Holidays in Eastern France by Matilda Betham-Edwards (best free ebook reader TXT) 📖

goodly contingent of pic-nic parties that afternoon and when about four o'clock we prepared to return home, the place was beginning to wear a very animated appearance. The moon had risen ere we reached our destination, and, seen in the tender summer twilight, the valley of the Doubs looked even more beautiful than in the glowing sunshine of mid-day. There is no monotony in these vine-clad hills, rugged mountain sides wooded from peak to base, close shut valleys, and bright blue winding rivers; whether seen under the dropping shadows of a shifting sky, or under the glow of sunset, their quiet beauties delight the eye of the mere spectator and commend themselves to the artist. Perhaps no Department in France is richer in rivers than Le Doubs, every landscape has its bit of river, rivulet or canal.

To get an idea of the commanding position of Besancon, we must climb one of these lofty green heights, that of Notre Dame des Buis, for instance, an hour's drive from the town. Having reached a sharp eminence, crowned by a chapel and covered with box-wood, we obtain a splendid view of the natural and artificial defences which make Besancon, strategically speaking, one of the strongest positions in France. Caesar, in his 'Commentaries' speaks almost with enthusiasm of the admirable [Footnote: "Oppidum maximum Sequauorum, natura loci, sic muniebatur ut magnam ad ducendum bellum daret facultatem: propterea quod flumen Dubis ut circino circumductum, pene totum oppidum cingit; reliquum spatium [quod non est amplius pedum DC. qua flumen intermittit,] mons continet magna altitudine, ita ut radices ejus montis ex utra parte ripae fluminis continguat." De Bello Gallico, Lib. I., chap, xxxviii. A marvellous bit of accurate description this, and to be commended to writers of guide-books.] position of Vesontio, the capital of the Sequani, and, when he became master of it, the defeat of Vercingetorix was a mere matter of time. But what would the great general have said, could be have seen his citadel thus dwarfed into insignificance by Vauban's magnificent fortifications? and what would be Vauban's amazement could he behold the stupendous works of modern strategists?

Beyond these proudly-cresting heights, every peak bristling with its defiant fort, stretches a vast panorama; the mountain chains of the Jura, the Vosges, the snow-capped Swiss Alps, the plains of Burgundy, all these lie under our eye, clearly defined in the transparent atmosphere of this summer afternoon. The campanula white and blue, with abundance of lovely tinted deep orange potentills and rich carmine dianthus, were growing at our feet, with numerous other wild flowers. The pretty pink mallow, cultivated in gardens, grows everywhere, but not so luxuriantly here as about Morteau, and the serviceberry and barberry have almost disappeared. This is indeed a paradise for botanists, but their travels should be made earlier in the year. The walks and drives in the neighbourhood of Besancon are countless, but that to the little valley of the. World's End, "Le Bout du Monde," must on no account be omitted.

Again we follow the limpid waters of the winding Doubs; on one side hanging vineyards and orchards, on the other lines of poplars, above these dimpled green hills and craggy peaks are reflected in the still transparent water. We reach the pretty village of Beurre after a succession of landscapes, "l'un plus joli que l'autre," as our French neighbours say, and then come suddenly upon a tiny valley shut in by lofty rocks, aptly called the World's End of these parts, since here the most adventuresome pedestrian must retrace his steps--no possibility of scaling these mountain-walls, from which a cascade falls so musically; no outlet from these impregnable walls into the pastoral country on the other side. We must go back by the way we have come, first having penetrated to the heart of the valley by a winding path, and watched the silvery waters tumble down from the grey rocks that seem to touch the blue sky overhead.

The great charm of these landscapes is the abundance of water to be found everywhere, and no less delightful is the sight of springs, fountains, and pumps in every village. Besancon is noted for its handsome fountains, some of which are real works of art, but the tiniest hamlets in the neighbourhood, and, indeed, throughout the whole department of the Doubs, are as well supplied as the city itself. We know what an aristocratic luxury good water is in many an English village, and how too often the poor have no pure drinking water within reach at all; here they have close at hand enough and to spare of the purest and best, and not only their share of that, but of the good things of the earth as well, a bit of vegetable and fruit-garden, a vineyard, and, generally speaking, a little house of their own. Here, as a rule, everybody possesses something, and the working watchmakers have, most of them, their suburban gardens, to which they resort on Sundays and holidays. Besancon is very rich in suburban retreats, and nothing can be more enticing than the cottages and villas nestled so cosily along the vine-clad hills that surround it on every side. It is, above all, rich in public walks and promenades, one of these, the Promenade Chamart--a corruption of Champ de Mars--possessing some of the finest plane trees in Europe--a gigantic bit of forest on the verge of this city--of wonderful beauty and stateliness. These veteran trees vary in height from thirty to thirty-five yards. The Promenade Micaud, so called after its originator, Mayor of Besancon, in 1842, winds along the river-side, and affords lovely views at every turn. Then there are so-called "squares" in the heart of the town, where military bands play twice a week, and nursemaids and their charges spend the afternoons. Perhaps no city of its size in all France, Besancon numbers only sixty thousand inhabitants, is better off in this respect, whilst it is so enriched by vine-clad hills and mountains that the country peeps in everywhere.

Considered from all points of view it is a very attractive place to live in, and possesses all the resources of the capital on a small scale; an excellent theatre, free art schools, and an academy of arts, literary, scientific and artistic societies, museums, picture galleries, lastly, one of the finest public libraries in France, of which a word or two more later on. First of all something must be said of the city itself, which is especially interesting to the archaeologist and historian, and is very little frequented by English tourists. Alternately Roman, Burgundian, Arlesian, Anglo-French, and Spanish, Besancon has seen extraordinary vicissitudes. In the twelfth century it was constituted a free city or Commune, and was not incorporated into the French kingdom till the reign of Louis XIV. Traces of these various occupations remain, and as we enter in at one gate and pass out of another, we have each successive chapter of its history suggested to us in the noble Porte Noire or Roman triumphal arch; the ancient cathedral first forming a Roman basilica; the superb semi-Italian, semi-Spanish Palais Granvelle, the Hotel-de-Ville with its handsome sixteenth century facade; the Renaissance council chamber in magnificently carved oak of the Palais de Justice--all these stamp the city with the seal of different epochs, and lend majesty to the modern, handsome town into which the Besancon of former times has been transformed. The so-called Porte Taillee a Roman gate hewn out of the solid rock, forms an imposing entry to the city, the triumphal arch before mentioned leading to the Cathedral only. Here most picturesquely stand the columns and other fragments of the Roman theatre excavated by the learned librarian, M. Castan, a few years back. The Archbishop allows no one to see the art-treasures contained in the archiepiscopal palace, among which is a fine Paul Veronese; but the Cathedral is fortunately open, and there the art-lovers may rejoice in perhaps one of the most beautiful Fra Bartolomeos in the world, unfortunately hung too high to be well seen. Exteriorly the Cathedral offers little interest, but the interior is very gorgeous--a dazzling display of gold ornaments, stained glass, pictures, mosaics, and ecclesiastical riches of all kinds. The other churches of Besancon are not interesting, architecturally speaking, though picturesque, especially St. Pierre, with its clock-tower conspicuously seen from every part of the town. The archaeological museum is considered the best arranged, as also, in some respects, it is the richest in France, and contains some wonderfully beautiful things, notably the Celtic collection found at Alaise, in the Department of the Jura--supposed by some authorities to be the Alesia of Julius Caesar, whilst others have decided in favour of Alise Sainte Reine, in Auvergne, where a statue has been raised to the noble Vercingetorix. There are also Gallo-Roman objects of great interest and beauty collected from Mandeure (Epanuoduorum) and other parts of Franche-Comte. Such collections must be studied in detail to be appreciated, and I only mention them as affording another illustration of the principle of decentralization carried on in France--each city and town being enriched and embellished, as far as possible, and made a centre artistic, scientific, and literary. The museum contains amongst other things a curious collection of old watches, the speciality of Besancon, of which more will be said hereafter. But what was my astonishment and delight, as I sauntered by the little cases under the window containing coins, medals, and antiquities of various kinds, to come suddenly upon a label bearing the inscription:--


"La Montre de Vergniaud."


There it lay, the little gold watch of the great Girondin orator, choicest, most precious relic of the Revolution, historic memento unrivalled for interest and romantic associations! Vergniaud's watch! The very words take one's breath away, yet there it was, close under my eyes. All those of my readers who are well acquainted with the history of the Revolution in detail, will remember the Last Banquet of the Girondins, that memorable meeting together of the martyrs of liberty, each one condemned to die next morning for his political creed. The Girondins ruthlessly swept away, the last barrier removed between principle and passion, and the Revolutionary tide was free to work destruction at its will; of these, Vergniaud was undoubtedly the greatest, and anything and everything connected with him has a magic interest. After the banquet, which was held with much state and ceremony in a hall of the Conciergerie, now shown to travellers, the twenty-seven Girondins discoursed in Platonic fashion upon the subjects nearest their hearts, namely, the future of Republican ideas and the immortality of the soul. This solemn symposium brought to an end, each occupied himself differently, some in making their last testament, others in deep thought, one in calm sleep; and it was during the interval that Vergniaud with a pin scratched inside the case of his elegant little gold watch the name of Adele, and having done this he handed it to a trustworthy gaoler to be delivered next day. A few hours later his head had fallen on the guillotine, but his last request was duly delivered to the Adele for whom he designed it, a little girl of thirteen who was to have become his wife. She became in due time a happy wife and mother, and bequeathed Vergniaud's historic watch to a friend, who generously bestowed it upon the Besancon Museum. Charles Nodier, in his "Dernier Banquet des Girondins," gives an eloquent history of this watch, which most likely he saw and handled as a youth. Vergniaud is undoubtedly one of the most striking and imposing figures in the Revolution, and everything concerning him is of deepest interest. His lofty soul, no more than any other of that epoch, could foresee how the French Republic would be established peaceably and friendly after torrents of blood and crimes and errors unspeakable.

The picture-galleries, arranged in fine handsome rooms adjoining, contain