THE ROMAN CITY
In the railway station of Autun we had waited long for our bicycles to
be taken out of the train. They did not appear. The porters were all
busy with a cattle-truck that they were pushing casually down a siding,
till it was stopped in mid-career by the buffers of another truck.
Bang!! Rattle! Bang!! The thicket of horns, visible from without, shook
like a wood in a winter gale. A mild white head was thrust over the
lime-washed barrier, mutely protesting. We echo the animal's protest,
and our own.
"Do you always keep travellers waiting like this?"
"You see, Monsieur, it is because of the cow, she is bien souffrante."
"Then why treat her so?" I pointed to the still trembling truck; "but
in any case, are we of less importance than a cow? Are not we, too,
bien souffrant?"
"Yes, but you see, Monsieur, if the cow died, the _patron_ would lose
four hundred francs; but, had I known, I would have brought your
bicycles earlier." We reached the Hotel St. Louis at last.
Then, wishing to escape, until dinner-time, from the still glowing
streets, we crossed the Place du Champs de Mars, followed the gentle
descent of the Faubourg d'Arroux, and passed beneath the Roman gate
that leads northward from the city of Augustus into the open plain.
A hundred yards or so further on, a sharp turn to the left brought
us to two bridges crossing the tributary streams that wind among
the whispering poplars, beneath which, all day long, the kneeling
blanchisseuses have been pounding mercilessly their unoffending
washing. Continuing our walk between the dusty green hedges of the lane
meandering through the fertile plain of Autun, we saw, rising before
us, a building whose mysterious, alluring aspect at once rivetted
our attention, as it must that of all who have an eye for the spirit
of the past, and an ear for her call. We entered boldly by the gate
in the hedge, and shared possession of the field with the pale cows,
who, placid as the stones, and not unlike them in colour, lifted to us
questioning eyes.
The monument,--all that remains of it, rather,--consists of two great
stone walls, adjacent sides of a building, ruined and roofless. It
rises in the midst of the meadow, from among the grasses and brambles
about its base, a huge, weird, Caliban-like thing, shattered, yet
still massive, pierced with great tortured openings, and many smaller
ones above. The golden light of evening, gilding it, casts into the
holes and crevices, between the weather-worn masonry, pitchy shadows
from which the stones bristle out defiantly, as though challenging the
centuries to undo them, if man will but hold his hand.
This relic of Roman times, called by the peasants, "The Temple of
Janus"--though some antiquarians deny that it was ever a temple, and
that the three headed god was ever worshipped there--is not the only
striking object in the landscape. Away to the north-west, behind
the tossing boughs of the poplars, the setting sun is adorning with
changing purples the flanks of the distant hills. The broadest of those
peaks, crested with dark foliage, is none other than our old friend the
Mount.
We turned to the opposite side of the valley. Before us were symbols of
two later periods of Burgundy's prosperity--the modern city of Autun,
seated proudly upon the lower slopes of a mountain throne, and, high
above the roofs, the great mass of the cathedral of St. Lazare lifting
her Gothic spire to the sky.
The peculiar interest of the spot, the reason why we chose it as a
starting point in our travel through Southern Burgundy, is that here
we have, before our very eyes, visible symbols of four clearly marked
stages in the history of the Duchy; the Gallic, Roman, Gothic, and
modern periods.
We will begin with the Gallic period, in the days when Cæsar wrote of
that city, there upon Mont Beuvray; "Bibracte, oppido Aeduorum longe
maximo et copiosissimo";[10] and tell, very shortly, the story of the
tribe, in their relations with the Roman conquerors.[11]
The Aedui, concerning whom all our available information comes from
the Latin writers, were a Gallic tribe, inhabiting, approximately,
the space of country bounded on the east by the Saône, on the south
by the chain of mountains between the Lyonnais and Auvergne, on the
west by the Loire, and on the north by the valleys of the Vouge, the
Oze, the Brenne and the Yonne. They were a virile, warlike race,
that, from a very early period, had been recognised as the superior
of the neighbouring races, among which the strongest were, perhaps,
their enemies and rivals, the Arverni of mountainous Auvergne.
For very many years before the Roman invasion, there had been
intercommunication--often of an aggressive nature--between the Aedui
and the Italian races; but it was not until the year 123 B.C. that
anything in the nature of a direct alliance was formed between the
former and the Romans, although Tacitus and Cicero both allude to them
as "Brothers of the Roman Nation"; and the weaker people naturally
would not be slow to take advantage of the great military strength of
the new-comers, if it could be exercised on their behalf. The occasion
soon came to put that strength to the test, when, after a series of
quarrels with the Arverni and other neighbouring tribes, the latter
summoned the Germans to their assistance. The Aedui, feeling that their
independence was threatened, sent their chief Druid priest, Divitiacus,
to appeal unto Cæsar.
Before we see how he fared, let us glance at this leader, whose
statue stands to-day in the Promenade des Marbres at Autun. The
Druids were the magistrate-priests of their respective cities, where,
by the right of knowledge, riches, birth--for all were of noble
blood--they exercised almost despotic power. They were the theologians,
philosophers, jurists, astronomers, physicians, and moralists of their
times; they were the educators of youth, the depositaries of the holy
mysteries of their religion, and of the supernatural forces; the
arbitors of life and death--since no human sacrifice might be offered
without their sanction.
They were also superintendents of the observance of religious rites,
of the practice of the ritual demanded by the gods. Still subject
to those gods, the people would fear the priest not less than the
magistrate. Kings, even, were awed by these mouthpieces of the most
high. Such was he whom the Aedui chose for their ambassador.
Divitiacus went to Rome, and there, in person, pleaded his cause before
the senate. His embassy seems to have been of little apparent effect;
but, though he lost his suit, he gained a friend--Cicero.
In spite of the Druid's failure, Cæsar's legions were, nevertheless,
soon on their way to Gaul. The Helvetii, coveting the fertile land
that lay beside theirs, decided to attempt its conquest. Cæsar, aided
by some Aeduen troops, who now fought for the first time beneath the
eagle, met the invaders on the banks of the Saône,[12] and annihilated
them in the first great battle of his life. Henceforth, for a time, the
two nations are brothers. "Aeduii, fratres nostri, pugnant."[13] Such
they remained; until the next nation that threatened them--Ariovistus
and his German hordes--had suffered the fate of the Helvetii.
It was, however, inevitable that the warlike tribes of Gaul should
endeavour, sooner or later, to throw off the yoke of an alien
civilization, which, while it brought them material blessings of
inestimable value--of which not the least was the introduction of
the vine,--was, nevertheless, galling to their spirit of sturdy
independence. Soon the Aedui were being stirred to revolt. Foremost
among the discontents, was the leader of the Aeduen cavalry, Dumnorix,
brother to Divitiacus, though his opposite in character. The trusted
ally of Cæsar, and the friend of Cicero, Divitiacus the Druid
accepted philosophically the Roman dominion; his brother, turbulent,
adventurous, restless--a Prince Rupert of his day--had other dreams
for his country. Cæsar was about to embark on his second expedition
to Britain, when the news came that Dumnorix, who was under orders to
accompany him, had withdrawn, followed by the Aeduen cavalry. Cæsar,
delaying his embarkation, sent his own cavalry in pursuit, with orders
to kill or capture the rebel, if he refused to submit.
Soon overtaken, Dumnorix defended himself valiantly, and fell, sword
in hand, with the cry on his lips: "I die a free citizen of a free
country."[14] One is tempted to wish that the people of Autun had
raised in the "Place des Marbres," beside that of his more philosophic
brother, a statue to this gallant leader of a forlorn hope.
The example of Dumnorix was followed, before long, by almost the whole
of Roman Gaul; the principal cities being quite unable to resist the
temptation offered by the long absence of their enemy at the capital.
Cæsar, writing from Rome, protested vigorously against the ingratitude
of the Aedui. He reminded them of their grievous plight before his
legions freed them; of their decimated armies, of their ravaged land,
of the heavy tributes, the noble hostages wrung from them. But he spoke
in deaf ears. The Aedui had definitely linked their destiny with that
of their nation. Only the final arbitrament of force could be appealed
to.
They summoned to a council of war, Vercingetorix, the ablest general
of his day, chief of their hereditary enemies, the Arverni; but,
accustomed for long to regard themselves as the dominant tribe of the
Gauls, they offered him only a subordinate command. His refusal of any
command, other than the highest, was followed by an assembly general
of the Gallic tribes at Bibracte, when, on the matter being put to the
vote, the great meeting, with one voice, proclaimed Vercingetorix their
leader.[15] The story of his last desperate struggle against the Romans
at Alesia, and of his defeat and death, do not properly belong to the
history of Autun, nor to that of Bibracte.
Gaul had become a province of the great Roman Empire. A higher
civilisation, already familiar to the conquered tribes, is to impose
its dominion, its architecture, its art, upon the conquered land.
Bibracte, the oppidum on the wooded hills, will echo no more to the
shouts of Gauls acclaiming their general or their victory. Deserted,
probably in the first years of the Christian era, silence reigns
henceforth over the hills; silence broken only by the patter of rain
drops, by the moan of the wind, or the weird howl of the wolf, roaming,
at midnight, among the ruins of the abandoned city.
Meanwhile, here, upon the plain below, another and fairer city was
arising--Augustodunum, the Roman capital of Gaul, now known as Autun.
It has often been asserted that the location of Bibracte upon Mont
Beuvray is merely legendary, and that Autun is the historic site of
the great city of the Aedui. But this theory, as we have seen, has
been finally exploded by the researches of M. Bulliot. He proves
conclusively, not only that Bibracte was situate on the summit of
Beuvray, but also that Autun was built upon virgin soil, and not
upon the site of a Gallic city, which would inevitably have yielded
tangible proof of its existence in Gaulish coins and other remains. The
proportion of Gaulish to Roman coins found in Autun, up to the present
time, is about one to fifteen hundred.[16] Further evidence is offered
by the fact that the city conforms to the requirements mentioned by
Vitruvius at the time of its erection--about fifteen to ten years
before the Christian era--that, in building a town, the first necessity
is to choose a healthy site, elevated, not subject to fogs, of good
temperature, not exposed to extremes of heat and cold, away from
marshy land, and facing south or west.[17] One of the chief features
of Burgundian towns is the excellence of their sites. This feature,
due no doubt, to Roman example, is nowhere more noticeable than at
Autun, which remains to-day one of the best situate, and among the most
interesting, of all the cities of France.
* * * * *
The first thing to be done, it seems to me, in exploring such a place
as Autun, which comprises a mediæval and a modern town within the
Enceinte of a Roman city, is to get your bearings, to orient yourself,
as the French say.
On the previous evening, looking up from our sunset seat on the grass,
beside that mysterious pile known as the Temple of Janus, we had seen,
far above the city, to the south-east, on the slope of the hills which
enthrone Autun, a gaunt, grey stone lifting its head over the village
roofs of Couhard. The next morning found us descending the Rue St.
Pancras, into the hollow that lies between the village and the town. As
we climbed the ascent, the rising sun gave us alluring glimpses of the
mysterious stone, seen through the curling mists of an autumn morning;
yet, many a time, we turned from it, to watch the light playing upon
ancient wall and tower, and gilding the spire of the cathedral of St.
Lazare.
[Illustration: AUTUN; shewing Cathedral and Mediæval Towers]
A bend to the left brought us into Couhard, a straggling group of
dishevelled cottages and huts lining the Ruisseau de la Toison, that
bubbles merrily along the side of the hill. It is a dilapidated,
picturesque, tangled village, given over to ducks and dirt, and to
washerwomen, who, like flies in summer, settle upon the running waters
of France, to wash their toisons d'or.
"Quite an ancient, conservative, stagnant village," we were saying to
ourselves; "built beside a Roman burial ground, and itself going its
dirty way to death"--when, suddenly, we made a discovery. Couhard is
not conservative. On the contrary, it is advanced. Before us, on a
placard, we read: "Association des Femmes de Saône et Loire. Les Femmes
doivent Voter." And they tell you there is no feminist movement in
France!
Here is the Pierre de Couhard; a gaunt, uncouth, pointed mass of
rubble, rising from the hillside, in the midst of a little tangled
island--the dust bin of the village--where every ill weed grows. 'Tis a
characteristic setting for a Burgundian monument.
But the stone is impressive. Inchoate, formless, it yet suggests
a lost form, that of a corpse long-exposed, or of the mysterious,
human-inhuman figure, that the mad sculptor, in Andreev's story, hewed
out, after he had talked with one returned from the dead, and had gazed
deep into death's basilisk eyes.[18]
A close inspection reveals the truth--that the Pierre de Couhard was
in the form of a quadrangular pyramid upon a cubical base--the lower
part faced with large blocks of sandstone, the pyramidal portion with
limestone. All the facing has suffered the usual fate of similar work
in France--it formed the quarry from which the peasants of Couhard
built and maintained their village. On the south-east side of the
pyramid are two holes, bored about the year 1640, with the intention
of discovering whether the monument was hollow within.[19] It is now
believed to be solid throughout. The Aeduen Society, and others, have
undertaken excavations at various times; but local antiquaries have not
yet discovered any cella containing coins or relics that determine the
date of erection, which, however, M. de Fontenay, with good reason,
assigns to the reign of Vespasian (A.D. 69-79).
[Illustration: PIERRE DE COUARD · AUTUN ·]
As to the purpose of the Pierre, there is now little reason to doubt
that it was a memorial stone; a supposition borne out, not only by the
shape of the monument, but by its position at the summit of the Champs
Des Urnes, as it is popularly called, the great burial ground which
bordered the Roman road from Lyons to Autun.
Curiously enough, the same opinion was adopted, after a long
examination and discussion, by that mighty hunter, and amateur
antiquary, Francis I., when he came here, in August, 1521, accompanied
by his mother, Louise de Savoie, and by his wife, Claude de France.
While the ladies visited the Churches and Convents, which, to them,
were the superior attraction, the merry monarch did the round of the
Roman monuments, and afterwards restored his jaded faculties with
a day's hunting in the neighbouring forest of Planoise, where he
lost himself, and might have passed the night in the wilds had he
not happened upon the old castle of Porcheresse, whose lord, Celse
de Traves, led him back to Autun. The delighted populace, anxious
over their lost king, received him with "chiming bells and flaming
torches."[20]
Yet, however great the preparations and rejoicings with which the
inhabitants received their monarch--as, five years earlier, they had
welcomed his predecessor, Charles VIII.--it was neither a flourishing
nor a cheerful town that Francis looked down upon, from the Pierre de
Couhard, on that summer day, nearly four hundred years ago. He saw the
towers, spires, and gables of a mediæval city--one might almost say,
of two mediæval cities--built upon the ruins of the much larger Roman
town, the silent immensity of whose shattered walls, palaces, temples,
and amphitheatre, dwarfed into insignificance the small houses amongst
which they stood, and chilled, with a nameless fear, the hearts of
those who watched the shadows of evening falling about them, and heard
the spirit voices of the past calling, in the moonlight, from among the
haunted stones.
"Ou ses temples estoient a chaque coin de vue
Les buissons herissez presque y donnent la terreur;
Ou les riches palais furent, le laboureur
Y couple ses taureaux pour trainer la charrue."[21]
Less fortunate than Dijon and other towns of Burgundy, Autun had
suffered a sequence of disasters. When Francis I. saw the town, neither
the Roman walls nor the Roman buildings had recovered from the ravages
of Tetricus, King of the Gauls, who, about the year 269, after a siege
of seven months, sacked Augustodunum, leaving it in such a pitiable
condition that the emperor Constantine, when he came from Rome in 310,
could not restrain his tears at the sight of the wasted country and
ruined towns through which he had passed; nor could the banners of
the corporation, the statues of the gods, nor the groups of musicians
at the secret corners, blind the emperor to the real poverty hidden
beneath official pomp.[22]
There is no better spot than the Pierre de Couhard from which to
picture Augustodunum as it was on that day when Constantine rode
through the Porte de Rome, now known as the Porte des Marbres, which
then stood where the cemetery now abutts on to the end of the Rue de la
Jambe de Bois. Thence the main street of the city, the Voie d'Agrippa,
bordered by the important and imposing buildings, such as the Temple
of Apollo, the Schools, the Forum, and the Capitol, ran in a straight
line to the Porte d'Arroux, nearly in the direction of the Temple of
Janus, still faintly visible to-day, far away on the plain beyond the
river. This Voie d'Agrippa roughly bisected the Roman town, all the
streets of which were laid out, like those of a modern American City,
either parallel or at right angles to that axial line. Augustodunum,
though it lacked the lovely gables, lofty spires, and pleasant disorder
of Gothic Autun, must yet have shown to the traveller looking back from
the road to Rome, a splendid pile of temples and palaces and gardens,
as his glance wandered from the gleaming marble gates, and the flashing
dome of the Capitol, to the majestic arches and sculptured columns and
colonnades of the great arena and lovely theatre, whose ruins are yet
seen through the avenue of lime trees, above the ivy-crowned stones of
the ancient enceinte.[23]
Lovely is this spectacle, even to-day. On the left, to the south-west,
the mediæval city, the Castrum, lifts its pile of gabled, palace roofs
above the sombre firs, and line of bronzed fortresses, walls, and
leaf-clad towers that mark the Roman enceinte. Higher yet, over all,
the spires and pinnacles of the cathedral of St. Lazare glitter against
the background of hills.
On the way back, our attention was divided between the glories of that
view, and the "chasse aux poules" or chicken hunt--the one form of
sport indulged in by the old ladies of a Burgundian village.
A very few hours in Autun were enough to reveal the fact that this
largest Gallo-Roman city of Burgundy contains Roman remains as
interesting as any in France, known to me, excepting those of Nimes,
Orange, and Arles; while, around two of them--the Temple of Janus[24]
and the Pierre de Couhard--there still lingers an element of mystery
that renders them doubly attractive to the curious mind.
The "Temple de Janus" lies, as the reader will remember, at the foot
of Autun, in the meadow beside the Arroux. Its original purpose is
doubtful. M. Viollet le Duc held it to be a Fort Détaché, built outside
the ramparts, for the purpose of barring the passage of the river,
and commanding the plain.[25] M. de Fontenay, on the other hand,
asserts,--and I venture to think proves,--that the building was not
designed for military purposes, and was, in fact, a temple; though
there is no evidence to tell us to which deity it was dedicated.[26]
M. le Duc contends that the tower had no door on the ground floor,
and was entered by means of a ladder; but one of the features that
first strike any observer who is endeavouring mentally to reconstruct
the building, is, that, along both remaining walls, between the lower
openings and the upper windows, run two lines of rectangular holes
pierced in the masonry. The purpose of those holes, was, undoubtedly,
to carry the roof timbers of a peristyle, or outer gallery, whose
foundations have been unearthed at a distance of between five and six
metres from the main wall,--a discovery which seems at once to demolish
M. le Duc's theory of entry by ladder. The design of the peristyle is
not known, nor the order of its architecture; but it probably took the
ordinary form of a stylobate, or base, columns with capitals supporting
an entablature, and a sloping roof. The niches on the interior sides of
the walls, and the traces of red colouring--a mixture of powdered brick
and chalk, still easily visible in their more protected parts--are
further evidence that the tower was indeed a temple.
[Illustration: TEMPLE OF JANUS · AUTUN]
M. de Fontenay dates the building, conjecturally, from the founding of
Autun. Concerning its popular name, "Temple of Janus," he has some very
interesting information to give.
It appears that, until the 17th century, the tower was known as the
"Tour de la Gênetoie," a term which a local savant took to be a
corruption of Janitect, "à Jani tecto." This legend was accepted by the
historians for about the next two centuries, until, in 1843, another
Burgundian writer reluctantly announced the truth,--that Gênetoie
did not mean "Temple of Janus," but simply, "Champ des balkins" or
"genets," the broom known to all Englishmen as the device of our
Plantagenet kings. So much for the Temple of Janus. Whatever may have
been its purpose, no one who has visited Rome, looking up at the huge,
shattered walls, gilded by the sunset, standing out against the purple
shadows of the hills far away across the plain, can fail to recall
memories of the Roman Campagna.
The Roman city of Augustodunum possessed four gates, at the north-west,
north-east, south-west, and south-east corners of the town, leading
to the roads for Boulogne, Besançon, Bourbon L'Archambaud, and Lyons
respectively. The first and last of these was known also as the "Voie
d'Agrippa." The gates, taking them in the same order, are known as the
Porte d'Arroux, the Porte St. André, the Porte St. Andoche, and the
Porte de Rome. The first two of these are still standing; the others
have disappeared.
The Porte d'Arroux is distant only a few minutes walk from the Temple
of Janus, near the river, at the foot of the Faubourg d'Arroux.
Incomplete though it is, the grace and dignity of the fallen monument
yet contrast strongly with the squalor of its setting. It is backed,
on either side, by a medley of disreputable villas, and dilapidated,
half-timbered cottages, whose squalor is not without charm. To-day
hordes of ragged children play beneath the arches that once echoed to
the roll of chariot wheels, and to the tramp of lictors' feet.
[Illustration: PORTE D'ARROUX · AUTUN ·]
The Porte d'Arroux has four openings for traffic,--two large central
arches, by which chariots could pass in and out, and two smaller gates,
at the sides, for foot passengers. Each of the central arches is
grooved for a portcullis, which some authorities, including M. Viollet
le Duc, think were not added till the middle ages,[27] a supposition
that M. de Fontenay seems effectually to disprove by pointing out
that, since the Roman rampart at that period was broken down in many
places, any additional defences to the gates would have been a useless
precaution.
Autun, in mediæval times, comprised what were, in effect, two
distinct towns, both built within the Roman enceinte. These were the
Castrum, the centre of which was the Cathedral of St. Lazare, and the
Marchaux--still known by the same name,--in the lower part of the town,
north of the Place des Champs de Mars. Each of these towns was then
sheltered within its own walls and towers, of which portions are still
in existence.
The upper part of the gate consisted of a pierced gallery or arcade,
of ten bays,--seven of them still intact,--forming a Chemin de Ronde,
on a level with that running along the crest of the Roman wall. This
gallery, serving the double purpose of ornament and defence, could
be closed at any time by wooden shutters.[28] The gate was flanked
on either side by two rectangular towers (corps de garde) with
semi-circular apses projecting far beyond it, as though--in the phrase
of Eumenes, a local historian and orator of the late 3rd and early 4th
centuries--they were stretching out welcoming arms to those about to
enter the town.[29]
All who are interested in the development of Burgundian architecture,
should give careful attention to the Porte d'Arroux, which is certainly
the source of one of the most marked characteristics of the style,--the
use of the fluted pilasters, which, for some reason or other, seem to
have struck the fancy of the architects of this part of France. We
shall see this arcade imitated closely in the triforium gallery of the
cathedral of St. Lazare, and also influencing, in turn, the churches of
Cluny, Paray le Monial, Notre Dame de Beaune, and others.
The masonry of the gate is very finely executed, with close joints,
without mortar, in the manner of the period, and is, on the whole, in a
wonderfully good state of preservation. The lower part of the work is
quite plain. The archivolts, the entablature, including the architrave
and the frieze, show little ornament; the cornice, however, is richly
decorated with dentals, palmettes and other designs, as is also the
remaining fragment of cornice above the arcade, whose fluted pilasters
have beautiful capitals in the Corinthian style.
The other surviving Roman gate,--the Porte St. André,--is on the
north-east boundary of the city, not far from the Porte d'Arroux, by
way of the Faubourg Arroux and the Rue de la Croix Blanche. It is less
picturesquely situate, and, though very similar, is distinctly inferior
to its neighbour in design and finish. The central arches are lower,
and heavier, while the gallery lacks the lightness and grace which are
characteristic of the Porte d'Arroux, and is, moreover, built in a
stone darker and less pleasing to the eye than the oolithic limestone
of the lower portion.
M. de Fontenay suggests that this upper part was restored at some
later and degenerate period of Roman architecture. Certainly the plain
pilasters are badly designed and carelessly set, while the capitals,
of a composite, semi-ionic order, appear to be too narrow for their
pilasters--not too wide, as stated by M. de Fontenay, and also by M.
Déchelette in his careful little guide to Autun. The Porte St. André
shows no signs of having been fitted with a portcullis. Hamerton[30]
states, no doubt correctly, that the door was barred by strong beams
inserted into holes and grooves. These are still visible.
The Porte St. André, it should be noted, is one of the most complete
Roman gates existing in France. The lower portion of one of the
flanking towers, which rose originally several feet above the attic
story of the gate, owes its escape from destruction to its shape,
which, coinciding with that of a typical Romanesque chapel, tempted
certain ecclesiastics of the middle ages, to dedicate it to St. André,
as a place for Christian worship.[31] These flanking towers comprised
three stories. The first communicated with the Chemin de Ronde, along
the crest of the walls, the second was a vaulted chamber, and the third
remained open to the sky. Access was obtained by a double staircase.
On the question of the period during which these gates were built,
M. de Fontenay and Viollet le Duc are again at variance,--the latter
attributing them to the fourth or fifth centuries,[32] the former to
the reign of Vespasian (A.D. 69-79).[33] Strange as it may seem that
another writer should contradict continually so eminent an authority as
the last-named, the author of "Autun et ses Monuments" again has reason
on his side, since he can refer to the orator Eumenes as describing the
gates in the year 311 A.D.
Moreover, since the Roman walls were admittedly broken down in many
places during the siege by Tetricus, in the year 269 A.D.,--an event
of which Eumenes was a witness,--and the inhabitants were already
beginning to retire within the safer precincts of the Citadel; what
would be the reason for erecting elaborate gates on the line of the
ruined wall? I am not an authority upon ancient architecture; but I
was certainly astonished to read the date given in the "Dictionnaire
Raisonné"; and I should be glad to know whether other experts support
M. le Duc's theory.
Of the two other gates--the Porte St. Andoche, on the south-west,
and the Porte de Rome on the south-east, in the direction of
Lyons,--nothing remains except the rectangular portion of one of the
lateral towers of the former. The loss of the Porte de Rome, or the
"Porte des Marbres," as it was popularly called, is especially to be
regretted, since that name alone suggests the truth, of which evidence
exists, that it was by far the most beautiful of the four. Moreover, it
has additional historic interest as being the gate by which Constantine
entered Autun in 311.
The old writers agree in describing the Porte des Marbres as a
thing of beauty,--a quality which was its undoing, as offering an
irresistible attraction to the Mediæval and later builders. Several
ancient Corinthian capitals, not otherwise easily accounted for, are
to be seen to-day in the porch of the cathedral built at the close of
the 12th century. It appears, indeed, that around the present site of
the Fountain of the Pelican was a burial ground named Les Marbres, on
account of its richness in borrowed sculpture. The site of the gate was
known from the 14th century onwards as "à Marbres" or "de Marboribus."
At the time of the construction of the bastion of the Jambe de Bois,
the workmen unearthed many marbles, including columns, capitals, and
bases of the Corinthian or some composite order.[34] The date of the
final destruction of the Porte des Marbres is uncertain; but its
flanking towers, then known as the Fors de Marboribus, were still
standing in the middle of the 14th century.
Before beginning another chapter, let me speak one word of warning.
If you ask one of the humbler inhabitants of Autun where the Porte
St. Andoche stood, you will be directed, without hesitation,--as we
were,--to the bank of the river, near the railway station. Having
reached that spot and crossed the bridge, you will obtain a lovely
view of the Roman wall and the river beside it, but will fail to find
the remaining tower of the gate, for the reason that it is not there.
The Porte St. Andoche stood at the foot of the Boulevard Schneider,
opposite to the Couvent du Sacrement, on the road leading, by way of
the enceinte, to the Tour des Ursulines.
The reader may ask why the peasants should misdirect him? They
misdirect him, in this particular instance, because they believe that
the gate really stood on the town side of the western bridge of the
Arroux, in the corresponding position to that of the Porte d'Arroux.
But my point is, that, had your informant been utterly ignorant of
the supposed whereabouts of the gate, he would, very probably, have
directed you with almost equal facility. The Burgundian peasant is very
ignorant; but he is also very proud,--much too proud to admit that he
does not know the whereabouts of a monument that a stranger has come,
perhaps, a thousand miles to visit. His swift imagination, therefore,
promptly creates the site; and he, or she, will tell you promptly,
volubly, and with much circumstantial detail, exactly how to get there.
In this snare we have been taken many times during our travels among
the Burgundians. The Provençals have a different and preferable method.
They do not invent a site for the monument; they deny its existence.
Speaking with some experience of the peculiar ways of the French
peasant in such matters, my advice to the gentle stranger is--not to
trust him. Get the best guide and map that you can find in the local
librairie; and rely on them, and on your own intelligence. You may
then, when you are at fault, consult the passer by as to details,
letting your judgment decide whether, in his particular case, he is to
be trusted.
If it be a Château that you are seeking, you must be doubly careful. To
a French peasant many a tiny cottage is a "fine house" (belle maison),
and almost every modern house, of any pretentions at all, is a château.
To us, on the contrary, a château means a castle; usually an ancient
one.
Many a time has a blue-shirted peasant looked up from his work by the
road side, to address me somewhat as follows:
"The Château de Bon Espoir; Certainly, Monsieur, 'tis there, three
kilometres away, up the hill, tout droit en montant."[35]
We climb the three kilometres, wander about for an hour, and return
disconsolate. The labourer, hearing the whirr of bicycle wheels, looks
up again.
"M'sieur et Dame have found the Château?"
"No, Monsieur. They told us up there that the ancient Château de Bon
Espoir was on the other side of the valley to the north."
"Oh! that one? That's only an old ruin. I thought you meant the château
de Monsieur Pigot."
"No. Who is Monsieur Pigot?"
"Monsieur Pigot, 'Sieur Dame, is the proprietor of the grand magasin du
Louvre at Paris. He has a lovely château, up there where you went. They
would have let you in if you had gone up the drive."
"We are sorry we missed it. Good day, Monsieur."
The "lovely château" was a terrible erection of red brick and stone,
defiling the landscape for a mile around.
[Illustration: End of chapter II; Burgundian Peasant]
FOOTNOTES:
[10] De Bello Gallico, lib. 1, cap. 23: "Bibracte, by far the finest
and largest town of the Aedui."
[11] I refer all who want full details of the period to M. Camille
Jullian's book "Histoire de la Gaule," and to Mm. de Fontenay
and de Charmasse's "Autun et ses Monuments avec un précis
historique," a very useful book obtainable at the "Libraire
Dujessieu" at Autun.
[12] The battle took place probably near Montmort, about 5 kilometres
north of Toulon.
[13] De Bell: Gall: lib. i, cap. 15: "Autun et ses Monuments," p. 12.
[14] "Ille enim revocatus resistere, ac se manu defendere--saepe
claimitans liberum se liberaque civitatis esse." Cæsar de Bell.
Gall. lib. v. cap. 7; "Autun et ses Monuments," p. 19.
[15] "Autun et ses Monuments," Précis Historique, p.27.
[16] "Autun et ses Monuments," p. 8.
[17] "Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 8 and 9.
[18] See "Lazarus" in "Judas Iscariot" by Andreev.
[19] "Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 216-232.
[20] "Autun et ses Monuments," "Précis Historique," p. 206-7.
[21] François Perrier, poet of the 16th century, quoted in
"Autun et ses Monuments," from the Mémoires of the Société Eduenne.
[22] Ibid, p. 71-73.
[23] See the interesting map of the Roman City in "Autun et ses
Monuments." Roman Autun was sacked again by the Saracens in 731
A.D.; the havoc on that occasion being even more complete than
that wrought by Tetricus.
[24] "Dictionnaire Raisonné," Tome 9, p. 68.
[25] "Dictionnaire Raisonné," Tome 9, p. 68.
[26] "Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 216-232.
[27] "Dictionnaire Raisonné," Tome vii., p. 214. Note I.
[28] "Dictionnaire Raisonné," Tome vii., p. 314.
[29] "Autun et ses Monuments," p. 36.
[30] P. G. Hamerton, The Mount, p. 190.
[31] Déchelette, "Guide des Monuments d'Autun," p. 10.
[32] "Dictionnaire Raisonné," Tome vii., p. 314.
[33] "Autun et ses Monuments," p. 46.
[34] "Autun et ses Monuments," pp. cliv., 45 and 414.
[35] Straight ahead as you go up.
[Illustration: Heading, chapter III; Head of Augustus]