Bordeaux has a fine quay side. Bridges, shipping, old buildings, spread
of river, variety of local colour, all combine to give it this.
Of course to-day it has gained many modern aids to commerce, notably
among these the steam tram with its toy trumpet; and what it has gained
in these aids it has lost in picturesqueness. But still it has kept
variety, that saving clause, in colour. About the streets you can see
the reign of colour still in office. Cocked-hat officials, brilliantly
red-coated; the labourers loading and unloading on the quay side in
blue knickers, with lighter blue coat surmounting them; the stone
masons in weather-beaten and weather-faded scarlet coats; costumes
of soft grey-green, with sparkling glisten of silver buttons down
the front; and everywhere in evidence the flat-topped, round cap,
gathered in at its base.
Illustration: [_From Collection of Mr Gustavus A. Sieveking._
THE QUAY, BORDEAUX, 1842.
[_Page 76._
The expression of the French boy is not as that of the English boy, in
the same way as the expression of the French dog differs widely from
that of his English relation. Somehow it always seems to me that the
French boy misses the jolly bluffness of demeanour of our boys, though
he has a quiet, collected, reflective look. But when you come to the
French dog, whether it be the poodle, or that peculiar spotted yellow,
squinting variety which is the street arab of Bordeaux, you understand
the difficulty an English dog finds in translating a French dog's bark.
Along the quay side, is a sort of rough gutter market; chock full of
stalls, which are crowded with all sorts of colours, and a perfect
babel as regards noise. Some of the stalls were placed under big
tarpaulin umbrellas, some striped blue, some a dirty olive-green,
others under tents--dirty yellowish white for choice--one under a
carriage umbrella, or what had once been a carriage umbrella, but had
lost its handle and its claims to consideration by "carriage folk."
All the stalls were in close proximity; and pots and pans of all sorts
and sizes, harness of all sorts--generally out of sorts--long broom
handles, chestnuts peeled and unpeeled, little yellow cakes on the
simmer over a brazier, fruits, vegetables, saucepans, kitchen utensils,
nails, knives, scissors and every variety of implement jostled each
other, with no respect of articles. Each booth possessed a curious,
arresting smell of its own. It met you immediately on your entrance,
accompanied you a foot or so as you moved on, and then suddenly let go
of you, as you were assailed by the smell that was indigenous to the
stall coming next in order. It was a kaleidoscope of colour, a German
band as to noise.
One old woman, with a faded green pin-cushion on her head, tied with
black tape over her striped handkerchief, a broad red handkerchief
over her shoulders, and carrying coils of ropes, was ubiquitous. One
met her everywhere, and she carried her own perfume thick upon her
wherever she went, but she always left sufficient behind in her own
particular booth to keep up its character and special personal note. As
I left the excited, jabbering crowd, a countrywoman, seeing the prey
about to make its escape, darted out from her stall and seized me by
the shoulder, pressing on me at the same time two large fish arranged
on a cabbage leaf.
I came along the quay side later in the evening and all the sails--I
mean the booths--were furled, carriage umbrella and all; and the low
row of furled umbrellas, standing asleep and casting long dark shadows
in the dim light, like so many owls, gave a quaint, extraordinary
effect to the whole scene.
In the daytime it is difficult to imagine a finer, more striking
effect than the quay side, and the stone buildings, most of them
with crests over the doorway, fine ironwork balconies, and
jalousied windows. The two ancient gates: La Porte du Cailha, and
La Porte de l'hotel de Ville, standing solemn, grim and grey, aloof
(how could it be otherwise?) from the modern life of to-day, its
trams, its tin trumpets, its electric lights--but permitting in its
dignified isolation, the traffic which has revolutionised the entire
neighbourhood. Most of the old part of Bordeaux is near the quay side.
There are many delightful old houses in Rue Quai-Bourgeois, Rue de la
Halle, Rue Porte des Pontanets, Rue de la Fusterie, Rue St. Croix and
others. The poetry of past ages, past doings, past individualities,
is thick in the air as one passes down these narrow, dimly-lighted,
old-world streets. Stories of adventures, of dark deeds, of sudden
disappearances, are no longer so difficult to picture when one has
stood under these long, broad doorways, in the darkest and most sombre
of entrance halls, and seen dim, hardly distinguishable staircases away
in the shadow beyond. The only sounds that break on one's ear are
the dull, booming drone of the steamer away in the harbour, the loose,
uneven rattle of the cumbrous waggons over the cobbles; and, when that
has passed, the quick tap-tap perhaps of some stray foot-passenger's
sabots.
Illustration: [_From Collection of Mr Gustavus A. Sieveking._
BORDEAUX, 1842.
[_Page 80._
This district of Bordeaux is full of the narrow, winding alleys, which
further north we call "wynds:"--all narrow; the houses, abutting them
on either side, being mostly five stories high, with all the lower
windows barred, and "squints" on each side of the doorways. In front
of each house stretches a little strip of pathway about two feet in
breadth, tiled diagonally; token of the time when everyone was bound to
subscribe thus to the duties of public paving.
In Rue de la Halle the houses are mostly six stories in height, some
having lovely floriated doorways, and over them wrought iron balconies
in all varieties of design; over some of the windows I noticed
dog-tooth mouldings in perfect repair, and sometimes statues. Now and
again one would come upon a specially fine old mansion, with carved
doorways and, inside the entrance hall, panelled walls and grand old
oak staircase. As often as not, one would find big baskets and sacks
of flour arranged all round the hall, showing plainly enough for what
purpose it was used now.
Now and again one of the heavy corn waggons would come lumbering down
the narrow street, driving one perforce on the extremely cramped
allowance of inches, called a pathway here: the dark blue smocks,
(shading off into a lighter tint for the trousers), of the carters,
making the most perfect foil to the quiet, sombre grey houses which
were beside them on either side.
Illustration: CHATEAU DE LA GUIGNARDIERE, LA VENDEE.
[_Page 83._
Now and again as one turned out of one narrow, corkscrew road into
another, one would catch sight, above the towering heights of the
overhanging stories, of the spires, reared far beyond the houses of
men, of the old churches, which vary the monotony of the roofs of
the city, and stand steadfastly through the ages all along, as
witnesses of the past: its faith and its aims. I am not _au fait_ in
the architectural points of churches, or I should like to enlarge on
the beauties of the churches of St. André, St. Seurin, and one or two
others of ancient fame, which help to make Bordeaux the splendid city
it is. Adverse faiths, and the violent way in which they expressed
themselves in the past, have terribly spoilt and desecrated much of
the old work--work so beautiful that it is difficult to imagine how
the hand of Vandalism could bear to destroy it as ruthlessly as it
has done. We went to see the cathedral church of St. André one Sunday
afternoon. The chancel was literally one blaze of light for Benediction
and Vespers. The whole service was magnificently rendered, a first rate
orchestra supplementing the grand organ, and the voices of priests and
choir beyond all praise. What was, however, infinitely to be condemned,
was the irreverent pushing and jostling which was indulged in _ad
nauseam_ by many of the congregation. That any one was kneeling in
prayer, seemed to be no deterrent whatever; for the rough, purposeful
shove of hand and arm, to enable its possessor to get a better view of
the proceedings, went forward just as energetically.
The curious custom of collecting pennies for chairs, as in our parks at
home, was in vogue here, as elsewhere in this country's churches and a
smiling _bourgeoise_ came round to each of us in turn with suggestive
outstretched palm. At the church of St. Croix there was, I remember,
a notice hung on the walls which put one in mind, somewhat, of the
familiar little tablet that faces one when driving in the favourite
little conveyance _à deux_ of our own London streets--"_Tarif des
chaises_," was printed in clear letters: "_10 pour grand messe, Vêpres
ordinaires 5, Vêpres avec sermon 10_."
On thinking over the pros and cons of both systems; that of some of
our English pew-rented churches, giving rise to the evil passions
frequently excited in the mind of some seat-holder when, arriving late
in his parish church, he finds someone else in temporary possession
of his own hired pew, and that of the payment for only temporary
privileges and luxuries "while you wait," I must frankly own that the
latter infinitely more commends itself to my personal judgment!
Not once, or twice only, but many times have I been witness to selfish,
jealous outbursts in civilised communities, all on account of some bone
of contention, in the way of a private pew (what an expression it is,
too, when you come to think of it!) which has been seized by some man
first in the field--I mean the church--when its legal owner happened to
be absent, and unexpectedly returns.
Sometimes the incident is so entirely upsetting to the moral
equilibrium of the possessor of the private pew, who finds himself
suddenly in the position of not being able to enter his own property,
that his a Sunday expression, which has unconsciously to himself been
put on (_a thing peculiarly English_) is absolutely in ruins, and
nothing visible of it any more! Moreover, his chagrin is such that he
is often unable to control the outward expression of his feelings!
* * * * *
St. Emilion is within easy reach, by rail, of Bordeaux, and the bit of
country through which one passes to reach it is very characteristic of
that part of France.
The vineyards between Bordeaux and St. Emilion stretch in almost one
continuous line. They are like serried ranks; the ground literally
bristles with them. The sticks to which the vines are attached are not
more than two feet in height, (sometimes not that). In one district
they were all under water--a broad, grey sheet. Here and there in among
the vines were trees--vivid yellow in leafage, with one obtrusively
flaring blood-red in colour in their midst. The cows that browsed near
the vines were tied by the leg to some big plank of wood, which they
had to drag along after them as they walked. Most awkward appendage,
too, it must have been. Though everywhere accompanied by this "drag
upon the wheel," yet they were also governed and directed by the
invariable peasant woman, at a little distance in the rear. Cocks and
hens are also allowed to disport themselves up and down the vine rows,
and seem to be given _carte blanche_ in the way of pickings.
Possibly, now one comes to think of it, this may account for the odd
taste some of the eggs have: it may be that some of the weaker vessels
among the hens are tempted to help themselves to the wine in embryo,
(in the same sort of way as do some butlers in cellars), and that this
spicy flavour gets into the eggs without the hens being aware of it! It
may not be the fault of the cocks. What can one cock do, in the way of
restraint, among so many flighty hens?
I shall never forget one of the oddest scenes, in connection with
cocks and hens, that I ever witnessed. I had, in the course of a
walk, got over a high gate which led into a field. No sooner was I on
_terra firma_ again than I perceived, by the scuttling and flounce
of feathers, and general fussy cackling, that I had stepped into the
midst of a conclave which the lord and master of that particular harem
was holding: his better halves (?) were around him. I am sorry to have
to admit that he did not hesitate an instant, but, having no hands
ready in which to take his courage, he left it behind him, in a most
ignominious fashion and was the first to hurry to a place of shelter
at some distance from me. When the shelter--in the shape of an old
outhouse--was secured, he leant out of it and, anxiety for the safety
of his household eloquently expressed on his red face, he chortled
in his eager injunctions and exhortations to his hens to come and be
protected. They obeyed, and I could hear an animated story or recital
of some sort being given them by him.
Was he reading them a sermon on the imperative necessity of suppressing
the feminine (?) vice of curiosity, which might lead them to venture
out imprudently again into the danger just escaped and averted by his
watchful vigilance? or was he explaining away his own apparent failure
in courage lately shown them? Whichever it was, they lent him their
ears--all but one hen, and she perhaps had formed the habit of making
up her judgments independently on current events, without the aid of
the masculine mind, for she peeped round the corner repeatedly at me,
and finally, seeing I appeared to be a harmless individual enough,
she, without consulting the cock, ventured to come and inspect, and
remained, by my side with a modicum of caution, for some time.
But to return. Underneath some of the elms, which back-grounded the
vineyards, the bronze coinage of dead leaves lay thick in handfuls.
Past them came slowly and musically, from time to time, a roomy cart;
its big bell--note of warning of its approach--hanging in a sort of
little belfry of its own behind the horse. Here, there would be a belt
of tawny trees against one of dark myrtle; there, a wood, soft pink and
russet, and in the midst of it, piled bundles of faggots.
We had provided ourselves with our _second déjeuner_, but only the
butter and bread and Médoc were beyond reproach; the Camembert had
reached an uncertain age, and the ham had gone up higher! _Mais que
voulez-vous?_ You can hardly expect a feast out of doors as well as
indoors, a feast to the mouth as well as to the eye. And outside was
the most royally satisfying banquet of colours that any eye could
desire. Colours at their richest, contrasts at their completest period.
Before reaching Coutras, you come again into the region dominated by
poplars. And that they do dominate the district in which they appear,
no one can doubt. Poplars give a peculiar character to the land; a
special personal note to the scenery. They are atmosphere-making.
Presently we came upon Angoulême, upon the slope of a hill; all white
and red in vivid contrast.