THE Senones, who settled on the banks of the river Yonne and founded the city of Agenticum, which we know to-day as Sens, were one of the most influential people in Gaul—even the Parisii were considered of less account—and did not submit to the Roman yoke until the final defeat of Vercingetorix. The change of dominion, however, in no way detracted from the importance of their capital city, but rather enhanced it, since the conquerors made the town metropolis of the fourth Lugdunensis, and were at some pains to rebuild it in a fashion befitting its position. Six great highways met within its walls; arches, aqueducts and amphitheatres sprang up all over the city, and Agenticum henceforth became a prosperous and powerful stronghold, well able to withstand the incursions of later days, of which there were many, on the part of the Franks and the Saracens and, finally, of the Normans.

Christianity was introduced by the martyr-saints Savinian and Potentian, who, as at Chartres, built the first church in the city, thus laying, so tradition has it, the foundations of the Cathedral which was to come in after times. The town then became an archbishopric, and later, like most towns of any standing, a hereditary countship, the proximity of the two overlords, spiritual and temporal, leading not infrequently to disastrous results, especially when in the twelfth century a communal power sprang up and contributed a third factor to the contest.

In 1234 Louis IX. married Marguerite de Provence in the Cathedral of Saint Etienne, and on his return from the Holy Land, five years later, with the precious relics purchased from the Emperor of Constantinople, the reliquary and its contents were paraded through the streets in a palanquin, borne by the king and his brother, Robert d’Artois, who walked bare-headed and bare-footed at the head of the procession, casting aside all their royal state—which, indeed, poor Louis would have gladly left for ever—to set an example of reverent homage to the people of Sens. Thomas À Becket lived for some months in the Abbey of Sainte-Colombe by the river-side, founded by one of the Chlothars in the seventh century in memory of the young virgin saint who suffered martyrdom under the rule of Aurelian.

Sens, on its quiet, graceful little river, “bending ... link after link through a never-ending rustle of poplar-trees,” is a picturesque place, like most towns which have left their importance behind them in the Middle Ages, and have come down to modern days unmodernised. Standing on the far bank of the Yonne, looking across the river reaches, one gets a very delightful picture of the town, almost like that of some of our English Cathedral cities—the shining river, the green water-meadows, and above them the deeper green of the grand old trees, clustering round the great church, whose high grey tower rises from their midst, watching the town, meadows and river by day and by night, when men wake and when they take their rest, as it has watched ever since William the architect built up its stones and brought their pattern across the water that the church of Britain’s first Christian city might share the glories of her sister in France.

Sens is not very well known to travellers, although there is no cathedral in the whole breadth of France which ought to be dearer in the eyes of every Englishman, on account of its being in all probability the parent of the choir of Canterbury. Hither Becket is said to have fled, and to have sought sanctuary at the altar of St. Thomas against the persecution of Henry II. Viollet-le-Duc describes St. Etienne as a cathedral unique both in plan and style of architecture—a mixture of arches both round and pointed, such as we find in the choir of Canterbury, showing how much it is under the influence of the Burgundy school. This is proved by the great similarity of plan between the other Burgundy cathedrals, and it is surmised that after the eleventh century Autun, Langres, Auxerre and Sens possessed certain dispositions of plan peculiar to themselves, which were adopted in the Eastern portions of Canterbury. There appears to be no precise information as to the early foundation of the Cathedral of Sens, and the architect who designed it is unknown. The west front exhibits a number of fine sculptures relating to the lives of St. Stephen, St. John, and other saints; in the central portion, which dates from the end of the twelfth century, religion has given place to the arts and sciences, which are represented by twelve sculptured figures, now in a mutilated condition—Grammar, Medicine (a figure holding plants), Rhetoric (giving a discourse), Painting (represented drawing on a tablet placed on the knee), Astronomy, Music, Philosophy, &c. Under each figure is sculptured an animal or monster; in one case a lion is devouring a child, an elephant carrying a tower.... The “encyclopÆdic spirit” was dominant in the twelfth century, and in the object lesson of these stones an ignorant and unlettered crowd could find its elementary instruction.

SENS
SENS

Auxerre, which is about twelve miles from the main line between Paris and Dijon, may be considered as an outpost lying on the threshold of the Morvan country. Many of the towns in this district, notably Semur and Avallon, are built on large granite bosses protruding through the oolitic formation. Auxerre possesses churches as fine as those of any other city of its size in France. As one enters the town by the lower of the two bridges which cross the Yonne, the three churches—St. Pierre, St. Etienne and St. Germain—suddenly burst into view. On the left is St. Pierre, with its picturesque tower and forecourt entered through a Renaissance gateway; the Cathedral of St. Etienne with its single tower, high nave, and girdle of flying buttresses, stands on the highest ground in the centre of the group; and further eastwards the abbey church of St. Germain, detached from its spire, spreads out along the beautiful river front of the Yonne.“Towards the middle of the tenth century the Cathedral of St. Etienne was complete in its main outline; what remained was the building of the great tower, and all that various labour of final decoration which it would take more than one generation to accomplish. Certain circumstances, however, not wholly explained, led to a somewhat rapid finishing, as it were out of hand, yet with a marvellous fulness at once and grace. Of the result much has perished, or been transferred elsewhere; a portion is still visible in sumptuous relics, in stained glass windows, and, above all, in the reliefs which adorn the west portals, very delicately carved in a fine firm stone from Tounerre, of which time has only browned the surface and which, for early mastery in art, may be compared to the contemporary work in Italy.”—WALTER PATER, “Imaginary Portraits.”

The interior of the Cathedral offers one very striking piece of architectural planning: the Lady Chapel and chevet are joined together by two slender shafts, an arrangement by which the three features, ambulatory, chevet and Lady Chapel, are united in one broad design. This conception gives a very beautiful and harmonious effect. The eleventh-century spire of St. Germain, which appears quite detached from the body of the church, is one of the very early stone spires which exist now in France. It springs from a fairly broad base, and has a slight entasis or swelling to avoid the appearance of any midway gathering-in of the outline of the spire. The crypt of the eleventh century is “deep sunk into the ground and very dark,” having aisles, and is in plan practically a small edition of the choir of Canterbury, following the true Burgundian type, the details of its capitals resembling those of the old crypt of Nevers. Mr. Bond, referring to the crypt, or confessio of St. Germain, remarks that the burial chamber of a martyr was called a confessio: “where lay one who had confessed and given witness to his faith by his blood.” The term “Martyrdom,” applied to the north transept at Canterbury, is an exact equivalent to confessio.

ST. GERMAIN, AUXERRE
ST. GERMAIN, AUXERRE

Saint Germain, the missionary bishop, lived here, and died at Ravenna; but his body was brought back from Italy to his birthplace by five pious sisters, one of whom, canonised under the name of Sainte Maxime, lies buried in the abbey church founded by the great saint; where also, in the beautiful crypt, is the tomb of Germain himself, surrounded by a whole company of dead saints, among them the valiant Saint Loup, who, when bishop of Auxerre, drove out the Huns under Attila, and saved his city from destruction. One interesting point in connection with this abbey is that it is the mother-foundation of Selby in Yorkshire. There is a long and mythical legend on the subject, teeming of course with miracles, from which may be gathered that one Bernard of Auxerre wandered from his native town and settled down—why is not very clear—upon the banks of the river Ouse, where he led the life of a hermit. The reports of his sanctity attracted to his cell many persons in the neighbourhood, influential men amongst them; and he attained such fame that his hermit’s hut became the nucleus of a large monastery. However much of this is true, and however much legend, enough remains to show that the monks at Selby did come from Auxerre.

In addition to these three churches, it would be impossible to overlook St. EusÈbe, a church standing in the middle of the town, especially if it be the traveller’s lot to stay at the excellent HÔtel de l’ÉpÉe, and to occupy a room giving on its court-yard. There cats, cooks, and chauffeurs combine to enliven the watches of the night, and when the morning dawns, and the “web of night undone,” the jackdaws and the bells of St. EusÈbe announce that sleep is no longer befitting, and he realises that a restless night is the price to be cheerfully paid if he desires, as an architectural enthusiast, to do his duty by Auxerre.

THE BRIDGE AND CATHEDRAL, AUXERRE
THE BRIDGE AND CATHEDRAL, AUXERRE

Troyes, the ancient capital of Champagne, was formerly another “city of counts”—the residence of a long line of Thibauts, almost as famed in their day as the Fulks at Angers, and one of whom, called “le Chansonnier,” might be compared to the minstrel King RenÉ. These counts of Champagne kept up their state at Troyes until the fourteenth century, when the countship became merged in the French crown. The city likewise made of itself a landmark during the Hundred Years’ War. After the battle of Agincourt it fell into the hands of the allied Burgundians and English; and the name of Troyes now recalls the triumph, as brief as it was splendid, of the English arms in France. By this time Henry V. had set his foot upon the steps of the French throne, and the famous treaty signed here in 1420 secured the succession to him and his heirs, and, to complete the alliance, gave him the hand of the French princess, Catherine, the betrothal taking place in the Cathedral, and the marriage itself in the church of Saint Jean. Here is a contemporary account of the proceedings by the chronicler Monstrelet: “At this period Henry, King of England, accompanied by his two brothers, the Dukes of Clarence and of Gloucester, the Earls of Huntington, Warwick, and Kyme, and many of the great lords of England, with about sixteen hundred combatants, the greater part of whom were archers, set out from Rouen, came to Pontoise, and then to Saint Denis. He crossed the bridge at Charenton and left part of his army to guard it, and thence advanced by Provins to Troyes in Champagne. The Duke of Burgundy and several of the nobility, to show him honour and respect, came out to meet him, and conducted him to the hotel, where he was lodged with his princes, and his army was quartered in the adjacent villages.... When all relating to the peace had been concluded, King Henry, according to the custom of France, affianced the Lady Catherine. On the morrow of Trinity Day the King of England espoused her in the parish church near to which he was lodged; great pomp and magnificence were displayed by him and his princes as if he were at that moment king of all the world.”

Ten years later, however, Joan of Arc captured the town on her march through France, and put an end to the English dominion. In 1525 Troyes was attacked by the Emperor Charles V., who burnt at least half the town, with the result that many of the old churches had to be rebuilt, and date therefore from the sixteenth century, with remains of earlier work here and there. Soon after the fire the city was overswept by the great wave of religious controversy which was to break over France in the latter years of the century, and since most of the inhabitants declared for the Huguenot cause, their fortunes and ultimate fate were none of the happiest. In 1562 the whole Huguenot population was driven out and compelled to fall back for safety upon the town of Bar-sur-Seine; and another decade saw a repetition of the terrible day of Saint Bartholomew, when the Romanists in Troyes followed the ghastly example of their white-sleeved brothers in Paris, and massacred every Huguenot prisoner within the walls.

Historic interest at the present day divides the repute of Troyes with something less romantic—the system of weights and measures which we call “Troy weight,” and which remains as a memorial of the mercantile fame of ancient Troyes. The fairs of Troyes date back to 1230, when Count Thibaut IV. granted to his subjects a municipal charter, and laid the foundations of a commercial repute which could vie with that of any town in France. From this time onwards Troyes occupied an important position in the commercial world, and became the resort of wealthy merchants from Italy and weavers with bales of rich stuffs from Flanders, to say nothing of the goldsmiths, silversmiths, and workers in precious stones who must have brought Troy weight into fame. Neither the Hundred Years’ War nor the wars of the League appear to have affected the town’s commerce to any great extent, but the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, by forcing the Protestant population, which included the majority of the ablest citizens, to emigrate, struck a blow at the industry of Troyes from which it never recovered; and now-a-days both population and commerce have fallen to a state so low that it might almost be called one of decay, compared with the brilliant busy life of the mediÆval town. What a scene they must have afforded at fair-time, these narrow-built streets and small close squares, narrower and closer than ever we can picture them to-day, but alive with movement, laughter, above all with colour—such colour as your sober work-a-day crowd can never aspire to in these times!

Picturesque and lively as a French market of to-day undoubtedly is, with the red and green, russet and pearl-colour of its vegetables, the white caps of its women, the gay blues and crimsons of the umbrellas guarding the stalls, the laughter and chatter of the buyers, sellers, and idlers, it has nothing to compare with the wonderful colour-mass and movement of a mediÆval crowd, above all in such a place as this, the fame of whose fairs might well have attracted buyers from all parts of Europe. Stately, bearded Italian merchants—men like Antonio of Venice with argosies on every sea—in furred cap and gold chain, dark-faced, keen-eyed Jews, young nobles, exquisite in silk and velvet, wandering minstrels fantastically arrayed, dancing-girls like bright-hued butterflies, all the good citizens of Troyes in their gayest holiday attire, and the inevitable jester in his motley, skimming in and out of the crowd, shaking his cap and bells in every face—the many-coloured banners of the town guilds streaming in the breeze above their heads, and the summer sunshine flooding the whole scene, giving added light to every street-corner, added brilliancy to every hue. The Troyes of to-day is a picturesque town enough, with many beautiful timber-framed houses; but the light and life of the town went out with the departure of the fairs, and beyond its churches Troyes now has little to distinguish it from the hundreds of quondam-mediÆval towns scattered through the length and breadth of France.

A STREET IN TROYES
A STREET IN TROYES

On our architectural pilgrimage through the town the Cathedral naturally claimed our first attention; but we had not got much further than admiration of the splendour of the stained glass, and a short analysis of the beauty of the interior, when a remorseless sacristan informed us that the Cathedral was about to close for two hours. Driven outside, the contemplation of the splendid Flamboyant west portal reminded us of what we have referred to elsewhere—that these deep-set porches in the French cathedrals are considered as lineal descendants of the ancient narthex. Troyes, LÂon, Bourges and many other churches lead one to an attempt to follow out the evolution of these great porches. In the ancient basilican churches the narthex was the first section of the building—an ante-temple, long and narrow, in front of the nave. In the primitive Church it was especially allotted to the monks and the women, and used for certain offices, such as rogations, supplications, and night watches; it was further destined as a place for catechumens and penitents, who were permitted to assist at Divine Service outside the Temple. Heretics and schismatics might also here attend and listen to the reading of the Scriptures, this privilege being accorded them in the hope of their ultimate conversion; and corpses were placed in the narthex during the performance of the funeral rites. In the Middle Ages the denomination narthex was given to closed porches of churches, and ceased to be any longer applicable to a portion of a religious edifice lying within the walls. It was ultimately replaced by the word porch. These porches were both open and closed and formed a kind of vestibule.

The baptism of children and not of adults rendered it unnecessary to provide for the preparation of converts before being introduced into the Church. There were no more catechumens undergoing their time of probation, and in consequence the spacious vestibule to which they had hitherto been relegated disappeared as an essential portion of a large church, and was replaced by a porch which was either open or closed, and occupied a position in front of the nave similar to that in which its predecessor, the narthex, had stood. These porches being reserved for the faithful remained, qua porches, as very important annexes to the churches, and formed large vestibules, often closed, which ran along the outside of the western wall of a church, having sometimes the appearance of a cloister, as at Toury, which was built in 1230.

Under the porches before the main entrances of many ancient cathedrals bishops, emperors and honoured citizens were often buried, as the ecclesiastical law in the primitive Church did not allow people to be buried inside the walls of the sacred building. Many important services were held under these porches; prayers for the dead were offered up, ablutions performed by the faithful before entering the church, relics and images were exposed, and litanies chanted. Later it became absolutely necessary to keep them strictly closed on account of the abuse of the shelter of the porch by the erection of market stalls and booths on fair-days under the shadow of the church, and the crowd of buyers and sellers making the air ring with their noisy bargainings.

A further development was to make the porch a kind of arcaded avant-porte surmounted by a gable with sculptured features. These decorated canopies were by degrees thrown back into the main wall, became merged into the mouldings of the doorway, and were finally lost as a separate feature in the highly ornamented and deeply splayed portal.

Fortunately the ecclesiastical interest of Troyes is not confined to one corner, and the churches of Saint Urbain and the Madeleine lie in one’s path to the market-place along the very picturesque streets of sixteenth-and seventeenth-century houses, which offer every conceivable variation of roof and gable.

The beautiful details of the unfinished church of Saint Urbain may well have won for itself the reputation of equalling if not of surpassing anything of its kind either in France or Germany; and although it is still in the hands of the restorer, there is now no scaffolding to prevent one looking in admiration at the graceful choir and transepts. The detached pignons above the chancel window spring from the buttresses clear of the wall, and throw a deep shadow over the upper portion of the windows. This shadow gives an appearance of weight and stability to the building, which is certainly required as an assurance against the result of too daring construction.

In the Madeleine, which is not far from Saint Urbain, is a notable rood-screen, full of luxuriant tracery and sculpture of a late Flamboyant period. It attracts attention, not because it fulfils any ceremonial requirements or forms any part of an architectural effect in the interior of the church, but rather on account of its singular appearance of being slung between two pillars.