THE ORLEANNAIS
Of the many travelled English and Americans who go to Paris, how few
visit the Loire valley with its glorious array of mediaeval and
Renaissance chateaux. No part of France, except Paris, is so accessible,
and none is so comfortably travelled, whether by road or by rail.
At Orleans one is at the very gateway of this splendid, bountiful
region, the lower valley of the Loire. Here the river first takes on a
complexion which previously it had lacked, for it is only when the Loire
becomes the boundary-line between the north and the south that one comes
to realize its full importance.
The Orleannais, like many another province of mid-France, is a region
where plenty awaits rich and poor alike. Not wholly given over to
agriculture, nor yet wholly to manufacturing, it is without that
restless activity of the frankly industrial centres of the north. In
spite of this, though, the Orleannais is not idle.
[Illustration: THE CHATEAUX OF THE LOIRE (MAP)]
Orleans is the obvious _pointe de depart_ for all the wonderland of the
Renaissance which is to follow, but itself and its immediate
surroundings have not the importance for the visitor, in spite of the
vivid historical chapters which have been written here in the past, that
many another less famous city possesses. By this is meant that the
existing monuments of history are by no means as numerous or splendid
here as one might suppose. Not that they are entirely lacking, but
rather that they are of a different species altogether from that array
of magnificently planned chateaux which line the banks of the Loire
below.
To one coming from the north the entrance to the Orleannais will be
emphatically marked. It is the first experience of an atmosphere which,
if not characteristically or climatically of the south, is at least
reminiscent thereof, with a luminosity which the provinces of old France
farther north entirely lack.
As Lavedan, the Academicien, says: "Here all focuses itself into one
great picture, the combined romance of an epoch. Have you not been
struck with a land where the clouds, the atmosphere, the odour of the
soil, and the breezes from afar, all comport, one with another, in true
and just proportions?" This is the Orleannais, a land where was
witnessed the morning of the Valois, the full noon of Louis XIV., and
the twilight of Louis XVI.
The Orleannais formed a distinct part of mediaeval France, as it did,
ages before, of western Gaul. Of all the provinces through which the
Loire flows, the Orleannais is as prolific as any of great names and
greater events, and its historical monuments, if not so splendid as
those in Touraine, are no less rare.
Orleans itself contains many remarkable Gothic and Renaissance
constructions, and not far away is the ancient church of the old abbey
of Notre Dame de Clery, one of the most historic and celebrated shrines
in the time of the superstitious Louis XI.; while innumerable mediaeval
villes and ruined fortresses plentifully besprinkle the province.
One characteristic possessed by the Orleannais differentiates it from
the other outlying provinces of the old monarchy. The people and the
manners and customs of this great and important duchy were allied, in
nearly all things, with the interests and events of the capital itself,
and so there was always a lack of individuality, which even to-day is
noticeably apparent in the Orleans capital. The shops, hotels, cafes,
and the people themselves might well be one of the _quartiers_ of Paris,
so like are they in general aspect.
The notable Parisian character of the inhabitants of Orleans, and the
resemblance of the people of the surrounding country to those of the Ile
of France, is due principally to the fact that the Orleannais was never
so isolated as many others of the ancient provinces. It was virtually a
neighbour of the capital, and its relations with it were intimate and
numerous. Moreover, it was favoured by a great number of lines of
communication by road and by water, so that its manners and customs
became, more or less unconsciously, interpolations.
The great event of the year in Orleans is the Fete de Jeanne d'Arc,
which takes place in the month of May. Usually few English and American
visitors are present, though why it is hard to reason out, for it takes
place at quite the most delightful season in the year. Perhaps it is
because Anglo-Saxons are ashamed of the part played by their ancestors
in the shocking death of the maid of Domremy and Orleans. Innumerable
are the relics and reminders of the "Maid" scattered throughout the
town, and the local booksellers have likewise innumerable and
authoritative accounts of the various episodes of her life, which saves
the necessity of making further mention here.
There are several statues of Jeanne d'Arc in the city, and they have
given rise to the following account written by Jules Lemaitre, the
Academicien:
"I believe that the history of Jeanne d'Arc was the first that was ever
told to me (before even the fairy-tales of Perrault). The 'Mort de
Jeanne d'Arc,' of Casimir Delavigne, was the first fable that I learned,
and the equestrian statue of the 'Maid,' in the Place Martroi, at
Orleans, is perhaps the oldest vision that my memory guards.
"This statue of Jeanne d'Arc is absurd. She has a Grecian profile, and a
charger which is not a war-horse but a race-horse. Nevertheless to me it
was noble and imposing.
"In the courtyard of the Hotel de Ville is a _petite pucelle_, very
gentle and pious, who holds against her heart her sword, after the
manner of a crucifix. At the end of the bridge across the Loire is
another Jeanne d'Arc, as the maid of war, surrounded by swirling
draperies, as in a picture of Juvenet's. This to me tells the whole
story of the reverence with which the martyred 'Maid' is regarded in the
city of Orleans by the Loire."
One can appreciate all this, and to the full, for a Frenchman is a stern
critic of art, even that of his own countrymen, and Jeanne d'Arc, along
with some other celebrities, is one of those historical figures which
have seldom had justice done them in sculptured or pictorial
representations. The best, perhaps, is the precocious Lepage's fine
painting, now in America. What would not the French give for the return
of this work of art?
The Orleannais, with the Ile de France, formed the particular domain of
the third race of French monarchs. From 1364 to 1498 the province was an
appanage known as the Duche d'Orleans, but it was united with the Crown
by Louis XII., and finally divided into the Departments of Loir et Cher,
Eure et Loir, and Loiret.
Like the "pardons" and "benedictions" of Finistere and other parts of
Bretagne, the peasants of the Loiret have a quaint custom which bespeaks
a long handed-down superstition. On the first Sunday of Lent they hie
themselves to the fields with lighted fagots and chanting the following
lines:
"Sortez, sortez d'ici mulots!
Ou je vais vous bruler les crocs!
Quittez, quittez ces bles;
Allez, vous trouverez
Dans la cave du cure
Plus a boire qu' a manger."
Just how far the cure endorses these sentiments, the author of this book
does not know. The explanation of the rather extraordinary proceeding
came from one of the participants, who, having played his part in the
ceremony, dictated the above lines over sundry _petits verres_ paid for
by the writer. The day is not wound up, however, with an orgy of eating
and drinking, as is sometimes the case in far-western Brittany. The
peasant of the Loiret simply eats rather heavily of "_mi_," which is
nothing more or less than oatmeal porridge, after which he goes to bed.
The Loire rolls down through the Orleannais, from Chateauneuf-sur-Loire
and Jargeau, and cuts the banks of _sable_, and the very shores
themselves, into little capes and bays which are delightful in their
eccentricity. Here cuts in the _Canal d'Orleans_, which makes possible
the little traffic that goes on between the Seine and the Loire.
A few kilometres away from the right bank of the Loire, in the heart of
the Gatanais, is Lorris, the home of Guillaume de Lorris, the first
author of the "Roman de la Rose." For this reason alone it should become
a literary shrine of the very first rank, though, in spite of its claim,
no one ever heard of a literary pilgrim making his way there.
Lorris is simply a big, overgrown French market-town, which is
delightful enough in its somnolence, but which lacks most of the
attributes which tourists in general seem to demand.
At Lorris a most momentous treaty was signed, known as the "Paix de
Lorris," wherein was assured to the posterity of St. Louis the heritage
of the Comte de Toulouse, another of those periodical territorial
aggrandizements which ultimately welded the French nation into the whole
that it is to-day.
From the juncture of the _Canal d'Orleans_ with the Loire one sees
shining in the brilliant sunlight the roof-tops of Orleans, the
Aurelianum of the Romans, its hybrid cathedral overtopping all else. It
was Victor Hugo who said of this cathedral: "This odious church, which
from afar holds so much of promise, and which near by has none," and
Hugo undoubtedly spoke the truth.
Orleans is an old city and a _cite neuve_. Where the river laps its
quays, it is old but commonplace; back from the river is a strata which
is really old, fine Gothic house-fronts and old leaning walls; while
still farther from the river, as one approaches the railway station, it
is strictly modern, with all the devices and appliances of the newest of
the new.
The Orleans of history lies riverwards,--the Orleans where the heart of
France pulsed itself again into life in the tragic days which were
glorified by "the Maid."
"The countryside of the Orleannais has the monotony of a desert," said
an English traveller some generations ago. He was wrong. To do him
justice, however, or to do his observations justice, he meant, probably,
that, save the river-bottom of the Loire, the great plain which begins
with La Beauce and ends with the Sologne has a comparatively
uninteresting topography. This is true; but it is not a desert. La
Beauce is the best grain-growing region in all France, and the Sologne
is now a reclaimed land whose sandy soil has proved admirably adapted to
an unusually abundant growth of the vine. So much for this old-time
point of view, which to-day has changed considerably.
The Orleannais is one of the most populous and progressive sections of
all France, and its inhabitants, per square kilometre, are constantly
increasing in numbers, which is more than can be said of every
_departement_. There are multitudes of tiny villages, and one is
scarcely ever out of sight and sound of a habitation.
[Illustration: _ENVIRONS of ORLEANS_ (MAP)]
In the great forest, just to the west of Orleans, are two small
villages, each a celebrated battle-ground, and a place of a patriotic
pilgrimage on the eighth and ninth of November of each year. They are
Coulmiers and Bacon, and here some fugitives from Metz and Sedan, with
some young troops exposed to fire for the first time, engaged with the
Prussians (in 1870) who had occupied Orleans since mid-October. There is
the usual conventional "soldiers' monument,"--with considerably more art
about it than is usually seen in America,--before which Frenchmen
seemingly never cease to worship.
This same _Foret d'Orleans_, one of those wild-woods which so
plentifully besprinkle France, has a sad and doleful memory in the
traditions of the druidical inhabitants of a former day. Their practices
here did not differ greatly from those of their brethren elsewhere, but
local history is full of references to atrocities so bloodthirsty that
it is difficult to believe that they were ever perpetrated under the
guise of religion.
Surrounding the forest are many villages and hamlets, war-stricken all
in the dark days of seventy-one, when the Prussians were overrunning the
land.
Of all the cities of the Loire, Orleans, Blois, Tours, Angers, and
Nantes alone show any spirit of modern progressiveness or of likeness
to the capital. The rest, to all appearances, are dead, or at least
sleeping in their pasts. But they are charming and restful spots for all
that, where in melancholy silence sit the old men, while the younger
folk, including the very children, are all at work in the neighbouring
vineyards or in the wheat-fields of La Beauce.
Meung-sur-Loire and Beaugency sleep on the river-bank, their proud
monuments rising high in the background,--the massive tower of Caesar and
a quartette of church spires. Just below Orleans is the juncture of the
Loiret and the Loire at St. Mesmin, while only a few kilometres away is
Clery, famed for its associations of Louis XI.
The Loiret is not a very ample river, and is classed by the Minister of
Public Works as navigable for but four kilometres of its length. This,
better than anything else, should define its relative importance among
the great waterways of France. Navigation, as it is known elsewhere, is
practically non-existent.
The course of the Loiret is perhaps twelve kilometres all told, but it
has given its name to a great French _departement_, though it is
doubtless the shortest of all the rivers of France thus honoured.
It first comes to light in the dainty park of the Chateau de la Source,
where there are two distinct sources. The first forms a small circular
basin, known as the "Bouillon," which leads into another semicircular
basin called the "Bassin du Miroir," from the fact that it reflects the
facade of the chateau in its placid surface. Of course, this is all very
artificial and theatrical, but it is a pretty conceit nevertheless. The
other source, known as the "Grande Source," joins the rivulet some
hundreds of yards below the "Bassin du Miroir."
The Chateau de la Source is a seventeenth-century edifice, of no great
architectural beauty in itself, but sufficiently sylvan in its
surroundings to give it rank as one of the notable places of pilgrimage
for tourists who, said a cynical French writer, "take the chateaux of
the Loire _tour a tour_ as they do the morgue, the Moulin Rouge, and the
sewers of Paris."
In the early days the chateau belonged to the Cardinal Briconnet, and it
was here that Bolingbroke, after having been stripped of his titles in
England, went into retirement in 1720. In 1722 he received Voltaire, who
read him his "Henriade."
[Illustration: THE LOIRET]
In 1815 the invading Prince Eckmuehl, with his staff, installed himself
in the chateau, when, after Waterloo, the Prussian and French armies
were separated only by a barrier placed midway on the bridge at Orleans.
It was here also that the Prussian army was disbanded, on the agreement
of the council held at Angerville, near Orleans.
There are three other chateaux on the borders of the Loiret, which are
of more than ordinary interest, so far as great country houses and their
surroundings go, though their histories are not very striking, with
perhaps the exception of the Chateau de la Fontaine, which has a
remarkable garden, laid out by Lenotre, the designer of the parks at
Versailles.
Leaving Orleans by the right bank of the Loire, one first comes to La
Chapelle-St. Mesmin. La Chapelle has a church dating from the eleventh
century and a chateau which is to-day the _maison de campagne_ of the
Bishop of Orleans. On the opposite bank was the Abbaye de Micy, founded
by Clovis at the time of his conversion. A stone cross, only, marks the
site to-day.
St. Ay follows next, and is usually set down in the guide-books as
"celebrated for good wines." This is not to be denied for a moment, and
it is curious to note that the city bears the same name as the famous
town in the champagne district, celebrated also for good wine, though
of a different kind. The name of the Orleannais Ay is gained from a
hermitage founded here by a holy man, who died in the sixth century. His
tomb was discovered in 1860, under the choir of the church, which makes
it a place of pilgrimage of no little local importance.
At Meung-sur-Loire one should cross the river to Clery, five kilometres
off, seldom if ever visited by casual travellers. But why? Simply
because it is overlooked in that universal haste shown by most
travellers--who are not students of art or architecture, or deep lovers
of history--in making their way to more popular shrines. One will not
regret the time taken to visit Clery, which shared with Our Lady of
Embrun the devotions of Louis XI.
Clery's three thousand pastoral inhabitants of to-day would never give
it distinction, and it is only the Maison de Louis XI. and the Basilique
de Notre Dame which makes it worth while, but this is enough.
In "Quentin Durward" one reads of the time when the superstitious Louis
was held in captivity by the Burgundian, Charles the Bold, and of how
the French king made his devotions before the little image, worn in his
hat, of the Virgin of Clery; "the grossness of his superstition, none
the less than his fickleness, leading him to believe Our Lady of Clery
to be quite a different person from the other object of his devotion,
the Madonna of Embrun, a tiny mountain village in southwestern France.
"'Sweet Lady of Clery,' he exclaimed, clasping his hands and beating his
breast as he spoke, 'Blessed Mother of Mercy! thou who art omnipotent
with omnipotence, have compassion with me, a sinner! It is true I have
sometimes neglected you for thy blessed sister of Embrun; but I am a
king, my power is great, my wealth boundless; and were it otherwise, I
would double my _gabelle_ on my subjects rather than not pay my debts to
you both.'"
Louis endowed the church at Clery, and the edifice was built in the fine
flamboyant style of the period, just previous to his death, which De
Commines gives as "_le samedy penultieme jour d'Aoust, l'an mil quatre
cens quatre-vingtz et trois, a huit heures du soir_."
Louis XI. was buried here, and the chief "sight" is of course his tomb,
beside which is a flagstone which covers the heart of Charles VIII. The
Chapelle St. Jacques, within the church, is ornamented by a series of
charming sculptures, and the Chapelle des Dunois-Longueville holds the
remains of the famous ally of Jeanne d'Arc and members of his family.
In the choir is the massive oaken statue of Our Lady of Clery
(thirteenth century); the very one before which Louis made his vows.
There is some old glass in the choir and a series of sculptured stalls,
which would make famous a more visited and better known shrine. There is
a fine sculptured stone portal to the sacristy, and within there are
some magnificent old _armoires_, and also two chasubles, which saw
service in some great church, perhaps here, in the times of Louis
himself.
The "Maison de Louis XI.," near the church, is a house of brick,
restored in 1651, and now--or until a very recent date--occupied by a
community of nuns. In the Grande Rue is another "Maison de Louis XI.;"
at least it has his cipher on the painted ceiling. It is now occupied by
the Hotel de la Belle Image. Those who like to dine and sleep where have
also dined and slept royal heads will appreciate putting up at this
hostelry.
[Illustration: _The Loire at Meung_]
Meung-sur-Loire was the birthplace of Jehan Clopinel, better known as
Jean de Meung, who continued Guillaume de Lorris's "Roman de la Rose,"
the most famous bit of verse produced by the _trouveres_ of the
thirteenth century. The voice of the troubadour was soon after hushed
for ever, but that thirteenth-century masterwork--though by two hands
and the respective portions unequal in merit--lives for ever as the
greatest of its kind. In memory of the author, Meung has its Rue Jehan
de Meung, for want of a more effective or appealing monument.
Dumas opens the history of "Les Trois Mousquetaires" with the following
brilliantly romantic lines anent Meung: "_Le premier lundi du mois
d'Avril, 1625, le bourg de Meung, ou naquit l'auteur du 'Roman de la
Rose.'_" (One of the authors, he should have said, but here is where
Dumas nodded, as he frequently did.)
Continuing, one reads: "The town was in a veritable uproar. It was as if
the Huguenots were up in arms and the drama of a second Rochelle was
being enacted." Really the description is too brilliant and entrancing
to be repeated here, and if any one has forgotten his Dumas to the
extent that he has forgotten D'Artagnan's introduction to the hostelry
of the "Franc Meunier," he is respectfully referred back to that
perennially delightful romance.
Meung was once a Roman fortress, known as Maudunum, and in the eleventh
century St. Liphard founded a monastery here.
In the fifteenth century Meung was the prison of Francois Villon. Poor
vagabond as he was then, it has become the fashion to laud both the
personality and the poesy of Maitre Francois Villon.
By the orders of Thibaut d'Aussigny, Bishop of Orleans, Villon was
confined in a strong tower attached to the side of the _clocher_ of the
parish church of St. Liphard, and which adjoined the _chateau de
plaisance_ belonging to the bishop. Primarily this imprisonment was due
to a robbery in which the poet had been concerned at Orleans. He spent
the whole of the summer in this dungeon, which was overrun with rats,
and into which he had to be lowered by ropes. As his food consisted of
bread and water only, his sufferings at this time were probably greater
than at any other period in his life. Here the burglar-poet remained
until October, 1461, when Louis XI. visited Meung, and, to mark the
occasion, ordered the release of all prisoners. For this delivery,
Villon, according to the accounts of his life, appears to have been
genuinely grateful to the king.
At Beaugency, seven kilometres from Meung, one comes upon an
architectural and historical treat which is unexpected.
In the eleventh century Beaugency was a fief of the bishopric of Amiens,
and its once strong chateau was occupied by the Barons de Landry, the
last of whom died, without children, in the thirteenth century.
Philippe-le-Bel bought the fief and united it with the Comte de Blois.
It was made an independent _comte_ of itself in 1569, and in 1663 became
definitely an appanage of Orleans. The Prince de Galles took Beaugency
in 1359, the Gascons in 1361, Duguesclin in 1370 and again in 1417; in
1421 and in 1428 it was taken by the English, from whom it was delivered
by Jeanne d'Arc in 1429. Internal wars and warfares continued for
another hundred and fifty years, finally culminating in one of the
grossest scenes which had been enacted within its walls,--the bloody
revenge against the Protestants, encouraged doubtless by the affair of
St. Bartholomew's night at Paris.
The ancient square donjon of the eleventh century, known as the Tour de
Cesar, still looms high above the town. It must be one of the hugest
keeps in all France. The old chateau of the Dunois is now a charitable
institution, but reflects, in a way, the splendour of its
fourteenth-century inception, and its Salle de Jeanne d'Arc, with its
great chimneypiece, is worthy to rank with the best of its kind along
the Loire. The spiral staircase, of which the Loire builders were so
fond, is admirable here, and dates from 1530.
The Hotel de Ville of Beaugency is a charming edifice of the very best
of Renaissance, which many more pretentious structures of the period are
not. It dates from 1526, and was entirely restored--not, however, to its
detriment, as frequently happens--in the last years of the nineteenth
century. Its charm, nevertheless, lies mostly in its exterior, for
little remains of value within except a remarkable series of old
embroideries taken from the choir of the old abbey of Beaugency.
The Eglise de Notre Dame is a Romanesque structure with Gothic
interpolations. It is not bad in its way, but decidedly is not
remarkable as mediaeval churches go.
The old streets of Beaugency contain a dazzling array of old houses in
wood and stone, and in the Rue des Templiers is a rare example of
Romanesque civil architecture; at least the type is rare enough in the
Orleannais, though more frequently seen in the south of France. The Tour
St. Firmin dates from 1530, and is all that remains of a church which
stood here up to revolutionary times. The square ruined towers known
as the Porte Tavers are relics of the city's old walls and gates, and
are all that are left to mark the ancient enclosure.
[Illustration: _Beaugency_]
The Tour du Diable and the house of the ruling abbot remain to suggest
the power and magnificence of the great abbey which was built here in
the tenth century. In 1567 it was burned, and later restored, but beyond
the two features just mentioned there is nothing to indicate its former
uses, the remaining structures having passed into private hands and
being devoted to secular uses.
The old bridge which crosses the Loire at this point is most curious,
and dates from various epochs. It is 440 metres in length, and is
composed of twenty-six arches, one of which dates from the fourteenth
century, when bridge-building was really an art. Eight of the
present-day arches are of wood, and on the second is a monolith
surmounted by a figure of Christ in bronze, replacing a former chapel to
St. Jacques. A chapel on a bridge is not a unique arrangement, but few
exist to-day, one of the most famous being, perhaps, that on the ruined
bridge of St. Benezet at Avignon.
Altogether, Beaugency, as it sleeps its life away after the strenuous
days of the middle ages, is more lovable by far than a great
metropolis.
The traveller is well repaid who makes a stop at Beaugency a part of a
three days' gentle ramble among the usually neglected towns and villages
of the Orleannais and the Blaisois, instead of rushing through to Blois
by express-train, which is what one usually does.
Southward one's route lies through pleasant vineyards, on one side the
Sologne, and on the other the Coteau de Guignes, which latter ranks as
quite the best among the vine-growing districts of the Orleannais.
Near Tavers is a natural curiosity in the shape of the "Fontaine des
Sables Mouvants," where the sands of a tiny spring boil and bubble like
a miniature geyser.
Mer, another small town, follows, twelve kilometres farther on. Like
Beaugency it is a somnolent bourg, and the life of the peasant folk
round about, who go to market on one day at Beaugency and on another at
Blois, and occasionally as far away as Orleans, is much the same as it
was a century ago.
There is a Boulevard de la Gare and a Grande Rue at Mer, the latter
leading to a fine Gothic church with a fifteenth-century tower, which is
admirable in every way, and forms a beacon by land for many miles
around. The primitive church at Mer dates from the eleventh century, the
side walls, however, being all that remain of that period. There is a
sculptured pulpit of the seventeenth century, and a great painting,
which looks ancient and is certainly a masterful work of art,
representing an "Adoration of the Magi."
When all is said and done, it is its irresistible and inexpressible
charm which makes Mer well-beloved, rather than any great wealth of
artistic atmosphere of any nature.
Away to the south, across the Loire to Muides, runs the route to
Chambord, through the Sologne, where immediately the whole aspect of
life changes from that on the borders of the rich grain-lands of the
Orleannais and La Beauce.
All the way from Beaugency to Blois the Loire threads its way through a
lovely country, whose rolling slopes, back from the river, are
surmounted here and there by windmills, a not very frequent adjunct to
the landscape of France, except in the north.
Near Mer is Menars, with its eighteenth-century chateau of La Pompadour;
Suevres, the site of an ancient Roman city; the lowlands lying before
Chambord; St. Die; Montlivault; St. Claude, and a score of little
villages which are entrancing in their old-world aspect even in these
days of progress. This completes the panorama to Blois which, with the
Blaisois, forms the borderland between the Orleannais and Touraine.
Before reaching Blois, Menars, at any rate, commands attention. It
fronts upon the Loire, but is practically upon the northern border of
the Foret de Blois, hence properly belongs to the Blaisois. Menars was
made a rendezvous for the chase by the wily and pleasure-loving La
Pompadour, who quartered herself at the chateau, which afterward passed
to her brother, De Marigny.
Before the Revolution, Menars was the seat of a marquisate, of which the
land was bought by Louis XV. for his famous, or infamous, _maitresse_.
The property has frequently changed hands since that day, but its
gardens and terraces, descending toward the river-bank, mark it as one
of those _coquette_ establishments, with which France was dotted in the
eighteenth century.
These establishments possessed enough of luxurious appointments to be
classed as fitting for the butterflies of the time, but in no way, so
far as the architectural design or the artistic details were concerned,
were any of them worthy to be classed with the great domestic chateaux
of the early years of the Renaissance.