PROVINS AND TROYES.
Few travellers in this part of Eastern France turn off the Great
Mulhouse line of railway to visit the ancient city of Provins, yet none
with a love of the picturesque can afford to pass it by. Airily, nay,
coquettishly perched on its smiling, green eminence, and still possessed
of an antique stateliness, in striking contrast with the busy little
trim town that has sprung up at his feet, Provins captivates the
beholder by virtue alike of its uniqueness and poetic charm; I can think
of nothing in my various travels at all like this little Acropolis of
Brie and Champagne, whether seen in a distance in the railway, or from
the ramparts that still encircle it as in the olden time. It is indeed a
gem; miniature Athens of a mediaeval princedom, that although on a small
scale boasted of great power and splendour; tiny Granada of these
Eastern provinces, bearing ample evidence of past literary and artistic
glories!
You quit the main line at Longueville, and in a quarter of an hour come
upon a vast panorama, crowned by the towers and dome of the still proud,
defiant-looking little city of Provins, according to some writers the
Agedincum of Caesar's Commentaries, according to others more ancient
still. It is mentioned in the capitularies of Charlemagne, and in the
Middle Ages was the important and flourishing capital of Basse-Brie and
residence of the Counts of Champagne. Under Thibault VI., called Le
Chansonnier, Provins reached its apogee of prosperity, numbering at that
epoch 80,000 souls. Like most other towns in these parts, it suffered
greatly in the Hundred Years' War, being taken by the English in 1432,
and retaken from them in the following year. It took part in the League,
but submitted to Henry IV. in 1590, and from that time gradually
declined; at present it numbers about 7,000 inhabitants only.
The rich red rose, commonly called Provence rose, is in reality the rose
of Provins, having been introduced here by the Crusaders from the Holy
Land. Gardens of the Provins rose may still be found at Provins, though
they are little cultivated now for commercial purpose; Provence, the
land of the Troubadours, has therefore no claim whatever upon rose
lovers, who are indebted instead to the airy little Acropolis of
Champagne. Thus much for the history of the place, which has been
chronicled by two gifted citizens of modern time, Opoix and Bourquelot.
It is difficult to give any idea of the citadel, so imposingly
commanding the wide valleys and curling rivers at its foot. Leaving the
Ville Basse, we climb for a quarter of an hour to find all the
remarkable monuments of Provins within a stone's throw--the College,
formerly Palace of the Counts of Champagne, the imposing Tour de César,
the Basilica of St. Quiriace with its cupola, the famous _Grange aux
Dîmes_, the ancient fountain, lastly, the ruined city and gates and
walls, called the Ville Haute. All these are close together, but
conspicuously towering over the rest are the dome of St. Quiriace, and
the picturesque, many pinnacled stronghold vulgarly known as Caesar's
Tower. These two crown, not only the ruins, but the entire landscape,
for miles around with magnificent effect. The tower itself, in reality
having nothing to do with its popular name whatever, but the stronghold
of the place built by one of the Counts of Champagne, is a picturesque
object, with graceful little pinnacles connected by flying buttresses at
each corner, and pointed tower surmounting all, from which now waves
proudly the Tricolour flag of the French Republic. A deaf and dumb girl
leads visitors through a little flower-garden into the interior, and
takes them up the winding stone staircase to see the cells in which
Louis d'Outremer and others are said to have been confined. For my own
part, I prefer neither to go to the top and bottom of things, neither to
climb the Pyramids nor to penetrate into the Mammoth caves of Kentucky.
It is much more agreeable, and much less fatiguing, to view everything
from the level, and this fine old structure, called Caesar's Tower, is
no exception to the rule. Nothing can be more picturesque than its
appearance from the broken ground around, above, and below, and no less
imposing is the quaint straggling indescribable old church of St.
Quiriace close by, now a mere patchwork of different epochs, but in the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries one of the most remarkable religious
monuments in Brie and Champagne. Here was baptized Thibault VI., the
song-maker, the lover of art, the patron of letters, and the importer
into Europe of the famous Provence rose; of Thibault's poetic creations
an old chronicler wrote:
"C'était les plus belles chansons, les plus délectables et mélodieuses
qui oncques fussent ouïses en chansons et instruments, et il les fit
écrire en la salle de Provins et en celle de Troyes."
Close to this ancient church is the former palace of Thibault, now a
"Collége Communal," for classic and secondary instruction. Unfortunately
the director had gone off for his holiday taking the keys, with
him--travellers never being looked for here--so that we could not see
the interior and chapel. It is superbly situated, commanding from the
terrace a wide view of surrounding country. Perhaps, however, the most
curious relics of ancient Provins are the vast and handsome subterranean
chambers and passages which are not only found in the _Grange aux Dîmes_
literally Tithe-Barn, but also under many private dwellings of ancient
date.
Those who love to penetrate into the hovels of the earth may here visit
cave after cave, and subterranean chamber after chamber; some of these
were of course used for the storage and introduction of supplies in time
of war and siege, others may have served as crypts, for purposes of
religious ceremony, also a harbour of refuge for priests and monks,
lastly as workshops. Provins may therefore be called not only a town but
a triple city, consisting, first, of the old; secondly, of the new;
lastly, of the underground. Captivating, from an artistic and
antiquarian point of view, as are the first and last, all lovers of
progress will not fail to give some time to the modern part, not,
however, omitting the lovely walls round the ramparts, before quitting
the region of romance for plain matter of fact. Here you have unbroken
solitude and a wide expanse of open country; you also get a good idea of
the commanding position of Provins.
A poetic halo still lingers round the rude times of Troubadour and
Knight, but fortunately no such contrast can now be found--at least in
France--as there existed between court and people, lord and vassal. The
princelings of Brie and Champagne, who lived so jollily and regally in
this capital of Provins, knew how to grind down the people to the
uttermost, and levied toll-tax upon every imaginable pretext. The Jew
had to pay them for his heresy, the assassin for his crime, the peasant
for his produce, the artizan for his right to pursue a handicraft.
Now all is good feeling, peace, and prosperity in this modern town,
where alike are absent signs of great wealth or great poverty. As yet I
am still in a region without a beggar.
Provins affords an excellent example of that spirit of decentralization
so usual in France, and unhappily so rare among ourselves. Here in a
country town, numbering between seven and eight thousand inhabitants
only, we find all the resources of a capital on a small scale; Public
Library, Museum, Theatre, learned societies. The Library contains some
curious MSS. and valuable books. The Theatre was built by one of the
richest and most generous citizens of Provins, M. Gamier, who may be
said to have consecrated his ample fortune to the embellishment and
advancement of his native town. Space does not permit of an enumeration
of the various acts of beneficence by which he has won the lasting
gratitude of his fellow-townsmen; and on his death the charming villa he
now inhabits, with its gardens, library, art and scientific collections,
are to become the property of the town. The Rue Victor Garnier has been
appropriately named after this public-spirited gentleman.
There are relics of antiquity to be found in the modern town also; nor
have I given anything like a complete account of what is to be found in
the old. No one who takes the trouble to diverge from the beaten track
in order to visit this interesting little city--Weimar of the
Troubadours--will be disappointed. I may add, by the way, that the
_Hôtel de la Boule d'Or_, though homely, is comfortable, and that in
this out of the way corner the English traveller is invited to partake
of the famous "Bière de Bass."
From Provins to Troyes is a three hours' journey by rail; and at Troyes,
no matter how impatient the tourist may be to breathe the air of the
mountains, he must stop awhile. Here there is so much to see in the way
of antiquities that several days might be spent profitably and
pleasantly, but for the hotels, of which I have little favourable to
say. "Dear and dirty," is the verdict I must pass on the one recommended
to me as the best; the fastidious traveller will do well, therefore, so
to arrange his journey as to reach Troyes at early morning, and start
off again at night; though, of course, such an arrangement will only
allow of a hasty glimpse of the various treasures offered to him. Take
the churches, for instance. Besides the Cathedral, there are six old
churches, each of which has some especial interest, and all deserve to
be seen in detail. Then there are picturesque mediaeval houses, one of
the first libraries in France, a museum, picture-gallery, &c.
The town itself is cheerful, with decorative bits of window-gardening,
hanging dormers, abundance of flowers growing everywhere, and much life
animating its old and new quarters. The Cathedral, which rises grandly
from the monotonous fields of Champagne, just as Ely towers above the
flat plains of our Eastern counties, is also seen to great advantage
from the quays, though, when approached nearly, you find it hemmed in
with narrow streets. Its noble towers, surmounted by airy pinnacles, and
its splendid façade, delight the eye no less than the interior--gem of
purest architecture blazing from end to end with rich old stained glass.
No light here penetrates through the common medium, and the effect is
magical; the superb rose and lancet windows, not dazzling, rather
captivating the vision with the hues of the rainbow, being made up, as
it seems, with no commoner materials than sapphire, emerald, ruby,
topaz, amethyst, all these in the richest imaginable profusion. Other
interiors are more magnificent in architectural display, none are
lovelier than this, and there is nothing to mar the general harmony, no
gilding or artificial flowers, no ecclesiastical trumpery, no
meretricious decoration. We find here the glorious art of painting on
glass in its perfection, and some of the finest in the Cathedral, as
well as in other churches here, are the work of a celebrated Troyen,
Linard Gonthier.
A sacristan is always at hand to exhibit the treasury, worth, so it is
said, some millions of francs, and which is to be commended to all
lovers of jewels and old lace. The latter, richest old guipure, cannot
be inspected by an amateur, or, indeed, a woman, without pangs. Such
treasures as these, if not appropriated to their proper use, namely
dress and decoration, should, at least, be exhibited in the Town Museum,
where they might be seen and studied by the artistic. There are dozens
of yards of this matchless guipure, but, of course, few eyes are ever
rejoiced by the sight of it; and as I turned from one treasure to
another, gold and silver ecclesiastical ornaments, carved ivory coffers,
enamels, cameos, embroideries, inlaid reliquaries and tapestries, I was
reminded of a passage in Victor Hugo's last poem--_Le Pape_--wherein the
Pope of his imagination, thus makes appeal to the Cardinals and Bishops
in conclave:
"Prêtre, à qui donc as-tu pris tes richesses? Aux pauvres.
Quand l'or s'enfle dans ton sac, Dieu dans ton coeur décroit;
Apprends qu'on est sans pain et sache qu'on a froid.
Les jeunes filles vont rôdant le soir dans l'ombre,
Tes rochets, tes chasubles, aux topazes sans nombre,
Ta robe en l'Orient doré s'épanouit,
Sont de spectres qui sont noirs et vivant la nuit.
Que te sert d'empiler sur des planches d'armoires,
Du velours, du damas, du satin, de la moire,
D'avoir des bonnets d'or et d'emplir des tiroirs
Des chapes qu'on dirait couvertes de miroirs?
Oh! pauvres, que j'entends râler, forçats augustes,
Tous ces trésors, chez vous sacrés, chez nous sont injustes;
Ce diamant qui met à la mitre un éclair,
Cette émeraude me semble errer toute la mer,
Ces resplendissements sombres de pierreries,
C'est votre sang ...
... Brodés d'or, cousus d'or, chaussés d'or, coiffés d'or,
Nous avons des saints Jeans et des saintes Maries,
Que nous emmaillottons dans des verroteries,
Nous dépensons Golconde à vêtir le néant,
... Prêtres, votre richesse est un crime flagrant.
Vos erreurs sont-ils méchants? Non, vos têtes sont dûres,
Frères, j'avais aussi sur moi ce tas d'ordures,
Des perles, des onyx, des saphirs, des rubis,
Oui, j'avais sur moi, partout, sur mes habits,
Sur mon âme; mais j'ai vidé bien vite
Chez les pauvres."
The sacristan exhibited a tooth of St. Peter and skulls of the saints,
but these are treasures we can look on without envy. This little
Museum--as, indeed, the Treasury may be called--exposed at the Paris
Exhibition of 1867 one of its richest objects, the reliquary of St.
Bernard and St. Malachi, a chef-d'oeuvre of the twelfth century; but as
some of the jewels were stolen upon that occasion, nothing this year,
very naturally, found its way from Troyes Cathedral to the Trocadéro.
Close to the Cathedral are the Town Library, Museum, and Picture
Gallery, the two first well worth careful inspection. The famous Library
has largely contributed to the historic galleries of the Trocadéro; but,
nevertheless, many exquisite specimens of binding, printing, and
illuminating remain; whilst the windows are adorned with most curious
and beautiful old glass paintings from the hand of the gifted Linard
Gonthier before mentioned. It is hardly necessary to say that strangers
are admitted to all the privileges of the reading-room without any form
whatever. The library contains a hundred and some odd thousand volumes,
besides between two and three thousand rare MSS.
The present population of Troyes is forty thousand; and I am not aware
of any small town in England so well off in the matter of books. The
Museum is divided into several sections, and, though of recent date, it
possesses some interesting and valuable collections. Near the Library
and Museum is the most beautiful old church in Troyes, St. Urbain, but
as it is unfortunately in the hands of the restorer, we can see nothing
of the interior, and the splendid Gothic façade is partly hidden by
scaffolding. The traveller may next proceed on a voyage of discovery,
coming upon the picturesque Hôtel de Ville; quaint relics of mediaeval
architecture, and half a dozen old churches, all noteworthy from some
point of view.
It is impossible to do more than suggest the rewards that await such an
explorer. Troyes, like Angers and Poitiers, abounds in architectural
treasures and historical souvenirs; and all these cities cannot be
visited too soon. Restoration and renovation are here, as elsewhere, the
order of the day, and every year takes something from their character
and charm. Two objects, particularly striking amongst so many, shall be
mentioned only, as no mere description can convey any idea of the whole.
The first is the entrance hall of the Hôtel Vauluisant, the features of
which should be photographed for the benefit of art-schools and
art-decorators generally. The first is a magnificent oak ceiling; the
second, a Renaissance chimney piece in carved wood, no less magnificent.
The solidity, richness of design, and workmanship of both ceiling and
mantel-piece afford an invaluable lesson to artists, whilst beholders
can but examine them without a feeling of sadness.
How little we have in modern art-furniture and decoration to be compared
with such an achievement: Here we find that cost, labour, and display
went for nothing, and artistic perfection alone was aimed at. Not far
from the Hôtel Vauluisant is Ste. Madeleine, the most ancient church in
Troyes, originally Gothic, but now, what with dilapidations and
restorations, a curious medley of all various styles. To its
architecture, however, the traveller will pay little heed, his whole
attention being at once transferred to the famous jubé, or rood-loft, or
what passes by that name. Bather let me call it a curtain of rare lace
cut out in marble, a screen of transparent ivory, a light stalactite
roof of some fairy grotto!
On entering, you see nothing but this airy piece of work, one of the
daintiest, richest creations of the period, the achievement of Juan
Gualde in the sixteenth century. The proportions of the interior seem to
diminish, and we cannot help fancying that the church was built for the
rood-loft, rather than the rood-loft for the church, so dwarfed is the
latter by comparison. The centre aisle is indeed bridged over by a piece
of stone-carving, so exquisite in design, so graceful in detail, so airy
and fanciful in conception, that we are with difficulty brought to
realize its size and solidity. This unique rood-loft measures over six
yards in depth, is proportionately long, and is symmetrical in every
part, yet it looks as if a breath were only needed to disperse its
delicate galleries, hanging arcades, and miniature vaults, gorgeous
painted windows forming the background--jewels flashing through a veil
of guipure. English travellers may be reminded that Shakespeare's
favourite hero, Henry V., was married to Katherine of France in the
ancient church of St. Jean at Troyes, now the oldest congeries of
different kinds of architecture. The betrothal took place before the
high altar of Troyes Cathedral. Lovers of old stained glass must visit
St. Nizier and other old churches here; all possess some peculiar
interest either within or without.
Troyes--from the standard weight of which we have our Troy weight--is
the birth-place of many illustrious men. Mignard the painter, Girardon,
sculptor, whose monument to Richelieu in the church of the Sorbonne will
not fail to be visited by English travellers, and of the famous painter
on glass, Linard Gonthier, who had engraved on his tomb that he awaited
the Last Day,
"Sans peur d'être écrasé."
Among minor accomplishments of the Troyen of to-day, it may be mentioned
that nowhere throughout all France--land _par excellence_ of good
washing and clear-starching--is linen got up to such perfection as at
Troyes. The _Blanchisserie Troyenne_ is unhappily an art unknown in
England. It is curious that, much as cleanliness is thought of among
ourselves, we are content to wear linen washed and ironed so execrably
as we do. Clean linen in England means one thing, in France another; and
no French maid or waiter would put on the half-washed, half-ironed linen
we aristocratic insulars wear so complacently. Here indeed is a field
for female enterprize!
From Troyes to Belfort is a journey best made by night-mail express, as
there is little to see on the way; nor need Belfort--famous for its
heroic defence under Danfert, and its rescue from Prussian grasp by the
no less heroic pleadings of Thiers--detain the traveller. It is pleasant
to find here, as at Troyes, a Rue Thiers, and to see Thiers' portrait in
every window. If there is one memory universally adored and respected
throughout France, it is that of the "petit bourgeois." No one who gets
a glimpse of Belfort with its double ramparts and commanding position,
will wonder at Thiers' pertinacity on the one hand, and Bismarck's
reluctance on the other. Fortunately the "petit bourgeois" gained his
point, and the preservation of Belfort to France was the one drop of
comfort in that sea of misery.