Chapter II: Part 2

Whewell says: "The mind is filled and elevated by the enormous height of the building (140 feet), its lofty and many colored clerestory, its grand proportions, its noble simplicity. The proportion of height to breadth is almost double that to which we are accustomed in English cathedrals; the lofty solid piers, which bear up this height, are far more massive in their plan than the light and graceful clusters of our English churches, each of them being a cylinder with four engaged columns. The polygonal E apse is a feature which we seldom see, and nowhere so exhibited, and on such a scale; and the peculiar French arrangement which puts the walls at the outside edge of the buttresses, and thus forms interior chapels all around, in addition to the aisles, gives a vast multiplicity of perspective below, which fills out the idea produced by the gigantic height of the center. Such terms will not be extravagant when it is recollected that the roof is half as high again as Westminster Abbey." Indeed this great height is only surpassed by that of one cathedral in all of France--Beauvais.

The vast arches here rose to nearly half the height of the structure, and then above these the architect placed a lovely band or frieze of carved foliage; then the triforium, and above this the glorious windows, separated from each other only by tall slender pillars springing gracefully from heavier ones. Nearly all the original painted glass was destroyed in the thirteenth century, but that which replaced it was of a certainty entirely satisfying.

Between two immense pillars at the entrance to the nave were the heavily ornamented gilded brass tombs of the Bishops who founded the Cathedral. That on the left was Geoffroi d'Eu, who died in 1236, and on the right was that of Evrard de Fouilloy, who died in 1223. Each shows a recumbent figure in full robes inclosed in Gothic canopies with pointed arches, and sustained by lions. The great organ loft was beneath the magnificent "rose de mer" window which was filled with the arms of the house of Firmin de Coquerel. In the choir were one hundred and ten carved stalls, said to have been designed and made by local artists of Amiens, and these alone would have made any cathedral noteworthy. According to that eminent authority, Mr. Francis Bond, the height of the nave and the aisles is three times their span, and this feature gave the effect for which the architect worked, that is, a splendid blaze of luminosity shining down into gloomy and most mysterious shadow. This blaze of light and color came not only from the clerestory, but also from the triforium, in which the superb blue glass shone with celestial splendor.

The meaning of the word "triforium" is perhaps somewhat obscure to all save architects. Herbert Marshall * defines the word as "Applied to the ambulatory or passage, screened by an arcade, which runs between the pier arches and clerestory windows and is considered to refer to the three openings, or spaces, 'trinae fores,' into which the arcading was sometimes divided. It probably has nothing to do with openings in multiples of three, nor with a Latinised form of 'thoroughfare' as suggested by Parker's Glossary, although the main idea is a passage running round the inside of a church, either as at Westminster, in the form of an ambulatory chamber, or of a gallery pierced through the main walls, from whence the structure may be inspected without the trouble of using ladders. M. Enlart in his 'Manuel d'Archéologie Française' derives the word from a French adjective, 'trifore,' or 'trifoire,' through the Latin 'transforatus,' a passage pierced through the thickness of the wall; and this idea of a passageway is certainly suggested by an old writer, Gervase, who, in his description of the new cathedral of Canterbury, rebuilt after the fire, alludes to the increased number of passages round the church under the word 'triforia.' 'Ibi triforium unum, hie duo in Choro, et in alâ ecclesiae tercium.'"

* "Gothic Architecture in England."

Ruskin wrote in his diary under date of May 11th, 1857: "I had a happy walk here (Amiens) this afternoon, down among the branching currents of the Somme: it divides into five or six, shallow, green and not over-wholesome; some quite narrow and foul, running beneath clusters of fearful houses, reeling masses of rotten timber; and a few mere stumps of pollard willow sticking out of the banks of soft mud, only retained in shape of bank by being shored up with timbers; and boats like paper boats, nearly as thin at least, for costermongers to paddle about in among the weeds, the water soaking through the lath bottoms, and floating the dead leaves from the vegetable baskets with which they were loaded. Miserable little back yards, opening to the water, with steep stone steps down to it, and little platforms for the ducks; and separate duck staircases, composed of a sloping board with cross bits of wood leading to the ducks' doors; and sometimes a flower pot or two on them, or even a flower--one group of wall flowers and geraniums curiously vivid, being seen against the darkness of a dyer's backyard, who had been dyeing black, and all was black in his yard but the flowers, and they fiery and pure; the water by no means so, but still working its way steadily over the weeds, until it narrowed into a current strong enough to turn two or three 'wind mills,' (!) one working against the side of an old Flamboyant Gothic church, whose richly traceried buttresses sloped down into the filthy stream; all exquisitely picturesque, and no less miserable. (! ) We delight in seeing the figures in these boats, pushing them about the bits of blue water, in Prout's drawings; but as I looked to-day at the unhealthy face and melancholy mien of the man in the boat pushing his load of peat along the ditch, and of the people, men as well as women, who sat spinning gloomily at cottage doors, I could not help feeling how many persons must pay for my picturesque subject and happy walk."

The reader will probably exclaim: "Well, if this is Ruskin's idea of a 'happy walk,' what then would be his description of a gloomy one?"

We did not find the view of the town so squalid as this. Rising against the golden glow of the evening sky, the great bulk of the Cathedral massed itself in purple mist, its slender needle-like center tower and spire piercing the sky. Below lay the dull reds and slaty grays of the houses, concealed here and there by the massive foliage of the trees that lined the river bank. Barges of picturesque shape were tied up to the banks here and there, with lines of pink, white and blue freshly washed clothes strung along the decks, where children played, and there were brightly painted cabin deck houses, all white and green, from the chimney pipes of which ascended long pale lines of smoke from the galley stoves, showing that the evening meal was being cooked. On the decks of these barges nervous shaggy dogs ran up and down barking furiously at one thing or another; over all seemed to rest the air of well being and sweet content. If there were stagnant pools of filthy water, as Ruskin claimed, we saw them not, nor did the peasants seem unhealthy or miserable to our eyes.

Amiens was delightful to look upon, and we drove back to the hotel quite satisfied with our first view of it.

Day by day afterwards we haunted the great Cathedral, studying it from every viewpoint. Again and again we returned to the choir to gloat over the one hundred and ten magnificent stalls, carved as fluently as if modeled in clay, the forms so flowing and graceful as to suggest living branches, pinnacle crowning pinnacle, and detail of grace of design so exquisite as to be almost painful to follow--"Imperishable, fuller of leafage than any forest, and fuller of story than any book." (Ruskin.) The outside wall of the choir was quite concealed by the most richly Flamboyant Gothic archwork. In these arches were quantities of figures of saints, all emblazoned with gold and crimson and blue. These groups have been described by Lubke so well that I can do no better than quote him: "St. John is shown when he sees Christ and points him out to the multitude; then St. John preaching in the wilderness, and the Baptism of Christ, which is arranged with peculiar beauty and simplicity; lastly St. John as a preacher of repentance when the listening multitude is depicted with life. Then there are four scenes: the Apprehension of St. John; the Banquet, at which Herodias asks for the head of the Preacher of Repentance--a scene executed with genre-like style, the figures appearing in the costume of the period; the 'Beheading of St. John'; and, lastly, another banquet scene, in which the severed head appears on the table, and Herodias puts out the eyes, at which her daughter sinks in a swoon, and is caught up by a young man, while a page in horror runs away with the dish. Below these larger representations, in the one case in ten, in the other in five medallions, scenes from the youth of St. John are depicted. The relief is more shallow, and with simple arrangement is very attractive in expression."

The great blazing rose windows of the transept were named "Fire" and "Water," but which was which we never quite discovered, because of a difference of opinion held by those whom we questioned, but this did not in the least affect our opinion of their great artistic value, or interfere with our admiration.

In the south transept we readily found the gravestone in memory of the Spanish Captain Hernando Tiello, who captured Amiens in 1597, and just opposite, the great stone sarcophagus of the Canon Claude Pierre, who must have been a canon of great importance, to have been so favored and placed. In the Chapel of Notre Dame de Puy were a great number of marble tablets emblazoned with the names of the Fraternity of Puy, and bore reliefs in marble, showing scenes in the life of the Virgin Mary. Here there was much intricate Flamboyant tracery framing some scenes in the life of St. James the Great, of the sixteenth century style, presented by Canon Guillaume Aucouteaux.

The north transept contained the fine monument of the Canon Jehan Wyts, who died in 1523. This showed the temple at Jerusalem, in four scenes depicting the "Sanctum," the "Atrium," the "Tabernaculum," and "Sanctum-Sanctorum." In this transept was buried the remains of the comic poet "Gresset," who flourished in the eighteenth century, and a great shrine for the head of John the Baptist, said to be incased here, and to have been brought from the Holy Land and presented with imposing ceremonies, by the Crusader Wallon de Sarton, who was likewise Canon of Picquigny. Singularly enough there were several other heads incased in magnificent jeweled reliquaries which were to be seen in other churches, notably in the south of France, and in Genoa, each one claiming, with much documentary proof, to be the sole and only authentic head of the Great Preacher of Repentance.

In one of the chapels in the left aisle of the nave, that of St. Saulve, was a remarkable crucifix, which enjoyed great repute, for it was gravely alleged to have bowed its head upon the occasion of the installment of the sacred relics of St. Honoré.

Inside the great open porches the whole space was filled with the most delicate fourteenth century lacework in stone. The principal one showed on its frontal a statue of St. Michael conquering the dragon. The fine ironwork of the doors was made in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries by natives of Amiens, whose names are forgotten. Walter Pater ("Miscellaneous Studies") says: "The builders of the church seem to have projected no very noticeable towers; though it is conventional to regret their absence, especially with visitors from England, where indeed cathedral and other towers are apt to be good and really make their mark.... The great western towers are lost in the west front, the grandest, perhaps the earliest, of its species--three profound sculptured portals; a double gallery above, the upper gallery carrying colossal images of twenty-two kings of the house of Judah, ancestors of our Lady; then the great rose; above it the Singers' Gallery, half marking the gable of the nave, and uniting at their topmost stories the twin, but not exactly equal or similar towers, oddly oblong in plan as if meant to carry pyramids or spires. In most cases these early Pointed churches are entangled, here and there, by the construction of the old round-arched style, the heavy Norman or other, Romanesque chapel or aisle, side by side, though in strange contrast, with the soaring new Gothic nave or transept. But of the older manner of the round arch, the 'plein-cintre,' Amiens has nowhere, or almost nowhere, a trace. The Pointed style, fully pronounced, but in all the purity of its first period, found here its completest expression."

Amiens, the ancient capital of Picardy, was one of the greatest of the manufacturing towns of France. There were many large factories engaged in the production of cashmere, velvet, linen, and woolens, and in the early morning, and again at night, thousands of the employees filled the streets of the town on their way to and from work. It was called by the Ambiani, before it was captured by Cæsar, Samarobriva, and was their chief town.

Christianity was introduced by St. Firmin in the year 301, which perhaps is as far back as any one cares to go in the matter. And history farther cautions the reader not to confound this St. Firmin with that other St. Firmin, who was only a "Confessor" or something of the sort.

The Normans seem to have had a strong desire to put an end to the town, for they regularly pillaged and burned it. The place was ceded to the Duke of Burgundy in 1435, but was recovered in 1463 by Louis XI. The Spaniards conquered it in 1597, but Henry IV retook it from them. The Peace of Amiens between France, Great Britain, Spain and Holland was signed here in 1802.

The battle of Amiens, in the Franco-Prussian War, resulted in the entry of the Germans in November, 1870. Its present fate is problematical, but it would seem, in view of the retirement of the invader northward of Arras and Lens, that the great and noble monuments of the ancient town are now safe.

Heinrich Heine long ago wrote the following prophetic words: "Christianity--and this is its highest merit--has in some degree softened, but it could not destroy, the brutal German joy of battle. When once the taming talisman, the Cross, breaks in two, the savagery of the old fighters, the senseless Berserker fury, of which the Northern poets sing and say so much, will gush up anew. That talisman is decayed, and the day will come when it will piteously collapse. Then the old stone gods will rise from the silent ruins, and rub the dust of a thousand years from their eyes. Thor, with his giant's hammer, will at last spring up, and shatter to bits the Gothic Cathedrals."

PÉRONNE

|THE delightful banks of the river Somme are imprinted on one's memory among those "sweet places" where it would seem as though man could not but choose to be happy, so liberally had nature decked them with her gifts. Yet all of this region formerly known as Flanders, has from time immemorial been war's favorite playground, "the Cockpit of Europe."

Even in the intervals of wars, strife equally bitter, if less bloody, has raged here,--the struggle of industry against adequate reward. One could never forget the sight of women laboring early and late in the fields, or harnessed together at the end of long tow lines, painfully dragging barges against the current of the river, or in the factory yards, trampling with bare feet a mixture of coal dust and clay which, molded into briquettes, was used as fuel.

Strangely enough, these women and girls, some of them of tender age, seemed happy and content with their work. The sound of their singing as they labored could be heard for a long distance. As the barges passed on the river bank, with these women bending forward, straining at the yoked ends of the tow rope, moving slowly step by step, we noted that not seldom they were quite handsome of face, and of good figure. Invariably they saluted us good humoredly with smiles, but when I removed my hat in response, I could see that this courtesy struck them as unusual, and did not leave the impression I desired. Thereafter I modified the salutation.

At the inn in Péronne a young "commis-voyageur" with whom I made conversation, and related this incident, told me that I had better beware of offering such civilities in future, since these Amazons had been known to seize strangers for fancied offenses, and after giving them rough treatment, cast them into the river. He called upon the proprietor of the inn to substantiate his warning, and the latter satisfied me as to its truth, giving details which need not be set down here, and which quite decided the matter.

Péronne as an historic and notable town was second to none in all Picardy. Here the early kings had a great palace given to them by Clovis II.

Hotel de Ville: Péroinne

Erchinold, the Mayor, erected a monastery near by for Scotch monks, presided over by St. Fursy. Not a trace of this now remains. It is said to have contained the tomb of Charles the Simple, who died of famine at the hands of Hubert in a dungeon. When Philip d'Alsace, Count of Vermandois, was killed in the Crusades (1199) the towns of Péronne and St. Quentin were united to the crown of France, and so remained. Charles V, in 1536 unsuccessfully besieged Péronne, and during this siege a young woman named Marie Fourré performed prodigious deeds of heroism which history records.

The great Ligue of 1577 was proclaimed here, following its announcement at Paris. Until the Duke of Wellington captured it on his way to Paris' after the battle of Waterloo, Péronne-la-Pucelle had never been taken by an enemy.

In the Franco-Prussian War, 1870-71, Péronne was sacked and burned after a most memorable siege, in which many of the remarkable old buildings were destroyed, but in 1910 the town, when I last saw it, was one of the quaintest in all Picardy. There was a remarkable old church here, that of St. Jean, which dated from the sixteenth century, which had a portal of three Gothic arches and arcades surmounted by a great flamboyant rose-window, the glass of which, though modern, was of fine quality and workmanship. It had a tower flanked by a "tourelle" of beautiful proportions, and in the interior the vaulting, pulpit, and the stained glass windows were pronounced by experts to be well-nigh faultless.

This church, and the most singular and picturesque Hôtel de Ville (sixteenth century), a sketch of which I made in 1910, the invaders took great pains entirely to destroy in April, 1917, when they made their celebrated "victorious retreat." The latest accounts say that not a trace of these two remarkable monuments now exists, that for a week or more before the retreat, the German engineers used tons of explosives to destroy them.

The gray old square before the Hôtel de Ville is now a yawning pit, bordered by shapeless piles of stone and ashes.

At this time we know not what other mischief the invader has committed in this neighborhood. There are endless opportunities for destruction and pillage, and we may be fully prepared for irreparable damage and losses in all of this region before the Iconoclasts are driven back to their last line of defenses.

All of Champagne, of Picardy,--all of Flanders were filled with exquisite villages, towns, and cities, each of which was unique in works of art and antiquity. These have shriveled like a garden of flowers before a heavy frost. This great catastrophe has so stunned humanity, that we are only beginning to realize what it means.

The invader says contemptuously that no cathedral is worth the life of one German soldier. So Rheims has been destroyed; so St. Peter's of Louvain; so--but why enumerate here?--The list is recorded in letters of fire.

CAMBRAI, and the SMALL TOWNS

|THE "Cameracum" of ancient days of Roman occupation, holding this name up to the twelfth century, Cambrai, at the outbreak of the war in 1914, was entirely satisfying to the seeker of the charms of picturesqueness, as well as the historian. After what is known as the period of the Antonine Itinerary, it became the capital of a petty episcopal arrondisement, under the protection of the Dukes of Burgundy who, unable to hold it, gave it over "for privileges" to the German emperors, who thereafter retained it under the title of "Châtelains," as it was a fortified stronghold.

Situated on a hillside on the right bank of the river Scheldt, it was a busy and prosperous commercial town, with a semi-Flemish population of about twenty-five thousand. Its history in thumbnail form is as follows:

In 1508 the Emperor Maximilian, Pope Julius II, Ferdinand of Aragon, and Louis XII of France formed here the celebrated League of Cambrai, which was directed against Venice. In 1529 the so-called Paix de Dames was signed by Louise of Savoy and Margaret of Austria, who negotiated its provisions in the castle on the hill, for Francis I and Charles V. However, by the treaty of Nimwegen, Louis XV recovered it, and it was thus held by France until captured by the Duke of Wellington in 1815.

Many celebrated men were born at Cambrai, or became identified with the town, such as the chronicler, Enguer-rand de Monstrelet, who died in 1453. The great Fénelon was Archbishop of Cambrai, as was also Cardinal Dubois, who served as minister for Louis XV, and then follows an array of names that lent glory to the annals of Flanders.

Perhaps few know that the town gave name to that fine linen which was produced here in the fifteenth century, the invention of a native named Baptiste. The English named the cloth "Cambric," but to the Flemish and French it was known, and is still for that matter, as "Ba'tiste" after the inventor. At the outbreak of the war this linen cloth was the chief product of the town.

Entrance to the town was through the gate called "Porte Robert," near which was the citadel. There was a large and impressive square called the "Esplanade," where statues had been raised to "Batiste" and the historian "Enguerrand de Monstrelet." Then followed the "Place aux Bois," lined with handsome trees, and large "Place d'Arms," on which was the "Hôtel de Ville," which, while of comparatively modern construction and rebuilt in the last century, was sufficiently interesting even to a student of ancient Flemish architecture. Its most elaborate façade was sculptured by one Hiolle of Valenciennes. The tower bore two gigantic statues, much venerated by the townspeople, named respectively "Martin" and "Martine," but curiously enough there was a wide difference of opinion as to which was which, some saying that the left hand giant was Martin, and others protesting the contrary. The figures dated from the time of Charles V, and were presented by him to the town in 1510.

On the square at the opening of the Rue St. Martin was a fine Gothic belfry dated 1447, and attached to the church of that name. This contained a notable chime of bells, a carillon, the work of the Hemonys. * In the Rue de Noyon was the Cathedral of "Notre Dame," part of which had been rebuilt since a fire which consumed it about sixty years ago. The interior contained notably the fine marble and bronze monument of Fénelon, and a statue to this celebrity, the work of David d'Angers, all worth a considerable journey to see. The body of the church was of the eighteenth century and while of purity in detail, offered no very striking features. There were eight very large mural paintings "en grisaille" after the works of Rubens, by Geeraerts, a modern artist of Antwerp, but these, despite the obvious merit of the work, seemed somehow out of key with the interior.

* See "Vanished Towers and Chimes of Flanders,"
for chapter on bell founding.

Wandering about, we came upon a small street in which we found a remarkable collection of paintings of the Netherlands School owned by a private collector, who was pleased to show them, and delighted by our enthusiasm over their qualities. This gentleman insisted upon becoming our guide about the town, and showed us so many attentions that my Lady Anne became bored with him, and this led to our leaving Cambrai before the time we had set--but we left a letter of appreciation and thanks addressed to him.

He it was who brought us to the church of St. Géry in the Place Fénelon, on the site of one founded by St. Vaast in 520. This had a remarkable dome which was upheld by four very slender columns, of very unusual character, and there was also a magnificent renaissance "jube," or altar screen, of colored marble, and a transept containing a large painting of the "Entombment," attributed to Rubens. The "Episcopal Palace of Fénelon" was just across the street, or at least a fragment of the original building, with a very richly decorated triple portal in the Renaissance style.

It was this palace that Fénelon opened to the fugitives of the battle of Malplaquet, who thronged the town of Cambrai for protection and food. History states that every corner of the building was filled with the hapless people, and their small belongings hastily gathered together in the flight. The gardens and courts were crowded with cows, calves, and pigs, and the scene is said to have been indescribable. Emanuel de Broglie, who wrote the account ("Fénelon a Cambrai," de Broglie), says, "Officers to the number of one hundred and fifty, both French and prisoners of war, were received by Fénelon at his house, and seated at his table at one time."

"God will help us," said the Archbishop; "Providence hath infinite resources on which I can confidently rely. Only let us give all we have: it is my duty and my pleasure."

Over the side doors were inscriptions on "banderoles"--"A Clare Justitia" on one, and on the other "A gladio pax." The fine "Chateau de Selles," on the banks of the Scheldt River, was built in the fifteenth century. The beautiful reliefs of its gables, its statues, and the wrought iron grills of its balconies were still perfect, and the view from its green terrace was most enjoyable.

There was a curious sort of penthouse shown to us, near a building called "Vieux Château" of which pillars with rudely sculptured capitals remained. Near this was a well with some ancient rusty ironwork, and a stone which our quondam guide said had served in ages long ago as a block in executions. Somehow we thought that he lied, and with considerable skill withal, but we dismissed him with payment of a franc for his pains. He did not go, however, but followed us about at a distance muttering to himself and occasionally waving his hands in a most absurd manner, until at length we happily lost him.

There was a curious small building called the Grange aux Dimes, divided into two parts, one subterranean, the other on the level of the soil. Two staircases, one inside, the other outside, led to a hall on the first floor. This was divided by two ranges of pillars, with ornate capitals of foliage. The door to the subterranean passage was unfastened and we ventured down into the darkness and must for a short distance. I am convinced that we might have had some adventures below had we explored the tunnel. Near this was "Le Puits," supposed to be the entrance to other vast vaults, a subterranean town extending beneath the hill for miles, and formerly used for many purposes in the Middle Ages.

These vaults were to be found in many of the towns hereabouts, and during the occupancy of the country by the Germans since the invasion of 1914, the soldiers have used them to store away ammunition and supplies. Over these small towns for three years now have raged battles the like of which for fierceness and bloody loss the world has never seen.

The small town of Marcoing, about five miles from Cambrai, had one of these wonderful caverns of refuge dating from the Middle Ages, and there were others at Villers-Guizlain and at Honnecourt, where there were the ruins of a Roman town, and an immense church with a porch of the eleventh century. This was said to have been a famous place of pilgrimage in the twelfth century. Tradition has it that in that century three brothers of the family of Courcy le Marchais were taken prisoners during the crusades. In the power of the Sultan they languished, until at length he bethought him to send his young daughter to their dungeon, where they lay in chains, thinking that she might by the power of her beauty and eloquence bring them to the faith of the Mussulmans. But strange to relate, she it was who succumbed to the arguments of the three fair-haired brothers, and finally promised to become a Christian provided that they show her an image of the Holy Virgin of whom they had so eloquently told her. Now the three brothers had no image of the Virgin, everything having been taken from them when they were cast into the dungeon. But all at once, says the Chronicle, the image of the Virgin bathed in golden Celestial light appeared miraculously before them in a niche on the wall, so the Sultan's daughter, thus convinced, not only set the three fair-haired brothers free, but accompanied them, bearing in her bosom the sacred image, which henceforth was enshrined here on the altar and venerated.

The three brothers then built a church in the twelfth century, on the site of which this present one of the fourteenth century was erected. Its portal was fifteenth century, and at the cross was a spire with quaintly formed pinnacles. Inside, a remarkably rich "jube," or altar screen, divided the nave from the choir, almost hiding the sanctuary containing a singular coal black doll-like sort of image, and a large collection of "Ex-votos," with some other offerings most tawdry in character.

North of Valenciennes and very near the Flemish border was the old town of St. Amand-les-Eaux, famous for its mud baths for the cure of rheumatism and gout since the time of the Romans. The town was situated at the confluence of the rivers Elnon and Scarpe, and is said to have grown up around an abbey built by St. Amand in the seventh century. Save for the portal and the façade of the church nothing remained of the original structure. A tower containing a fine carillon of bells by Flemmish founders, perhaps the Van den Gheyns of Malines, is said to have been designed by Peter Paul Rubens. From the summit of the tower a wonderful view of the surrounding country was had, and for this reason the Germans blew it up in April, 1917, before their retreat.

Maison du Provost: Valenciennes

There was here a quaint Hôtel de Ville in the Flemish-Renaissance style, much floriated in parts. Let us hope that this has been spared. The site of the ancient abbey had been most charmingly covered with a blooming garden of brilliant flowers, and here children and nurses played, while "invalides" dozed on the benches in the sunlight. From the baths a very wild and beautiful park stretched across the country to the forest of Raismes through the forest of St. Amand.

Epehy is another small town now held by the Germans because of its strategical value. It is on the ancient Roman road, or "Chaussée Brunehaut," which runs from Arras to Rheims. Under the great church are subterranean galleries, which, it is said, stretch for unknown distances in every direction; indeed, it seems as if the whole country hereabouts were undermined by these ancient galleries, many of which were unexplored, and in some instances shunned by the peasants as haunted by evil spirits, and many and fantastic were the tales told of some of these caverns, during the summer days when wanderings about the countryside held us here in happy durance. It was delightful to watch the grave old men of the village playing bowls or skittles, and their pride over the skill which enabled one of them, a patriarch, to account for six pins at one shot. His cannoning was the very poetry of statics. As a foil the unskillful efforts of the present writer were not altogether unsuccessful, for they brought to the stolid faces of the players smiles not unkindly, but of considerable latitude.

In the little "estaminet" (Spanish estamento) at the foot of the hill, cutlets, broiled young chicken, and a rough and cheap but good sparkling wine, all graced by the good humor of the proprietor, raised our content to enthusiasm, so we saw and studied the locality, socially and mythologically, to the end of its possibilities.

We found that these peasants, seemingly so phlegmatic and commonplace, were really chimerical, and their tales and conversation skirted the borderland of fact and fancy. The two were so melted down and run into one mold as to be impossible of separation. I have listened to some of these tales with interest, until the splashes of golden light were gone from the valleys and a vast canopy of rose-shot lilac emblazoned the setting of the sun. In the woods hereabouts, as in other parts of this region of caverns, thin mysterious sounds were often audible at night to those who had ears to hear: the noise of a distant hunt, the sound of winding horns, the confused shouts of a troop of hunters, and the chime of hounds in full cry. Pious and superstitious peasants, listening indoors, crossed themselves, those who were abroad in the lanes hastened their steps, not glancing in the direction from which the sounds came. It was the Wild Chasseur. This is the story: St. Amand, Count of the Palatinate, lived hereabouts in the tenth century, in a great castle of which even the foundations have long since disappeared. He was known as a mighty hunter, but was a profane prince, caring naught for the worship of the Lord, nor the chant of the priest, but following ever the wild creatures, rather than the ways of truth and righteousness. There came one day in the autumn, and it was Sunday, long before the coming dawn disclosed the distant dome of the Cathedral. When this reckless count mounted his great horse, and at the head of an equally reckless band of merry hunters, started out on the chase, the great dim forests rang with the loud blasts of the horn, and the loud shouts of the young men broke the calm stillness of the holy day and scandalized the good priests, and the pious people of the neighborhood. Out came the noisy cavalcade into the open where four roads met. To them, one from the North and one from the South, and galloping furiously, came two horsemen; the one from the North was young, blonde and handsome, with an air of distinction, all clad in bright new cloak and bonnet of golden yellow.

The cavalier from the South seemed a man of temper, and was of sinister visage, bestriding a great horse of a temper to match that of its rider. His costume was of black velveteen save for his headpiece of scarlet cloth, which flowed scalloped down his back.

The Count at the head of his troop saluted these two strangers courteously and invited them bear him company in the chase.

"My lord," answered the rider from the North, removing his bonnet, and showing his fair hair in a golden mass about his shoulders, "the Sabbath bells are ringing in your church for the service in praise of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, for'tis the hour in which the voices of men in holy canticle are sent on high asking forgiveness of our sins and iniquities. This day is sanctified to Him above. I do bid you now accompany me unto the throne of Grace, on bended knee, in all humility.--For upon the offender shall descend the vengeance of the Most High, forever and ever."

"In Satan's name, Sir Golden Locks!" answered St. Amand scornfully, "thou hast a tongue like a ranting priest. What right hast thou to wear a sword, pray?--I have no mind for canticles to-day!"

Loud laughed the troop of cavaliers at this, and then was heard the voice of the rider in black from the South, whose great horse champed the bit and tossed its head restlessly.

"Come, let us away, St. Amand! What care have we for monastery bells and sniveling priests!--Let us to the noble chase for mass, with sound of the winding horn for organ note!"

"Well said, Sir Red Crest," replied St. Amand, with a loud laugh and a wave of his gauntleted hand. "_Ventre son gris!_ Let us away then!"

The whole troop sprang forward at the word. Over the hills, through the ravines and deep ditches, and into the dark woods, ever rode the strangers, one at the right and one at the left of St. Amand. On the right, the fair young golden haired knight, and on the left, the black clad sinister man with the crimson hood.

All at once appeared among the great trunks of the beech trees an antlered deer white as the driven snow, which after one startled look at the furiously riding troop of men, sped away like the wind. With winding horn the hunters pursued it over the green meadows and up and down the hills, trampling corn fields and peasant gardens under foot all unmindful of what ill they did. Naught counted for these men but the chase, and ever St. Amand headed the band, and on his right rode the fair young blonde rider from the North and on his left the swarthy knight from the South.

Finally, with trembling limbs the antlered deer slackened its speed before the open door of a chapel in the midst of the wildwood. Here stood the frightened animal, its fur flicked with bloody foam, unable to stir a step further. From the open door of the chapel stepped a holy friar, who placed a sheltering arm about the panting animal's neck, and stood with uplifted arm warning back the band of hunters. In vain did the fairhaired stranger plead with Amand to spare the deer, for the jeering voice of the knight of the scarlet hood urged him on, and dismounting from his horse Count St. Amand pushed aside the monk and was about to run the animal through with his hunting knife, when there came a burst of thunder sound that shook the earth as though the heavens had fallen.

The Count was stunned: When he came to himself he was alone in a clear space in the forest; the chapel, the deer, the monk, all his band, including the two strangers, had vanished as though they had never been. Over all was a terrible silence. When St. Amand attempted to call, no sound came from his parched lips. Then came a blinding flash of lightning, which split the darkness, and on the wings of the rushing wind he heard a terrible voice in judgment.--"Even as thou hast flouted and mocked at the Lord thy God, and have had no compassion upon man nor beast, so shalt thou fly before the wrath of the Most High! Pass on then, thou accursed Knight, forever be thou the hunted by evil spirits until the end of the world!"

"And so," continues the legend, "since that day the wraith of that sinful Count St. Amand has haunted these hills and dales by night, and these great caverns underneath by day, the fiends of hell at his heels. After him fly these hideous fiends, driving him ever on towards the judgment that waits him on the last day."

As may be surmised, with such tales as this to hold over the youth of the valleys, the people hereabouts were most devout and God fearing. Here in this region have raged battles innumerable from the earliest days of history, with fire, famine and pestilence. It was all prosperous, when I last saw it, and charming to look upon. But now the beautiful orchards have been cut down by the invader, the homesteads have been burned, and the once happy peasants transported to hard labor in another country.

ST. QUENTIN

|UGLY and down at the heel," were the uncomplimentary terms used by an æsthetic fellow traveler to describe this prosperous manufacturing town situated rather picturesquely on a hill rising above the banks of the river Somme. And while it may be admitted that St. Quentin is not very clean looking when viewed from the railway station, certainly a later and more intimate inspection revealed charms which repaid leisurely investigation on our part, and even our first view of the gray walls and gables of the houses, and the quaint pinnacles of the town hall, and the tower of the church rising against the golden glow of the sunset sky was quite satisfying.

The road to the town on the hill was by way of the Rue de l'lsle, which brought us to the small square on which was the flamboyant Gothic Hôtel de Ville. It had a most charming and unusual pent roof, over which rose a slender tower with large clock face shining in the sunlight. On the ground floor of the façade was an open arcaded gallery above which were richly ornamented flamboyant Gothic windows divided by niches. The upper story had a quaint and ornate balustrade and three gables. From the central gable the campanile rose gracefully.

This much we were able to see on our way to the Hôtel du Cygne, the landlady of which gave us more comfort than our quondam traveling companion had led us to expect. This individual quite abandoned us to our fate thereafter, as impossible Yankees who gloated over picturesqueness and gables, and meekly ate whatever was set before them--even of an omelette which he scorned, and fussed about at the table d'hôte. He listened with a sarcastic grin to our admiring comment on the furnishings of the dining-room, with its paneled walls in the Flemish fashion, on which hung brass placques and some good old china plates, and after lighting a cigarette, noisily kicked back his chair, shrugged his shoulders, and vanished from our ken forever.

Madame told us that he was a "commis-voyageur" in the woolen trade, from Brussels, and "bien difficile."

St. Quentin was the ancient capital of the Gaulish Veromanduens, and took its present name from Caius Quintinus, a priest who came here to preach Christianity in the third century, and for his pains was martyred by the Prefect Rictius Varus.

Honor to his remains was encouraged by St. Eloi in the time of Dagobert.

Whilst here we may recall that the building of the Escurial was due to a vow which Philip II of Spain made in case of success, when he was besieging St. Quentin in 1557.

The town was given back to France in 1589, and in the following year was bestowed as a dowry upon Mary Stuart, who possessed its revenues till her death. On January 19, 1871, a great victory was gained near St. Quentin by the Prussian General Goeben over the French army of the north, * under Faidherbe.

* Hare's "Northeastern France."

In the "Place du Huit Octobre" was a very good monument by Barrias, symbolizing the successful defense of the town against the first attack by the Germans on October 8, 1870. We found that the Hôtel de Ville contained a most unusual "Salle du conseil," a large well proportioned room, the roof of which rested upon two circular wooden vaults. This was furnished with a most elaborate mantel or chimney piece in the mixed Gothic and Renaissance styles, and of remarkable workmanship. In the great German retreat of April, 1917, this noble building was blown up with bombs. Perhaps they placed upon it, as they did upon other shattered structures, a sign bearing the inscription: "Nicht Argern, nur Wundern."

There was a noble "Collegiate Church of St. Quentin" near this Hôtel de Ville, considered by architects to be a splendid example of French Gothic of the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries. This was unfortunately so shut in by small buildings as to make a study of it difficult. Its choir, nave, and portal, and its really vast height, formed unusual features, and added to these wonders were the beautiful triforium and terminal windows of the principal transept (there were two of these, "very rare in a Gothic church," says Hare).

The oldest part of the church was easily discovered between these transepts. There were seven absidal chapels; in that of St. Roch was the incised tombstone of "Mahaus Patrelatte," dated 1272.

Under the choir were crypts said to have been of the ninth century, and in one of these was a stone sarcophagus of St. Quentin and SS. Victorious and Gentianus, who were St. Quentin's companions in martyrdom. The west portal of the church was formerly adorned with a large number of statues, vestiges of which were plainly visible. A statue of Quentin Delatour, a famous draftsman in crayon of the eighteenth century, a native of the town, stood before the church; it was by Lauglet the sculptor, and of considerable merit. A collection of Delatour's crayon drawings were in the small museum in the rue du Petit-Origny....

Unfortunate St. Quentin, now once more in ashes, and this time so completely obliterated that nothing remains on the hill but some blackened ragged piles of masonry, was besieged by Philip II in 1558, when war broke out between Picardy and Flanders.

"Philip II had landed there with an army of forty-seven thousand men, of whom seven thousand were English. Never did any great sovereign and great politician provoke and maintain for long such important wars without conducting them in some other fashion than from the recesses of his cabinet and without ever having exposed his life on the field of battle. The Spanish army was under the orders of Emmanuel-Philibert, Duke of Savoy, a young warrior of thirty, who had won the confidence of Charles V. He led it to the siege of St. Quentin, a place considered one of the bulwarks of the kingdom.

"Philip II remained at some leagues' distance in the environs. Henry II was ill prepared for so serious an attack; his army, which was scarcely 20,000 strong, mustered near Laon under orders of the Duke of Nevers, Governor of Champagne; at the end of July, 1557, it hurried into Picardy, under the command of the Constable de Montmorency, who was supported by Admiral de Coligny, his nephew, by the Duke of Enghien, by the Prince of Condé, by the Duke of Montpensier, and by nearly all the great lords and the valiant warriors of France. They soon saw that St. Quentin was in a deplorable state of defense; the fortifications were old and badly kept up; soldiers and munitions of war, as well as victuals were all equally deficient. Coligny did not hesitate, however; he threw himself into the place on the 2nd of August during the night with a small corps of 700 men and Saint Remy, a skillful engineer, who had already distinguished himself in the defense of Metz. The Admiral packed off the useless mouths, repaired the walls at the points principally threatened, and reanimated the failing courage of the inhabitants.

"The Constable and his army came within hail of the place; and d'Andelot, Coligny's brother, managed with great difficulty to get 450 men into it.

"On the 10th of August the battle was begun between the two armies. The Constable affected to despise the Duke of Savoy's youth: 'I will soon show him,' said he, 'a move of an old soldier.'

"The French army, being very inferior in numbers, was for a moment on the point of being surrounded. The Prince of Condë sent the Constable warning. 'I was serving in the field,' answered Montmorency, 'before the Prince of Condé came into the world; I have good hopes of still giving him lessons in the art of war for some years to come.'

"The valor of the Constable and his comrades-in-arms could not save them from the consequences of their stubborn recklessness, and their numerical inferiority; the battalions of Gascon infantry closed their ranks, with pikes to the front, and made a heroic resistance, but all in vain, against repeated charges of the Spanish cavalry; and the defeat was total.

"More than 3,000 men were killed; the number of prisoners amounted to double this figure; and the Constable, left upon the field with his thigh shattered by a cannon ball, fell into the hands of the Spaniards, as was also the case with the Dukes of Longueville and Montpensier, la Rochefoucauld, d'Aubigné, etc.... The Duke of Enghien, Viscount de Turenne and a multitude of others, many great names amidst a host of obscure, fell in the fight. The Duke of Nevers and the Prince of Condé, sword in hand, reached La Fère with the remnants of their army. Coligny remained alone at St. Quentin with those who survived of his little garrison, and a hundred and twenty arquebusiers whom the Duke of Nevers threw into the place at a loss of three times as many. Coligny held out for a fortnight longer, behind walls that were in ruins and were assailed by a victorious army. At length, on the 27th of August, the enemy entered St. Quentin in shoals.

"The Admiral, who was still going about the streets with a few men to make head against them, found himself hemmed in on all sides, and did what he could to fall into the hands of a Spaniard, preferring rather to await on the spot the common fate than to incur by flight any shame or reproach. They took him prisoner, after having set him to rest a while at the foot of the ramparts, and took him away to their camp, where as he entered, he met Captain Alonzo de Cazieres, commandant of the old bands of Spanish infantry; when up came the Duke of Savoy, who ordered the said Cazieres to take the Admiral to his tent." *

* Commentaire de François de Rabutin sur les Guerres entre
Henri II., roi de France, et Charles Quint, empereur. Vol.
I, p. 95, in the Petitot Collection.

"D'Andelot, the Admiral's brother, succeeded in escaping across the marshes. Being thus master of St. Quentin, Philip II, after having attempted to put a stop to the carnage and plunder, expelled from the town, which was half in ashes, the inhabitants who had survived, and the small adjacent fortresses of Ham and Catalet did not hesitate long before surrendering. Five years later, in 1557, after the battle and capture of St. Quentin, France was in a fit of stupor; Paris believed the enemy to be already beneath her walls; many of the burgesses were packing up and flying--some to Orleans, some to Bourges, some still further." * And now once more history repeats itself in the sacking and burning of this quaint town, in the retreat of the invader of 1914-5 after three years of agony endured by its people. "God makes no account of centuries, and a great deal is required before the most certain and most salutary truths get their place and their rights in the minds and communities of men," says Guizot, quaintly, and thus dismisses the record of Henry II: "On the 29th of June, 1559, a brilliant tournament was celebrated in lists erected at the end of the street of Saint Antoine, almost at the foot of the Bastile. Henry II, the Queen, and the whole court had been present at it for three days."

* Guizot's "Histoire de France." Vol. Ill, p. 204.

"The entertainment was drawing to a close. The King, who had run several tilts 'like a sturdy and skillful Cavalier,' wished to break yet another lance, and bade the Count de Montgomery, captain of the guards, to run against him. Montgomery excused himself; but the King insisted. The tilt took place. The two jousters, on meeting, broke their lances skilfully; but Montgomery forgot to drop at once, according to usage, the fragment remaining in his hand; he unintentionally struck the King's helmet and raised the visor, and a splinter of wood entered Henry's eye; he fell forward upon his horse's neck."

All the appliances of art were useless; the brain had been pierced. Henry II languished for eleven days and expired on the tenth of July, 1559, aged forty years and some months. "An insignificant man and a reign without splendor, though fraught with facts pregnant of grave consequences," concludes the historian.