Chapter V: Part 5

Perhaps the principal interest of old Bourges centres in the name of Jacques Cœur, the merchant prince, “a Vanderbilt or a Rothschild of the fifteenth century,” who in his days of prosperity built a great house on the hill-side where his native town stands. Cœur, we are told, founded the trade between France and the Levant; later he became Master of the Mint in Paris, and one of the Royal Commissioners to the Languedoc Parliament. He was three times sent on an embassy to foreign powers, notably to Pope Nicholas V. Charles VII., weak, unstable, and always in need of money, relied on him absolutely, but with the usual characteristics of a weak master, was one of the first to desert and despoil him of his wealth when occasion offered. The beginning of the end came through a disgraceful and apparently quite unfounded accusation against Cœur at the time of the death of the famous Agnes Sorel, whom he was accused of poisoning. Jacques was too prosperous not to have enemies, and these were, as usual, prompt to use every opportunity against him. The first steps taken, calumnies of all kind poured in to defame the man whom France had once delighted to honour, and the rest of his career is a strange mixture of exile, mysterious captivity, and equally mysterious escape, honourable reception in Rome, and friendship with the Pope; the last scene of all, perhaps the strangest and most foreign to all idea of a peaceful, prosperous merchant--for here we see him in command, not of a fleet of trading ships laden with merchandise, but of vessels of war sent against the Turks by Pope Calixtus III. Rumour has it that, far from dying in poverty and sorrow, Jacques Cœur, at the end of his life, had acquired greater riches than when at the zenith of his fame in France, but the fact remains that he died in exile, with a cloud over his memory which was not cleared away until many years after, when popular favour again smiled on his name, and he became, what he remains to this day, the citizen-hero of Bourges.

There is a very charming description--too long to quote here--in Mr. Henry James’ “Little Tour in France” of the house of Jacques Cœur; and one point of interest attaching to it is that it is built upon the old defences of the town, and at the back are many considerable remains of solid Roman bastions.

It is one of the most beautiful types of a fifteenth-century town-house that can possibly be imagined--a veritable remnant of the ancient prosperity of Bourges, of a time when such houses were no uncommon feature in the streets--when men who had made their fame and fortune loved to build for themselves a beautiful home in their native town, and enrich it with every conceivable ornament. Modern _nouveaux riches_ indeed do the same, though perhaps not in their native place, where their memory as butcher or baker might, in their eyes, tell against them; but the difference between their “mansions” and the hotel of Jacques Cœur is the difference between an age when the Renaissance was in its early freshness and an age when it has suffered the degradations of many modern horrors in the style that is popularly designated “handsome.” No one looking upon the delicate sculptures, the wonderful wood carving, the courtyard with its cloister, the lovely porticos and galleries, can doubt the taste of the man who built and lived in this “maison pleine de mystères.”

The Cathedral of Bourges, which, as Freeman points out, is essentially French, although at the head of the Aquitanian churches, is well seen in approaching the town, where it rises above a base of grey tiles and warm white walls--a long flank of choir and nave, unbroken by transepts. The thrust of the heavy vaulting is stopped by a perfect forest of flying buttresses, between whose walls are built chapels, either for chantries or family monuments. From inside the town it is not much in evidence until one ascends the Rue Royale, where one comes upon it quite unexpectedly at the end of what Mr. Henry James calls a “short vague lane,” somewhat in the same manner as one comes upon St. Paul’s bursting into view at the top of Cheapside.

The absence of transepts accounts naturally for the want of any central tower or lantern, and as there are no heavy transept pillars supporting the arches at the crossing, to intercept the view, the elevation of the Host is visible to every worshipper, and the eye travels in one sweep through nave and choir to the beautifully jewelled windows of rich old glass, ranging from the twelfth to the seventeenth century. The east terminal vaulting springs so low as to mask part of the side-lights of the apse. This is also very noticeable in the east end of Sens Cathedral, the beauty of whose windows is marred by the vaults cutting across the heads of the lights. At Bourges, however, the spandril or cheek of the vault is pierced by a foliated light, showing a certain amount of the window behind, and thus taking away the appearance of depression in the low springing vaulting of the apse.

It is easily recognised that in point of historical importance Nevers, in comparison with some of its neighbours, dwindles almost into insignificance, and to the traveller coming from Orléans and Bourges, fresh from the scene of the triumphs of Joan of Domrémy, and from the seats of French kings when France was at the height of her power, there may be a slight sense of disappointment at not finding the same historical “lions” at Nevers. History, though not passing over the town entirely, has only touched it with a gentle hand, and Nevers, though possessed of plenty of material for making itself a name, has never really risen very far above being the capital of the Nivernais. It existed in Roman days under the Celtic name of Noviodunum; Cæsar made use of it as a military depôt in his Gallic campaign, and thought the town was of sufficient importance to be a storehouse for the imperial treasure; its countship dates from the tenth century, and it became the seat of a bishop, although later than many of the Auvergne cities. Yet the counts of Nevers never made a stir in the world, as did Odo and Thibaut of Chartres, or the Fulks and Geoffreys of Angers, and nowhere on its ecclesiastical roll do we find a name like Hilary of Poitiers or Martin of Tours. Despite these early deficiencies, however, Nevers has much to interest the casual visitor, and there are four principal attractions--the Cathedral of St. Cyr, the Romanesque church of St. Etienne, the ducal palace (now the Palais de Justice), and the Porte du Croux.

The early church of St. Etienne, begun in 1063, is a fine example of a Romanesque building. It is also a very severe example, with a nave of round-headed pier arches, double-arcaded triforium and small clerestory lights. The bays of the nave are modified in the choir by the pier arches being stilted, by a small triple-lighted triforium, and by more importance being given to the clerestory windows. There are, also, monolithic columns and hollow-necked capitals, which are unusual in France. The church is covered by a barrel vault, the crossing of the transepts being crowned by a dome. Mr. Spiers, in his book on “Architecture East and West,” says: “The French builders of the South of France have always had the credit of being the originators of the barrel vault, with its stone or tile roof, absolutely incombustible, lying direct on the vault; to them also, I contend now, we owe the development of the dome, with its pendentives set out in a manner peculiar to themselves, and in no way corresponding to those found in the East.”

The Cathedral of St. Cyr is the only church in France--with the exception of Besançon--which possesses an apse at both the east and west ends. St. Gall in Switzerland, Mittelzall, Laack and many other German churches show this remarkable plan of a western tribune or paradise. In some instances it was used as a tomb-house, with entrance from without by means of a staircase. In the old basilicas, however, the tribune was not unfrequently at the west end, so that the officiating priest could at the same time face the east and also his congregation. The crypt at the west end, with its fine Romanesque capitals, is very interesting, and dates from the early part of the eleventh century, being about contemporary with that of the Cathedral of Auxerre. The original church, with its two transept arches of the same date, was lengthened eastwards in the thirteenth century, and later on had the further addition made of a choir with an apsidal termination; the chancel and nave are not separated by transepts, but the two merge quietly into each other by simple contact.

One afternoon, while contemplating this strange church, our attention was diverted from arch and apse by the rustle of a small bridal procession entering by a side door and being received by a priest who was waiting at an altar in one of the chapels. After some formalities of examining the certificate of civil registry, the ceremony began; and it was very interesting in its brevity and friendliness. In the English church the priest addresses the principals, with a kind of austere familiarity, by their Christian names, be they princes or paupers. But here such a liberty is rendered impossible by the natural social politeness of the French, and the contracting parties are reminded of their marriage obligations under the courteous appellations of Monsieur and Mademoiselle.

The ducal palace is quite close to the Cathedral. “We find,” Freeman says, “the two great central objects, State and Church, sitting becomingly side by side.” The ducal days of Nevers date only from the end of the sixteenth century, when François Ier, with his usual love of display, bestowed a peerage upon the Nivernais. Before this its feudal overlords went by the more mediæval title of count, and the palace (built a century before the count became a duke) has reared itself upon the foundation of their ancient stronghold. The fourth attraction of Nevers, the high square gateway tower known as the Porte du Croux, may also be regarded as a relic of feudal days, seeing that it dates from 1398, and was evidently part of the town’s defences. It is a noble specimen of mediæval defence, a tall gateway tower, protected, like the Porte Guillaume at Chartres, by its ancient fosse--long lancet openings running up above a low round archway and two pointed turrets flanking the hatchet-shaped central roof, with the treacherous line of machicolation below. In the middle of the sixteenth century Nevers passed to an Italian master, one of the Gonzagas of Mantua, from whom, a hundred years later, Mazarin bought it back again, and left it at his death to the Mancini family, who held it until the Revolution.

Most French towns nowadays fill their shops with a display of local pottery, good, bad and indifferent; the industry of Nevers, however, is an old-established one, dating from the occupation of these very Gonzagas, who came from a land where the faïence industry, as well as glass-blowing, was fully developed as a fine art, and who founded in their domain a school of artists which should teach their secrets to France. The industry has remained in the town ever since, and some of the modern work is very charming, with its curious trade-sign, the little green arabesque knot or _nœud vert_, which some fanciful spirit designed for the sign of Nevers.

Chapter Thirteen

MOULINS, LIMOGES, AND PÉRIGUEUX

From Nevers an expedition to Moulins is quite practicable, and the traveller _en route_ to Limoges may think it worth his while to pay a visit to this town, which stands as a monument to the fallen house of Bourbon. In the fourteenth century the dukes of Bourbon made Moulins their residence, and stayed there until the desertion of the Constable to the cause of Charles V., when the city was annexed by the French king, François Ier, in an access of righteous indignation. The “Tour de l’Horloge,” which is the main feature of the town, and looks more like a Dutch belfry than a French design, formed part of the old château belonging to this same Constable; and it may be supposed that not only were his lands confiscated, but his castle destroyed, by way of punishment for his alliance with the English king and the German emperor.

The story of this Constable de Bourbon is an interesting one. He belonged to the Montpensier branch of the Bourbon family, and in 1505 married Suzanne de Beaujeu, heiress of the reigning line, so that the title of duke and the rich Bourbon estates passed into his possession, and therewith Charles became one of the most brilliant figures in an age of brilliancy and magnificence. His handsome person and military talents had even in early youth gained him a place amongst the foremost gentlemen of France; but his marriage brought him such an access of wealth and influence that even Louis XII. trembled for the safety of his throne, and refused to risk any increase in his popularity by giving him command of the Italian army. In 1515, however, when the Duc d’Angoulême came to the throne as François Ier, Bourbon was made Constable of France, and for a time seemed to have attained to all that Fortune could give him. He was the close friend of the king, and in an era of lavish display that came with the first François, and did not wholly disappear until it was swept away by the hand of the Revolution, no favours seemed too great, no honours too high, for the brilliant and much-envied favourite. To such a height did Charles de Bourbon reach, that one can, indeed, hardly wonder at his fall, which was bound to come sooner or later, and when it did come was all the greater, all the swifter, from the very might of his power at court. The mischief arose in the first place through the jealousy of the king’s mother--reports and scandals were in the air, and François was not slow to take note of them--and of the growing distrust of his favourite at court. Quarrels arose between King and Constable. Presently the evil reports took definite shape, and grew into the grossest of insults; and as soon as it was seen that Bourbon had lost the King’s favour all tongues were loosened against him. Added to these troubles, he was engaged in a lawsuit with the mother of François, the Duchess d’Angoulême, who on the death of his wife Suzanne claimed the heirship to all his estates and fortune. As may be imagined, on the principle of striking a fallen man, the case went against him, and the great duke found himself friendless and penniless, with large sums owing to him from the State, but with little hope of payment. Men in those days were not over-chivalrous, and the idea of clinging still to an ungrateful, ungenerous sovereign who had cast him off like an old glove did not commend itself to a nature like that of Charles de Montpensier. He resolved, since France would have none of him, to try his fortune with Germany, and accordingly joined the cause of Charles V., to whom for a time he gave his best service, and then, finding the imperial promises, too, like the proverbial pie-crust, determined to carve out honours for himself and find a kingdom in Italy. He marched to Rome with a division under his command, and made a bold attack upon the city walls, but an arrow from the ramparts, shot, so one story goes, by Benvenuto Cellini, the famous sculptor and court musician to the Pope, put an end to his ambition, and the Constable died in harness outside the walls of Rome at the very outset of his gallant attempt to cast off the yoke of kings and make his fortune by his own sword.

Of Bourbon’s château there remains only the tower bearing the curious name of the Mal-Coiffée, and a Renaissance pavilion--an appendage found in the castle of every great noble of this time.

In the eleventh century Moulins was one of the more southerly fortresses to hold out against William of Normandy. It had been commanded by a certain Wimund, who surrendered it to Henry, the French king. As an important outpost it was garrisoned strongly and put under the command of Guy of Geoffrey, Count of Gascony, presently to become William VIII. of Aquitaine. The Norman duke, however, was advancing upon Arques, which was within an ace of surrender from hunger, and with little difficulty he obtained terms from the garrison. News of this defeat soon flew to Moulins, and its commander seems to have been instantly seized with an access either of panic or of prejudice--the two bore a curious relation in those days--and without giving the Normans time so much as to come within sight of the town, he withdrew his garrison and left Moulins with all speed.

The Cathedral at Moulins has a curious misfit of nave and chancel. The former is of the thirteenth century, with a high clerestory and rather low triforium arches; the latter is Flamboyant, with a flat wall termination to the east end, and seems to have been built without any regard to the pre-existing nave; at any rate, the main piers do not meet, and a small bay of no particular style is introduced literally as a stop-gap.

An excellent hotel--the “Central”--makes Limoges a convenient stopping-place on the southern road, irrespective of its attractions to those interested in faïence and enamel work; but there are plenty of other interests within the town, and Limoges may, indeed, speak for itself in this respect, by reason of its standing on a hill, overlooking a river, and containing, in the old quarter at least, ancient houses and crooked streets enough to satisfy any craving for the picturesque. The town slopes up a hill rising from the Vienne, and really divides into two distinct parts, _ville_ and _cité_; the _ville_ is the newer town straggling up the slope, while the _cité_, the original camping-ground of the Lemovices, occupies the quarter near the river. So distinct were these two in the Middle Ages that we even read of war between them as between two separate states, the _ville_ led by the abbot of Saint Martial, the _cité_ by the bishop. The great church of the river quarter is the Cathedral of Saint Etienne, built, so tradition has it, upon the remains of a former church erected by Saint Martial, and dating from 1273-1327, with a few later alterations. The west end terminates in the substructure of an old Romanesque campanile, resting on pillars. “The lowest story,” says Freeman, “after a fashion rare but not unique, stood open. Four large columns with their round arches supported a kind of cupola.” Under the choir is a crypt, dating from the eleventh century, and thus at each end of the later church is a relic of an older time.

Limoges had formerly been favourable to the English, but since the dukes of Berri and Bourbon had laid siege to the town, and had been aided by Bertrand du Guesclin, the inhabitants, including the bishop and the governor, gave up their somewhat wavering allegiance and turned to France. On hearing of this defection the Prince of Wales flew into a great passion and “swore by the soul of his father, which he had never perjured, that he would not attend to anything before he had punished Limoges; and that he would make the inhabitants pay dearly for their treachery.” The price they had to give was the safety of their city. Edward marched upon Limoges from Cognac with a large force; but the new masters had garrisoned the town so strongly that it was impossible to take it by assault. He therefore resolved upon another and a more terrible way. He undermined the fortifications, and set fire to the mine, so that a great breach was made. Froissart describes the inhabitants of the town as very repentant of their treachery, but adds poignantly that their penitence did little good, now that they were no longer the masters; and certainly it was not rewarded by mercy. The English troops rushed into the breach and poured down the narrow streets, massacring right and left, plundering and burning, sparing neither women nor children; and when the Prince at last turned back to Cognac, he left behind him ruin and desolation where, a few days before, had been strength and prosperity. During this terrible time the Church of Saint Etienne happily escaped from damage, although all the rest of the old town--“old” even in 1370--seems to have been destroyed. An interesting reminder of more modern history remains in the name of one of the streets. The Cathedral is connected with the Place Jourdan by the “Rue du 71^{ième} Mobiles”; and this street is so named in recognition of the valour shown by this regiment in the field, and in the memory of those killed during the Prussian war. It is an assurance that their heroism and endurance in a hopeless struggle are not forgotten, and that an equal devotion to their country will be shown, should the need arise, by succeeding generations of their fellow-citizens. Monuments are not readily subscribed for, nor are places where they may be erected easily found. A permanent testimony to the gallant services of a regiment might be borne by calling a street after its name. London accorded a great welcome to its volunteers at the termination of the Boer war. Is there any street or place called after the name of the City Imperial Volunteers?

In a cathedral city like Limoges, where the church itself has a good deal of interest and the town is not devoid of attraction, one is not readily inclined to place its industrial interests very high on the list of things to be seen; yet the fact remains that in this particular place the chief industry is closely bound up with the town’s history. The Limoges school of enamel workers had attained celebrity as early as the twelfth century, when the _champ-levé_, or engraving process, was in vogue, the ground-work of the plates consisting of graven copper and the cavities filled in with enamel. This kind of work may well be seen in Westminster Abbey upon the tomb of Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke. In the fourteenth century France borrowed from Italy the art of transparent enamelling, which the artists at Limoges developed into enamel-painting, and this branch was carried on at Limoges for upwards of two centuries, until it fell into decay under Louis XIV. and gave place to the modern miniature style.

Under François Ier this art of enamel-painting attained to a high degree of perfection. The sixteenth-century taste inclined always towards the brilliant and magnificent, and the same love of display and richness which showed both in dress and in architecture found also expression in the art of enamelling. One of the most famous artists of this school came from Limoges, whence he was known as Léonard Limousin. His work became the pattern of excellence after which all lesser artists strove. “While some of the works were executed in brilliant colours, most of them were in monochrome. The background was generally dark, either black or deep purple, and the design was painted _en grisaille_, relieved, in the case of figure subjects, by delicate carnation. The effect was occasionally heightened by appropriate touches of gold, and in many of the coloured enamels brilliancy was obtained by the use of silver foil, or paillon, placed beneath a transparent enamel.”

At Périgueux we seem to have left Northern France in the far distance and to have taken the first definite step into the Midi. The architectural pilgrim as he wanders southward is conscious of the existence of two distinct styles, possessing features dissimilar in construction and design; in one case he finds barrel-vaulted churches, in another large churches roofed with pointed domes, whose origin it is difficult to determine. Of the latter type the church of Saint Front is a notable instance. It rises above the old quarter, which occupies the centre of the town, the modern portion, quite distinct from the rest, as was the case at Limoges, sloping up the hill, and the remnant of the old Roman city fronting the river. The original Vesunna of the Petrocorii stood on the left bank of the Isle; the Roman Vesunna crossed to the other side, and is now represented by the ruins of an amphitheatre, dating from the third century, and some second-century baths. The old Château Barrière is also built on Roman fortifications, and two of the Roman towers still remain, besides the “Tour de Vésone,” which was probably part of a pagan temple.

It is a curious fact that here the ancient remains of the Roman city should be so much more prominent than is usually the case. At Bourges we saw the house of Jacques Cœur built upon a Roman foundation, and many other places keep, in part at least, their Roman walls; but Périgueux has Roman remains which absorb quite half the interest aroused by the city on the Isle--the other half being devoted to the church. From the site of the Gallic Vesunna, on the left side of the river, the Tour de Vésone is the foremost object, so old that, as Freeman says, it looks almost modern. “It is a singular fact that, while a mediæval building can scarcely ever be taken for anything modern, buildings of earlier date often may. The primeval walls of Alatri might at a little distance be taken for a modern prison, and this huge round, it must be confessed, has to some not undiscerning eyes suggested the thought of a modern gasworks.” Then the partly mediæval Château Barrière attracts notice, dating at its latest from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and by its name recalling one of the noblest families of mediæval Périgord.

With the rise of the abbey of Saint Front, a new town arose also, and the old quarter shrank up within itself, remaining still the abode of the nobles and gentlemen and the clergy of Saint Etienne, but yielding the real precedence to the vigorous new _puy_ higher up the hill. “Here, as in some measure at Limoges, the tables are turned. The _ville_ stands apart on the hill, with the air of the original _cité_, while the real _cité_ abides below, putting on somewhat the look of a suburb.” Even Saint Etienne, the old Cathedral-church of La Cité, has, owing to its partially ruined condition, practically renounced its importance both in intrinsic position and in external appearance. The great tower, which once stood at the west end, has gone entirely; the cupolas which crown each bay show the relation to those at Saint Front, and in place of the eleventh-century apse stands a flat wall, terminating in a choir of a century later.

The church of St. Front is “the only domed church in France with the Greek cross for its plan.” The original building is said to have been consecrated in 1047 by the Archbishop of Bourges and burnt down in a great fire in 1120. It was not until after this date that the five-domed church and the tower on the west side were constructed. “By this time the Church of Saint Mark at Venice was completed, as far as its main structure was concerned, and already the panelling of the walls with marble and the decoration of its vaults and arches with mosaic had made some progress. It was one of the wonders of Europe, and the idea of copying its plan and general design would appeal at once to a race of builders who for more than a century, as I shall prove later on, had been building domed churches throughout Aquitaine, who were perfectly acquainted with their own methods of building domes and pendentives, and therefore would not be obliged to trust to foreign workmen to execute them.”--MR. R. PHENÉ SPIERS.

It would be quite out of our province to follow out Mr. Spiers’ arguments in support of this theory, as it would lead us into the entangled byways of a discourse on methods of “bedding” and centring arches and pendentives. Suffice it to say that he clearly points out the difference which exists between French and Byzantine domes, capitals and voussoirs and the prevalence of the Aquitaine style, and on this evidence maintains that French, and not Greek or Venetian architects, built the abbey church of Saint Front. This conclusion is also supported by Viollet-le-Duc, who expresses his opinion that Saint Front was undoubtedly built by a Frenchman who had studied either the actual Church of Saint Mark at Venice or who had had opportunities of seeing the design of the Venetian architects. Its general conception, it is true, was Venetian and quasi-Oriental, but its construction and details do not recall in any way the decorative sculpture or method of building which obtained at St. Mark’s at Venice. As to the ornament, it belongs to the late Romanesque style.

Saint Front must indeed have appeared a strange erection and unique in conception amongst its sister churches, and no doubt exercised a great influence over the builders of churches north of the Garonne in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The infusion of Oriental art into this part of the country is explained by the distinguished French archæologist, M. Félix de Verheilh, as partly due to the presence of Venetian colonies established at Limoges. He says that the commerce of the Levant was carried into France and into England along trade routes existing between Marseilles or Narbonne and La Rochelle or Mantes. The landing of Eastern produce at these ports on the Mediterranean and its carriage overland to the north-western seaboard of France was rendered necessary to protect it from the Spanish and Arab pirates who infested the coasts of Spain and Africa, and also to avoid the risk of storms and heavy seas of the Straits of Gibraltar.

Chapter Fourteen

ANGOULÊME AND POITIERS

Angoulême has at a distance more the appearance of an Italian than of a French town. The heavy red pantiles, the campanile and dome of the Cathedral, the little terraces sloping up the hill, all recall the southern towns; but the river with its fringing poplars finally proclaims the city’s nationality. There is nothing of especial interest to be seen in the town itself. Angoulême--Ecolisma of the Gauls--has of course had its history; it suffered pillage by Visigoth and Norman, was annexed by England, re-taken by France, occupied again by the English, and finally made over to its rightful sovereign in 1369.

During the Hundred Years’ War Angoulême was in the possession of the English, and under the governorship of Sir John Norwich surrendered to France. The Duke of Normandy lay, we are told, “for a very considerable time” before the town, and the inhabitants waited daily for the Earl of Derby, who was to relieve them, but who showed no signs of approach. The French made a raid upon the English cattle under the guidance of the seneschal of Beaucaire and captured not merely the beasts, who--strange laxity--were pasturing outside the walls of the town, but several of the English who rushed out to recover their possessions. Finally the governor began to lose hope; Derby was nowhere within reach, the French gave no signs of withdrawal, and worse than all, the townsfolk began to murmur and to declare as far as they dared for the enemy. Norwich and his immediate followers found themselves in some danger; but by a clever stratagem they escaped from surrendering themselves to Normandy. A truce was called, and under cover of this the governor and his friends sallied quietly forth from the gates, passed through the entire French army, without hurt, and took the road to Aiguillon before the enemy had realised what they were about. Meanwhile the disaffected within the town readily gave themselves up to the Duke, and received his mercy.

Here, however, as at Nevers, an up-and-down history has left little mark upon the town, and Freeman’s criticism is no more than the truth: “Except we went on purpose for the view, we should hardly go to Angoulême at all.” Saint Pierre at Angoulême is another example of the domed church that we left at Périgueux; but while the cupolas carry on the same half-Byzantine idea as prevails in Saint Front, the tower at the north transept brings in a train of thought which is distinctly Italian; moreover, at Périgueux all five cupolas are well seen from the outside, whereas here only one appears, to balance, or rather to contrast with, the north tower. Once inside the church, however, the other domes appear, roofing over the nave, which is without aisles, after the manner of the Angevin churches. In its original form the Cathedral of Saint Pierre was begun early in the twelfth century--about 1120--but it has been twice restored, once in 1654 and once, in the middle of the last century, by M. Abadie.

It was planned simply with a nave roofed by four cupolas and a choir with four radiating apsidal chapels. Later on in the century the love of building places of worship larger and more suited to the growing desire for an enriched ceremonial and elaborate ritual resulted in the addition of transepts surmounted by towers, which gave to the Cathedral of Saint Pierre at Angoulême the distinction of being one of the first, if not the first, of domed churches built on the plan of a Latin cross. Of the two towers only one, the northern tower, exists to this day, the southern transept being roofed by a flat conical dome. Certain further additions were made about the same time, such as the western façade with its sculptured portal. The black lines of the ashlar work, as if ruled with a lead pencil, detract very much from the impressiveness of the interior, as they give undue emphasis to the horizontal joints and arrest the eye in its first natural flight from floor to vault.

Saint Pierre at Poitiers is a church of a very different description. Certain characteristics it has which connect it with the Angevin style, but unlike most of the Angevin churches, it has aisles throughout. From the outside the appearance is that of a single mass, long and low, and very wide, for the aisles are nearly as broad as the nave; as at Bourges, there is no central tower at the crossing; but then at Bourges we have a great French church, a mighty mass rising sheer up from the ground, unbroken by any transept; here at Poitiers there are transepts, but the line of their towers comes below the line of the roof, and the effect given is one of length without height. Height is also wanting in the two unfinished and unequal west towers, and the east end literally falls flat, by reason of its bare terminal wall; the apse, to which one grows so accustomed in a French church, is seen only from the interior. It is oblong in plan, showing, as M. Viollet-le-Duc points out, no sign either of choir or sanctuary. The transepts are more like side chapels with altars on their eastern walls. There is no sign of northern influence, and the church is in many of its features unique and without imitators. Certain details of construction bring it into line with St. Maurice at Angers; it is an ordinary example of the churches of Poitou, with their three naves of equal height and Byzantine cupolas.

To the south of the Cathedral lies what alone would make Poitiers worth a visit, without the other churches which call for notice--the little Temple Saint-Jean, said to be the oldest baptistery in France, and dating probably from the fourth century. Once inside, we can realise the position of the officiating priest and the place occupied by the rooms where the converts disrobed themselves and whence they were conducted to the central basin, fed by a continual stream of water, where stood the bishop, the typical representative of the first Baptist. Freeman says: “It is the one monument of the earliest Christian times which lived on, so to speak, in its own person, and is not simply represented by a later building on the same site. It is the truest monument of Hilary.”

The name of Poitiers churches really is legion, but there are two more which should not be passed over--first, Notre-Dame-la-Grande, a beautiful Romanesque church standing in the market-place, with a long barrel-vault roof, unbroken by transepts, and terminated by towers ornamented with “fish-scale” pattern; next the church of Sainte Radégonde, the queen-saint of the sixth century, wife to the first Chlothar. She lived among the nuns of her own foundation of the Sainte Croix, and lies buried in the crypt of her church, which contains also a marble statue, erected indeed to her memory, but in the likeness of another queen who had few pretensions to saintliness--Anne of Austria, mother of Louis XIV.

Fortunatus also became a monk of Poitiers, that he might at least have the satisfaction of living near this queen, whom he worshipped.

The nuns of Sainte Croix went to England and founded there a sisterhood on the Green Croft near Cambridge, and this priory remained until the end of the fifteenth century, when the foundation was suppressed by Bishop Alcock, and became part of the corporation of Jesus College.

It is with a certain feeling of apology toward tradition and childish days that one leaves to the very last the mention of the Black Prince’s great fight. Not until we have reached fairly mature years do we realise that Poitiers has a cathedral and a baptistery and many churches; but there are very few of us who do not associate with the earliest days of history books the name of the “Battle of Poitiers, 1356.” More properly it is the Battle of Maupertuis, and Freeman indeed denies its right to “come into the immediate story of the city.”

A short account may not be out of place here, however, since the battle, whether in or out of Poitiers, does, nevertheless, stand out as a landmark in the long struggle between English and French. Having stormed and taken the Castle of Pomerantin, Prince Edward marched downwards through Anjou and Touraine; and from the scarcity of fodder on the way he began to conclude that the French king could not be far off. Arrived at a village near Chauvigny, on the Vienne, he engaged in a skirmish with some of the enemy, and learned that John’s army had marched forward towards Poitiers; therefore, forbidding any further engagement, he pushed on with all possible speed, and came up with the French some leagues from the town, on the plains of Maupertuis. The French king himself was just about to enter Poitiers, but hearing that the English had come up and were attacking his rear-guard, he turned back into the fields and there encamped his forces. Meanwhile the English entrenched themselves in a well-guarded position between hedges and vineyards, and waited there until the morning, when John’s army rode out into the plain. “Then might be seen all the nobility of France, richly dressed out in brilliant armour, with banners and pennons gallantly displayed; for all the flower of the French nobility were there; no knight or squire, for fear of dishonour, dared remain at home.” At the last moment an attempt at mediation was made by the Cardinal de Périgord; but as the French king would listen to no terms save unconditional surrender, which the English prince refused, his labour was in vain; and the following day the armies drew up in line of battle. “When the Prince of Wales saw, from the departure of the Cardinal without being able to obtain any honourable terms, that a battle was inevitable, and that the King of France held both him and his army in great contempt, he thus addressed himself to them: ‘Now, my gallant fellows, what though we be a small company as in regard to the puissance of our enemy, let us not be cast down therefore, for victory lieth not in the multitude of people, but where God will send it; if it fortune that the journey be ours, we shall be the most honoured people of all the world; and if we die in our right quarrel, I have the king, my father, and brethren, and also ye have good friends and kinsmen; these shall avenge us. Therefore, for God’s sake, I require you to do your devoirs this day, for if God be pleased and Saint George, this day ye shall see me a good knight.’” Then the battle began in earnest, the English shouting “Saint George for Guienne!” The French answering with “Montjoie Saint Denis!” Froissart gives a very long and detailed account of the fight in all its part, with lists of the nobles and knights who were killed and wounded, and in many cases stories of their several adventures--none of which have place here. It will be enough to say with the old chronicler himself, that, in spite of the odds against the Black Prince, “it often happens that fortune in love and war turns out more favourable and wonderful than could have been hoped for or expected. To say the truth, this battle which was fought near Poitiers, in the Plains of Beauvois and Maupertuis, was very bloody and perilous; many gallant deeds of arms were performed that were never known, and the combatants on each side suffered much.” The rest is known to every one, the taking of King John of France, the gallant work of the archers, and the commendation of the Prince by his father, who had watched the fight from afar.

Even without the battle the story of Poitiers is a sufficiently varied one, and connected in a great measure with the story of England, if it be remembered that Eleanor, wife of our Henry II., was also Countess of Poitou and brought it to England as part of her dowry; and in English hands it remained until Philip Augustus saw fit to confiscate all our French territory in 1204. After the peace of Brétigny Poitou passed to England once more, only to be surrendered to Bertrand du Guesclin in the course of the next ten years. Here at Poitiers Charles VII. was proclaimed King of France; and, in contrast, it is likewise interesting to note that here also was held a court of inquiry upon the misdemeanours of Joan of Arc, by whose aid Charles was not only proclaimed but crowned King. After this the English prestige in France dwindled to nothing, and therefore the joint history stops at this point, and the history of Poitou and Poitiers stands for France alone.

Chapter Fifteen

LA ROCHELLE AND BORDEAUX

La Rochelle calls to mind two things principally: first, the great resistance of the Huguenots in the sixteenth century, and then the siege and the expeditions under Buckingham in the early days of Charles I. These two events are really part of the same struggle for supremacy between Calvinist and Romanist, only divided by a period of quiescence under the rule of Henri de Navarre, who, having professed both faiths in his day, probably knew how to keep the two parties at peace. Before the religious wars La Rochelle was known as a flourishing and peaceful seaport town; but no sooner had Condé and Coligny shown their faces there in 1568 as leaders of the Huguenot faction, than a spirit of warfare, provocative as well as defensive, seemed to pervade the town, and even on the high seas the cruisers of La Rochelle were a terror to the Romanist, since in the cause of the true faith no Huguenot stopped at piracy and plunder. From this first struggle La Rochelle emerged with flying colours, but in the days of Richelieu and Buckingham it was less successful, and traces of its surrender exist to-day in the mole, cutting off the outer harbour, which Richelieu laid down to prevent the English fleet from gaining further entrance to the port.

The first attack on Buckingham’s part was made in the summer of 1627. A war with France, impending only in 1625, but swift to take definite shape, was among the inconvenient legacies bequeathed by James I. to his son. With the utmost difficulty a forced loan was obtained from Parliament in order to meet the war expenses, and the Duke of Buckingham was put in command of the fleet which sailed from Portsmouth in June to the relief of the Huguenots whom Richelieu was besieging in La Rochelle. This task was not an easy one. Before gaining the harbour the fleet must pass the fort of Saint Martin on the island of Ré. This island had been strongly garrisoned by Richelieu, but the English squadron lay between the fort and the mainland, cutting off all possibility of relief; and after being blockaded for nearly two months the French commander signified to Buckingham his willingness to surrender the next morning. The duke was in the highest spirits when the welcome news arrived, and lay down to rest that night with the joyful certainly of carrying all before him, driving the Cardinal from before the port and entering La Rochelle in triumph. But the morning broke on a very different picture. During the night an easterly gale had sprung up and had blown a fleet of French provision boats over to Ré, through the very midst of the English ships; and once more Saint Martin’s prepared for defence. Nothing daunted, Buckingham sent to England for fresh troops, and if the supply had depended upon the king he might still have gained his victory; but the Parliament, now a growing power in England, and a power whose growth was making itself felt, overruled the royal pleasure, and found here the long-wished for opportunity of crushing out the war, of which the country was heartily tired, by refusing to grant further supplies. Probably the fact that Buckingham was no favourite with the people also helped to turn the scale against him. At any rate a French force came up before any word was sent from England, and the duke was obliged to withdraw from La Rochelle with considerable losses. The sequel is well known. In the following year Charles prorogued his troublesome Parliament, and once more the favourite set off for Portsmouth, never to reach France, since the dagger of John Felton put an end to his ambitions and avenged, so said the English people, his country’s wrongs. Thus La Rochelle was left entirely to the tender mercies of Richelieu. The Huguenot power was utterly broken by the year’s siege which followed, and La Rochelle found itself despoiled of the prestige which it enjoyed as the stronghold of the Protestant faith.

La Rochelle of to-day is perhaps little known to the casual traveller. Inland France has so many attractions that most travellers never get so far as the sea-coast; great churches and great rivers draw them elsewhere, and if they want sea breezes there is always Trouville or Etretat ready to hand. Nevertheless, La Rochelle is one of the most beautiful of sea-ports in France; and this is no faint praise, for all towns of this kind are bound to have a peculiar charm of their own--that kind of charm which belongs to a harbour, and the coming and going of ships, and the open sea beyond. To this the town adds certain attractions of its own, among which are the beautiful colours of the boat-sails, and the old grey forts guarding the harbour on either side. These ancient sentinel towers are relics of the prosperity of La Rochelle, and date back to a day before Buckingham sailed up to the port, before the name of Huguenot had ever been heard in France. On the left hand the Tour Saint-Nicolas, built at the end of the fourteenth century, raises four round crenellated turrets above the harbour; on the other side stands the Tour de la Chaîne, a grim, solid-looking round fortress; and farther on still may be seen the stone _flèche_ of the Tour de la Lanterne, looking from a distance like the spire of a church. And the mention of churches brings us naturally to the Cathedral, which, built in the middle of the eighteenth century, has so very little to say for itself that one cannot help feeling it to be a poor set-off to the sea-board of the town; though perhaps it might in any case be useless to look for beauty of this kind in a town whose inhabitants ranked the adorning of churches as one of the deadly sins of Rome. This cathedral was, it is true, built long after La Rochelle had ceased to be a Huguenot stronghold; but when we remember that the beauty of any former church would have fallen a victim to the fanatic’s hammer, we can forgive the architect, and cease to mourn for what might have been. The Cathedral of La Rochelle is not a thing of beauty, but at any rate it has not displaced anything that might have pleased us better.

From La Rochelle to Bordeaux the road runs by heavy-leafed plantations of every kind of tree, notably acacias, whose great size is particularly apparent to an English eye. Then, as the Bordelais comes nearer, we run down to the smooth, peaceful Charente, winding quietly through its meadow lands, not unlike the upper reaches of the Thames, and yet very unlike in one respect, since the water is completely deserted, and even in the height of summer few pleasure boats disturb its smooth surface. Boating as an amusement _per se_ has very little place in the programme of a French country gentleman, though bathing and fishing are both included in it; and the same thing is noticeable nearer Paris, on the Marne, where a pair-oar gig, if ever it got there, would part its timbers through sheer neglect, and break up in a few months.

Bordeaux itself is worthy of its reputation, and is certainly, strictly speaking, a “handsome” city, with a waterway almost as grand as the Thames at London, spanned by a beautiful bridge of red-brick and stone, built in 1822, which might well serve as a model for some of our London bridges. It is a pleasant place enough when once the fact of its being a large and modern city is accepted; and although it has not the romance of the inland hill-towns nor the picturesque situation of La Rochelle, it has always been a city of note, ever since the Gauls came down to the river and called their settlement Burdigala. For three centuries it belonged to England; the same Countess Eleanor, of whom we heard at Poitiers, brought it to her English husband, Henry II., and for some reason it does not seem to have been included in the general confiscation of English territory under Philip Augustus, so it remained an English town and shared in English victories and defeats until Charles VII. was crowned, and the English retired by degrees to their own land. Bordeaux was also the birthplace of poor, weak, well-meaning Richard II.; and his father, the victor of Poitiers, held his court in the town for some time. Here he held, too, his conference upon the affairs of Castile.

Don Pedro was at that time engaged in a struggle for the Castilian throne with his brother, who was not the lawful heir. Neither prince seems to have been blameless in his conduct, and Edward declared that he only upheld the claim of Pedro on account of his lawful birth, and not from any individual deserts; but this declaration apparently failed to satisfy the rest of the English and Gascons within Bordeaux, and it was finally decided to summon a council, composed of all the barons in Aquitaine, “when Don Pedro might lay before them his situation, and his means of satisfying them, should the prince undertake to conduct him back to his own country, and to do all in his power to replace him upon his throne.” The conference resulted in a decision in favour of Pedro, and by order of the English king a certain number of knights and men-at-arms were sent from Bordeaux to escort the claimant back to Spain and to help him to regain his own, all expenses being paid by Castile--a frugal method of rendering aid!