This is an appropriate enough observation to have been promulgated by a latter-day traveller. Here the abundance which apparently pours forth for every one"s benefit knows no diminution one season from another. One should not allow his pen to ramble to too great an extent in this vein, or he will soon say with Sterne: "Just Heaven! it will fill up twenty volumes,--and alas, there are but a few small pages!"
[Ill.u.s.tration: NOTRE DAME _de MOULINS_]
It suffices, then, to reiterate, that in this plenteous land of mid-France there is, for all cla.s.ses of man and beast, an abundance and excellence of the harvest of the soil which makes for a fondness to linger long within the confines of this region. Thus did the far-seeing Bourbons, who, throughout the country which yet is called of them, set up many magnificent establishments and ensconced themselves and their retainers among the comforts of this world to a far greater degree than many other ruling houses of mediaeval times. Perhaps none of the great names, among the long lists of lords, dukes, and kings, whose lands afterward came to make the solidarity of the all-embracing monarchy, could be accused of curtailing the wealth of power and goods which conquest or bloodshed could secure or save for them.
The power of the Bourbons endured, like the English Tudors, but a century and a half beyond the period of its supremacy; whence, from its maturity onward, it rotted and was outrooted bodily.
The literature of Moulins, for the English reading and speaking world, appears to be an inconsiderable quant.i.ty. Certain romances have been woven about the ducal chateau, and yet others concerning the all-powerful Montmorencies, besides much history, which partakes generously of the components of literary expression.
In the country round about--if the traveller has come by road, or for that matter by "_train omnibus_"--if he will but keep his eyes open, he will have no difficulty in recognizing this picture: "A little farmhouse, surrounded with about twenty acres of vineyard, and about as much corn--and close to the house, on one side, a _potagerie_ of an acre and a half, full of everything which could make plenty in a French peasant"s house--and on the other side a little wood, which furnished wherewithal to dress it."
To continue, could one but see into that house, the picture would in no small degree differ from this: "A family consisting of an old, gray-headed man and his wife, with five or six sons and sons-in-law, and their several wives, and a joyous genealogy out of them ... all sitting down together to their lentil soup; a large wheaten loaf in the middle of the table; and a flagon of wine at each end of it, and promised joy throughout the various stages of the repast."
Where in any other than this land of plenty, for the peasant and prosperous alike, could such a picture be drawn of the plenitude which surrounds the home life of a son of the soil and his nearest kin? Such an equipment of comfort and joy not only makes for a continuous and placid contentment, but for character and ambition; in spite of all that harum-scarum Jeremiahs may proclaim out of their little knowledge and less sympathy with other affairs than their own. No individualism is proclaimed, but it is intimated, and the reader may apply the observation wherever he may think it belongs.
Moulins is the capital of the Bourbonnais--the name given to the province and the people alike. The derivation of the word Bourbon is more legendary than historical, if one is to give any weight to the discovery of a tablet at _Bourbonne-les-Bains,_ in 1830, which bore the following dedication:
DEO, APOL LINI BORVONI ET DAMONAE C DAMINIUS FEROX CIVIS LINGONUS EX VOTO
Its later application to the land which sheltered the race is elucidated by a French writer, thus:
"Considering that the names of all the cities and towns known as _des sources d"eaux thermales_ commence with either the prefix _Bour_ or _Bor_, indicates a common origin of the word ... from the name of the divinity which protects the waters."
This is so plausible and picturesque a conjecture that it would seem to be true.
Archaeologists have singled out from among the most beautiful _chapelles seigneuriales_ the one formerly contained in the ducal palace of the Bourbons at Moulins. This formed, of course, a part of that gaunt, time-worn fabric which faces the westerly end of the cathedral.
Little there is to-day to suggest this splendour, and for such one has to look to those examples yet to be seen at Chambord or Chenonceaux, or that of the Maison de Jacques Coeur at Bourges, with which, in its former state, this private chapel of the Bourbons was a contemporary.
The other chief attraction of Moulins is the theatrical Mausolee de Henri de Montmorency, a seventeenth-century work which is certainly gorgeous and splendid in its magnificence, if not in its aesthetic value as an art treasure.
The fresh, modern-looking cathedral of Notre Dame de Moulins is a more ancient work than it really looks, though in its completed form it dates only from the late nineteenth century, when the indefatigable Viollet-le-Duc erected the fine twin towers and completed the western front.
The whole effect of this fresh-looking edifice is of a certain elegance, though in reality of no great luxuriousness.
The portal is deep but unornamented, and the rose window above is of generous design, though not actually so great in size as at first appears. Taken _tout ensemble_ this west front--of modern design and workmanship--is far more expressive of the excellent and true proportions of the mediaeval workers than is usually the case.
The spires are lofty (312 feet) and are decidedly the most beautiful feature of the entire design.
The choir, the more ancient portion (1465-1507), expands into a more ample width than the nave and has a curiously squared-off termination which would hardly be described as an apside, though the effect is circular when viewed from within. The choir, too, rises to a greater height than the nave, and, though there is no very great discrepancy in style between the easterly and westerly ends, the line of demarcation is readily placed. The square flanking chapels of the choir serve to give an ampleness to the ambulatory which is unusual, and in the exterior present again a most interesting arrangement and effect.
The cathedral gives on the west on the Place du Chateau, with the bare, broken wall of the ducal chateau immediately _en face_, and the Gendarmerie, which occupies a most interestingly picturesque Renaissance building, is immediately to the right.
The interior arrangements of this brilliant cathedral church are quite as pleasing and true as the exterior. There is no poverty in design or decoration, and no overdeveloped luxuriance, except for the accidence of the Renaissance tendencies of its time.
There is no flagrant offence committed, however, and the ambulatory of the choir and its queer overhanging gallery at the rear of the altar are the only unusual features from the conventional decorated Gothic plan; if we except the _baldachino_ which covers the altar-table, and which is actually hideous in its enormity.
The bishop"s throne, curiously enough,--though the custom is, it appears, very, very old,--is placed _behind_ the high-altar.
The triforium and clerestory of the choir have gracefully heightened arches supported by graceful pillars, which give an effect of exceeding lightness.
In the nave the triforium is omitted, and the clerestory only overtops the pillars of nave and aisles.
The transepts are not of great proportions, but are not in any way attenuated.
Under the high-altar is a "Holy Sepulchre" of the sixteenth century, which is penetrated by an opening which gives on the ambulatory of the choir.
There is a bountiful display of coloured gla.s.s of the Renaissance period, and, in the sacristy, a _triptych_ attributed to Ghirlandajo.
There are no other artistic accessories of note, and the cathedral depends, in the main, for its satisfying qualities in its general completeness and consistency.
XIII
NOTRE DAME DE LE PUY
"Under the sun of the _Midi_ I have seen the Pyrenees and the Alps, crowned in rose and silver, but I best love Auvergne and its bed of gorse."
--PIERRE DE NOLHAC.
Le Puy has been called--by a discerning traveller--and rightly enough, too, in the opinion of most persons--"_the most picturesque spot in the world_." Whether every visitor thereto will endorse this unqualifiedly depends somewhat on his view-point, and still more on his ability to discriminate.
Le Puy certainly possesses an unparalleled array of what may as well be called rare attractions. These are primarily the topographical, architectural, and, first, last, and all times, picturesque elements which only a blind man could fail to diagnose as something unique and not to be seen elsewhere.
[Ill.u.s.tration: NOTRE DAME _de LE PUY_.]
In the first category are the extraordinary pinnacles of volcanic rock with which the whole surrounding landscape is peopled; in the second, the city"s grand architectural monuments, cathedrals, churches, monastery and the chateau of Polignac; while thirdly, the whole aspect is irritatingly picturesque to the lover of topographical charm and feature. Here the situation of the city itself, in a basin of surrounding peaks, its sky-piercing, turreted rocks, and the general effect produced by its architectural features all combine to present emotions which a large catalogue were necessary to define.
Moreover, Le Puy is the gateway to a hitherto almost unknown region to the English-speaking tourist. At least it would have been unknown but for the eulogy given it by the wandering Robert Louis Stevenson, who, in his "Travels with a Donkey," (not "On a Donkey,"--mark the distinction), has made the Cevennes known, at least as a nodding acquaintance, to--well, a great many who would never have consciously realized that there was such a place.
Le Puy is furthermore as yet unspoiled by the "conducted tourist," and lives the same life that it has for many generations. Electric trams have come to be sure, and certain improvements in the way of boulevards and squares have been laid out, but, in the main, the narrow, tortuous streets which ascend to its cathedral-crowned height are much as they always were; and the native pays little heed to the visitor, of which cla.s.s not many ever come to the city--perhaps for the reason that Le Puy is not so very accessible by rail. Both by the line which descends the Rhone valley and its parallel line from Paris to Nimes, one has to branch off, and is bound to lose from three to six hours--or more, at some point or other, making connections. This is as it should be--in spite of the apparent retrogression.
When one really does get to Le Puy nothing should satisfy him but to follow the trail of Stevenson"s donkey into the heart of the Cevennes, that wonderful country which lies to the southward, and see and know for himself some of the things which that delectable author set forth in the record of his travels.
Monastier, Le Cheylard, La Bastide, Notre Dame des Neiges, Mont Mezenac, and many more delightful places are, so far as personal knowledge goes, a sealed book to most folk; and after one has visited them for himself, he may rest a.s.sured they will still remain a sealed book to the ma.s.s.
The ecclesiastical treasures of Le Puy are first and foremost centred around its wonderful, though bizarre, Romanesque cathedral of Notre Dame.
Some have said that this cathedral church dates from the fifth century.
Possibly this is so, but a.s.suredly there is no authority which makes a statement which is at all convincing concerning any work earlier than the tenth century.
Le Puy"s first bishop was St. Georges,--in the third century,--at which time, as now, the diocese was a suffragan of Bourges.
The cathedral itself is perched on a hilltop behind which rises an astonishing crag or pinnacle,--the _rocher Corneille_, which, in turn, is surmounted by a modern colossal bronze figure, commonly called _Notre Dame de France_. The native will tell you that it is called "the Virgin of Le Puy." Due allowance for local pride doubtless accounts for this.
Its height is fifty feet, and while astonishingly impressive in many ways, is, as a work of art, without beauty in itself.