He had commenced to practise upon us his limited supply of English, when our intercourse was interrupted, during the temporary absence of Madame on domestic duties, by the advent, through the balcony leading to the street, of a small pinched boy and girl, both in advanced stages of tatters and dirt, who abruptly announced their intention of entertaining us with a "petit chanson." Taking our silence for consent, they stood, side by side, in the middle of the sanded floor, and, lifting grimy faces to the fly-spotted ceiling, proceeded, with one accord, to give vent to a series of extraordinarily discordant sounds, which, to the universal relief, were interrupted by the reappearance of Madame, who bustled into the room, and "shoved" the juvenile vocalists out of it, barely giving them time to collect largesse during their flight.
"Two young hooligans!" (apaches), she said severely, and, smoothing the ruffled yellow satin, sat down again to enjoy her "small vice."
That night I dreamed a dream. I was back in the twelfth century, as a brother, participating in a solemn mass in the great abbey of Cluny. The sanctuary and the transepts of the mighty church were flooded in the soft light, that, streaming from gold and jewelled candelabras, flickered upon the bent forms of the dark-robed priests, and threw into strong relief the flutings of the pilasters that adorned the huge piers, and the strange birds and beasts that gazed from the foliage of the capitals. Above us, the lines of the soaring vault were lost in eternal shadows, and before us a thousand lights and jewels blazed upon the High Altar, where Hugues himself, gloriously arrayed in cope and mitre, was kneeling before the holy rood. The solemn chanting of the mass sobbed and echoed down the lofty nave, across the shadowy aisles, and up to where, upon the eastern dome, the Eternal Father Himself, cloud-borne, among the symbols of His creation, lifted the Right Hand in blessing, and laid His Left Hand upon the Book sealed with seven seals. Suddenly, while our souls were pouring themselves out in rapt adoration, a fearful detonation resounded above our heads. Startled, terrified, we looked up. As we did so, while yet the echoes of the shock were rolling through the upper darkness, a series of crackling explosions shook the whole fabric to its foundations. The floor heaved, the vaulting above our heads cracked from side to side, the huge pillars trembled and tottered. Then an awful cry of alarm was stilled into the louder silence of horror, as the whole mighty building swayed, and towers, columns, vaults, and capitals collapsed, and, with an appalling crash and a roar like the fall of many waters, buried all in universal ruin.... I awoke—to find myself yet alive, in the prosaic twentieth century, while from the house opposite proceeded uproarious sounds of revelry by night, carried on with that sustained exuberance which the Latin races alone can impart to their festivals. It was not Cluny that was falling again, but furniture, glasses and crockery. Then it all came back to me—the tale I had heard of the impending marriage of Yvonne. They were worthily celebrating the occasion. Blessings upon her! I rose and leaned out of the casement. Two or three songs were being sung, simultaneously, to the accompaniment of a running chorus of applause, and an obbligato with the chairs of the salon.
Until the orgy was at an end, I lay awake, meditating upon my dream, and finding, to my sorrow, a real historical analogy between that tipsy revel and the ever-to-be-regretted fall of the stones of Cluny.
The next morning, I started on my bicycle for Berzé-le Chatel, a castle about twelve miles from Cluny, on the road to Mâcon. On the steps of the hotel I was accosted affably, in the English tongue, by a gentleman, whose face was quite unfamiliar to me. He assured me, however, that he had met us at Bourg en Bresse; and I, being unable either to deny or to affirm the assertion, must needs listen. Having finished with the weather, he paused, turned, waved his hand towards the gray abbey tower, that rose above our heads, and said majestically, with an air of imparting valuable information; "C'est ancien." Being still heavy for want of sleep, I just cursed him inwardly, and went my ways.
As you mount the road that winds upwards towards Berzé, there opens out a most lovely view over the green valley of the Grosne, whose windings are marked by tall poplars, through which shine the distant towers and hills of Cluny. Then come four or five kilometres of typical Burgundian climbing, before you gain the crest of the ridge, and find yourself looking down, and away for mile after mile, until, between a succession of rugged hills, that lie like prehistoric monsters couchant towards the southern sun, among golden vineyards dotted with ancient villages and immemorial walls, the serpenting, poplar-fringed stream is lost to sight, where at last, far off, in the blue distance, the valley merges into the great plain of the Saône. To the left, on a spur of the hill, guarding proudly the hamlet that shelters at its base, rise the time-bronzed towers of the great castle of Berzé.
The Castle of Berzé, now the residence of the Comte de Milly, became one of the defensive fortresses of the Abbey and town of Cluny, according to the treaty of 1250, which, through the intervention of Blanche de Castille, set forth the respective powers, and adjusted the somewhat strained relations of the lords of Berzé and the Abbots of Cluny. It gave to the Seigneurs of Berzé-le Chatel, the right to administer justice over the abbatial lords in the neighbourhood of the castle, including Berzé-la Ville. Moreover, it bound the tenants of these lands to come together "at the clamour of the castle," to defend and guard it, in return for which assistance, they were granted, in war time, the right of shelter within the fortress, both for themselves and their goods. From that time forward, the Abbots and Seigneurs were on such good terms, that some of the latter subscribed liberally to the Abbey, and even obtained the privilege of burial within its precincts.