After two or three days among the relics of Pagan civilization, we were ready to turn our attention to Christian monuments of the town, and it was with our expectations fully aroused that we left what might be described as the neutral ground of the HÔtel St. Louis, and climbed the busy streets that lead within the castrum to the Cathedral of Saint Lazarus, in which the relics of the saint are enshrined.

Readers unfamiliar with the ProvenÇal legends will ask, not unnaturally, how the body of Christ's friend came to the city of Autun. The answer is that, according to tradition, Lazarus, Martha, Mary, and others, driven from Palestine after the crucifixion of Christ, and cast adrift in an open boat, were blown, on the wings of a great wind, westward across the Mediterranean, and eventually, by miraculous aid, were cast ashore, unhurt, on the coast of Provence. This land they proceeded to evangelize, Lazarus finding his way to Marseilles, of which city he became the first bishop.[50]

Nearly a thousand years later, at the end of the 10th century, the body was translated to Autun, through the efforts of one Gerrard, the then bishop, and was housed in the basilica of St. Nazaire. So holy a relic naturally demanded a worthy shrine, and already, during the first quarter of the 12th century, we find proposals on foot for the erection of a new church for the housing of the body.

Hamerton, indeed, says that the work was planned in the 11th century; the original idea being due to Robert i., Duke of Burgundy.[51] This building, the existing cathedral of St. Lazarus, begun in 1120, was ready for consecration by Pope Innocent II. when he passed through Autun, in 1132.

Although the work was not completed at this time, the porch, in particular, being wanting, the Bishop of Autun resolved to take advantage of the great gathering of VÉzelay, for the preaching of the second crusade, to announce the translation of the relics. King Louis VII. attended in person, and the ceremony was performed with great Éclat, on Sunday, October 20th, 1146. Four weeks of continuous rain had given place to warm sunshine, and enormous crowds of pilgrims gathered to celebrate the event, among whom were Eudes ii., Duke of Burgundy, and many bishops and nobles. After the all-night ceremonies which preceded the principal function, two stonemasons, says the old chronicle, were taken into the church to effect the opening of the tomb. The stone was raised, the vault exposed, and, to the sound of the te deum, those present pressed forward to venerate the relics.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, followed with the fervent religious emotion characteristic of the time, Humbert de Bage wrapped the body of St. Lazarus, together with the winding-sheet and the deerskin bag which covered it, in a silken covering, and with new straps bound the precious bundle upon a wooden bearer destined for the solemn translation. Meanwhile, outside the church, an immense crowd was awaiting admission. Soon the pressure became so great that the gates of the church were forced, and the mob broke in with such violence that the iron grill barring the sanctuary would have been broken, had it not been supported by sheer muscular effort on the part of the clerks. "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."[52]

During the whole of the following week, the crowd surged round the holy relics, and miraculous cures followed one another with such rapidity that the priests engaged in chanting Te Deums, in gratitude for each healing, were unable to keep pace with the calls made upon them. While prayer, praise, and cries of "Miracle!" were resounding through the church, blood was being shed freely outside. A trivial quarrel between some nobles had strewn the neighbouring streets with wounded men.[53] Such contrasts were a common feature of the age.

The tomb of Lazarus occupied a position in the apse, behind the great altar. According to the evidence of an eye-witness, it was a monument of unusual magnificence, built in the form of a church, constructed of porphyry, and black and white marble. Its sculpture comprised a recumbent figure of Lazarus, in his winding-sheet, with Christ's word, written below it, "Lazare veni foras (Lazarus, come forth)." Among other figures were those of Christ, Saint Peter, Saint Paul, and, before the head of Lazarus, two statues in stone representing Martha and Mary, one of them lifting to her nose a handkerchief, recalling the "jam foetet" (by this time he stinketh) of the Gospel story. This priceless monument, interesting to all, doubly interesting to those who believe that it did, indeed, house the relics of the friend of Christ, was destroyed during the course of improvements carried out in the choir of the cathedral during the 18th century; but three of the figures—those of St. Andrew, Martha and Mary, are still preserved in the little MusÉe Lapidaire of Autun, of which collection they are the gems. A glance at them reveals the fact that, even at this early epoch, the art of sculpture was well developed in Autun. The rapt expression of the countenances, the graceful lines of the draperies, the comparative delicacy of the execution, without sacrifice of strength, recall something of the GrÆco-Roman tradition, that probably had never perished wholly from the Roman city. That these figures, the work of one Martin, were the result of no mere sporadic outbreak of genius is proved, I think, by the rapport they bear with the work of Geraldus, which, when seen in the apse of the MusÉe, they instantly recall.

But before succumbing to the attractions of that unique porch of the cathedral of Autun, we could not resist the temptation to get a first general impression of a building which, we had always been told, was one of the best to be found, even in this land of beautiful Romanesque churches. The exterior effect, however, is not entirely satisfactory, especially if the approach be made by one of the streets leading up from the middle of the town. The western towers are, indeed, still Romanesque; but they have been re-handled, not too happily; and the unity of the whole has been lost by the substitution, for the Romanesque work, of Gothic side chapels, and pierced parapets of varying designs, with a profusion of mediÆval and classical ornament, in the spandrels and below the parapets, all utterly at variance with the simple grandeur of the original building. Moreover the north-east door, in the tympanum of which was a magnificent piece of sculpture representing the raising of Lazarus, has been replaced by a heavy production, of the revolution period, in the latest and ugliest classical style. The 15th century spire,—a beautiful piece of work, somewhat after the manner of that of Lichfield Cathedral,—has a rather squat appearance from this lower side of the church. Its grace and lightness, and the harmony of its proportions, are better seen from the higher lane to the south-east; but the finish of the spire, is not, in my judgment, wholly successful. The crocketing is somewhat overdone, and the decoration rather fussy in treatment.

The original Romanesque tower, which was probably in some danger of collapse, was at last destroyed by fire. Cardinal Rolin, brother of Nicholas Rolin, whom we shall meet later on, rebuilt the new tower in 1480. The state of the foundations necessitated lightness for the new work, which relies for its security almost wholly upon excellence of construction. The spire, built without any internal support whatever, is said to be only seven inches thick at the base, and six towards the summit.[54] Towards the close of the 13th century, probably, the walls of the nave, threatening to collapse under the vault, were supported by flying buttresses surmounted by heavy pinnacles. These additions, lightened during the 15th century, almost complete the transformation of the exterior effect from that of a Romanesque to a late Gothic church.

The greatest glory of Autun Cathedral, is its magnificent two-storied, barrel vaulted, open porch with aisled bays, forming the western entrance. 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.

This porch owes its existence indirectly to Clunisian influence, and directly to the cult of Saint Lazarus. Among the thousands of pilgrims drawn every year, for solace or for healing, to the sacred tomb, were many ladres, or lepers, whose admission to the interior of the church would have been a menace to the public health. Under these circumstances, the Chapter obtained from Hugues III., Duke of Burgundy, in 1178, permission to construct a porch, on the condition that it should not be of a military character.[55] This work was duly carried out; but it must not be supposed that the original was as we see it now. The first porch did not extend as far as the two side doors, but comprised a vault supported on two walls, whose position is now represented by two pairs of columns. The ground adjoining was levelled up to the porch, and the entrance was through an arch pierced in the eastern wall.[56] Some years later, as the cult of St. Lazarus increased, the porch was modified to its present design. The magnificent flight of steps, built in the 18th century, was the only improvement that the colossal foolishness of the revolutionary iconoclasts succeeded in effecting in the cathedral.

The upper storey of the porch, and the niche in the facade above it, is also interesting, as being entirely characteristic of the architecture of this part of France, though limited to a very short period, from about 1130 to 1200.[57] In the 13th century, with the advent of developed Gothic, these appendages disappear.

The magnificent central doorway, taken as a whole, is the best example of its kind, both as regards design and sculpture, to be seen in Burgundy, with the exception of VÉzelay, which, politically, belongs rather to the Nivernais than to the land of the Dukes.

The God in Judgment of the tympanum, one of the most ancient and complete of the many examples of the subject to be seen in France, is striking, terrifying almost, in vigour, in that dramatic power which, even so early, was one of the marked characteristics of Burgundian sculpture. With hands outstretched He sits between the elect and the damned. On His left, in the place of torment, the sinners, weighed in the angel balance, and found wanting, are handed over, for torment, to the powers of darkness, whose bony claws, reaching down, fasten upon more victims from a sinful world. The hideous malignity upon the faces of these tormentors, the twisted, tortured postures of the despairing victims, all heighten the effect, and contrast strongly with the still somewhat rigid, though easier, lines of the other picture, where mighty angels are lifting into a heavenly mansion the spirits of the redeemed.

Not less effective, probably, in execution and symbolism, was the figure of the door-post upon which rests this early conception of the world's destiny. Here was Lazarus, who triumphed over death, and beside him, his sisters, Martha and Mary, symbols of two aspects of personal service. The original statues were destroyed at the Revolution, but the lines of their substitutes, among the most successful modern imitations that I know, have still, in form and drapery, something of Hellenic delicacy, suggesting that the original sculptor's eye was lit by the dying radiance of Grecian art, or by the herald beams of an earlier, unremembered Renaissance. The author of this ancient sculpture is known. He has written his name above the lintel: "Gisilbertus hoc fecit."

I need not enumerate all the other subjects of the carvings on this beautiful porch; the reader will not have any difficulty in discovering some of them for himself—Jerome and his Lion; Hagar and Ishmael driven out by Abraham; Balaam and the Ass; the Presentation in the Temple; and, on the archivolt, the signs of the Zodiac.

It is curious that Voltaire appears to have had some influence, good and bad—the good was involuntary—over the destiny of this porch of Autun. While staying at the ChÂteau of Montjeu, where he attended the marriage of the Duc de Richelieu, he condescended to visit the cathedral, and so ridiculed the barbarism of its architecture, and especially of its sculptured adornments, that the Canons had the whole of the great tympanum plastered over, to hide the composition of the Last Judgment. In doing this, they preserved it from damage during the Revolution, and it remained so hidden for seventy years.[58] Eventually, after its existence had been entirely forgotten, an intelligent inhabitant of the city suspected that there might be carving beneath the plaster, and made the great discovery.

One glance round the interior of the church is sufficient to show that, in spite of the loss of unity caused by the addition of a Flamboyant Gothic JubÉ, and Gothic side chapels, we have here the best of lower Burgundian churches, modelled on Cluny, and comprising all the characteristics of the classical Romanesque style; although the pointed arches of the bays of the nave, and of the high vault, not quite a barrel vault, might lead some people to suppose, wrongly, that the church is essentially Gothic. The fluted pilasters on the piers, a feature which we shall see repeated in many a church hereabouts, and the triforium gallery, imitated obviously from the arcade of the Porte d'Arroux, with further fluted pillars between pierced arches, and the cornice above, all show how persistent was the influence of the Roman tradition. Another feature that strikes one immediately is the stunted height of the triforium and clerestory, a fact easily accounted for when we remember that the Burgundians of the 12th century, while they liked a lofty first storey, had not developed the art of buttressing sufficiently well to enable them to lift their vaults very high. Even so the settlement, in an outward direction, above the springing of the aisle arches, is very noticeable, and, as we have already seen, necessitated the insertion of flying buttresses to prevent collapse within two hundred years of their erection.

Yet, despite these drawbacks, an observer, standing in one of the transepts, and looking across at the other transept, and down the nave, cannot but be struck by the grandeur of the whole effect; by the lightened solidity, the well-tempered massiveness which is characteristic of Burgundian architecture, as it is of Burgundy as a whole.

I am not one of those who consider that the building art of the 12th century, here or elsewhere, can ever rival the developed Gothic in inspiring power, as a setting for, or as a symbol of, the mystical spirit of Christianity, and I think that this opinion applies especially to the work of these Burgundian architects, whose adherence to classic detail must inevitably recall, to cultured minds, the Hellenic myths with which they are historically associated, and carry down an architectural tradition of horizontal effect, utterly at variance with the dominance of vertical line that was to be one of the main characteristics of 13th century development.

This clashing of two styles, however, has been tempered in Autun Cathedral by the insertion at the transepts, between the piers, of round shafts which carry the eye up to the vault, and break the severity of the square angles of the crossing.

The top of the little spiral staircase in the north transept, is the best place from which to see the detail of the triforium arcade, the decoration of the archivolts, and the band of roses above them. Here, too, is to be had a good view of the domed vault.

The eastern end of the cathedral has no ambulatory, but is in the form of a circular apse, with eastern chapels. In the 15th and 16th centuries were carried out the drastic changes that have completely altered the character of the exterior, and destroyed the unity of the cathedral. At this time the Romanesque apse underwent considerable modifications; and, two centuries later, further futile improvements were made. The western towers were practically rebuilt and domed; the Last Judgment in the porch was mutilated and covered with plaster, and—crowning feat of all—the magnificent tomb of Lazarus, by Brother Martin, which had sheltered for 600 years the relics of Autun's patron saint, was utterly destroyed. Lastly, these imbecile clergy of the 18th century, lined the apse, nearly up to the walls of the comparatively new Gothic windows, with panels of red Sicilian marble, divided by columns of grey, antique marble, and adorned them with gilded capitals, fat cherubs, and other utterly incongruous ornaments. It is generally believed that a portion of this marble was taken from the tomb of Lazarus, which they used as a quarry, and the remainder from the Roman ruins.

The capitals of the church,—among the best of their period existing in France—are typically Burgundian in their animation and vigour, their richness of detail, and their freedom of treatment, both as regards figures and foliage. They are at too high an elevation, and not sufficiently well lighted, to be studied thoroughly from below; but they are full of interest; and any enthusiast who is well versed in these matters, can pass a very pleasant hour in making more or less successful guesses at the subjects illustrated. Here are some of them. On the south-west side: The body of Saint Vincent guarded by Eagles; The History of Simon the Magician; The Washing of Feet; The Martyrdom of Stephen; The Ark on Mount Ararat; The History of Judas. On the north-east side: The Birth of the Virgin; The Sacrifice of Isaac; Saint Joakim in the Desert; The Hebrews in the Furnace; Daniel in the Lions' Den; Christ on the Roof of the Temple; The Resurrection; The Visit of the Magi to Herod; The Flight into Egypt.[59]

The few monuments to be found in the cathedral are not of great interest. The best are the kneeling statues which originally formed part of the Gothic tomb of Pierre Jeannin, the famous Minister of Henry the Fourth, and of his wife. The tomb, now destroyed, was by Nicolas Guillain, about the year 1626; but M. de Fontenay thinks that the bust of Jeannin, much superior to the other, dates, more probably, from the end of the 16th century. Those who wish to know more than I can tell them of the subjects of this monument, are referred to MontÉgut's charming book, "Souvenirs de Bourgogne," which is well worth reading, for the aptness of its observation, its many interesting historical and local references, its delicate wit, and its literary style.

The many Gothic chapels thrown out from the aisle in the 15th and 16th centuries, and the flamboyant jubÉ, are not of particular interest, and, moreover, destroy the unity of the interior. I will, therefore, pass them by; but, before leaving the church, I must call attention to what some people consider to be one of its chief treasures,—the martyrdom of Saint Symphorien, by Ingres—a painting ranked by some connoisseurs as the masterpiece of the 19th century. It was specially ordered for the cathedral in 1824, but was not delivered until some thirty years later.

One cannot pretend to any enthusiasm for the result of those thirty years of labour. The picture leaves me absolutely cold, as it does nine out of every ten who see it. The figures are vigorous, and the colouring is, perhaps, more pleasing than is the case with some of Ingres' paintings—probably because the canvas is dirty and ill-lighted—but the picture is overcrowded, and the general effect theatrical. On the whole I am not disposed to quarrel with the critics who regretted that ever Ingres forsook the pencil for the brush.

Here, in a few words, is the story of Saint Symphorien which the reader will find in full in the "PrÉcis Historique" of "Autun et ses monuments." It appears that, in the middle of the twelfth century, the gods chiefly favoured by the Autunois, were, Berecynthia—or Cybele—Apollo, and Diana. One day, when the image of Berecynthia, accompanied by an enormous crowd, was being wheeled on a cart through the streets of the city, Symphorien, having refused to do homage to her, was arrested and brought before the Roman magistrate, Heraclicus, to whom he boldly confessed his Christian faith. The magistrate, unwilling to deal harshly with a patrician youth, read to him the ante-Christian edict of Marcus Aurelius, which decrees the capital punishment of obstinate heretics, and endeavoured, in vain, to bring Symphorien to reason. Finally, he gave orders for the prisoner to be beaten by the lictors, and brought before him again, after passing three days in prison. Some of the dialogue that took place at the second interview is worth recording as the acta sincera of Symphorien probably give it to us in a nearly verbatim form, and support, in a very interesting way, the other evidence we can produce to show that the worship of the Romans, as of the Greeks, whose religion they honoured, was, to our way of thinking, somewhat indecently commercial—the purchase, for value received, of the divinity's favour. Thus the magistrate: "How much wiser you would be, Symphorien, by sacrificing to the immortal gods, to obtain promotion in the army, and rewards from the public treasury. If to-day you do not bend the knee before the image of the goddess mother, if you do not practice the cult due to Apollo and Diana, you will be put to death, and nothing can prevent it. If you consent, I will have the altar of the gods made ready; prepare, then, to let the smoke of the incense rise in their honour, and to render to the divinity the rights which are his due."

Symphorien replied:

"The judge in whom is vested the public authority should not accompany his sentence with vain and useless words. If it be perilous not to make every day further progress in the way of perfection, how much more so to wander from the straight path and to risk foundering upon the reefs of sin?"

Again the magistrate spoke:

"Sacrifice to the gods, that you may enjoy the honour granted by the prince to those who serve him." Symphorien replied in the same strain.

"A judge degrades his authority when he thus publicly puts a price upon the observance of the law. He does irreparable wrong to his soul, and shames his good name for ever."

Finally, the official, irritated, cut short Symphorien's discourse, with the following sentence:—"That Symphorien, guilty of public crime, in having committed sacrilege by refusing to sacrifice to the gods, and seeking to profane our holy altars, should be struck by the avenging sword, that the dread effects of his crime may be cancelled, and the law, human and divine, satisfied."

In Ingres' picture, Symphorien is on his way to execution outside the town walls, while, from the rampart, his mother is addressing to him her last words of farewell and encouragement. He was decapitated by the executioner, and his body buried at night near a fountain "extra publicum campum," probably one of the vast burial places on the road to Langres and BesanÇon.[60]

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.

In the sixteenth century—1543, to be precise—the chapter of the cathedral commissioned an architect unknown, who may possibly have been Jean Goujon, to erect a fountain which was placed, at first, near the corner of the Place St. Louis and the Place des Terraces.

In 1784, it was decided that the fountain obstructed the road; and it was accordingly removed to its present site, where it remains, after many moving accidents and adventures, and in spite of alterations, a gem of the Renaissance.[61] No description can convey an idea of the harmonious and decorative effect of this little fountain, unmatched for felicity in all France. The design is in two superposed pierced lanterns, the lower one surrounded by a cupola, and containing a basin below. The Ionic columns, the pilasters, the vases surmounting the entablature, and the pelican crowning the whole, are all perfectly proportioned and harmonized; and enough is left of the original sculpture to show how exquisite in every detail was the execution of the original work.

Just below the fountain, in the Rue des Bancs, is the Hotel Rolin, the most interesting of the many museums with which Autun is favoured. Personally, I must confess to a very lukewarm enthusiasm for the majority of provincial museums; and I am inclined to wish that Autun had collected its relics in one good building, instead of having them in various quarters of the town; but the Hotel Rolin is well worth a visit for its own sake. It is the annexe of the ancient palace of the Rolins, the magna domum Johannis Rolini, which faced the church of Notre Dame on the site of the Place St. Louis; and was built by Guillaume de Beauchamp, son of Nicholas Rolin, the famous chancellor of Burgundy, to accommodate the numerous members of the suite of that august personage.

The courtyard and the glimpse it gives of the Hotel, when you have emerged from the darkness of the gate, is quite characteristic of its period, though, if nature should have imparted to you the least degree of timidity, where animals are concerned, you will probably leave that courtyard without regret, owing to the attentions of the concierge's very strenuous dog, who will make frantic and disconcerting endeavours to break out upon you through a frail, ground-floor window, which alone stands between you and a violent death. But all travellers must be prepared to face danger, and Cerberus at the gate will enhance your appreciation of the home of the Eduen Society.

The building contains some stele from the Roman burial grounds, and numerous interesting relics, collected, for the most part, by M. Bulliot, from the Oppidum Bibracte. It has also some good recumbent mediÆval statues, Guillaume de Brasey, 1302, Jehan de Brasey, 1305, and the Sire de Rousillon, of the end of the thirteenth century. There is a relic of Charles le TÉmÉraire, from Granson, and good portraits of Nicholas Rolin and his brother.

Just below the Hotel Rolin are the remains of the old tower of the Porte des Bancs, of the fifth century, part of the rampart surrounding the Castrum, or upper city of Autun.[62]

The museum which ranks next in interest to the Hotel Rolin, is the MusÉe Lapidaire in the Rue St. Nicholas, in the Marchaux, the lower part of the town. It is housed in a nice little Romanesque chapel of the twelfth century, once attached to the HÔpital St. Nicholas et St. Eloi de Marchaux. I found the bell at the entrance broken, and had to apply for admission at the concierge's cottage, No. 10, on the right. Knowing what I do of French provincial museums, I have little doubt that the reader will find the bell in the same condition. But let him not be deterred. The building, a charming and typical example of Burgundian Romanesque, on a small scale, is worth seeing. Its walls still show the remains of some faded frescoes, probably, thinks M. Fontenay, of late twelfth century, representing Christ in glory.

The chapel is filled with odds and ends of different periods; of the most important of which, the statues of Martha and Mary, from the cathedral, we have already spoken. In addition to these, there is, in the apse, a good Renaissance vierge from Autun, treated in a manner that contrasts very thoroughly with the saints on the wall behind her. The Renaissance remains from the chapel of Denis Poillot, ambassador of Francis I. in England, are of the highest order of merit, and make one regret much that the building has not survived. On the floor is a fine Roman mosaic, now covered with a cloth, and, close to it, a well-executed Roman sarcophagus, from Arles, representing the chase of the wild-boar of Calydon. The realistic sculpture is typical of much that is still to be seen in the most interesting MusÉe Lapidaire of that provincial town.

Beside the chapel is a pleasant little garden, surrounded by an open shed which houses numberless relics of Roman and early Christian Autun, chiefly stele, tombstones, fragments of mosaic, etc. Historically the most interesting are the dÉbris of the grey marble sarcophagus that once contained the body of Queen Brunehault, one of the most energetic and clear-sighted personalities of Merovingian times. In the name of her grandson, Thierry, she governed Burgundy for fifteen years (598-613), establishing her court at Autun, and, although more than sixty years of age, showed a "sagacity in council and administrative ability" which is noted by Gregory of Tours. Finally, some of the Burgundian chiefs, who hated her, delivered her over to her enemy, King Clotaire II. He caused her to be paraded for three days on a camel's back, in sight of all the army, and then had her tied by her hair, and by one foot and arm, to the tail of a wild horse, which was then driven far away. Her remains, buried in the Abbey of St. Martin, at Autun, not far from the chapel of St. Nicholas, were discovered there in 1632, in a leaden coffin, which contained, also, among other objects, a spur, said to be that which was used upon the horse to which the Queen was bound.

There are worse places to wander in, and to dream in, than these open galleries, where the silent ones stand, side by side, upon their funeral stones, and the chickens scratch among Roman capitals. The gardienne's children are at play on the path, and, in the centre of the green cloister garth, the ripening pears tremble upon the swaying branches. The old caretaker—blessed among caretakers—leaves you alone, until you summon her. She is ready for a chat, but can impart no information whatever concerning the monuments in her charge.

"Good-bye, Madame; and when I come again, in the spring, I shall expect to find the bell mended." "Parfaitement, Monsieur; Ha! ha! ha!" and her gossip friend, across the road, joins in the chorus, "Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!" But the bell will not be mended—and they know it.

The MusÉe municipal in the Hotel de Ville—the last musÉe which I shall inflict upon the reader—is as dreary as a haunted house, and much less interesting. You wander through gallery after gallery of second and third rate paintings, to be rewarded, at last, in the end room, by two little bronze crupellaires, or fighting gladiators of the first century, so called because, according to Tacitus, they were completely hidden beneath an iron armour, so thick as to make the wearer as immune against blows as he was incapable of dealing them.[63] The most interesting thing in the museum is the famous Greek inscription which has excited the interest of antiquarians and theologians all over the world. The stone is a piece of white marble, broken into fragments which are pieced together again, and on which is a Greek acrostic, and something supposed to stand for a Sigma. The inscription, believed to be of the third or fourth century, is as follows. The translation I give is from the French, as quoted by Hamerton in "The Mount."

"O divine race of heavenly ?????, receive with a heart full of respect life immortal among the mortals. Renew thy soul's youth, O my friend! in the divine waters, by the eternal waves of wisdom that flow from the true riches. Receive the delicious food of the Saviour of saints. Take, eat and drink, thou holdest ????? in thy hands. ????? grant me this grace, ardently I desire it, Master and Saviour; may my mother rest in peace, I conjure thee, light of the dead. Aschandeus, my father, thou whom I cherish, with my tender mother and all my relations in the peace of ?????. remember thy Pectorius."[64]

The Hotel de Ville in which the MusÉe Municipal is housed, fronts upon the Champ de Mars, formerly the Champ St. Ladre (campus sancti Lazari) the centre of the life of the town. It was built over in Roman times, as proved by the substructures that have been found, but the land was cleared about the twelfth century. Throughout all the middle ages its convenient position between the Castrum and the Marchaux rendered it a kind of forum, or general public meeting place, and the site of the great fÊtes and fairs.

During the visit of Charles VIII. to Autun, in 1516, the inhabitants constructed in St. Ladre an immense wooden amphitheatre, with a linen velarium as a protection, quite in the old Roman manner. Here, too, from time immemorial, has been held, and is still held, in September, the great fÊte de St. Ladre, and cattle fair that draws so many traders to Autun, and destroys for a month the peace of the cathedral city.[65] The wars of religion and the great revolution have brought their quota of victims to the stake, the gallows, or the guillotine, that in turn were set up in the centre of the place. At the north-east corner, opposite the Hotel de Ville, are the best cafÉs of the town, where, I remember, we learned the latest news of the Portuguese Revolution.

Just round the corner, in the Rue de l'ArbalÈte, is the best Hotel of Autun, "St. Louis et de la Poste," a great rambling building of the early seventeenth century, that, in itself, is a lasting souvenir of great historical events. On the 10th of January, 1802, Napoleon Buonaparte passed through Autun on the way to Lyons. He stayed one night, with the Empress Josephine, at the Hotel St. Louis, where he received the local authorities. Several ladies of the town, eager for a sight of the great man, obtained the hotelier's permission to officiate as waitresses, for that night only. Josephine discovered the ruse at once, and was so amused thereby that she proceeded to play her part in the game with the utmost grace and charm.

The hundred days saw Napoleon again at the Hotel St. Louis. He had left Elba on the 26th February, 1815, and arrived at Autun on the 15th of March. According to the account of an eye witness[66] the troops accompanying him were utterly exhausted, and could keep no sort of order; their ranks were broken, and soldiers of all arms were marching pell-mell. Napoleon was surprised and deeply hurt by his reception at Autun. No crowds came out to meet him, and scarcely a cry of "Vive l'Empereur" was heard. The houses were shut, the streets deserted, and only a small company of nobodies, in blouses and sabots, formed his cortÈge.... No sooner had he descended at the Hotel de la Poste, than he asked for the mayor and the municipal council. They were brought into a balconied room looking on the street.

The Emperor, attended by Marshal Bertrand, General Brayer, and five or six other military men, appeared to be in a state of great agitation. He was pacing up and down, holding in his hand the proclamation of the night before, stepping at every moment on to the balcony, and leaving it with angry looks. When all had entered he stood in the middle of the apartment, and asked which was the mayor of Autun.

"I am," said M. Piquot.

"I know what you are," the Emperor replied, "a man always ready to pay court to nobles; one who would sacrifice his dignity for a dinner. You are mayor no longer; only a fanatic and a madman could have drawn up such an act as this. You dare to treat me as an usurper!"

"Sire," said M. de la Chaise, president of the civil tribunal, "by your abdication you have freed us from our oaths, and we have sworn fealty to Louis XVIII."

"I have abdicated, you say. I did it only to assure the happiness of the French. France is not happy. She recalls me, and you would oppose her.... Madman! you would have civil war, then!"

"But, enfin, sire, you have abdicated."

"Be silent!" cried Napoleon, angrily, "you are only a wretched attorney."

We need not follow any further a quarrel which led nowhere. Amid the same cold silence that had marked his arrival, Napoleon left early the next morning, to face the last triumphs and the crushing disaster of those fateful hundred days.[67]

Another visitor to the Hotel St. Louis was George Sand, who came in the midst of all the bustle and excitement of the fair of St. Ladre, on the 2nd September, 1836, and was served, with two children and a nurse, under a fruit tree in the garden into which the guests had overflowed. She must have overheard, at the large table, words which offended her, for, says St. Fonteney, she left her repast and the hotel in haste, and, two months afterwards, took a full revenge in the columns of the "Revue des deux Mondes," in which she referred darkly to the occasion as an "obscenity" and an "orgie of patricians." One would hardly have thought George Sand so squeamish.

We, too, being only passers by, must leave Autun in haste. The autumn sun was setting, and the ruby mists of evening were creeping up the purple slopes of the Morvan, as the train steamed out of the station. Our compartment was quite unlit, and gradually, as night fell, darkness enwrapped us so completely that we could not so much as see a hand held before the face. When we drew up at Epinac, a bent old woman, standing huddled up on the platform, peered into the compartment, in a futile endeavour to see what it might contain. She called the guard. They both looked in. "Fait ben noir" (very dark), she muttered. He shrugged his shoulders. The old woman wandered off vacantly. Third class fare on a monopoly railway does not entitle you to light; and she knew it. Along the darkened train ran a legend that they were buying oil and wick in the town. We waited, waited, long enough for them to have bought up the whole town and the one beyond it. But no light came, until, southward, I saw a faint, silvery glimmer. Then I knew what we were waiting for. There is no charge for moonlight—not even on that railway. But it was still dark as pitch. With a jerk the train began to move out; a large parcel, the property of a young French girl in front of me, fell down upon the head of her small and sleepy nephew, Madelon, who howled plaintively. The soldier in the corner, compelled by the presence of ladies to refrain, for an hour past, from indulging in his ruling passion, could contain himself no longer. He spat voluminously, vociferously, like a hen clucking. Almost as loudly Madelon sucked at a lozenge bestowed for the soothing of the bruised head. As the moon rose, the darkness paled. I could just see Madelon regarding complacently the lozenge that he had removed from his mouth.

"Madelon, Madelon, how many times have I told you not to take things from your mouth when you are eating? Once in, they must stay in. Veux tu m'obÉir." The rich sucking noise ceased, to be followed by the light breathing of a child asleep. We stopped at another station. Not content with the moon, people put their heads out of the windows, and clamoured for light. They chaffed the station-master; they ragged the guard. Like rabbits the men ran up and down over the roofs of the carriages. Five porters gathered in a little woe-begone group, and looked on vacantly. But no light came. A tin trumpet blew, and the train started. An hour later we were climbing the hills of the CÔte d'Or and dropping down into the eastern plain. That is how we left Autun.