The country, as one travels from Cluny to Paray-le Monial, is varied and interesting—so were the other passengers. At Charolles, there entered our compartment two priests, one of whom devoted himself to his book, while the other, a very tall, spare ecclesiastic, divided his time evenly between his breviary, the sign of the cross, and a close scrutiny of my wife. Whether there was any connection in his mind between the last two occupations, I am unable to determine.

This little incident was sufficient to remind us that Paray—as the adjunct Le Monial implies—is a town of ecclesiastical origin and tradition. It was, in fact, a daughter of Cluny, an annexe of the maison abbatiale, and a place of rest and of villÉgiature for the abbots, who had their country seat here. To-day it is the centre of the cult of the SacrÉ Coeur, and a favourite place of pilgrimage for the French peasantry of the district.

On arrival at the station, while I was engaged with the luggage, a straw-hatted individual, who had been lounging about in the company of a young woman, drew my wife's attention to the fact that there was no "plaque" on our bicycles. On being referred to me, he demanded my permit, which I naturally refused to exhibit, until he had proved his authority to ask for it. He then produced, from his pocket-book, a printed paper, which appeared to be the document required. I showed my permit accordingly; whereupon, with a satirical smile, and the remark, "Une simple formalitÉ, Monsieur," the insuppressible strolled off. Insolent officialism is one of the "dÉsagrÉments" of France, to which a few more years of democratic supremacy will probably expose this country also. A breach of that "simple formalitÉ," as he called it, would inevitably have brought me to the sub-prefecture, and would have cost me thirty francs and costs, for each machine. Let cyclists in France see that they comply with all "simples formalitÉs."

Setting out in the morning to explore Paray, we had corroborative evidence of an impression already formed, concerning the manners—or want of them—of many Burgundians. Two or three groups of young girls, passing us in the streets, burst into shrieks of laughter under our very noses; and a band of school children, who intercepted and surrounded us at a corner shop, in a narrow lane, could not have shown deeper interest had we been two teddy bears, or a Punch and Judy show. They made the street absolutely impassable; we could not move until the shop-keeper emerged, and drove them away.

Modesty compels me to add that my wife was always the chief cause of this hilarity and interest. These public attentions made her so uneasy that she asked me plaintively, on one occasion, whether she had grown a hump in the night! Though able to reassure her upon that point, I could not, nor can I at this moment, satisfactorily account for the undisguised astonishment her appearance caused; but I lean to the conclusion that the secret lay mainly in her clothes. My wife was dressed—quite simply—but she was dressed; whereas the women of Burgundy merely wore clothes; garments that bore no relation to each other, nor to the individuality of the wearer. The directors of the Grands Magazins du Louvre have much to answer for in these matters, and it was positively refreshing, in the remoter parts of the country, to see the village women, naturally dressed, walking like goddesses, freely, and in the shape in which Nature made them.

But to return from flesh and blood to the stones of Paray. Her old monuments, though few, are choice. The best of them, excepting the church, is the Hotel de Ville, a building with an exquisite Renaissance faÇade, beautifully harmonized, showing Italian influence, and dating from 1525. The flatness of the elevation is relieved, and the whole bound together vertically, by three half-round turrets, which spring from corbels below the sill strings of the first floor windows. Three moulded courses ornamented with heads and busts in medallion,[109] and panels in relief, extend right across the building, below the windows. Several of the heads, including that of Francis I., are still recognizable portraits. Between the windows, and beside the turrets, are decorative, sculptured pilasters. There are many figures in niches, and a profusion of scallop-shell ornament, all showing the transitional character of the work. The top story, with alternating turrets, and gables surmounted by statuettes, is extremely effective. All the windows are beautifully proportioned, and finely, though not deeply, moulded. As a whole, weathered by time to a rich, warm brown, this is one of the most effective faÇades of its kind that I know in France.

The interior, which might easily be restored, has been spoiled by whitewashing the oak beams of ceilings that shelter many exhibits, of little interest, excepting some nice tiles from the old house. This was built by a rich cloth manufacturer, Pierre Jayet, from 1525-1528. According to MontÉgut, Pierre's brother was so jealous of the beauty of the building, that he determined to eclipse it; and accordingly erected the church of St. Nicholas, which, with the later tower of that name (1658), still stands opposite to the Hotel de Ville. If the date of the Church, as given to me, namely 1505, is correct, the legend must be without foundation; but, whether it be true or false, that lovely faÇade has nothing to fear from comparison with any other building in the town.

Paray-le Monial's church is a splendid and typical example of the Clunisian school of Burgundian architecture, about contemporary with the Cathedral of Autun. In fact, you have only to create, in imagination, a longer nave, transeptal towers, a second transept, and flying buttresses, to form a very good idea of the appearance of Cluny abbey in the middle ages.

From the eastern end you get the typical Burgundian effect of a series of apsidal chapels and collaterals, lifting the eye, stage by stage, up to the central clock tower, and thus conveying an impression of dependent solidity unique in architecture, and quite symbolical of Burgundian character. The apsidal chapels are buttressed by engaged columns, and lightened by a string, ornamented with a billet, run right round, to form the drip-stones and the abaci of the capitals, some of which are very beautiful.

'Tis sad that Cluny's fair daughter is content to keep such ill company. The approach to, and view of, the church from the north, is almost completely blocked out by hideous booths filled with tawdry trinkets, by a "Diorama MusÉe," and other mean erections, which should be ruthlessly swept away by the authorities. Visitors may be annoyed, too, as we were, by the attentions of an imbecile woman, employed by the hangers-on of the church, to fetch water and run errands for them. She looked over my shoulder diligently while I took notes, and only replied with a wild stare, and a "Rien, rien," to my request to know what I could do for her. A few yards further on, we came upon the following:—

On reading this effusion, our first impression was, that there must be some mental affinity between the dreadful woman who had just been jibbering at us, and the promoters of this novel entertainment; until we realized that the wax-works were merely another catch-penny, aimed at pilgrims' pockets—the invitation I had just read being no more than a weak attempt to rope in an occasional English enthusiast. The discovery, not far off, of a similar legend, written in bad German, revealed the origin of the "Nusstree." It is curious how seldom French attempts to break out publicly into the English tongue, meet with any degree of success. From the "High Life Tailor" of Parisian boulevards, to the "Nusstree" of Paray-le Monial, it is always the same story; one English word is as good as another to a Frenchman who understands neither.

The north door of the church, flanked though it be by disreputable buildings, is a graceful construction, of somewhat unusual classical design, well harmonized and proportioned, and exquisitely carved. All the sculpture, from the flowered architrave within the pilasters, to the ornamentation of the shafts and the shouldered arches, is very pleasing, as are the doors themselves, with their quatre-foiled iron ornament, surrounding an inner cross.

The primitive porch, and the western towers of the church are somewhat remarkable. Murray, on what authority I cannot say, puts their date at 1004, but Viollet-le-Duc contents himself with admitting this portion to be earlier than the remainder of the Church. The northern tower is the later of the two. The porch is arched, and of two bays, forming six quadripartite vaults between the arches. The weight of the towers above was originally taken by two central clusters of stone columns, which proved quite inadequate for the purpose, and were replaced—in the 19th century, I think—by a granite column.[111] The western precincts of the Church exhibit the usual signs of decadence of ecclesiastical power and influence. Dead leaves littering the porch, mercifully screen the "choses immondes" and the building materials with which the floor is scattered; and as though the building were not yet sufficiently defiled, a board invites the public to deposit its rubbish between the porch and the river, on a site at present in the occupation of noisy children.

Seen from within, the church is noble and impressive; but the eye at once notices a want of proportion; the height of the first storey being too great for that of the triforium and clerestories. This is due, in part, to the shortness of the nave, which might be three times as long, and, in part, to the flatness of the triforium, a true blind-story, rendered mean for lack of shadow to break up the flatness of the arcades. The supports for the vaulting take the form of fluted pilasters, which rise to the capitals, on a level with the sill string, below the triforium; whence the thrust is taken by half round vaulting shafts.

Here, as elsewhere in Burgundy and Southern France, the pointed arch is obviously used as a necessity of construction, rather than for any inherent love the builders bore it. Before the art of buttressing had developed, no other method was open to them.[112]

Grateful memories still linger of that vista—down the wide-aisled nave to the well-proportioned columns of the apse, bathed in rich colours from the stained glass, which, modern though it be, is worthy, when compared with our recollections of Notre Dame de Cluny. The interior has not many decorative features, except the fluted pilasters, and the archivolts, somewhat in the Lombard style, in which the lozenge and the billet ornament are effectively used. Very local, on the contrary, and very characteristic are the Byzantine beasts carved among the foliage on the capitals of the ambulatory.

'Tis a pity that the crossings are so prominent; their nudity enhances the ill-effect of the debauch of whitewash that renders the interior so cold. One of the few good monuments is a fifteenth-century, south-eastern, transeptal chapel, with the remains of the gothic canopied tomb of the Seigneurs of Digoin. The windows, doors and niches of the chapel are satisfactory, but the ribbed vaulting is clumsy, and much too heavy for so small a roof. I believe that the figures are all modern.

As we left by the north transept, we noticed a lady standing before the statue of St. Peter. Rising upon her toes until her bonnet feathers nodded, she was just able, with an effort, to kiss the toe of the Saint. I examined that toe; it was bright with the salutes of the faithful.

Nowhere do I remember to have seen so many appeals and warnings against blasphemy and desecration as are displayed in the church of Paray. No doubt they are needful and salutary; but it struck us, that, before enforcing too severely their observance, the ecclesiastical authorities would do well to set their own house in order, and, once for all, to sweep the precincts of their basilica clear of all rubbish, human and inanimate, that now defiles it. I wonder, sometimes, whether those who are responsible for the condition of affairs at Paray, and other great French churches, have ever seen the close of Salisbury, or of Wells, or can ever have realized how enhancing to the dignity and grandeur of mediÆval architecture, and how seemly, as settings to a sacred building, are the delicious haunts of peace, upon whose trim, green lawns and ancestral elms, those ancient cathedrals look down. That, having done so, they can be content to let the towers of Paray rise from among tawdry booths and a howling wilderness of filth and dÉbris, is something I do not care to believe. That is why, having visited in hope Cluny's lovely daughter, we left her with little other feeling than one of sadness that such things should be.

The country around Paray is not particularly interesting; but some fine views of the Church are to be had from the other side of the Bourbince. Having set forth on bicycles to explore the land, we halted on a little bridge that crosses the Canal du Centre. The waterway was lined, on our side, for about a hundred yards, with small tumble-down cottages and sheds. The other bank was alive with washerwomen all thumping mercilessly at soapy garments. As we appeared, the thumping ceased. Every scrubbing-brush was put down, or remained poised in mid-air, and all eyes turned towards the two figures, who, even at that distance, bore the stamp of aliens.

We approached a cottage labelled "CafÉ." Before it was a perambulator containing a howling baby, whom a very serious little maid of about fourteen was trying unsuccessfully to hush. We sat down on a rickety bench, and ordered things. The little maid was so shy that her lips refused to part; but her ears were open; she fetched and carried willingly, though dumbly. We sat sipping, and contemplating nature. The washers returned to their thumping; the baby howled.

Presently a lanky mule, into whom the spirit of devilment had entered, broke from a neighbouring shed, and made for the bridge. The girl left her charge, and endeavoured to "shoo" the beast to his stall again. He would neither be coerced nor cajoled, but, with a wicked gleam in his eye, turned his back upon her blandishments, and, to the great peril of the baby, lashed out fiercely with both heels. The girl rushed to the perambulator. Conscious of victory, the ass lay down upon the towing path, and rolled and kicked, until the washers across the water were screened from us by clouds of dust. Then, in due season, he arose and walked quietly back to his stable. As my wife observed: "He is a very young mule; and there is no fun in being naughty, if nobody minds."

A moment later, we saw coming towards us with swinging strides over the bridge, a tall, swarthy, handsome figure, dressed as a stage bandit, in copper-coloured leather coat, of the same tint as his face, a dark slouch hat, and black leather gaiters. From each capacious side pocket projected the neck of a large, white-glass, wine bottle. He called for a drink, and sat down near us on a bench before the cafÉ; then, removing one of the bottles from his coat, he revealed two snakes wriggling within it. Holding the bottle by the neck, he shook it before the eyes of the howling baby, who promptly fell into such strong convulsions that my wife feared for its life.

"What are those?" I asked, pointing to the bottle.

"Vipers," said the bandit, "'Tis my trade." Diving into the coat again, he produced a metal armlet inscribed "Charmeur de VipÈres." Thence followed, one by one, all his certificates of efficiency, signed by the mayors of places in the neighbourhood—Digoin, MÂcon, and Paray. Here were forty-six killed in one day; thirty-five more in the woods of Charolles; "Et il y en a encore." He did not stay long enough for us to question him concerning his methods of procedure; but, rising abruptly from the wooden bench, strode off, a great, bronzed figure, and was soon lost among the coppery tints of the Burgundian forest.

I have often wondered since, whether he worked solely by close observation, or whether he had developed that supernormal or subnormal faculty, withheld from most, but granted often to undeveloped minds, as it was to the boy in Rollinat's song:—

We saw the mysterious snake-charmer once more in Paray. He raised the wide, slouch hat, and saluted with all the dignity of a forest king.