BESANÇON AND ITS ENVIRONS.
The hotels at Besançon have the reputation of being the worst in all
France, but my kind friends would not let me try them. I found myself,
therefore, all at once in the midst of all kinds of home comforts,
domesticities, and distractions, with delightful cicerones in host and
hostess, and charming little companions in their two children. This is
the poetry of travel; thus to journey from one place to another,
provided with introductory letters which open hearts and doors at every
stage, and make each one the inauguration of a new friendship. I wish I
could subjoin an illustration of "How I travelled through
Franche-Comté," for my exploration of these regions was a succession of
pic-nics--host, hostess, their English guest, Swiss nurse-maid, and two
little fair-haired boys, being cosily packed in an open carriage; on the
seat beside the driver, a huge basket, suggesting creature comforts, the
neck of a wine bottle, and the spout of a tea-pot being conspicuous
above the other contents. This is indeed the way I saw the beautiful
valley of the Doubs, and not only the country round about Besançon, but
the border-land of Switzerland and Savoy. The weather--we are in the
first days of September--is perfect. The children, aged respectively
eighteen months and three years and odd, are the best little travellers
in the world, always going to sleep when convenient to their elders, and
at other times quietly enjoying the shifting landscape; in fact, there
is nothing to mar our enjoyment of regions as lovely as any it has ever
been my good fortune to witness.
In consequence of the bad character of the Besançon hotels, even French
tourists seldom break their journey here; but, on the opening of the new
railway line into Switzerland, joining Besançon, Ornans, and Morteau,
new and better hotels are sure to spring up. At present, wherever we go,
we never, by any chance, meet the ubiquitous English traveller with his
Murray, and my friends here say that, during a several years' residence
in Besançon, they have never even yet seen such an apparition! Yet
Franche-Comté, at present a _terra incognita_ of tourists, abounds in
all kinds of beauty; the sublime, the gracious, the grandiose, and the
pastoral, rock, vast panoramas, mountain and valley, all are here; and
all as free from the trace of the English and American tourist as the
garden of Eden before Eve's trespass!
Besides these quieter beauties are some rare natural phenomena, such as
the _Glacière de la Grâce Dieu_, near Baume-les-Dames, and the famous
Osselle grottoes, both of which may be reached by railway. We preferred,
however, the open carriages the basket and the tea-pot, and accordingly
set off for the latter one superb morning in the highest spirits, which
nothing occurred to mar. Quitting this splendid environment of Besançon,
we drive for three hours amid the lovely valley of the Doubs, delighted
at every bend of the road with some new feature in the landscape; then
choosing a sheltered slope, unpacked our basket, lunched _al fresco_,
with the merriest spirits, and the heartiest appetite. Never surely did
the renowned Besançon _pâtés_ taste better, never did the wine of its
warm hill-sides prove of a pleasanter flavour! The children sported on
the turf like little Loves, the air was sweet with the perfume of
new-made hay. The birds sang overhead, and beyond our immediate pavilion
of greenery, lay the curling blue river and smiling green hills. Leaving
the children to sleep under the trees, and the horse to feed at a
neighbouring mill--there is no kind of wayside inn here, so we have to
beg a little hay from the miller or a farmer--we follow a little lad,
provided with matches and candles to the entrance of the famous
grottoes. Outside the sugar-loaf hill, so marvellously channelled and
cased with stalactite formation, has nothing remarkable--it is a mere
green height, and nothing more. Inside, however, as strange a spectacle
meets our eyes as it is possible to conceive. To see these caves in
detail, you must spend an hour or two in the bowels of the earth, but we
were contented with half that time, for this underground promenade is a
very chilly one, as in some places we were ankle deep in water. Each
provided with a candle, we now follow our youthful guide, who was
accompanied by a dog, as familiar as himself with the windings of these
sombre subterranean palaces, for palaces they might be called. Sometimes
the stalactite roofs are lofty, sometimes we have to bend our heads in
order to pass from one vaulted chamber to another; here we have a superb
column supporting an arch; here a pillar in course of formation,
everywhere the strangest, most fantastic architecture, an architecture
moreover that is the work of ages; one petrifying drop after another
doing its apportioned work, column, arch, and roof being formed by a
process so slow that the life-time of a human being hardly counts in the
calculation. There is something sublime in the contemplation of this
steady persistence of Nature, this undeviating march to a goal; and as
we gaze upon the embryo stages of the petrifaction, stalagmite patiently
lifting itself upward, stalactite as patiently bending down to the
remote but inevitable union, we might almost fancy them sentient agents
in the marvellous transformation. The stamens of a passion-flower do not
more eagerly, as it seems, coil upwards to embrace the pistil; the
beautiful stamina flower of the _Vallisneria spiralis_ does not more
determinately seek its mate than these crystal pendants covet union with
their fellows below. Their perpetual bridals are accomplished after
countless cycles of time, whilst meantime in the sunlit world outside,
the faces of whole continents are being changed, and entire
civilizations are formed and overthrown.
The feeble light projected by our four candles in these gloomy yet
majestic chambers was not so feeble as to obscure the insignificant
names of hundreds of individuals scrawled here and there. The great
German philosopher Schopenhauer is at pains philosophically to explain
the foolish propensity of travellers to perpetuate their names, or as it
so seems to them. The Pyramids or Kentucky Caves do not impress their
minds at all, but to see their own illustrious names John Brown and Tom
Smith cut upon them, does seem a very interesting and important fact.
The bones of the Cave bear and other gigantic animals have been formed
here; but the principal tenants of these antique vaults are now the
bats, forming huge black clusters in the roof. There is something eerie
in their cries, but they are more alarmed than alarming; the lights
disturbing them not a little.
Pleasant after even this short adventure into the regions of the
nether-world, was the return to sunshine, green trees, the children, and
the tea-pot! After calling it into requisition, we set off homewards,
reaching Besançon just as the moon made its appearance, a large silver
disc above the purple hills; and the next day, good luck still following
us, we had a drive and pic-nic in the opposite direction, this time with
a less ambitious programme. In fact, we were merely accepting a
neighbour's invitation to a friendly dinner out of doors, a few miles
from Besançon. This pic-nic is a fair sample of Franche-Comté
hospitality; not only friends were invited but their guests, babies,
servants, and "all that was in their house," the various parties being
collected by the host in a waggonette. It was Sunday, and though I am
here still in a strictly Protestant atmosphere, host and guests being
Protestants, it was pleasant to find none of the Puritanism
characterizing some sections of the Reformed Church in France. The
Protestant pastor, indeed, to whose eloquent discourse I had listened
that morning, was of the party; and it is quite a matter of course here
to spend Sunday afternoons thus sociably and healthfully. The
meeting-place was a rustic spot much resorted to by Bisontins on
holidays, and easily reached from the little station of Roche on the
railway line to Belfort. A winding path through a wood leads to the
so-called Acier Springs, which, since the Roman epoch, have continued to
supply Besançon with the delicious water we find here in such abundance.
We have just such bits of wood, waterfalls, and mountains in North
Wales, but seldom in September such unbroken sunshine to make a pic-nic
exactly what it should be. It was warm enough for July, and young and
old could disport themselves on the turf in perfect security.
As the afternoon wore on, numerous pleasure-parties, mostly belonging to
the working-classes, found their way to the same pleasant spot, all
amply provided with baskets of wine and provisions. Some went further in
search of a little glade they could have to themselves, others took
possession of nooks and corners in the open space where we tad just
before dined so merrily. It was amusing to see how little attention
these good people paid to us, or any other outsiders. Two or three of
the women, fearing to tear their Sunday gowns in the wood, coolly took
them off, hung them on the trees near, and as coolly re-made their
toilette when their woodland rambles were over.
The train to Rôche certainly brought in a goodly contingent of pic-nic
parties that afternoon and when about four o'clock we prepared to return
home, the place was beginning to wear a very animated appearance. The
moon had risen ere we reached our destination, and, seen in the tender
summer twilight, the valley of the Doubs looked even more beautiful than
in the glowing sunshine of mid-day. There is no monotony in these
vine-clad hills, rugged mountain sides wooded from peak to base, close
shut valleys, and bright blue winding rivers; whether seen under the
dropping shadows of a shifting sky, or under the glow of sunset, their
quiet beauties delight the eye of the mere spectator and commend
themselves to the artist. Perhaps no Department in France is richer in
rivers than Le Doubs, every landscape has its bit of river, rivulet or
canal.
To get an idea of the commanding position of Besançon, we must climb one
of these lofty green heights, that of _Notre Dame des Buis_, for
instance, an hour's drive from the town. Having reached a sharp
eminence, crowned by a chapel and covered with box-wood, we obtain a
splendid view of the natural and artificial defences which make
Besançon, strategically speaking, one of the strongest positions in
France. Caesar, in his 'Commentaries' speaks almost with enthusiasm of
the admirable [Footnote: "Oppidum maximum Sequauorum, naturâ loci, sic
muniebatur ut magnam ad ducendum bellum daret facultatem: propterea quod
flumen Dubis ut circino circumductum, pene totum oppidum cingit;
reliquum spatium [quod non est amplius pedum DC. quà flumen
intermittit,] mons continet magna altitudine, ita ut radices ejus montis
ex utrâ parte ripae fluminis continguat." _De Bello Gallico_, Lib. I.,
chap, xxxviii. A marvellous bit of accurate description this, and to be
commended to writers of guide-books.] position of Vesontio, the capital
of the Sequani, and, when he became master of it, the defeat of
Vercingetorix was a mere matter of time. But what would the great
general have said, could be have seen his citadel thus dwarfed into
insignificance by Vauban's magnificent fortifications? and what would be
Vauban's amazement could he behold the stupendous works of modern
strategists?
Beyond these proudly-cresting heights, every peak bristling with its
defiant fort, stretches a vast panorama; the mountain chains of the
Jura, the Vosges, the snow-capped Swiss Alps, the plains of Burgundy,
all these lie under our eye, clearly defined in the transparent
atmosphere of this summer afternoon. The campanula white and blue, with
abundance of lovely tinted deep orange potentills and rich carmine
dianthus, were growing at our feet, with numerous other wild flowers.
The pretty pink mallow, cultivated in gardens, grows everywhere, but not
so luxuriantly here as about Morteau, and the serviceberry and barberry
have almost disappeared. This is indeed a paradise for botanists, but
their travels should be made earlier in the year. The walks and drives
in the neighbourhood of Besançon are countless, but that to the little
valley of the. World's End, "Le Bout du Monde," must on no account be
omitted.
Again we follow the limpid waters of the winding Doubs; on one side
hanging vineyards and orchards, on the other lines of poplars, above
these dimpled green hills and craggy peaks are reflected in the still
transparent water. We reach the pretty village of Beurre after a
succession of landscapes, "l'un plus joli que l'autre," as our French
neighbours say, and then come suddenly upon a tiny valley shut in by
lofty rocks, aptly called the World's End of these parts, since here the
most adventuresome pedestrian must retrace his steps--no possibility of
scaling these mountain-walls, from which a cascade falls so musically;
no outlet from these impregnable walls into the pastoral country on the
other side. We must go back by the way we have come, first having
penetrated to the heart of the valley by a winding path, and watched the
silvery waters tumble down from the grey rocks that seem to touch the
blue sky overhead.
The great charm of these landscapes is the abundance of water to be
found everywhere, and no less delightful is the sight of springs,
fountains, and pumps in every village. Besançon is noted for its
handsome fountains, some of which are real works of art, but the tiniest
hamlets in the neighbourhood, and, indeed, throughout the whole
department of the Doubs, are as well supplied as the city itself. We
know what an aristocratic luxury good water is in many an English
village, and how too often the poor have no pure drinking water within
reach at all; here they have close at hand enough and to spare of the
purest and best, and not only their share of that, but of the good
things of the earth as well, a bit of vegetable and fruit-garden, a
vineyard, and, generally speaking, a little house of their own. Here, as
a rule, everybody possesses something, and the working watchmakers have,
most of them, their suburban gardens, to which they resort on Sundays
and holidays. Besançon is very rich in suburban retreats, and nothing
can be more enticing than the cottages and villas nestled so cosily
along the vine-clad hills that surround it on every side. It is, above
all, rich in public walks and promenades, one of these, the Promenade
Chamart--a corruption of Champ de Mars--possessing some of the finest
plane trees in Europe--a gigantic bit of forest on the verge of this
city--of wonderful beauty and stateliness. These veteran trees vary in
height from thirty to thirty-five yards. The Promenade Micaud, so called
after its originator, Mayor of Besançon, in 1842, winds along the
river-side, and affords lovely views at every turn. Then there are
so-called "squares" in the heart of the town, where military bands play
twice a week, and nursemaids and their charges spend the afternoons.
Perhaps no city of its size in all France, Besançon numbers only sixty
thousand inhabitants, is better off in this respect, whilst it is so
enriched by vine-clad hills and mountains that the country peeps in
everywhere.
Considered from all points of view it is a very attractive place to live
in, and possesses all the resources of the capital on a small scale; an
excellent theatre, free art schools, and an academy of arts, literary,
scientific and artistic societies, museums, picture galleries, lastly,
one of the finest public libraries in France, of which a word or two
more later on. First of all something must be said of the city itself,
which is especially interesting to the archaeologist and historian, and
is very little frequented by English tourists. Alternately Roman,
Burgundian, Arlesian, Anglo-French, and Spanish, Besançon has seen
extraordinary vicissitudes. In the twelfth century it was constituted a
free city or Commune, and was not incorporated into the French kingdom
till the reign of Louis XIV. Traces of these various occupations remain,
and as we enter in at one gate and pass out of another, we have each
successive chapter of its history suggested to us in the noble Porte
Noire or Roman triumphal arch; the ancient cathedral first forming a
Roman basilica; the superb semi-Italian, semi-Spanish Palais Granvelle,
the Hôtel-de-Ville with its handsome sixteenth century façade; the
Renaissance council chamber in magnificently carved oak of the Palais de
Justice--all these stamp the city with the seal of different epochs, and
lend majesty to the modern, handsome town into which the Besançon of
former times has been transformed. The so-called _Porte Taillée_ a Roman
gate hewn out of the solid rock, forms an imposing entry to the city,
the triumphal arch before mentioned leading to the Cathedral only. Here
most picturesquely stand the columns and other fragments of the Roman
theatre excavated by the learned librarian, M. Castan, a few years back.
The Archbishop allows no one to see the art-treasures contained in the
archiepiscopal palace, among which is a fine Paul Veronese; but the
Cathedral is fortunately open, and there the art-lovers may rejoice in
perhaps one of the most beautiful Fra Bartolomeos in the world,
unfortunately hung too high to be well seen. Exteriorly the Cathedral
offers little interest, but the interior is very gorgeous--a dazzling
display of gold ornaments, stained glass, pictures, mosaics, and
ecclesiastical riches of all kinds. The other churches of Besançon are
not interesting, architecturally speaking, though picturesque,
especially St. Pierre, with its clock-tower conspicuously seen from
every part of the town. The archaeological museum is considered the best
arranged, as also, in some respects, it is the richest in France, and
contains some wonderfully beautiful things, notably the Celtic
collection found at Alaise, in the Department of the Jura--supposed by
some authorities to be the Alesia of Julius Caesar, whilst others have
decided in favour of Alise Sainte Reine, in Auvergne, where a statue has
been raised to the noble Vercingetorix. There are also Gallo-Roman
objects of great interest and beauty collected from Mandeure
_(Epanuoduorum)_ and other parts of Franche-Comté. Such collections must
be studied in detail to be appreciated, and I only mention them as
affording another illustration of the principle of decentralization
carried on in France--each city and town being enriched and embellished,
as far as possible, and made a centre artistic, scientific, and
literary. The museum contains amongst other things a curious collection
of old watches, the speciality of Besançon, of which more will be said
hereafter. But what was my astonishment and delight, as I sauntered by
the little cases under the window containing coins, medals, and
antiquities of various kinds, to come suddenly upon a label bearing the
inscription:--
"La Montre de Vergniaud."
There it lay, the little gold watch of the great Girondin orator,
choicest, most precious relic of the Revolution, historic memento
unrivalled for interest and romantic associations! Vergniaud's watch!
The very words take one's breath away, yet there it was, close under my
eyes. All those of my readers who are well acquainted with the history
of the Revolution in detail, will remember the Last Banquet of the
Girondins, that memorable meeting together of the martyrs of liberty,
each one condemned to die next morning for his political creed. The
Girondins ruthlessly swept away, the last barrier removed between
principle and passion, and the Revolutionary tide was free to work
destruction at its will; of these, Vergniaud was undoubtedly the
greatest, and anything and everything connected with him has a magic
interest. After the banquet, which was held with much state and ceremony
in a hall of the Conciergerie, now shown to travellers, the twenty-seven
Girondins discoursed in Platonic fashion upon the subjects nearest their
hearts, namely, the future of Republican ideas and the immortality of
the soul. This solemn symposium brought to an end, each occupied himself
differently, some in making their last testament, others in deep
thought, one in calm sleep; and it was during the interval that
Vergniaud with a pin scratched inside the case of his elegant little
gold watch the name of _Adèle_, and having done this he handed it to a
trustworthy gaoler to be delivered next day. A few hours later his head
had fallen on the guillotine, but his last request was duly delivered to
the Adèle for whom he designed it, a little girl of thirteen who was to
have become his wife. She became in due time a happy wife and mother,
and bequeathed Vergniaud's historic watch to a friend, who generously
bestowed it upon the Besançon Museum. Charles Nodier, in his "Dernier
Banquet des Girondins," gives an eloquent history of this watch, which
most likely he saw and handled as a youth. Vergniaud is undoubtedly one
of the most striking and imposing figures in the Revolution, and
everything concerning him is of deepest interest. His lofty soul, no
more than any other of that epoch, could foresee how the French Republic
would be established peaceably and friendly after torrents of blood and
crimes and errors unspeakable.
The picture-galleries, arranged in fine handsome rooms adjoining,
contain several _chefs d'oeuvre_ amid a fairly representative collection
of French art. The fine Albert Dürer--an altarpiece in wood--the Moro
portraits, the Bronzino--Descent from the Cross--all veritable gems,
lastly the portrait of Cardinal Granvelle by Titian. This is a noble
work; there are also two canvases attributed to Velasquez, "Galileo,"
and a "Mathematician." Seeing that Besançon was under Spanish protection
during the great painter's lifetime, and that all kinds of art-treasures
were amassed by the Granvelles in their superb palace, it might well
happen that works of Velasquez should have found their way here.
Authorities must decide on the genuineness of these two real works of
art.
Under the same roof is the free art-school for students of both sexes,
which is one of the most flourishing institutes of the town, and dates
from the year 1794. In the second year of study, drawing is taught from
the living model, and every facility is thus afforded to those unable to
pursue their studies in Paris, or pay the expense of a private study.
There is also a free music-school and technical schools, both
gratuitous, and open to both sexes. Nor must we forget the Academy of
Science and Belles Lettres, which not only affords complete scientific
and literary instruction gratuitously to the poor student, but also
courses of lectures open to the general public from October till June.
These lectures may be compared to the Winter series of our Royal
Institution, (alas! the privilege of the rich and at least well-to-do
only!) and, besides offering a rare intellectual treat to lovers of
science and letters generally, are of the greatest possible use to needy
students. Indeed, so liberal is the City of Besançon in this respect
that any lad who has been lucky enough to get a nomination to the Lycée,
may here pass his examination for the Bachelier-ès-Lettres and
ès-Science without a farthing of costs. Again I may remark, as far as I
know, no English town of 60,000 inhabitants, more or less, offers
anything like the same advantages in the matter of higher instruction to
those who cannot afford to pay for it; but perhaps my English critics
will reply that those who cannot pay the cost of Royal Institution or
other lectures are unreasonable to expect scientific instruction, or
recreation, to which argument I have nothing to say. The fact remains,
as everyone who lives in France knows well enough, that we have nothing
to be compared to the free Academies, free art and music schools found
there so largely, and which have received considerable development of
late years. Many of these date from the great Revolution, when the
highest instruction was not considered too good for the people. The
superior taste, technical skill, and general intelligence of French
workmen are due to those causes, and, of course, chiefly to the
accessibility of museums, libraries, art-collections, &c. on Sundays. No
matter which of these you may happen to visit on a Sunday, you are sure
to find that soldiers, artisans and peasants curiously inspecting the
treasures displayed to view--even dry geological and archaeological
collections attracting their attention. It is impossible to have
anything to do with the French working classes, and not observe the
effect of this artistic culture, and here and there throughout this work
I have adduced instances in point. We have nothing in England to be
compared to the general filtration of artistic ideas, by means of
gratuitous art and technical instruction, and the opening on Sunday of
all art and literary collections.
But after all it is the watchmaking school, or, École d'Horlogerie that
will perhaps most interest and instruct the traveller here, and he
should by no means neglect to visit it; however short his stay may be.
Watchmaking is, as is well known, the speciality of Besançon, and dates
as an important branch of industry from the year 1793. The National
Convention is to be thanked for the foundation of the first
"horlogerie," having invited to Besançon the refugee watchmakers of
Chaux de Fonds and Locle, who had been prescribed for their adherence to
the Republican idea. By a decree of the Convention, these exiles were
accorded succour, after which the Committee declared watchmaking in the
Department of the Doubs to be a national institution. Many hundred
thousand watches are made here annually, and it has been computed that,
out of every hundred watches in the French market, eighty-six come from
Besançon. In the year 1873, 353,764 watches were made, representing a
capital of fifteen millions of francs, and the trade increases annually.
The watchmaking school located in the picturesque old _Grenier_, or
public granary of the city, numbers over a hundred pupils of both sexes,
and is of course gratuitous. The Besançon watches are noted for their
elegance and cheapness, being sold at prices which would surprise
eminent London watchmakers. Many working watchmakers on a small scale,
are here, who, by dint of great economy, contrive to purchase a bit of
garden and summer house outside the town, whither they go on Sundays and
holidays to breathe the fresh air, and cultivate their flowers and
vegetables. But the majority are capitalists on a large scale, as at
Montbéliard, and I fear the workman's hours here are as long as at the
latter place. The length of the day's labour in France is appalling, the
one blot on a bright picture of thrift, independence, and a general
well-being.
Delightful hours may be spent in the Public Library, one of the richest
of provincial France, which is also, like the charming little library of
Weimar, a museum as well. The most superb of these bibliographical
treasures were amassed by the Keeper of the Seals of Charles the Fifth,
Perrenot de Granvelle, and afterwards bequeathed by the Abbé Brisot,
into whose possession they had fallen, to the town of Besançon. Among
them are some splendid manuscripts from the library of Mathias Corvinus,
King of Hungary, and a vast collection of choice Aldines bound in the
costliest manner. No less than 1,200 volumes of the sixteenth century
are here, amongst these several specimens of topography printed in
Franche-Comté. Lovers of rare MSS., old books, and old bindings, have
here a feast, indeed, and are generously allowed access to all. Like
most other important, libraries in France, it is under the management of
a man of learning and distinction; M. Castan, the present librarian, is
the author of some valuable works relating to his native province and to
his archaeological labours. Besançon is mainly indebted not only for the
excavations, which have filled its museums with treasures, but for the
imposing Roman remains which adorn its streets. Besides its
bibliographical collections, the library contains a vast number of
coins, medallions, busts, engravings, and portraits relating to the
history of Franche-Comté, many of which are highly interesting. The
busts, portraits, and relics of such noble Franc-Comtois as have won a
European reputation--George Cuvier, for instance, whose brain weighed
more than that of any human being ever known; Victor Hugo, whose works
are familiar to readers in all languages; Charles Fourier, who saw in
the Phalanstery, or, Associated Home, a remedy for the crying social
evils of the age, and who, in spite of many aberrations, is entitled to
the gratitude of mankind for his efforts on behalf of education, and the
elevation of the laborious classes; Proudhon, whose famous dictum, "La
propriété c'est le vol," has become the watchword of a certain school of
Socialists, which even the iron despotism of Russia and Germany cannot
keep down; Charles Nodier, charming _littérateur_, who, at the age of
twenty-one, was the author of the first satire ever published against
the first Napoleon, "La Napoléone," which formulated the indignation of
the Republican party, and a noble roll-call of artists, authors,
savants, soldiers, and men of science.
Noteworthy in this treasure-house of Franc-Comtois history is the fine
marble statue of Jouffroy by Pradier. Jouffroy, of whom his native
province may well be proud, disputes with Fulton the honour of first
having applied steam to the purposes of navigation. His efforts, made on
the river Doubs and the Saône in 1776 and 1783, failed for the want of
means to carry out his ideas in full, but the Academy of Science
acknowledged his claim to the discovery in 1840. The Besançon Library,
indeed, whether considered as such _pur et simple_, or a museum, is full
of interest and instruction, and deserves a lengthened visit. The
collection of works on art, architecture, and archaeology bequeathed to
the city by Paris, architect and designer to Louis XVI., is a very rich
one and there is also a cabinet of medals numbering ten thousand pieces.
Besançon also boasts of several learned societies, one of which founded
in the interests of scientific inquiry so far back as 1840, "La Société
d'Émulation du Doubs," numbers five hundred and odd members. One of the
most interesting features in the ancient city is its connection with
Spain, and what has been termed the golden age of Franche-Comté under
the Emperor Charles the Fifth. It will be remembered that Franche-Comté
formed a part of the dowry of Margaret, daughter of the Emperor
Maximilian of Austria, and it was under her protectorate during her
life-time and reverted to her nephew Charles the Fifth on his accession
to the crowns of Spain, Austria, the Low Countries, and Burgundy. His
minister, Perrenot de Granvelle, born at Ornans, infused new
intellectual and artistic life into the place he ruled as a prince. His
stately Italian palace, still one of the handsomest monuments of
Besançon, was filled with pictures, statues, books, and precious
manuscripts, and the stimulus thus given to literature and the fine arts
was followed by a goodly array of artists, thinkers, and writers. The
learned Gilbert Cousin, secretary of Erasmus, Prévost, pupil of
Raffaelle, Goudinel of Besançon, the master of Palestrina, creator of
popular music, the lettered family of Chifflet, and many others, shed
lustre on this splendid period; while not only Besançon but
Lons-le-Saunier, Arbois, and other small towns bear evidence of Spanish
influence on architecture and the arts. In the most out of the way
places may be found _chefs-d'oeuvre_ dating from the protectorate of
Margaret and the Emperor, and it is such scattered treasure-trove that
makes travelling in out of the way places in Franche-Comté so fruitful
to the art-lover in various fields.
The most salient feature of social life at Besançon is its Catholicism,
the place literally swarming with priests, and soldiers, to the great
detriment of public morality. The Protestants, nevertheless, hold their
own here, and even gain ground, witness the Protestant Church
established within the last ten years at Arbois by the Consistory of
Besançon. They have also succeeded in founding a hospital here for the
sick and aged poor, which is the greatest possible boon. Up till that
time, this section of the community had been received in the municipal
hospital under the management of the nuns, who, of course, did all in
their power to worry their patients into Catholicism. We know what
happens when a hospital is under the charge of nuns, and it can easily
be understood that many of these poor people preferred to embrace a
crucifix than forego their broth when half dead of exhaustion. Some
would go through a mock conversion, others would endure a martyrdom till
the last; but the position alike of weak and obstinate was unbearable.
Now there is a home, not only for the indigent sick and aged, but for
those who can afford to pay a small sum for being well looked after; and
it is delightful to witness the home-like ease and comfort everywhere.
The poor people welcomed their pastor, who accompanied me on my visit,
not only as a priest but as a friend, and it was easy to see how they
enjoyed a little talk with Madame, and the prattle of the children.
The large shady hospital garden overlooking the town is much resorted to
in fine weather, and everywhere we found cheerful faces. It is hardly
necessary to say that this admirable work needs money. The Catholic
clergy, of course, regard any step in advance on the part of the
Protestants with abhorrence, and do a little bit of persecution whenever
opportunity offers. Thus, as perhaps may not be known to all my readers,
the parish burial-ground in France is open by the law to all sects and
denominations indiscriminately; Protestant, Jew, Mahometan, or Brahmin
may here find a resting-place in spite of M. le Curé. Such is the law,
and an admirable law it is, but the law means one thing to a Catholic
and another to a Protestant There is no Protestant burial-ground in
Besançon or the neighbouring villages, so that everyone is buried in the
town and parish cemetery; but, as mayors of small country towns and
villages often happen not to know the law, the curé tries to circumvent
his enemy at the last. Accordingly, when the time of burial comes, a
Protestant pastor may be kept waiting for hours in consequence of this
wilful obstinacy; supposing that the mayor is under clerical influence,
useless to argue "La loi est avec nous;" curé and mayor persist, and at
the last moment the unfortunate pastor has to telegraph to the Préfet,
who, whether clerical or not, knows the law, and is obliged to follow
it, and consequently sends an authorization which ends the matter. This
is very blind on the part of the clericals, for it naturally turns the
Protestants into martyrs. It happened in a little village, not far from
Besançon, that, after a scene of this kind, all the village population
turned into the cemetery, and, by the time the Préfet's order came, the
Protestant pastor had a large audience for his discourse over the grave.
"C'est si consolant chez les Protestants, l'enterrement des morts,"
people were heard to say, and let us hope that the curé and the mayor
were punished for their folly by a few conversions among their flocks to
Protestantism.
A mediaeval writer, François de Belleforest, thus describes Besançon:--
"Si par l'antiquité, continuée en grandeur, la bénédiction de Dieu se
cognoit en une lieu, il n'y a ville ni cité en toutes les Gaules qui ayt
plus grande occasion de remarquer la faveur de Dieu, en soy que la cité
dont nous avions prise le discours. Car, en premier lieu, elle est
assise en aussi bonne et riche assiette que ville du monde; estant
entouré de riches costeaux et vignobles, et de belles et hautes fôrets,
ayant la rivière du Doux qui passe par le millieu, et enclost pour le
plupart d'icelle, estant bien, d'ailleurs fort bien approvisionée. Les
fruicts y sont aussi bons, et y a aussi bonne commodité de venaison et de
gibier en ceste ville, qu'en autre qu'on sceut choisir. Et puis ce qu'elle
est à la cheultes des montagnes, on la tient pour le grenier commun du
comté de Bourgogne, comme jadis Sicile estait de l'Itaile. Et s'il était
question d'estimer la vertu d'un peuple, qui s'est longtemps maintenu
libre sans ployer la gantelet, ni rien perdu de sa réputation, on peut,
à bon droit, faire cas de ceste cité. Et certes de tout temps ceste brave
cité a esté enviée des tyrans, pour en usurper la domination. Et il n'y a
ni eu ni menaces, ni allêchement qui ayent sceu esbranler les nobles et
libres coeurs besançonnais, pour quicter aucune chose de leurs libertez,
quelques couleurs de grandeur et de richesses qu'on leur ayt mis audevant
pour se laisser annexer au comté de Bourgogne, et avoir un parlément, et
se mettre auxpieds ce qu'il ont aux mains."