On turning short round a steeply sloping hill, crowned with a goodly château, and clad on its sides with vines and all kinds of fruit-trees, we saw a deep vale running up into the mountains towards the west, and Clermont covering an eminence in the very midst. What a picturesque outline! How closely the houses stand together—how agreeably do they mix with the trees of the promenades; and how boldly the cathedral comes out from amongst them all! It is a lofty and richly-decorated pile of the fourteenth century; and tells of the labours and the wealth of a foreign land. Anglo-Norman skill and gold are said to have formed it; but however this may be, we know that it witnessed the presence of our gallant Black Prince, and that it once depended on Aquitaine, not on France. Yet what fancy can have possessed its builder to have constructed it of black stone? Why not have sought out the pure white lime-rocks of the flat country, or the grey granite of the hills? This is the deep lava of the neighbouring volcanic quarry; here basalt, and pumice, and cinder, and scoriæ, are pressed into the service of the architect; and there stands a proof of the goodness of the material—hard, sharp, and sonorous, as when the hammer first clinked against its edge five centuries ago.
"Entrons, Monsieur," said the fair Marquise, as I stood with her on the esplanade before the Cathedral—the Marquis had gone to see the commandant. "Entrez donc, 'tis the work of one of your compatriots; and here, though a heretic, you may consider yourself on English ground."
Now, positively, I had never thought a bit about Catholic or Protestant ever since I had quitted my own shores. All I knew was, that I was in a country that gave the same evidences of being Christian as the one that I had left; and that, however frivolous and profligate might be the appearance of its capital, in the rural districts, at least, the people were honest and devout. I was not come to quarrel, nor to find fault with millions of men for thinking differently from—but perhaps acting better than—myself. So we entered.
The old keeper of the benitier bowed his head, and extended his brush; the Marquise touched its extremity, crossed herself, and fell on her knees.
Thou fell spirit of pride, prejudice, ignorance, and mauvaise honte! why didst thou beset me at that moment, and keep me, like a stiff-backed puritan, erect in the house of God? Why, on entering within its sacred limits, did I not acknowledge my own unworthiness to come in, and reverence the sanctity of the place? No; there I stood, half-astonished, half-abashed while the Marquise continued on her knees and made her silent orisons. 'Tis an admirable and a touching custom: there is poetry and religion in the very idea. Cross not that threshold with unholy feet; or if thou dost, confess that unholiness, and beg forgiveness for the transgression ere thou advancest within the walls. I acknowledge that I felt ashamed of myself; yet I knew not what to do. One of the priests passed by: he looked first at the lady and next at me; then humbly bowing towards the altar, went out of the church. My embarrassment increased; but the Marquise arose. "It is good to pray here," she said, in a tone the mildness and sincerity of which made the reproach more cutting. "Let us go forward now."
"I will amend my manners," thought I; "'tis not well to be unconcerned in such things, and when so little makes all the difference."
"Is Monsieur fond of pictures? Look at that painting of the Baptist, how vigorously the figure is drawn! And see what an exquisite Virgin! Or turn your eyes to that southern window, and remark the flood of gorgeous light falling from it on the pillar by its side!"
I was thinking of any thing but the Virgin, or the window, or the light; I was thinking of my companion—so fair, and so devout. Had she not called me a heretic? Had she not already put me to the blush for my lack of veneration? Strange linking of ideas! "Thou art worthy to be an angel hereafter," said I to myself, "as truly thou resemblest what we call angels here."
We were once more at the western door; Madame crossed herself again; we went out.
"Pour l'amour de Dieu, mon bon monsieur!" "Que le ciel vous soit ouvert!" whined out half-a-dozen old crones with extended hands; their shrivelled fingers seeking to pluck at any thing they could get.