SAINTES--ROMAN ARCH OF TRIUMPH--GOTHIC BRIDGE--THE COURS--RUINED
CITY--CATHEDRAL--COLIGNY--RUINED PALACE--ST.
EUTROPE--AMPHITHEATRE--LEGEND OF STE. EUSTELLE--THE PRINCE OF
BABYLON--FÊTE--THE CÔTEAU--STE. MARIE.
OF course the earliest object which one hastens to see in Saintes, is
the famous Roman arch. We beheld it first by moon-light, when its large,
spectre-like proportions, as it stood in shadow, at the extremity of the
bridge, gave a solemn character to the scene suitable to its antiquity:
the uncertain light softened all the inequalities of its surface, and it
seemed a monument of the magnificence of the days of old, which time and
tempest had spared; but it was far otherwise in the morning, when we
paid it our second visit, and a broad glare of sun-light brought out
all its age and _infirmities_: then became apparent the rents and
ravages which had entirely deprived it of the original polish of its
surface; and it seems to totter, as if the first gale would hurl its
ruins into the waters beneath. Not a stone looks in its place; they
appear as if confusedly heaped one on the other, after having been
destroyed and built up again: it is, therefore, with infinite surprise
that you find, on approaching nearer and nearer, that its solidity is
still so great--that the melted lead inserted between the stones, which
binds it so firmly, is as strong as ever, and that parts of the interior
of the arch are even and smooth; much, however, of this has been
restored. After looking at this magnificent arch a little while, you
begin to imagine it, in the glare of day, as perfect as it appeared when
the moon-beams played above, and showed it in such perfection; and all
the modern buildings round, look like houses built of dominos compared
to its gigantic form. It is as if an old Roman were standing at the
entrance of the town, silent, stern, and proud, and gazing with contempt
on the ephemeral creatures of an age he knew nothing of, and who were
unworthy to pass him by.
Everything about this singular monument is mysterious: it seems
difficult to determine how it came in its present position, for the
bridge on which it stands is of considerably later date than itself,
although that is of Gothic construction. It would appear that, at the
time it was built, the waters of the Charente did not run in that
direction, and having changed their course, the bridge was built from
necessity, and joined the arch which existed long before: but then it
must always have stood as high above the bed of the river as it does
now, which puzzles one again. It is true that traces are still to be
found of the ancient bed of a river, and, in a house in the Faubourg des
Dames, an arch, called by tradition _Le Pont-Amillon_, has been
discovered.
The date of the monument is given as the year 774 of Rome, and 21 A.D.
It has two circular arches, supported by Corinthian pillars, and a broad
entablature; on which the curious can read an inscription, some of the
letters of which, with difficulty, we could decipher. Above the cornice,
is a double range of battlements, which have a most singular appearance,
as they do not, by any means, amalgamate with the rest of the building:
they are, nevertheless, very boldly constructed, and appear to form part
of the original design. There is, however, no doubt that they are the
work of a Gothic hand, and may, probably, date with the bridge. The
stones of which it is composed, are masses of four and five French feet
long, and two and a half thick, placed at equal distances, without
cement, and rendered solid by the introduction of melted lead and iron
hooks, some of which may still be seen in the intervals between the
stones. The stone is from the neighbourhood of Saintes, and is full of
shells and fossils: its height is twenty metres, French measurement: and
it is three metres thick, and fifteen wide.
Great precautions were taken, in 1666, to preserve this precious
monument, at the expense of M. de Bassompierre, Bishop of Saintes; but
so disjointed are some of its parts, that, except the utmost care is
continued, it can scarcely be expected to survive the demolition of the
ancient bridge, on which it stands, and which is doomed to destruction.
I heard with consternation that such was about to be the case, and that
a suspension-bridge is to replace it. What they will do with _the old
Roman_ it is difficult to say, or how they are to preserve it, standing,
as it does, almost in the centre of the river, or what effect it will
produce in so isolated a position, if permitted to stand, are questions
which naturally occur. It is to be hoped that the inhabitants will delay
its fate as long as possible, and, considering how very much must be
done in Saintes before, by any possibility, it can be made to approach
to anything like a habitable town, it seems a pity that one of its most
interesting and famous possessions should be torn from it. When its Arch
of Triumph falls, much of the glory of Saintes will fall with it; but it
will probably one day become a commercial town; the steam-boats, which
now stop below the venerable old bridge, will sweep over the spot where
it stood for ages, and the old Roman arch will be considered in the way,
and will be _removed_!
The inscriptions on the _attic_, which is divided into three parts, I
give from a work on the subject, as it may interest _archæological
readers_:--
INSCRIPTION ON THE ATTIC, NEXT THE TOWN.
"To Germanicus Cæsar, son of Tiberius Augustus, grandson of the
divine Augustus, great grandson of the divine Julius, augur, priest
of Augustus, consul for the second time, emperor for the second
time.
"To Tiberius Cæsar, son of the divine Augustus, grand pontiff,
consul for the fourth time, emperor for the eighth time the year of
his tribunitian power.
"To Drusus Cæsar, son of Tiberius Augustus, grandson of the divine
Augustus, great grandson of the divine Julius, pontiff, augur."
* * * * *
INSCRIPTION ON THE FRIEZE, NEXT THE TOWN.
"Caius Julius Rufus, son of Caius Julius Ottuaneunus, grandson of
Caius Julius Gededmon, great grandson of Epotsorovidus, priest,
consecrated to the worship of Rome and Augustus in the temple,
which is at the confluence, in his quality of intendant of works,
has made the dedication of this monument."
The inscription on the frieze, at the side of the Faubourg, is the same
repeated.
There seems, however, to be much uncertainty as to who the monument was
dedicated to, and the subject is a constant source of dispute with the
learned: the inscription can hardly be said to exist at present, so much
obliterated are the letters; but enough seems to remain to revive
inquiry and puzzle conjecture. The arch is more massive, but scarcely so
beautiful as the arches at Autun, with which we were so much delighted:
it is much more conspicuous and higher: both of those being on low
ground. There is no occasion to seek for this of Saintes; for it stands,
like a huge baron of old, guarding the river: we saw a company of
soldiers pass beneath it, as we lingered at a distance, and we felt
astonished to think how, in the midst of the centuries of violence it
had seen, in all the stormings and batterings and besiegings, it could
possibly have escaped, and be still there, a monument of the power of
the most redoubtable warriors of all.
Saintes is one of the most extraordinary towns I ever saw: it somewhat
reminded me of Autun, of Provins, of Château Thierry; yet it is very
different from either, and in fact
"None but itself can be its parallel."
It is separated into three towns, quite distinct one from the other, yet
joined, like a trefoil. As you stand on the broad boulevard leading
above the first town, the other two spread out beneath on either hand.
The churches of Notre Dame, of St. Eutrope, and the cathedral of St.
Pierre, each claim a part.
Descending the _Cours_, the aspect of that division which claims the
stupendous church of St. Eutrope[10] is wondrously imposing. I never
beheld anything more so, and we stood some time on the high-raised road
which commanded the view, rapt in astonishment at the ruined grandeur
before us. The enormous tower of St. Eutrope rises from a mass of
buildings which appear Lilliputian beside it; gardens and vines and
orchards slope down from it, and low in the meadows a long series of
arches betray the celebrated amphitheatre--another of the wonders of
this remarkable place. What convents and churches and castles and towers
have been cleared away to form the _Cours_ which extend from town to
town, I cannot say; but it appears as if not a quarter of the original
site can now be occupied; indeed, one is perfectly bewildered at every
step with the piles of ruin and rubbish scattered about, the remains of
old buildings destroyed to make room for new, which, begun and left
unfinished, or completed and then abandoned, have added a series of
modern ruins to those which are antique. There is not a single street,
or place, or road in Saintes, which can be called finished: materials
for building are scattered in all directions, and, in many parts, moss
and weeds have grown up amidst the piles of stone destined to construct
some new house or temple: in the meantime the streets are without
pavement, or as bad, hollow, damp, dirty, and dreary; the houses are
unpainted, slovenly, neglected, and ugly: the churches are dilapidated,
or but half restored; grass grows in the newly-projected squares, and
all is in a state of confusion and litter. It seems as if the task of
regenerating Saintes, rebuilding it from the ground, in fact, had been
undertaken in a moment of desperation, and the project had been
abandoned as suddenly as conceived.
[Footnote 10: Since this was written, I grieve to observe, by the French
newspapers, that the tower and part of the church of St. Eutrope, have
been destroyed by lightning.]
All attention seems now directed to the river side. The erection of a
new quay absorbs every mind; and all the workmen that can be procured
are busy hurrying to and fro, amidst the mud and water of the spot where
passengers land from the steam-boat. One would wonder why any body
should think of coming to Saintes at all, except from curiosity, as we
did; but that it is the direct route to the Gironde; where, from
Mortagne, another steam-boat, in communication with the Charente,
conveys passengers to Bordeaux. Since the establishment of these boats a
great change has been operated in Saintes, and probably its condition
will now improve.
Notwithstanding this _too true_ description of the once important
capital of Saintonge, it possesses an interest which may well attract
the antiquarian visitor to its walls. The ruins of the Arch and those of
the Amphitheatre alone would be attraction enough for many; and as the
hotels are remarkably good, clean, and comfortable, a sojourn of a few
days in Saintes will quite repay the traveller who comes, as we did, out
of his way to visit its battered walls. We were not fortunate, as at La
Rochelle, in the weather, for most of our excursions were performed in
the midst of showers. I cannot but think, from the experience of several
years' travelling, that there is even more uncertainty in the weather in
France than in England; and I was particularly struck with the fact,
that the nearer we approached the south, the colder, damper, and less
genial it became. It is a mere absurdity to talk of the difference of
our climate and that of France, in any part: it is assuredly _warmer_ in
England, and not a whit more changeable.
We took advantage of the first gleams, after a wet night, to explore the
strange old town, once said to contain a hundred thousand inhabitants,
and, both in the time of the Gauls and the Romans, to have been of the
utmost importance.
The cathedral is a monument of the violence of religious fanaticism; it
was almost torn to pieces by the Huguenots; in the sixteenth century,
all its fine architecture was defaced, its saints dragged from their
niches, and its ornaments destroyed. The principal entrance must,
originally, have been very grand; but is so much injured that little but
its form remains. The most remarkable part of the building is the
enormous tower, which rises to a gigantic height above all the edifices
of the town on the side next the river, vying with that of St. Eutrope
in the opposite quarter. This tower is supported by flying buttresses,
of great strength and beauty: the Calvinists had resolved on its
destruction, and had already begun its demolition, when it was
represented to Admiral Coligny that the fall of so gigantic a mass would
probably occasion serious accidents; and that if it were fortified it
might be turned to great advantage for the defence of the town.
Fortunately, this advice was taken, and the fine tower remains in all
its stupendous grandeur, with its flying buttresses, crocketed pyramids
and arches, unique in their form; it is said to be one of the largest in
Europe, and one of the finest specimens of the decorated style of Gothic
architecture.
The interior of the church is so much altered as to have little of the
original left; however, a few bits show how fine it must once have been:
the mean buildings which formerly hemmed it in are removed, and an open
space is left, which allows it to be seen to some advantage.
On the spot where once stood the capitol, the civil hospital now crowns
the height, and a fine view of the country and the river may be had from
that point, though the road to it is sufficiently difficult to deter one
from approaching it. A fine military hospital is placed in an elevated
position answering to the other. The college, founded by Henry IV., is
said to be good, and the prison very admirable in its way. The rest of
the public buildings are no more to be admired than the private ones.
We remarked a very handsome house, forming one side of a neglected
square, whose grand terraces and fine wings spoke it something of
consequence. We found it was once the bishop's palace, but had been long
left to go to ruin; and a part of it was now used by some Sisters of
Charity for a school. It was but of a piece with the rest of Saintes,
desolate and degraded, and "fallen from its high estate."
St. Eutrope lay in our way to the ruins of the great amphitheatre, and
we paused as we passed it at an open door, which was too tempting a
circumstance to be neglected on a rainy morning, when there might be
some trouble in finding the sacristan, and we rightly judged this would
lead to the famous crypt, the object of admiration and surprise to
antiquarians. Down a steep inclination we pursued our way towards a dark
nook, and there, through an iron grating, we discovered before us the
subterranean church, of immense size, and in perfect preservation; its
massive pillars and sharpcut capitals, its high-curved roof and circular
arches, all perfect, and its floor and walls undergoing restoration. We
resolved to see it more in detail hereafter, and, in the meantime, went
on to a lower part of the dim passage, where, turning aside, we found
ourselves close to a huge well of fearful depth, all round which were
ranged stone coffins, of primitive forms, one, in particular, still
preserving its cover, and of a most mysterious shape, which must have
belonged to some early inhabitant of this holy pile.
While we were speculating on the subject, a voice at a distance reached
our ears, requesting to know how long we intended to remain in that
retreat: we returned, and found, stationed at the door by which we had
entered, a young woman with pails of water by her side: she laughed
good-humouredly, and remarked--"I would not disturb you as I saw you
looking through the bars of the old church as I came back from drawing
water; but you staid so long that I began to think it time to call out,
as I must lock the door and go home now." We accordingly accompanied her
out, resolving to resume our visit on our return from the Arènes, to
which she directed us.
We followed a very steep path; and, keeping a range of ruined arches in
view, threaded the mazes of a long lane, till we arrived at the
irregular space where once stood the famous Roman amphitheatre. The
diameter of this building is the same as that of Nîmes, and it,
apparently, could have held about five thousand spectators: the ruins
are scattered over a very large extent in confused heaps; but there are
a great many vaulted arches, small and great, still standing, some
covered with weeds and grass, and overhung with wild vines and flowering
shrubs. There appears little doubt that here was a Naumachia, from
different discoveries that have been made of vaults which must have
conducted the waters to this spot. The meadows and little hills all
around are covered with remains of this once important place of
amusement; and the labourer is for ever turning up, with his spade or
plough, coins and capitals and broken pillars and pavement, belonging to
the period of its existence.
There still exists in the centre of what was the Naumachia, a well,
called La Fontaine de Sainte-Eustelle, to which miraculous virtues are
even now attributed, and to which the following legend belongs:
Eustelle was the daughter of an officer high in command in Saintonge: a
man of great power and severity, and a pagan: he had a particular horror
of the sect called Christians, who had begun to spread themselves over
the country, and were slowly, but surely, making their way. It was far
different with his beautiful daughter, whose nurse having imbibed the
principles of the true faith, had communicated her knowledge to her
foster-child, who listened with delight to her lessons, and, from year
to year, as she grew up, more than ever abhorred the superstitious
observances of her father and her friends. In the huge hollow stones
worshipped as gods, she saw only profanation; and, while compelled to
offer sacrifice to an imaginary deity, she in her heart addressed
prayers to a superior Being, that he would condescend to enlighten
those who were led astray, and assist her in her secret faith.
It was at this period that her father resolved to bestow her in marriage
on the son of Xerxes, King of Babylon; and as the prince was shortly
expected to arrive in Saintonge, he bade her prepare to receive her
intended husband. Eustelle heard these tidings with despair, secretly
resolving never to become the wife of a heathen, such as she was certain
the Prince of Babylon must be: her tears and entreaties, however, had no
effect on her father, who began to suspect her change of faith, and
resolved to secure the alliance at once. Preparations on a magnificent
scale were being made, and in a few days the bridegroom elect was
expected to arrive, when news was suddenly brought that the prince had
disappeared from his father's court, and was nowhere to be found. The
father of Eustelle hastened to her chamber to prepare her for the
disappointment, when, to his surprise, he found her not; and on the
couch where she usually slept a golden cross was laid; but no one could
give any account of her. The country was searched in all directions in
vain; and it was at length supposed that Eustelle had destroyed herself.
It was, however, far otherwise, for, in a cavern by the side of a
fountain, on the spot where now stand the ruins of the Roman
amphitheatre, Eustelle had concealed herself, having been guided thither
by a shining light, which flitted before her to the spot, and rested at
the mouth of the cavern: there she was miraculously supported, drinking
only of the waters of the fountain, which not only served her for
nourishment, but so increased her beauty, that she was a marvel to
behold. One morning, as she came forth from her cavern to perform her
usual devotions at the side of the fountain, she was surprised to see a
young man kneeling on the ground in devout prayer, so absorbed that he
did not perceive her approach; but as he raised his eyes, her figure
becoming suddenly visible to him, he exclaimed, "Oh, blessed Heaven! my
prayers are then heard--the Holy Virgin is herself before me!" Eustelle
started, and amazed at his words, demanded who he was, and whether he
was indeed a Christian, like herself, as his exclamation made it appear.
"Beautiful lady," replied he, "since you are not, as I supposed, a
heavenly visitant, know that I am Eutrope, the son of the King of
Babylon, fled from a marriage which I detested with a pagan of this
country. I am, indeed, a Christian and a priest, and obliged to conceal
my faith from the persecutors of those who hate us. The time will come
when we can declare ourselves, for already we increase in numbers as in
faith."
Eustelle, as she looked upon his features and heard the soft tones of
his voice, felt a momentary regret that he had been so precipitate in
rejecting the supposed pagan wife offered him; but considering such
feelings a crime, she replied: "Holy father, you see before you one who
has also fled from persecution, and sought a solitude where she can
worship the only true God in safety. I am she who was destined to be
your wife, had not a better fate been prepared for us both. In future,
we can serve and pray, and our spirits will together praise Him, who has
directed us thus to meet."
What passed in the mind of Eutrope, when he heard these words, it is
difficult to say; but he resigned himself at once to the lot which was
appointed for him. He built himself a hut at a small distance from the
cavern, and, devoting himself to prayer and thanksgiving, he permitted
his mind only to regard Eustelle in the light of a holy sister, while
she on her part held him as a saint sent to confirm her in her belief.
By the side of the miraculous fountain, many a time did the holy pair
sit in pious converse, mutually instructing each other, while angels
hovered above them, and joined in the chorus of praise which they sang.
St. Eutrope afterwards became the first bishop of Saintes, and St.
Eustelle lived a recluse in her cavern, where miracles were long
afterwards performed by her, and where she expired at the same moment
that her holy companion suffered the martyrdom which secured him a crown
of glory to all eternity.
The fête of the two saints is kept together on the 30th of April, and,
for eight days after, the otherwise quiet town of Saintes is a scene of
gaiety and rejoicing: a fair is held, and minstrels, jugglers, and
merchants of all kinds add to the liveliness of the scene. Why such
demonstrations should be made in honour of two persons whose lives were
spent in solitude and self-denial, it is somewhat difficult to
understand; and how the dull, dreary, desolate, and ruined town can ever
be made to wear a brilliant aspect, is equally difficult of
comprehension; but such _is said_ to be the case. On the morning of the
fête, great honours were paid, formerly, to St. Eustelle, which are not
even yet altogether discontinued. An image of the holy Virgin is
suspended in the grotto near the miraculous well, and there the water is
dispensed to believers in its efficacy "for a consideration."
It is principally visited by young girls, who are anxious to secure a
happy issue to an existing attachment, or to obtain, through the medium
of the indulgent saint, a lover before the end of the year. The way to
obtain this is to throw a pin into the fountain, and to drink a little
of the water. It is not impossible, after this, that a prince of Babylon
will make his appearance. Every year, however, this superstition is
wearing out, and probably will soon be forgotten altogether.
The sun shone, and, the day being mild, we lingered for some time
amongst these extensive ruins, climbing and exploring and looking down
caverns and ravines in the rocks, beneath one of which rolls a dark
stream, doubtless the source of those waters which were formerly
directed into the arena to serve the Naumachia. There is something
fearful in knowing that beneath your feet, as you wander in these ruined
places, exist gulphs of darkness, into which a false step amongst
treacherous bushes and weeds might precipitate the unwary. We were
driven from both the beauties and dangers of the spot by the beginning
of a shower, and determined on making a retreat to St. Eutrope, whose
enormous tower beckoned us from the hill above. We had not, however,
gone many steps when the storm came down with all the impatient fury of
_French rain_, and we were glad to take shelter in a wood-shed, at a
house which we should have endeavoured to visit had no accident
introduced us to its premises.
This house, now entirely modern, belongs to a farmer, and is called _The
Côteau_; in the garden is an _oyster bank_ of some extent, which is
looked upon as one of several proofs that the sea once bathed the walls
of Saintes; and beneath the building is a subterranean range, formerly
communicating with the amphitheatre, which is distant the length of
several fields from the house. As accidents might occur in consequence
of the great extent and ruined state of the galleries and arches of this
singular building, the proprietor has lately closed up the entrance, and
there is now no possibility of exploring; but the wonders of this place
have been described by different writers who have occupied themselves
with the antiquities of Saintes, of which there is so much to be said
and seen that it is almost a dangerous subject to touch upon. Certainly
it is a town which presents a wide field of enquiry and interest to
archæologists, and as it now lies in the highway to Bordeaux, the
curious may be attracted to its walls, and will be rewarded by their
visit.
Then, perchance, may be fitly described by a Gally Knight, the
Camp _de César_, the _Terrier de Toulon_, the _Tour de Pyrelonge_,
the Aqueduct of _Font-Giraud_, the Cavern of _Ouaye-à-Métau_, the
_Grand-Font-du-Douhet_, the _Font-Morillon_, the _Plantes des
Neuf-puits_, all works of the Gauls and Romans, of which, wells
and arches, and baths and subterranean temples, still excite the
astonishment, not only of the peasants who are constantly stumbling on
their remains, but of the antiquary who ventures into the long galleries
and ruined chambers which speak to him of the glories of a people who
once swayed the country they rendered powerful and beautiful by their
architecture, the traces of which time itself cannot entirely sweep
away.
We found, on visiting St. Eutrope on our return, that little interest
attaches to the church itself, scarcely any part of its interior having
been spared by the numerous hostilities which it has had to undergo;
some parts of the exterior are, however, beautiful, and the crypt lost
none of its interest on a second view. It is, after that of Chartres,
the most perfect and the most extraordinary in France, and formerly
extended as far again as at present. The fine bold circular arches, of
different sizes and heights; the massive cylindrical pillars, the rich
sharp capitals, and _still fresh_ gothic character of the cornices,
astonish the beholder; it is undergoing restoration in parts, which
appears sufficiently judicious. So solemn and silent was the sacristan
who conducted us over this subterranean church, that we imagined for
some time he was dumb, till we were undeceived on his expressing his
pleasure at the small donation we bestowed on him for his trouble; as it
is somewhat difficult, at the present day, in France, to meet the
exalted expectations of the numerous guides who exhibit to English
travellers the lions of their towns, we were amused at the satisfaction
betrayed by our silent cicerone.
The once beautiful church of Notre Dame, or Ste. Marie, serves now as
the stables of the garrison, and all its fine remains are hidden from
public view; parts of its exterior still attract the eye, and make one
regret that it has fallen into such utter decay. It was once covered
with statues of great beauty, some of which remain; but that of Geoffrey
Martel, its founder, is destroyed, with a host of others, once its
pride; enough, however, is to be seen which is well worthy of attention;
but, from its present occupation, we did not do more than attempt to
find it out in its degradation. The cells of the nuns are now occupied
by dragoons.