Percy Allen

“ But you will stay longest before the porch, the most daring and most completely successful that exists.
The entrance is beneath a flattened arch, through a panelled door with a beautiful forged-iron knocker and alms-box; all protected by a glorious three-gabled hood, crocketed and pinnacled, and built into the main wall, from which it projects without visible support. The pendants have angels, bearing shields, with the arms of Nicholas Rolin and his wife. The hood is slated in grey, as is the roof, and the blue vault beneath is starred with golden stars, symbolizing the little heaven within. ”

“ Here we leave the cathedral of Autun, comforting ourselves with the assurance that, though we pass no more beneath its magnificent porch, we shall meet sister churches, not less beautiful, in other ancient towns of Burgundy. Meanwhile, before descending the steep old street that leads downwards, by the Hotel Rolin, to the centre of modern Autun, wander awhile through the narrow ways of the cathedral precincts, where still, as of old, the priests, living relics of a shadowy past, muttering into their breviaries, pace up and down before many a curious Gothic building. ”

“ Wandering dream-hunter that I am, it is there that I find myself gazing, at these shining, shining waters, and beyond them, to the real Burgundy, to the memories of her glorious past still lingering in the Palace of Dijon, and the mother abbeys of the west. While my wife sketched Nantua, and envied the hay-makers their arms, I thought of Cluny and of Citeaux, of things, in fact, symbolized in that Romanesque tower below. ”

“ Again the hunt plunges into the forest of Velours, in pursuit of the tireless wolf. The sun has set behind the great trees; the forest shadows are blotted out in the darkness of the night. 'Tis the hour of solemn thought.
"Friend," says the white horseman, softly to Gaston, "this has been an ill day's work: you have mocked God, you have insulted his minister; you have trampled upon the shepherdess and her flock; you have ravaged the hermit's field, and you have struck the face of the poor. Turn, I entreat you, a suppliant eye to heaven, breathe a word of repentance towards God." ”

“ The idyllic and pastoral effects of Greuze's art, harmonize well with the unpretentiousness of the town of Tournus, and also with one of its most delightful features, the meadow-walks that border the Saône.
Here, at sunset, when you have gazed your fill at the mysterious towers of the abbey, rising above the roofs of the town, you may turn to watch the opalesque lights in the quivering water, that, doubling in its mirror the line of distant poplars, slides between reedy banks, between wide stretches of green pasture, where the pale herds browse. Scarcely a sound breaks the stillness ”

“ Eudes, Duke of Burgundy, William, Count of Chalon, and other brave nobles, each hurriedly putting down his chlamys, and arming himself with sword or stick, began to cut and thrust, right and left, among the crowd, to open a passage for the cortège, which, with great pomp, was transporting the holy relics to the church of St. Lazarus. This church, too, was so gorged with humanity, that the bearers, breathless with fatigue and fright, and despairing of ever reaching the altar, set down their precious burden upon some wooden planks, where it long remained in the middle of the nave. ”

“ The Grande Rue, by which you enter the town from the east, is so narrow, that it affords no glimpse of what lies on either hand; and it was with unexpected suddenness, that, turning to the right, after a few minutes of wandering, we stood before the Hotel de Bourgogne, and looked up from the little, white building, at the great, grey, octagonal tower and the wall of masonry, that, we knew, must be the last survival of the Abbey Church itself. At that moment we were standing on the site of the nave; but we did not know it. It takes time to orient oneself. ”

“ The apsidal chapels, the ambulatory and lofty choir, leading the eye upward, stage by stage, to the glorious dome tiled in red, green, and yellow, give a quite Burgundian effect of satisfying solidity, and of colouring that, though, on the whole, rather cold, is harmonious in certain lights.
As usual, the heavy flying buttresses, that fail to fly, are an architectural defect.
The gem of the exterior is the early thirteenth-century, triple, open-aisled porch, of two bays, with gloriously carved panelled doors of the fifteenth century. ”

“ Then the hunter realizes that his good angel has deserted him. Fearfully he looks towards the dark figure on his left; a shiver of mortal dread shakes every limb, and the sweat of death rises damp upon his face. The arms of the black one extend and seize him. He feels his flesh pierced and torn by talons more powerful than a lion's, sharper than those of a vulture. He roars with pain and terror; so bewildered is he, that no cry to God comes from him, nor, with the holy sign, does he invoke the name of Jesus.
Still grasping his prey, the black horseman strikes the ground with his lance. ”

“ In the tympanum of the door is the famous sculpture by Geraldus, respresenting the Last Judgment. Standing at the foot of the noble flight of steps leading up to the stately hall, where of old the lepers, and the horde of unclean, torn between the love of life and its miseries, must have trembled and hoped before that awful vision of judgment, we first realised that here is one of the most majestic and impressive ante-chambers that Burgundy, or France, ever built at the gates of her houses of God. ”

“ Modern Autun is a town of respectable dimensions; but here, within the Roman Enceinte, the few dwelling houses stand isolated among their own gardens; and ancient, immemorial trees cast their shadows over quiet spots once resounding with the hum and rumour of Roman life.
All those who would visualize Burgundian history will be grateful that, in spite of the destructive enmity of her foes, and the scarcely less destructive ignorance and folly of certain of her inhabitants, enough of Augustodunum is left to enable us to group round her our mental pictures of this part of Gallo-Roman Burgundy. ”

“ Away to the north-west, behind the tossing boughs of the poplars, the setting sun is adorning with changing purples the flanks of the distant hills. The broadest of those peaks, crested with dark foliage, is none other than our old friend the Mount.
We turned to the opposite side of the valley. Before us were symbols of two later periods of Burgundy's prosperity—the modern city of Autun, seated proudly upon the lower slopes of a mountain throne, and, high above the roofs, the great mass of the cathedral of St. Lazare lifting her Gothic spire to the sky. ”

“ The ecclesiastics gathered round her, putting questions.
"My fathers, I have but one boon to ask of you. Deign to take me to the king. It is with him that I would speak." So the fathers brought her to the king's presence, within the monastery. The Prince received her kindly; but Bertille hesitated, her beautiful eyes downcast.
"Speak," said Gontran, smiling; "A maid as fair as you are has little to fear."
"Prince," replied the young girl, "I know not how it may have pleased God to fashion me; but if it be, indeed, beauty that He has given me—then is beauty a fatal gift?" ”

“ Crossing this grassy, stoutly-walled terrace, you pass beneath another fortified gate, where scarlet creepers cling, to the court yard of the castle, bright with beds of fuschias, and masses of ball-shaped white flowers. Shade is given by a great walnut-tree; and here, too, is an adjunct, indispensable now, as in mediæval times,—a well. The façade of the house shows, upon its soft, gray stone, the typical cupid's bow windows of the fifteenth century. Across the dwarf wall, the view extends away, eastward, over a lower terrace, to the trimly-kept kitchen gardens, and ancient out-buildings ”

“ To one who cares for what was best in the middle ages, no place in France, no place in Europe, unless, perhaps, it be Citeaux, can exercise an equal charm. But, as we shall see, though Citeaux rivalled, and ultimately eclipsed Cluny in power, and, through the influence of St. Bernard, outshone her, not in material splendour, but by the dazzling whiteness of her purity, the historic interest of the site of the Cistercian house, there, by the deserted woods and wind-ruffled pools of the eastern plain, could not survive, in the minds of many, the destruction of the ancient monastery. ”

“ 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. ”

“ What was once a glorious building, with a Romanesque nave and a lovely, late thirteenth-century transept and apse, lightened with carved foliage, capitals, and graceful, slender shafts, is now a roofless ruin. Wild fruit trees grow in the transepts; the floor of the nave is paved with a litter of mossy stones, beneath which the ivy and the brambles take root; cowslips and purple violets jewel the apse with delights beyond the art of even Gothic sculptors; through the roofless arches you look up at the whispering forest-pines. ”

“ Plain for all to see are the flamboyant church with its octagonal lantern, and, at the back of it—best approached by a charming staircase such as we have neither time nor skill to design now-a-days—the old round tower of the Motte Forte. In the central Place is a charming white, turretted, and gabled house, reminding one of the Colombier at Beaune, and close to it, beside the Marché, are fifteenth-century, cupid-bow windows, and an old Gothic arch leading into a Gothic courtyard. ”

“ There is something good at every turn—a high-pitched, pierced, white gable, from which black window-eyes look out upon a dark, brown-green, mottled roof touched with red; a wall with a warm tiled hood; a glimpse, through a trefoiled gate, of a miniature Renaissance garden, with box and ivy edged borders, fruit trees jewelled with white blossom, and a lovely, pierced balustrade, leading up to a Kate-Greenaway House. ”

“ Philippe le Hardi, clothed in a white robe and a blue mantle lined with ermine, lies, with folded hands, upon a slab of black marble. Two angels with outspread wings hold the helmet over his cushioned head, and his feet rest upon a lion's back. The form and face are realistically done, even to the veins on the hands. But, so far, all is conventional, traditional. It is when we look at the white-robed figures beneath the sculptured tabernacles of the gallery, that we recognise a new motif, dramatic realism, in the monumental art of the period. ”

“ On a prancing steed, decked with rich draperies, bearing the arms of Burgundy, its beautiful head plumed with tossing white feathers, rode Marguerite, wearing the ducal crown. Through the folds of her silver veil, spectators could obtain a glimpse of a gracious face, and long fair tresses. Her dress was of crimson velvet, embroidered in gold, showing upon the skirt the escutcheons of Austria and Savoy. In one hand she held her reins, the other was lifted in gracious salutation to the crowd. At her right ambled the Duke Philibert, proud of the reception that Bourg was according his lady. ”

“ When there were no more relics to work for, the monks turned to what was next to hand, and soon, from the crosses, from the pastoral baton, from the candelabra of gold and silver, of crystal and ivory, from the draped altars, from the pontifical mitres, even, diamonds and rubies flashed, opals sparkled with their changing rays, while, sometimes, a softly-shining pearl dropped from the Abbot's sandal, as he stepped into the blaze of light in which the great altar was bathed. ”

“ Passing through the lower storey of the gloomy portal, that might well have served to imprison the bodies of men—just as, symbolically, it was a shadowy ante-chamber, a purgatory of souls not yet fitted for the full light of Paradise—we emerged into a church whose rugged strength had in it something awful and menacing, suggestive of a period even more barbaric than that eleventh century in which the nave and narthex were built. ”

“ There came the sound of a blow, an awful cry, and Duke Amalon, his skull cloven, lay prostrate at the feet of the maid.
With a crash, the doors flew open; five poniards were raised over Bertille's head. The Duke saw them, before darkness swam into his dying eyes.
"Slay her not," he whispered, "Slay her not, but let her go. This is God's hand; so should virtue strike." He shuddered in every limb; then lay still in death.
The great council at St. Marcel was nearing its end. ”