The first thing we did on arriving at ChÂlon was to mount our bicycles and cross the river to the Church of St. Marcel, all that now remains of the ancient abbey. The feature of the journey was the number of rough Bressane carts we met, filled with potatoes, and drawn, very deliberately, by yoked, dreamy, creamy oxen, whose mild eyes were veiled by fringes of string, tied across the forehead, to keep off the flies.

The Abbey church is a well-proportioned and satisfactory early Burgundian building, with a high narthex, a western tower, and a late Renaissance west front. It is designed rather in the Cistercian manner, with a square apse and two apsidal chapels, square and semi-circular respectively. The whole forms a fine example of early purity of style. Excepting the simple foliage of the capitals and the bosses of the high vault, one looks in vain for any carving, and there is very little moulding that catches the eye. The orders of the arches are left square-edged, and the ridges of the aisle vaulting scarcely show. The piers of the nave, too, are square, with circular shafts to carry the vault.

Over the High Altar are two chÂsses with the relics of St. Agricola and St. Marcel. A notice in the church informs one that, in the year 879, John VIII. canonized in this church the holy bishops of ChÂlon; also that, on Holy Saturday, April 13th, 1805, Pope Pius VII. came to visit the relics of Saint Marcel and Saint Agricola, and blessed the High Altar.

But the most interesting memory associated with the Abbey is that of the first of the modernists, AbÉlard, whose name is linked for ever with that of his lover, HÉloÏse. Only the peaceful, closing years of AbÉlard's stormy life connect him with Burgundy; but his stay at Cluny, under the care of Pierre le VÉnÉrable, and his last days and burial at St. Marcel, justify me, I hope, in telling again here the life stories of two whose names, with those of Aucassin and Nicolette, Petrarch and Laura, Dante and Beatrice, Paolo and Francesca, are blazoned, for all time, upon the scrolls of love.

It was in the year 1105, or 1106, that a young Breton, about sixteen years of age, of good family, came to Paris to study at the schools of the Quartier Latin, on the Montagne St. GÊneviÈve, now occupied by the buildings of the Sorbonne. His father, the Seigneur de Pallet, near Nantes, had destined his son for the profession of arms; but a natural bent towards books and learning, and the consequent ambition to become formidable in "logic," induced the lad to abandon prospects of fortune and military glory, to play a prominent and extraordinarily romantic part in the religious and philosophical movements of the greatest century of the middle ages.

The schools of philosophy of Paris were already the most famous in the world, when AbÉlard put himself, as he expresses it in a letter to Philintus, "under the direction of one Champeaux, a professor who had acquired the character of the most skilful philosopher of his age, but by negative excellencies only, as being the least ignorant." The boy was well received at first, but his abilities in debate and dialectics soon aroused the natural jealousy of a master, who perceived himself to be no match for his pupil. AbÉlard withdrew to Melun for safety, and for the better establishment of his fast-developing theories concerning the necessary compatibility of dogma and reason, summed up in the phrase "Nul ne peut croire sans avoir compris," an axiom fraught with danger in the middle ages, and in those which succeeded them.

After some years of retirement, the young dialectician attended the schools of Anselm, Bishop of Laon, where, finding himself thoroughly dissatisfied with the teaching of one of whom he could only say, "Stet magni nominus umbra," he decided to take for his guides the primitive fathers, and to launch boldly, for himself, into the study of the Holy Scriptures.

When he deemed the time ripe, he returned to Paris, where his success drew many to him; so many that, before long, the fame of the young Breton, now Maitre Pierre, author of the "Gloze d'EzÉchiel," the great teacher of the new doctrine of Conceptualism, was finding an echo in all Paris. He became the centre of a school of young enthusiasts, who hung upon his words. These early years of success in Paris were, intellectually, the most fruitful of his life, but they had a disastrous effect upon a character, the strength of which was never equal to that of his mind. His pride and vanity, naturally great, became consuming. Freedom of thought was not sufficient for him; so great a liberationist must live a free life; the scholars must share him with the courtesans.

Meanwhile, in a little house in the western end of the Isle de la CitÉ, at the foot of Notre Dame, that already was beginning to lift its mighty bulk above the palace of the king, and the surrounding churches and cloisters, were living Canon Fulbert and his young niece, fifteen years old, who had just completed her education at the convent of Argenteuil. HÉloÏse was a girl of unusual ability. That her talents are no mere legend, is abundantly proved by her letters, that rank her among the great women of literature. And she had yet more dangerous gifts—character, charm, beauty. This white lily, blossoming among the cloisters, was the one flower that could draw from AbÉlard the soul no courtesan had been able to reach. She was fair, sweet, impressionable; looking out upon a lovely world, and waiting only for love to lighten it. He was famous, young, tall, handsome, and well-dressed, beyond the wont of scholars.[116] No more was needed. Their destiny was upon them. They met; and looked long into each other's eyes.

Within a short time, AbÉlard was installed in the Canon's house; commissioned to instruct HÉloÏse in philosophy. "It is my wish that she should obey you in everything," said the guileless uncle, in confiding his niece to her tutor. "Employ every means, even manual chastisement, if you judge it necessary, to stimulate her zeal and constrain her to further submission."[117]

Fulbert was to discover, only too soon, how little need there was for such an injunction.

So the professor of thirty-eight and the maiden of seventeen sat side by side over their book of philosophy, until, at length, their eyes rose from the page to one another, "And that day they read no farther."[118] Day by day their mutual sympathy increased, though the, as yet, innocent liaison still masqueraded in the guise of a platonic friendship, while, all the time, says AbÉlard, "There came more words of love than philosophy into our conversations, and more kisses than explanations."

Meanwhile, AbÉlard the lover was at war with AbÉlard the philosopher. Gradually, to their astonishment and dismay, it dawned upon his students in the Sainte Montagne, that the metaphysical speculations of their Master had lost something of the accustomed brilliance; that the well of his eloquence was drying up. Then came a greater shock. Maitre Pierre, their own Maitre Pierre, was writing love songs, like any ballad-monger; and all Paris was singing them.

They were very beautiful love songs, sincere love songs; for AbÉlard and HÉloÏse were in love. Few knew it, least of all Fulbert, who, dreaming the days away in his stall in the choir of Notre Dame, appears to have had no suspicions concerning the bona-fides of the philosopher in his house. But, one day, coming home unexpectedly, he surprised the lovers in a close embrace. His fury was intense. All his love for AbÉlard changing to hate, he drove him from the house. He might well have done more than that, had he known all; had he known that HÉloÏse was to become a mother.

AbÉlard, in this crisis, appears to have acted with a certain degree of courage. He entrusted his mistress to the care of his sister, Denise, at the Bourg du Pallet, in Brittany, where she went in a nun's dress, to avert suspicion as to her real condition. He endeavoured, too, to obtain the forgiveness of her father; and even promised to marry his daughter, on condition that the alliance was kept secret; but HÉloÏse, with characteristic greatness of mind, refused to compromise his career by so tightening his bonds. "The title of mistress," she said, speaking with the extraordinary abandonment of self that she always displayed toward her lover, "is infinitely sweeter to me than that of wife." She allowed herself to be persuaded, however, and, after the birth of her child, a son, she returned to Paris, where the secret marriage was celebrated, and AbÉlard returned to his scholastic duties.

But the presence of HÉloÏse irked him; probably he felt it impossible to play the double part of husband and philosopher, while his wife was within reach; and he succeeded in persuading her, docile as ever, to return to the cloisters of Argenteuil. So far, he had suffered the least of the three involved in this tragedy; but Nemesis was close at hand. Fulbert, outwardly satisfied, was contemplating a dire revenge.

All Paris was startled, one morning, by the rumour of an extraordinary crime. A ruffian, armed with a razor, had broken into Maitre Pierre's house, at night, and had shamefully mutilated the teacher. It was true. AbÉlard was unsexed; and Fulbert, fully avenged, had fled from Paris. Loud was the lamentation in the Sainte Montagne.

The dominant feeling aroused by such a humiliation, in the mind of a man so proud as AbÉlard, was, naturally, that of shame; penitence took but a second place. He felt that he could face the world no longer; yet jealousy told him that he could not take the cowl, while another took HÉloÏse, and knew delights, spiritual and carnal, that had once been his. HÉloÏse, living only in and for her earthly husband, could refuse him nothing at such a crisis. She took the veil at Argenteuil, and became, for her lover's sake, the spouse of Christ. AbÉlard donned the robe of the Benedictines at the great abbey of St. Denis, in 1119.

If he had expected to regain peace and serenity in such a house, he must have been grievously disappointed. The abbey of St. Denis had not escaped the degeneracy that had already overtaken many of the monastic institutions of the day. It had become a centre of private and political intrigue, a pleasure resort for the fashionable life of Paris; laughter and the rustle of ladies' robes were heard in the long alleys of the cloister.[119] Against these abuses the new-comer was not slow to raise his eloquent voice. It was not heeded, or was received only with jeers. AbÉlard withdrew, by permission, to the monastery of Deuil, close by, where he opened a school, and gave himself up again to teaching, and to propagating the advanced theology that had already scandalized the more orthodox of Paris. His treatise on "The Divine Trinity and Unity," brought him before the Council of Soissons. The persecution of the freethinker had begun; and though the daring innovator endeavoured strenuously to justify his writings, the fathers condemned him to throw, with his own hands, his book into the lighted brazier prepared in the midst of the assembly. He was then handed over, for correction, to the care of the abbot of St. MÉdard de Soissons.

This sentence was soon annulled, and AbÉlard found himself once more at St. Denis. But not for long. Sleeping enmities were aroused; and, one night, AbÉlard, with the connivance of certain monks, fled secretly from the abbey, and took refuge near Nogent, in a remote part of Champagne, where he hoped "to avoid fame" and live secure against the malice of his enemies. But to avoid fame was not in the reformer's destiny. The hermit was soon surrounded by his followers, who converted a natural grotto into a chapel, and built themselves rustic huts of boughs and thatch, in this Paraclet,[120] the place of their master's consolation.

Again he re-opened his school, again many listened to his defence of the truth, again he aroused the enmity of the orthodox church, who, this time, had as their champion the greatest name in all Christendom, the more than Pope, St. Bernard. AbÉlard's four happy years of quiet service were at an end. He fled to the lonely abbey of St. Gildas, in Brittany, his native province, "a barbarous country, the language of which I do not understand," where his walks were along the inaccessible shore of a sea that was always stormy, where dissolute monks lived only to hunt, "and the doors and walls were without ornament, save the heads of wild boars and the feet of hinds and the hides of frightful animals."[121]

During all these years, though neither was forgotten by the other, no communication had passed between AbÉlard the monk and HÉloÏse the nun. Now, for a brief period, the currents of their lives were to mingle again. In the year 1128, the monastery of Argenteuil passed to the abbey of St. Denis, then ruled by Suger, who was no friend to AbÉlard. The nuns were dispersed, and HÉloÏse and her sisters found themselves without shelter. Here was the old lover's opportunity. Paraclet, bereft of its lord, had no tenants; HÉloÏse had no home. An impulse swiftly acted upon, some sudden instinct of pity, of desire, of remorse for the sufferings of which he was the responsible cause, led AbÉlard to obtain permission to offer her the shelter of his old retreat. She accepted this offer, and established there a nunnery, of which she herself was appointed to be the first abbess. HÉloÏse and her sisters were to follow the rigorous rule of St. Benedict, modified by AbÉlard—after special study—as a concession to the frail physique of women.

The old lovers, both taught in the stern school of suffering, seem to have accepted, with full self-control, the new and spiritual relationship upon which they were about to enter. In the priest's case, that is more easily understood. For him, though still he says, "I sigh, I weep, I grieve, I speak the dear name of HÉloÏse, I delight to hear the sound," the days of physical desire were past for ever.

But what an effort must it have cost the woman, not yet in her thirtieth year, and with her beauty still in bloom, to accept her position, to respect his; to honour as her spiritual brother only, him who was her lover and her husband. Yet she did it—though with awful searchings of heart, with longings, and inward rebellion against fate, that her letters have, in measure, revealed. Happily for her, the torturing joy of their last meetings was not for long. Already rumours and scandal were busy with their names. AbÉlard came one day to Paraclet; then he came no more. The lovers were not to meet again in this world. Only letters would pass between them—letters that reveal in a wonderful light the passive strength of her character, the utter surrender of herself, body, soul, and spirit, to the man who had won her love. As literature, they reveal the fact that HÉloÏse, had she given her life to such work, could have excelled all the men of her time[122] in the domain of letters. As human documents, their correspondence remains

The man remained the man, in that, true to his new relationship to her, with the passing of the years he became less the lover and more the priest; he conquered, or he cooled. The woman, true to her type, renounced; but she, though she, too, attained a measure of spiritual liberty, never repented, and I think that she never really changed.

The last episodes in the stormy life of AbÉlard are soon told. On his final return from Paraclet, he found the monks risen in active revolt against him. Attempts were made, even, to poison him in the holy cup; and he hardly escaped the assassin's knife. In this extremity his thoughts turned again to the scene of those early successes in the Montagne St. GÊneviÈve, and Paris saw and heard him for the last time. Years that had bowed his head, had not changed the bent of his mind. The innovator was the innovator still. To Bernard, busily engaged in reforming his order in the lonely VallÉe d'Absinthe, came the news that AbÉlard, whom he thought a spent force, had broken out once more. The fanatic was furious. "On fermera cette bouche avec des bÂtons," he said, and girded up his loins "to fight the dragon." From his renewed triumphs among the scholars of the Latin quarter, AbÉlard was summoned to the last great public scene of his life, the Council of Sens.

It was on January 11th, 1140. The King of France, young Louis VII., presided over the assembly. AbÉlard had hoped to be heard in his own defence; but judgment had already been decided upon. The offensive volume had been read, and condemned, overnight, by the prelates, sleeping over their cups. Upon the occurrence of an objectionable passage, the reader had interrogated the somewhat somnolent judges. "Damnates?" to which one drowsy voice had answered, "Damnamus"; while the remainder, aroused by the noise, responded, in half articulate, but appropriate chorus, "Namus."[123] AbÉlard, the ascetic, was condemned by the satellites of Bacchus.

The old man, broken, yet still resolute, determined to appeal to the Pope. He set out on the long journey for Rome; but got no further than Cluny, where Pierre le VÉnÉrable received him, with all the gentle and tolerant affection that reveal him as one of the most lovable characters of the century. He obtained the Pope's permission to let AbÉlard remain with him; he even succeeded in reconciling him with the hitherto implacable St. Bernard. The old orator passed the last two years of his life in the quietude of Cluny, growing ever weaker in body, ever calmer in soul. At last Pierre le VÉnÉrable had him removed to the Abbey of St. Marcel de ChÂlon, hoping that the change might restore his health; but the end had come. On April 11th, 1142, the Reformer died.[124]

Pierre, writing to HÉloÏse of her husband, says: "It is not easy to tell in a few lines, O my sister, the saintliness, the humility, the abnegation that he showed us, to which the whole monastery can bear witness.... I gave him high rank among our brothers, but he would be as the least of all by the simplicity of his clothing. It was the same with his food and all that touched upon the delights of the senses ... he refused everything but what was indispensable to life. He read continually, he prayed often, he kept perpetual silence."

HÉloÏse received her lover's body, and buried it in her own convent of Paraclet. She survived AbÉlard twenty years, ruling her convent so well that it became one of the most famous religious houses in France, in high repute with all the great ecclesiastics of the day. Legend, always busy with such lives and loves as theirs, tells us, in an ancient chronicle of Tours, that when they laid the body of the Abbess in the tomb of her AbÉlard, who had rested there already twenty years, the faithful husband raised his arms, stretched them forth, and closely embraced his HÉloÏse.[125]

We turn now to a later phase of Burgundian life—the tournaments that are remembered in connection with such towns as Chalon-Sur-SaÔne, and Dijon.

Olivier de la Marche, that loyal servant of the House of Valois, for whom he suffered so many mischances, has given us, in his memoirs, a good account of the great tournament of La Dame des Pleurs, which took place at ChÂlon, in a field on the far side of the river, in 1449.

Two famous knights of the time, the Sire of Lalain, who had sworn to appear thirty times in the lists before he attained his thirtieth year, and the Seigneur Pierre de Vasco, had caused a great pavilion to be set up, and lists to be made ready, where, for a whole year, they engaged themselves to fight against all coming in the name of La Dame des Pleurs. "Now this pavilion was palissaded and barred right honourably, and none might approach it without leave of Charolois the herald, a right honourable herald, officer-at-arms of the Count Charles of Charolois; and he wore his coat-of-arms, and bore a white baton in his hand, and kept the images ordered for the challenger's enterprise: and first at the head of that pavilion, as high as might be, was set, on a picture, a representation of the glorious Virgin Mary, holding the Redeemer of the World, her Lord and her Son; and below, on the right side of the picture was fashioned a lady right honestly and richly clad, and her master in simple attire; and she was in guise of weeping so sore, that the tears were falling even on to the left side, where was shown a fountain, and on it a unicorn seated, seeming to embrace the three targets, arranged for the three manners of arms the challenger might furnish for his enterprise; of which the first was white, for the arms of the axe, the second violet for the arms of the sword, and the third (which was below in the manner of a triolet) was black for the arms of the lance, and the said targets were all sown with blue tears; and for these causes was the lady named the Lady of Tears, and the fountain, the Fountain of Tears. Now have I shown the enterprise and the ordering of this noble meeting (pas): which things were strange and new in the country, and much admired and seen of many and divers personages.

"That same day came to the palace a herald, named Toulongeon, who summoned the herald guard of the pavilion and said to him: 'Noble herald, I ask that you open to me, that I may go and touch one of the targets that are in your guard, for, and in the name of a noble squire named Pierre de Chandios.' The herald received him right joyously, and told him that he was very welcome; and opened to him; and the said Toulongeon, like an officer well learned, kneeled before the Virgin Mary, saluted honourably the Lady of Tears, and then touched the white target, and said, 'I touch the white target for and in the name of Pierre de Chandios esquire: and affirm in word of truth, saying that on the day which shall be appointed him, he will furnish in his person the conditioned and ordered arms for the said target, according to the contents of the chapters of the noble challenger, if God keep him from encumbrance and loyal cares.' And so he left, and the palissades were shut again, and the pavilion remained spread and guarded until mid-day, when Charolois told of the enterprise and made his report to the good knight messire Jacques de Lalain of his day's adventure, and how Pierre de Chandios had caused the white target to be touched: at which he rejoiced greatly, and welcomed Toulongeon the herald of these good news, gave gift, and named him an early day for the fight, which was the following Saturday.

"On that day (which was the thirteenth day of September) the lists were made ready, and the house of the judge and the pavilions were spread for the champions; and that of messire Jacques was of white satin, sown with blue tears; and that of Chandios of rose red silk emblazoned with his arms about the roof: and came the judge to his place, accompanied by Guillaume, lord of Sarcy, then bailiff of ChÂlon, by master Pierre, lord of Goux, a great man in the grand council of the duke, and who was afterwards chancellor; and of several other councillors and noblemen well versed in the noble profession of arms. These having taken their places, the said messire Jacques quitted the church of Les Carmes, situate at the gate of the town and of the faubourg of the gate of St. Jehan-du-Maiseau; and after having heard three masses very devoutly, entered into a covered boat, accompanied by messire Pierre de Vasco and by several other noblemen of his house (for he kept very great state), and he found also, of many in the country two noblemen, brothers german; of whom the elder was messire Claude de Toulongeon, lord of La Bastie, and the other Tristan de Toulongeon, lord of Soucy ... and because the said messire Jacques was a stranger in the country, they accompanied him: nor evermore during this contest did they leave him.

"Thus the knight crossed the river of SaÔne, and came to land at the island on which he was to fight: and there jumped out of his boat, clothed in a long robe of cloth of gold, furred with sable. He held his banner in his hand, figured with his devotions; with which he signed himself at the same time, and right well it became him. So came he into the lists, and presented himself before the judge,[126] and spake with his own mouth these words: "Noble king-of-arms of the Golden Fleece, commissioned by my most redoubted and sovereign lord the duke of Burgundy and count of Hainault, to be my judge in this trial, I present myself before you to keep and defend this enterprise and contest and on my part to furnish and accomplish the arms chosen and required by Pierre de Chandios according to the contents of the chapters on that behalf." The judge, habited in the coat-of-arms of the Duke of Burgundy, the white baton in his hand, received and welcomed him right honourably, and the challenger withdrew into his pavilion.

"Not long had he been there, when there appeared upon the great bridge of ChÂlon the said Pierre de Chandios, who was coming upon his horse, armed with all arms, the bacinet upon his head and the coat-of-arms upon his back; and, in truth, he was one of the greatest and most powerful squires in all Burgundy, or in Nivernais, and might, in age, be thirty-one years or thereabouts. He was accompanied by the lords of Mirebeau, of Charny and of Seyl, and by so many lords and nobles of Burgundy that I should estimate the company at more than four hundred noblemen. The said de Chandios entered the lists upon a horse emblazoned with his arms, and dismounted; and the lord of Charny led him on his right before the judge, and made speech, and said: 'Noble King of Arms of the Golden Fleece, commissioned by my most redoubted and sovereign lord the duke and count of Burgundy, judge in this cause, here is Pierre de Chandios, my nephew, who presents himself before you, in order that, God aiding him, he may furnish and accomplish the arms by him undertaken and required, in encounter with the challenger of this noble contest, according to the condition of the chapters, and of the white target which he has caused to be touched.'

"The King of Arms welcomed him and received him as was his due, and withdrew into his pavilion: and this done, everyone withdrew from the lists, and the accustomed cries were begun; and meanwhile a cousin german of mine, named Anthony de la Marche, lord of Sandon, appointed marshall of the lists, drew near to the said Chandios by the judge's command, and bid him declare the number of strokes of the axe he required, and demanded to make and furnish these arms: and the said Chandios declared seventeen strokes of the axe. So the said marshall came to the judge to acquaint him of the number of strokes, and then he came to the said Jacques de Lalain, to acquaint him of his adversary's intention, and also to ask of him the axes which he must deliver to furnish and do battle withal. So were two axes given and delivered to him, which were long and heavy; and the mallets and heads of the said axes were fashioned like falcons' beaks, with large and heavy spikes above and beneath: and were bladed with a screw-plate of flat iron, with three nail-heads short and thick, diamond fashion, and somewhat after the manner of lance blades for jousting with arms of war, without roquet; and the said axes were taken to the said de Chandios to chose from: and a moment after Pierre de Chandios sallied forth from his pavilion, clothed in his coat-of-arms, his bacinet on his head and his visor lowered, crossing himself with his bannerolle: and then did his uncle, the lord of Charny, deliver him his axe and accompanied him far into the lists. On the other side came forth messire Jacques de Lalain: and had his harness covered, in place of a coat-of-arms, with an over-mantle with sleeves of white satin sown with blue tears, of the same colour as the target that his adversary had touched. He wore a little round helmet, and had his visor covered, and protected with a little collar-piece of steel-mail (maille d'acier): and after the recommendation of his bannerolle, Messire Pierre Vasco handed him his axe.

"So paced the champions each towards the other with great assurance, and met before the judge, and, at first each was on his guard against the other. But before long they ran together and dealt great and heavy blows, knightly given and borne on one side and the other; and I remember that the said de Lalain (who knew that the axes he had given and delivered had no spike nor point with which he could bend nor injure his adversary) stepping aside some distance turned his axe, making the head the tail, and the tail the head: and came forward again with a great effort and reached the said Chandios, with the spike of his axe on the vizor of the bacinet, and gave him so great a blow that he broke the point on the vizor; but the said Chandios (who was strong and great, powerful and valiant) did not give way; but began again the battle between them more fiercely and proudly than before, so that they beset one another so fiercely that in a short time the seventeen strokes required by the said de Chandios were accomplished.

"Then Toison d'Or threw down the baton, and the combattants were taken and separated by the men-at-arms appointed as guard and attendants, and to act as is the wont in such a case; and they, taken before the judge, touched together, and returned each whence he had come, and those arms were accomplished (achevÉes) on a Saturday, the 18th day of September, the year 49."[127]

So ended the first combat, which was followed by many others at which several knights and squires of Burgundy, Nivernais, Savoy and Switzerland presented themselves. Among the audience were the duke and duchess of Orleans and a brilliant company from the court of Italy. At the close of the tournament a great banquet was given to all the nobles who had taken part, at which the guests were entertained with many "entremets," as the representations given during the repast were called.

The giver of the feast had desired that all combattants should be painted in their armour, and his own portrait was exhibited with a couplet at the foot, expressing thanks to all noble companions who had accepted him as adversary, and offering to serve them on all occasions, in person or property, as their brother in arms. He presented to Toison d'Or a fair robe of sable, and after having courteously saluted the Lady of Tears, and kissed the feet of the Holy Virgin, he retired; and the picture, the image and the unicorn were carried, in solemn procession, to the church of ChÂlon.[128]

We shall hear more of these Burgundian Tournaments when we come to speak of the royal court at Dijon, and the festivities of the Tree of Charlemagne. Here I conclude the subject, for the present, merely reminding my readers that these heavily armoured and comparatively innocuous fights were but the slow development of sterner combats, such as that which occurred in 1273, when Edward I. of England passed through Burgundy, on his way to meet Philip III. returning from Italy. The Burgundians, wishing fittingly to celebrate the occasion, organized a tourney at Chalon-Sur-SaÔne. "There was a battle," says Mathew of Westminster, "but the English were victors and slew several who were despoiling the conquered; but as these last were men of small condition, the matter was not followed up."[129]

Modern Chalon-Sur-SaÔne has not very much that is attractive. The most interesting streets are those around the old cathedral of St. Vincent, before which, on Sunday morning, there is a busy market scene. The church is a fairly good specimen of Burgundian Gothic of the 12th to 14th centuries; but it appears to have been so much restored that a dogmatic opinion concerning its age would be unusually dangerous. The choir appears to be of the 13th century, and the arches, with unribbed vaults, of the late 12th. Strong Roman and Byzantine influence is everywhere apparent, and there are some rich late Gothic side chapels. The upper part of the design betrays the same fault as at St. BÉnigne de Dijon. The triforium—weakly designed—and the parapet above it, are lifted up to the clerestory, leaving an unsightly space of bare wall above the arches of the nave. The shafts of the high vault are taken down, as usual, on to fluted pilasters, with highly ornamented capitals. The faÇade of the church is modern, and unsuccessful.

In the old quarter, I remember one particularly good timbered Gothic house, known as the Maison de Bois.