The Englishmen were allowed to depart. They had cracked, in their labour, the grave-stone, and crumbled a good many of those beside it; a large square of brick-work replaces them. “Since then,” the porter said, winking at us, as if he fancied we too had some design on the bones he guards, “when strangers are curious, I accompany them, and we keep the church locked.”
CHAPTER IV.
Moret—The Nunnery—Louis the Fourteenth’s black Daughter—Two useful Saints—Villeneuve la Guyard—Descriptions deceitful—Strange Cure for Blood to the Head—A River-god on terra firma—Sens—St. Colombe, Thomas à Becket’s refuge—Villeneuve le Roy—Place where the Vine was first cultivated—Auxerre—The Chapter’s hundred years’ Law-suit concerning Fur Trimmings—The Canons’ Games at Ball—The Cathedral, occupying the site of the first Christian Chapel—St. Germain—The Saint’s refusal to get out of his Grave to reform England—Tombs of Dukes of Burgundy—Ill-treatment in a Church from a School at its devotions—Lucy le Bois—The Face in a Hole in the Wall—Taken for a beast—Arnay le Duc—La Rochepot—A danger avoided through Grizzel’s affection—An unamiable Carter—Chalons, Cæsar’s head-quarters—Cross seen by Constantine—Punishment of past times for unskilful Physicians—A Prince of Portugal, Monk at St. Laurents—Cathedral.
10th April.
A pretty road through the forest, on whose borders is the old town of Moret; its ancient gateway and the ruins of its fortifications and strong castle looking picturesque through the trees. The fine gothic church remains, but the convent, which was honoured by the presence of a royal nun, no longer exists. Louis the Fourteenth had by his wife, Maria Theresa, a daughter, who came into the world perfectly black. The King not choosing to own a negress, it was asserted that she had died; she was committed to the custody of these walls, and well and respectfully treated, for the abbess received a large annuity on her account. It is said that her royal father and mother sometimes came to see her; perhaps the comparison between what she was and might have been, but for the caprice of nature, preyed on her mind, for her life was not a long one. Two saints, of unquestionable merit, have chapels in their honour near Moret. St. Nicaise will cure the most obstinate cough, and St. Memert the bite of a mad dog.
The next post very uninteresting, to Fossard, which is one of those wretched-looking villages which straggle along each side of the broad, bad roads of France. Stopped to sleep at Villeneuve la Guyard, a hopeless-looking place with a good inn, though it does not fulfil the promise of its printed card, which speaks of “new and splendid furniture, French and English attendance, large and commodious stables, baths, and a garden of rare plants adjoining.” The chambers hung with painted canvass, thick with the dust of years, and the square hole cut in the panel of the door, that the blast rushing in might prevent the chimneys smoking, did not quite answer the expectations raised. The groom of the filthy stable, for French stables are cleaned once a year only, was a feeble, gray peasant. The fat girl waited alternately on us and the diligence dinner; the baths were invisible, as was the garden, unless represented by the strip where primroses and cabbages grew among broken crockery, protected by the paling, on which hung to dry an avenue of cotton pocket-handkerchiefs. There was nothing to see when we had walked round the little church, and been driven home by the troop of urchins who, just out of school, clattered after me in sabots. Returned to the inn yard, we found there an amusing specimen of French manners in a certain class. By the well sat, in an oilskin cape and cloak, an old gentleman, who with his wife we had seen arrive in a one-horse vehicle. He was dripping like a river-god, and she, in the attitude of Hebe, pouring on his bare head jugs of well-water. As neither were at all embarrassed, we were soon acquainted; he had attacks of blood to the head, and therefore the watering of it by three buckets at a time is performed twice a day, and the operation of cupping three times a week, by his wife, who has taken lessons on purpose; like some other good people, she likes complaining, and before we had been known to each other five minutes, she told me that since her husband had retired from business, this malady had come upon him; that they had travelled to see the sea, and it had ennuyé him; that they were now on their way to drink the waters in Savoy, and he already spoke of turning back; in short, that he was impatient and fanciful, and made her life insupportable. A great source of grief and fidget to him was the old horse, lean and uncleaned, who daily dragged themselves and baggage in the heavy vehicle. He wondered he was not fat and hungry like ours.
11th April.
Left early, intending to sleep at Sens for the sake of the cathedral. Pont-sur-Yonne, which lies on the road, has an old church and fine bridge. The entrance to Sens under the arched gateway is striking; and its boulevards and public promenades remarkably neat and pretty. When we rode into the yard of the Ecu, we found mine host, who came to meet us, high in his charges and impertinent besides; so turned the horses’ heads again,—merely fed them at an auberge close by, and went on. I saw only the exterior of the fine cathedral. A quarter of a league from Sens was the abbey of St. Colombe, where Thomas à Becket hid himself three years from the fury of Henry of England. A beautiful shining day, for the east wind has yielded at last. The approach to Villeneuve le Roy is through a pretty tranquil country, the road winding along the bank of the river, and sheltered on the other side by an abruptly rising ground, planted with vineyards. An elbow in this road brings suddenly in sight the old town’s gateway: like that of Moret, an entrance-arch, flanked by turrets, with the gouttière above, whence boiling pitch and lead poured on the intruder.
It is of Louis the Sixth’s time, I was going to say it has frowned there ever since; but this evening, in the golden sunshine, it smiled in harmony with all the rest: the troops of gay boys at play under the care of a good-natured priest, and the bright little stream which bathed Fanny’s tired feet.