SOULAINES AND BAR-SUR-AUBE.
The first of these places mentioned is a Champenois village twelve miles
from a railway station. From the windows of my friends’ château I look
upon a magnificent deer park, where during the oft-time torrid heat of
summer delicious shade is to be found.
Far away vast forests bound the horizon, to the north a hot open road
leading to Brienne-le-Château, where Napoleon studied as a military
cadet; eastward, lies varied scenery between Soulaines and Bar-sur-Aube,
there woodland ending and the vine country beginning.
On one especial visit during September, not even these acres of
closely-serried forest could induce more than a suggestion of shadow and
coolness. Although screened from view the sun was there. Throughout a
vast region--half a province of woodland--folks breathed the hot air of
the Soudan. The tropic temperature admitted of no exercise during the
day, but after four o’clock tea we broke up into parties--drove, rode,
strolled, called upon homelier neighbours, visited quaint old churches
hidden in the trees or forest nooks, the solitude only broken by
pattering of deer and rabbits, or nut-cracking squirrel aloft. Here
and there we would come upon huts of charcoal-burner and wood-cutter,
gamekeepers and foresters, too, had their scattered lodges; such signs
of human habitation being few and far between.
We are here in the remnant of the great Celtic forest of Der. The
straggling village of Soulaines is one long street, a little stream
running behind the picturesque, timbered houses, many of these have
outer wooden staircases leading to grange or storehouse. Church and
presbytery, convent and Mairie were conspicuous.
In the opposite direction, another church rose above the horizon, the
centre of what in France is called not a village but a hamlet. Bare as
a barn seen from far and near showed this little church, and we often
walked thither for the sake of its picturesque surroundings. The portal
of the quaint old building is a mass of ancient sculpture, close round
it being grouped a few mud-built, timbered, one-storeyed dwellings all
of a pattern.
Even in France are to be found day labourers, only the very poorest,
however, being without a cottage, plot of ground, a cow and of poultry
their own. Many of their interiors are far neater and cleaner than those
of the farm-houses, their occupants not being so tied to the soil from
morning to night, not, in fact, incited to Herculean labours by the spur
of larger possession. We visited one of the poorest villages hereabouts,
of not quite a hundred souls, but of course, provided with church,
school and Mairie. Many a group of potato diggers we saw in the
exquisite twilight, suggestive of Millet, many a landscape recalling
other masters. This handful of woodlanders--for the village is
surrounded by forests--is perhaps as poor as any rural population to be
found throughout France. Yet here surprises await us. Some of the better
off hire a little land, keep cows, rear poultry, most likely in time to
become owners of a plot. They are paid for harvest work in kind, several
we talked to having earned enough corn for the winter’s consumption--as
they put it--our winter’s bread. They are a fine, sunburnt, well-formed
race and seem cheerful enough. In one of the poorest houses, a huge
pipkin on the fire emitted savoury steam, and rows of small cheeses
garnished the shelves. Good oak bedsteads, linen presses and
old-fashioned clocks were general. Every mantel-piece had its framed
photograph and ornamental crockery. New milk was always freely offered
us.
Within the precincts of this hamlet we find ourselves in a bluish-green
land of mingled wood and water; above the reedy marsh, haunt of wild
fowl, willows grew thick; here and there the water flowed freely, its
surface broken by the plash of carp and trout. At this season all hands
hereabouts were busy with threshing out the newly garnered corn and
getting in potatoes. The crops are very varied, wheat, barley, lucerne,
beetroot, buckwheat, colza, potatoes; we see a little of everything.
Artificial manures are not much used, nor agricultural machinery to a
great extent, except by large farmers, but the land is clean and in a
high state of cultivation. Peasant property is the rule; labouring for
hire, the condition of non-possession, very rare. And whether the times
are good or evil, land dirt cheap or dear, the year’s savings go to
the purchase of a field or two and, as a necessary consequence, to
the consolidation of the Republic and the maintenance of Parliamentary
institutions.
I will now say something of our neighbours. One of these was the parish
priest, who had the care of between six and seven hundred souls. The
fact may be new to some readers that a village curé, even in these days,
receives on an average little more than Goldsmith’s country parson,
“counted rich on forty pounds a year.” This curé’s stipend, including
perquisites amounted to just sixty pounds yearly, in addition to which
he had a good house, large garden and paddock. But compare such a
position with that of one of our own rectors and vicars!
The Protestant clergy in France are better paid than those belonging
to the orthodox faith. Being heads of families, they are supposed, and
justly, to need more. Let it not be imagined, however, that the priest
receives less under the Republic than under the Empire. But the cost of
living has increased.
Of course there are black sheep in the Romish fold as elsewhere; perhaps
even the simplicity, learning and devotion to duty of the individual I
here write of, are rare. Yet one cannot help feeling how much more
money the Government would have at command with which to remunerate
good workers in pacific fields if disarmament were practicable. This
excellent priest, like other men of education and taste, would have
relished a little travel as much as do our own vicars and curates their
annual outing to Norway or Switzerland. What remains for recreation and
charity after defraying household expenses and cost of a housekeeper out
of sixty pounds a year?
Next, let me say a word about the _juge de paix_ in France, as I presume
most readers are aware, a modest functionary, yet better paid than that
of a priest. The average stipend of a justice of the peace is about a
hundred pounds a year, with lodging, but although his duties often take
him far afield he is not provided with a vehicle, and must either
cycle or defray the cost of carriage hire. I know many of these rural
magistrates, and have ever found them men of education and intelligence.
I, now, for the first time, found one well read in English literature,
not only able to discuss Shakespeare and Walter Scott, but the latest
English novel appearing in translation as a feuilleton. It is well that
these small officials should have such resources. Tied down as they are
to remote country spots, their existence is often monotonous enough,
especially during the winter months.
It seems to be a canon of French faith that you cannot have too much
of a good thing, anyhow in the matter of wedding festivities. Parisian
society is beginning to adopt English saving of time and money,
fashionable marriages there now being followed by a brief lunch and
reception. Country-folks stick to tradition, preferring to make the
most of an event which as a rule happens only once during a lifetime.
Gratifying as was the experience to an English guest, especially that
guest being a devoted admirer of France, I must honestly confess that my
share in such a celebration constituted probably the hardest day’s work
I ever performed. Here I will explain that the bride’s father was head
forester of my host and hostess, the great folks of the place, and
adored by their humbler neighbours. Château and cottage were thus
closely, nay affectionately, interested in the important event I am
about to describe, and this aspect of it is fully as noteworthy as the
truly Gallic character of the long drawn out fête itself.
By nine a.m. horses and carriages of the château, adorned with wedding
favours, were flying madly about in all directions conveying the wedding
party to and from the Mairie for the civil ceremony. An hour later we
were ourselves off to the village church, the house party including
three English guests. The enormously long religious ceremony over, a
procession was formed headed by musicians, bride and bridegroom leading
the way, fifty and odd couples following and the round of the village
was made. At the door of the festive house we formed a circle, the
newly-wedded pair embracing everyone and receiving congratulations;
this is a somewhat lachrymose ceremony. The marriage was in every way
satisfactory, but the nice-looking young bride, a general favourite, was
quitting for ever her childhood’s home. After some little delay we
all took our places in two banqueting rooms, the tables being arranged
horse-shoe wise. Facing bride and bridegroom sat my host, the second
room being presided over by the bride’s father, of whom I shall have
something to say later. Here I give the bill of fare, merely adding that
the festive board was neatly, even elegantly, spread, and that every
dish was excellent:--
Hors d’oeuvre Salade de saison
Radis, beurre frais, Langue fumée Fruits
Bouchées à la Reine Brioche. Nougat
Daim, sauce chassuer Desserts varies
Galantine truffée Vins
Salmis de canards Pineau, Bordeaux, Champagne
Choux-fleurs Café, Liqueurs.
Dinde truffée.
Looking down the lines of well-dressed people, all with the exception of
ourselves belonging to the same rank as the bride, I could but be struck
with the good looks, gentle bearing, and general appearance of everyone.
As to the head forester, he was one of Nature’s gentlemen, and might
easily have passed for a general or senator. At the table sat several
young girls of the village, each having a cavalier, all these dressed
very neatly and comporting themselves like well-bred young ladies
without presumption or awkwardness. During the inevitable pauses between
dish and dish, one after another of these pretty girls stood up and
gratified the company with a song, the performance costing perhaps an
effort, but being got through simply and naturally. In the midst of the
banquet, which lasted over three hours, two professionals came to sing
and recite. From the breakfast table, after toasts,--the afternoon being
now well advanced--we again formed a procession to the Mairie, in front
of which _al fresco_ dancing commenced. Add that this out-of-door ball
lasted till a second dinner, the dinner being followed by a second ball
lasting far into the small hours. Nor did the celebration end here.
The following day was equally devoted to visits, feasts, toasts, and
dancing. What a national heritage is this capacity for fellowship,
gaiety, and harmless mirth!
Bar-sur-Aube lies twelve miles off and a beautiful drive it is thither
from Soulaines. We gradually leave forest, pasture and arable
land, finding ourselves amid vineyards. At the little village of
Ville-sur-Terre, we one day halted at a farm-house for a chat, the
housewife most kindly presenting me with two highly decorative plates.
As we approach Bar-sur-Aube we come upon a wide and beautiful prospect,
wooded hills dominating the plain.
This little town is very prettily situated, and like every other in
France possesses some old churches. Perhaps its most famous child is
Bombonnel, the great panther-slayer, born close by, who died at Dijon
and whose souvenirs bequeathed to me as a legacy I have given elsewhere.
The son of a working glazier, he made a little fortune as hawker of
stockings in the streets of New Orleans, returned to France, cleared
the Algerian Tell of panthers, for a time enjoyed ease with dignity in
Burgundy; on the outbreak of the Franco-German War in 1870, as leader
of a thousand _francs-tireurs_, gave the Germans more trouble than any
commander of an army corps, twice had a price of £1,000 set upon his
head, was glorified by Victor Hugo, received the decoration of the
Legion of Honour, and as a reward for his patriotic services several
hundred acres of land in Algeria. A gigantic statue of Sant Hubert, the
patron of hunters, now commemorates the great little man, for he was
short of statue, in the cemetery of Dijon.
Bar-sur-Aube is connected with another notoriety, the infamous Madame
de la Motte, the arch-adventuress, who, a descendant herself of Valois
kings, proved the undoing of Marie Antoinette. As was truly said by
a great contemporary:--“The affair of the Diamond Necklace,” wrote
Mirabeau, “has been the forerunner of the Revolution.”
This Jeanne de Valois, rescued from the gutter by a benovolent lady of
title and a charitable priest, presents a psychological study rare even
in the annals of crime. Never, perhaps, were daring, unscrupulousness,
and the faculty of combination linked with so complete a disregard to
consequences. The moving spring of her actions, often so complicated and
foolhardy, was love of money and display. It seemed as if in her person,
was accumulated the lavishness of French Royal mistresses from Diane
de Poitiers down to Madame Dubarry. There was a good deal of the Becky
Sharp about her too, although there is nothing in her history to show
that, like Thackeray’s heroine, “she had no objection to pay people if
she had the money.” If, indeed, anything in the shape of ethics guided
the most astoundingly ingenious swindler we know of, it was some such
principle as this: she ought to have been at Versailles, there being
received as a recognised Princess of the Royal House; since, through
no fault whatever of her own, she was not, she had a perfect right to
avenge herself upon royalty and society in general.
How she wormed herself into the confidence of the Cardinal de Rohan, a
man of the world and of education, would seem wholly unaccountable
but for one fact. The Prince Primate had faith in Cagliostro and
his nostrums, and when an individual has recourse to astrologers
and fortune-tellers, we are quite in a position to gauge his mental
condition. Like Mdlle. Couesdon of contemporary fame, Cagliostro held
intercourse with the angel Gabriel, but his occult powers and privileges
far exceeded those of the Parisian lady-seer. He was actually in the
habit of dining with Henri IV., and two days before the Cardinal’s
arrest made his client believe that he had just accepted such an
invitation!
It had been Rohan’s ambition to obtain the favour of the Queen and a
foremost position at court, hence the readiness with which he fell into
the trap. For “the Valois orphan,” now Comtesse de la Motte, not only
possessed great personal attractions, but an extraordinary gift of
persuasiveness. Without much apparent trouble she made the Cardinal
believe that she was in the Queen’s favour, and indeed in her
confidence. Having got so far the rest was easy.
How the acquisition of the already celebrated Diamond Necklace was first
thought of, how, by the aid of willing tools, she matured and carried
out her deep-laid and diabolical scheme, reads like an adventure from
the “Arabian Nights.” The personification of the Queen by a little
dressmaker who happened to resemble her, the forgery of the Royal
signature, the final attainment of the diamonds, all seemed so easy to
this consummate trickster that it is small wonder she became intoxicated
with success and blind to consequences. No sooner was the necklace in
her possession than, of course, as fast as possible it was turned, not
into money, but into money’s worth. Houses and lands, equipages and
furniture, costly apparel, and delicacies for the table were purchased,
not with louis d’or, but with diamonds.
We read of her triumphant entry into the little town of Bar-sur-Aube,
cradle of the Saint Rémy-Valois family, in a berline with white
trappings and the Valois armorials, before and behind the carriage,
which was drawn by “four English horses with short tails,” rode
lacqueys, whilst on the footboard ready to open the door stood a negro,
“covered, from head to foot with silver.” Still more dazzling was the
dress of Madame la Comtesse, richest brocade trimmed with rubies and
emeralds. As to the Count, not content with having rings on every finger
he wore four gold watch chains! Besides holding open house when at home,
the pair had a table always spread with dainties for those who chose to
partake in their hosts’ absence. Among the toys paid for in diamonds was
an automatic bird that warbled and flapped its wings. This was intended
for the amusement of visitors.
The carnival proved of short duration. It was on the 1st of February,
1783, that the diamond necklace was handed over to Madame de la Motte,
Rohan receiving in return the forged signature of “Marie-Antoinette de
France.” On August of the same year, in the midst of a banquet given
at Bar-sur-Aube, a visitor arrived with startling news. “The Prince
Cardinal de Rohan, Grand Almoner of France, was on the Festival of
Assumption, arrested in pontifical robes, charged with having purchased
a diamond necklace in the name of the Queen.”
The charm of these little French towns and rustic spots lies in their
remoteness, the feeling they give us of being so entirely aloof from
familiar surroundings. In many a small Breton or Norman town we hear
little else but English speech, and in the one general shop of tiny
villages see _The New York Herald_ on sale. But from the time of leaving
Nemours to that of reaching the farthest point mentioned in these
sketches we encounter no English or American tourists. This essentially
foreign atmosphere is not less agreeable than conducive to instruction.
We are thus thrown into direct contact with the country people and are
enabled to realise French modes of life and thought.