Cathedral Cities of France

by R. W. S. Herbert Marshall; Hester Marshall

Here, however, as at Nevers, an up-and-down history has left little mark upon the town, and Freeman’s criticism is no more than the truth: “Except we went on purpose for the view, we should hardly go to Angoulême at all.” Saint Pierre at Angoulême is another example of the domed church that we left at Périgueux; but while the cupolas carry on the same half-Byzantine idea as prevails in Saint Front, the tower at the north transept brings in a train of thought which is distinctly Italian; moreover, at Périgueux all five cupolas are well seen from the outside, whereas here only one appears, to balance, or rather to contrast with, the north tower. Once inside the church, however, the other domes appear, roofing over the nave, which is without aisles, after the manner of the Angevin churches. In its original form the Cathedral of Saint Pierre was begun early in the twelfth century—about 1120—but it has been twice restored, once in 1654 and once, in the middle of the last century, by M. Abadie.

It was planned simply with a nave roofed by four cupolas and a choir with four radiating apsidal chapels. Later on in the century the love of building places of worship larger and more suited to the growing desire for an enriched ceremonial and elaborate ritual resulted in the addition of transepts surmounted by towers, which gave to the Cathedral of Saint Pierre at Angoulême the distinction of being one of the first, if not the first, of domed churches built on the plan of a Latin cross. Of the two towers only one, the northern tower, exists to this day, the southern transept being roofed by a flat conical dome. Certain further additions were made about the same time, such as the western façade with its sculptured portal. The black lines of the ashlar work, as if ruled with a lead pencil, detract very much from the impressiveness of the interior, as they give undue emphasis to the horizontal joints and arrest the eye in its first natural flight from floor to vault.

Saint Pierre at Poitiers is a church of a very different description. Certain characteristics it has which connect it with the Angevin style, but unlike most of the Angevin churches, it has aisles throughout. From the outside the appearance is that of a single mass, long and low, and very wide, for the aisles are nearly as broad as the nave; as at Bourges, there is no central tower at the crossing; but then at Bourges we have a great French church, a mighty mass rising sheer up from the ground, unbroken by any transept; here at Poitiers there are transepts, but the line of their towers comes below the line of the roof, and the effect given is one of length without height. Height is also wanting in the two unfinished and unequal west towers, and the east end literally falls flat, by reason of its bare terminal wall; the apse, to which one grows so accustomed in a French church, is seen only from the interior. It is oblong in plan, showing, as M. Viollet-le-Duc points out, no sign either of choir or sanctuary. The transepts are more like side chapels with altars on their eastern walls. There is no sign of northern influence, and the church is in many of its features unique and without imitators. Certain details of construction bring it into line with St. Maurice at Angers; it is an ordinary example of the churches of Poitou, with their three naves of equal height and Byzantine cupolas.

To the south of the Cathedral lies what alone would make Poitiers worth a visit, without the other churches which call for notice—the little Temple Saint-Jean, said to be the oldest baptistery in France, and dating probably from the fourth century. Once inside, we can realise the position of the officiating priest and the place occupied by the rooms where the converts disrobed themselves and whence they were conducted to the central basin, fed by a continual stream of water, where stood the bishop, the typical representative of the first Baptist. Freeman says: “It is the one monument of the earliest Christian times which lived on, so to speak, in its own person, and is not simply represented by a later building on the same site. It is the truest monument of Hilary.”

The name of Poitiers churches really is legion, but there are two more which should not be passed over—first, Notre-Dame-la-Grande, a beautiful Romanesque church standing in the market-place, with a long barrel-vault roof, unbroken by transepts, and terminated by towers ornamented with “fish-scale” pattern; next the church of Sainte Radégonde, the queen-saint of the sixth century, wife to the first Chlothar. She lived among the nuns of her own foundation of the Sainte Croix, and lies buried in the crypt of her church, which contains also a marble statue, erected indeed to her memory, but in the likeness of another queen who had few pretensions to saintliness—Anne of Austria, mother of Louis XIV.

Fortunatus also became a monk of Poitiers, that he might at least have the satisfaction of living near this queen, whom he worshipped.

The nuns of Sainte Croix went to England and founded there a sisterhood on the Green Croft near Cambridge, and this priory remained until the end of the fifteenth century, when the foundation was suppressed by Bishop Alcock, and became part of the corporation of Jesus College.

It is with a certain feeling of apology toward tradition and childish days that one leaves to the very last the mention of the Black Prince’s great fight. Not until we have reached fairly mature years do we realise that Poitiers has a cathedral and a baptistery and many churches; but there are very few of us who do not associate with the earliest days of history books the name of the “Battle of Poitiers, 1356.” More properly it is the Battle of Maupertuis, and Freeman indeed denies its right to “come into the immediate story of the city.”