Moulin-a-Vent was another of the near-by properties of the Citeaux monks, and to-day preserves the great colombier, or pigeon-house, as all may note who travel these parts by road. It is the most conspicuous thing in the landscape for miles around, and looks as much like the tower of a military chateau as it does a dove-cote.
The Forêt Nationale de Citeaux was once the particular domain of the monastery, whose monks preserved and enveloped it with the same degree of devotion which they bestowed upon their vineyards, planting villages here and there, of which the most notably picturesque and unspoiled still alive is that of Saint Nicholas-les-Citeaux, a red-roofed chimney-potted little village in close proximity to the uncouth fragments of the old conventual establishment.
Nuits, not to be confounded with Nuits-sous-Ravières, is more famous for its wine crus than its monuments or its history. Besides a picturesque belfry and hôtel-de-ville, both excellent examples of the local architecture, it has no monuments of remark, although a sort of reflected glamour hangs over it by reason of its proximity to the site of the ancient Chateau de Vergy, when it was the capital of the tiny province belonging to the celebrated Burgundian family of this name.
The metropolis of these parts is Beaune. It has been called a “vieille grande dame qui s’est faite ouvrière et marchande.” And Beaune is, for a fact, all this. But by contrast with its commercialism its mediæval aspect is also well preserved in spite of the fact that its manorial magnificence is much depleted.
The contrastingly modern and mediæval aspect, and to some extent its military character, makes Beaune most interesting. The ramparts themselves have been turned into a series of encircling boulevards, but here and there a fragment of wall is left plunging sheer down to the moat below, which has not yet been filled up. This gives quite a suggestion of the part the old walls once played, an effect heightened the more by three or four massive towers and portals flanking the entrances and exits of the town. This at least gives a reminiscence of what the former city must have been when it was girded in its corselet of stone.
Here and there a sober and dignified maison bourgeoise rears its Renaissance head above a more humble and less appealing structure suggestive of an ancient prosperity as great, perhaps greater, than that which makes possible the comfortable lives of the city’s fourteen thousand souls to-day.
Another civic monument of more than ordinary remark is the watch-tower, or belfry, a remainder of the cities of Flanders, a most unusual architectural accessory to find in these parts, the only other neighbouring example recalled being at Moulins in the Allier.
In spite of all this, Beaune’s historic tale has little of blood and thunder in its make-up; mostly its experiences have been of a peaceful nature, and only because the dukes so frequently took up their residence within its walls was it so admirably defended.
Beaune was originally the seat of the Burgundian Parliament. Henri IV, who was particularly wroth with all things Burgundian, treated the city with great severity after the revolt of Maréchal de Biron, razing its castle, one of the most imposing in the province, to the ground. As a part of the penalty Biron was put to death. On the scaffold he said to his assistants “Va t’en! Va t’en! Ne me touche pas qu’il soit temps.” Five minutes later his head fell into the basket and his king was avenged.
Since this time Beaune has been little heard of save in the arts of peace; there is no city in France more calm to-day, nor “plus bourgeoise” than Beaune, and by the use of the word bourgeoise one does not attempt irony.