone had in every respect answered so well, that
we were tempted to make inquiry whether the Rhone was also practicable
as far as Avignon. Learning, however, that this mode of conveyance was
seldom resorted to, and not liking the appearance of the passage-boats
which we saw, we concluded, and found afterwards, that there were
sufficient objections against it, excepting to those who wish to save
time and expense. The rapidity of the current, and the violence and
uncertainty of the winds which prevail upon the Rhone, render it
necessary to employ a very skilful boatman; and, in a picturesque point
of view, as much is lost by the intervention of the high banks of the
Rhone, which shut out the distant parts of the landscape, as is gained
by the perpetual accompaniment of water as a foreground. On the whole,
we found reason to prefer the land route by Vienne and Valence, for
which our arrangements were made accordingly.
I think it is an observation of Cowper, that
"God made the country, and man made the town;"
and not even the centre of Lombard-street itself affords a truer
illustration of the sentiment, than this town of mud and money,
contrasted with its beautiful environs. The distant view of Lyons is
imposing from most points; but the interior presents but few objects to
repay the traveller for its closeness, stench, and bustle (not even good
silk stockings). Its two noble rivers have had no apparent effect in
purifying it, nor the easterly winds from the Alps, which stand in full
sight, in ventilating its narrow smoky streets: and though usually
considered the second city of the empire in wealth and importance, the
houses and their inhabitants appear marvellously inferior to Bordeaux
and the Bordelais in the air of neatness and fashion which might be
expected to mark this distinction. In every thing relating to Bordeaux
there is an easy elegant exterior, which conveys the idea of an
independent and frequented capital of a kingdom, and an eligible
residence; whereas Lyons bears the obvious marks of its manufacturing
origin, defiling, like our own Colebrook Dale, a lovely country by its
smoke and stench, and leaving hardly one of the five senses unmolested.
Those fine buildings of which it can boast, take their place amid the
general mass, like a fastidious courtier in low company,
"Wondering how the devil they came there."
Whereas the elegant theatre of Bordeaux appears just in its proper
situation, and supported by suitable accompaniments of well-dressed
people and airy streets. After the sight of the Hotel Dieu, a standing
proof that the Lyonnese can employ their money laudably and well, I will
not pretend to judge whether there is any truth in the charge of avarice
brought against them, and which Voltaire slyly admits in a professed
eulogium on Lyons. There are other reasons accounting in a degree for
its inferiority to Bordeaux in appearance, and the sordid impression
which it leaves on the mind. In the first place, to judge from the
innumerable quantities of villas of all sizes within reach of the town,
it seems that the rich Lyonnese appreciate their fine environs as they
deserve, and consider the country as the scene of display and enjoyment,
while they treat Lyons as a mere counting-house. On the contrary, the
villas in the neighbourhood of Bordeaux appear comparatively few, and
business and pleasure to unite in the town itself. The imagination also
may have some share in giving the preference, particularly after
reading[9] M. de Ruffigny's tirade against his infantine life in the
silk mills of Lyons. One fancies the merchant conversant with a higher
and less sordid class of persons and details than the master spinner,
and vineyards more agreeable objects than dying-houses and treddles. Be
this as it may, appearances are certainly in favour of Bordeaux as the
second city in France.
[Footnote 9: See Godwin's St. Leon.]
CHAP. IV.
LYONS TO MONTELIMART.
MAY 7.--From Lyons to St. Symphorien, our breakfast-stage, twelve miles.
For the first seven, the outskirts of Lyons, extending along the western
bank of the Rhone, continue to exhibit one unvarying appearance of
wealth and population. The Archbishop's palace, which stands about two
miles out of the city, on a hill overlooking the river, does not add
much to the beauty of the country, as it strongly resembles a large
manufactory. St. Symphorien, a neat small town, marked by a ruined
watch-tower to the left of the road, possesses no inn at which a
tolerable breakfast can be procured; but we fared well, in this respect,
at a coffee-house in the middle of the town, situated under the Mairie.
To Vienne, nine miles more. During this stage, the Alps become again
visible in full majesty, from a high terrace overlooking a range of
woody rising ground; and extend as far as the eye can reach from north
to south. Mont Blanc and Monte Viso, the Gog and Magog of this gigantic
chain, preserve their pre-eminence; the distant pyramid of the latter,
which shoots into the clouds like the Peak of Teneriffe, from a cluster
of lower mountains, contrasting with the massy dome of the former. From
its figure and position in the map, I judged it could be no other than
Monte Viso, which is so strikingly conspicuous on the road from Coni to
Turin. Mont Pilate, towards the foot of which the Rhone wound to the
right, sinks into utter insignificance when compared with these Alps,
though of a height and grandeur which would render it a leading feature
in Wales or Cumberland. It is considered in this neighbourhood as stored
with rich specimens of botany, and its appearance, much less scorched
and barren than the mountains of a southern climate usually are, renders
this probable.
The view of Vienne, as you descend into the narrow green valley in which
it is situated, crowned by the dark ruins of an old Roman castle, and
watered by a deep and rapid reach of the Rhone, combines beauties
calculated to please all tastes. On the opposite side of the river,
overlooking the ruins of a bridge with which it probably once
communicated as a guard-house, stands a tall, square, Roman tower,
called the Tour[10] de Mauconseil. The legends of the country affirm,
that this was the abode of Pontius Pilate,[11] and that, in a fit of
despair and frenzy, he threw himself from its windows into the Rhone,
where he perished. This point the good Catholics must settle as they can
with the Swiss, who maintain that he drowned himself in a little Alpine
lake on the mountain which bears his name; and that the storms by which
it is frequently agitated are occasioned by the writhings of his
perturbed spirit. Nothing shows more forcibly the power of association
in minds not capable of discriminating, than that the name of a man so
obviously a reluctant instrument in the hands of God, and who declared
by a public act his abhorrence of the part he was forced to act, should
be selected as synonymous to every thing fiendlike and murderous.
[Footnote 10: Vide Cooke's Views.]
[Footnote 11: There is, I believe, positive historical authority, which
fixes Vienne as the place of Pilate's banishment and death.]