“THE thought that the name of the city itself is most likely to call up is that of the Maid who, born far away from OrlÉans, has taken its name as a kind of surname.... We have got into a way of thinking ... as if OrlÉans had its chief being as the city of the Maid.” OrlÉans certainly does share with Rouen the chief honours of association with Joan of Arc, the “Victrix Anglorum,” as she is described on a memorial tablet in the Cathedral, and the town is equally full of monuments to her memory, though the memory in this case is that of a great triumph, whereas at Rouen it marks the last stage, captivity and death.

OrlÉans was the key of central and southern France, and if the English once got possession of it they would certain overrun all the land south of the Loire; hence its importance to France as a stronghold. Joan set out from Blois late in April, 1429, in charge of a convoy of provisions for the beleaguered city, and arrived opposite the town, on the left bank of the Loire.

From November to the end of April the English had lain before the town, and, although the inhabitants were not actually starving, provisions were very scanty, and the bringing in of fresh supplies was practically an impossibility, since the usual means of approach, the bridge across the Loire, was blocked by the enemy, who occupied the outstanding fortress of Les Augustins at the bridge, and on the right bank. On the OrlÉans bank the English had built several strong bastilles, guarding the city and effectually preventing any communication by means of the western highways. The weak spot was on the east side, where the besiegers had one stronghold only, the fortress of Saint Loup; and from this point Dunois, the general-in-chief, and La Hire, the leader of Joan’s army, intended to effect an entrance; but the Maid herself, with that love of directness which characterises her whole career, desired to attack the English, not at their strongest, but at their weakest point. Both wind and stream were against their ferrying over to Saint Loup; and in the end Joan’s simple tenacity and childish belief in the counsel of her “voices” carried the day. The army was sent back to Blois, there to cross to the right bank and attack OrlÉans from the west, and meanwhile she herself, the wind having turned, crossed in a boat by night and entered the town with La Hire and Dunois. She was hailed by the people of OrlÉans as an angel of deliverance, and lodged in the house of the treasurer Boucher, near the Porte Regnart at the north-west angle of the city walls; and from this vantage point Joan watched the enemy’s movements, appearing from time to time upon the ramparts and bidding defiance to the English, who, as was perhaps natural, retorted by showering insults upon her. On May 4 she rode out in full state to meet her army which had arrived from Blois. Three days later the great fight began. All this time the English troops had scarcely moved a finger to hinder the French operations, but when the enemy crossed the river by a bridge of boats and made a feint of attacking the fortress on the left bank, retreating apparently in confusion, the English sallied forth after them, thus provoking a real attack upon the bridge fort. During the fray the girl-leader was wounded; never for a moment did she give in, but stood in the fosse grasping the white banner—sword she would not wield—and cheering on her companions; with the result that by nightfall the position was gained, the English were driven out, and Joan returned in triumph into OrlÉans by the bridge. The greater part of her victory was now accomplished. On the following day the French forces marched outside the walls of the town to meet the English line; but Talbot and his men had not reckoned with what they, in the superstition of their time, believed to be “a force not of this world,” and the morning light shone upon their helmets and spears in full retreat towards the north. France was saved, and a clear field was left for Charles the Dauphin—the gates of his kingdom were flung open wide, that he might enter in and possess it.

ORLÉANS
ORLÉANS

But the greatness of OrlÉans belongs to an earlier day, before Joan heard the voices in the DomrÉmy meadows, probably before DomrÉmy ever existed. It was Attila the Hun who indirectly brought the town up the ladder of fame. Aurelianum in the fifth century was a desirable stronghold, and as such, Attila spied it afar from his Asiatic plains, and set out to conquer, and, as one authority has it, to “vainly besiege” it, though Freeman inclines to the opinion that “the business of West Goth and Roman was, in the end, not to keep them (the Huns) out, but to drive them out.” However that may be, Attila was eventually forced to give up his project, and Aurelianum emerged from the struggle glorious and triumphant, to become the seat and stronghold of kings, and, until its union with Paris in 613, the capital of a separate kingdom. Since then it has been the scene of siege, martyrdom and persecution, down to the days of the Franco-Prussian war, when it finished an eventful history by a Prussian occupation in October, 1870, a sequel to the battles of Patay and Bonbay.

OrlÉans is beautifully placed on a hillside overlooking the Loire. With this physical advantage, and its long list of historical associations, one cannot help feeling that it might have done better for itself, and have become more than just a quiet, unobtrusive and rather dull city, with all its monuments easily attainable. The Cathedral is an example of the last lingering phase of Gothic architecture, and was rebuilt, so we are told—after its destruction by the Huguenots—during the interval between 1600 and 1829. The building as a mass has great merit, for the architects have made an effort to clothe it with dignity, and one feels that the church itself is conceived in a spirit to make it, certainly at a distance, not unworthy of the stronghold of Clovis and his successors.

THE HOUSE OF JACQUES CŒUR, BOURGES
THE HOUSE OF JACQUES CŒUR, BOURGES

The train which we took from OrlÉans to Bourges was slow enough to enable us to look out, almost as easily as from a voiture, at the richly wooded country. Here and there a small pyramidal church tower peeps out from the trees, but, as a rule, there is little sign of life in this pleasant country, and even the fields and the gorse-covered commons are bare of sheep and cattle. This train-d’omnibus, in discharge of its functions as a mail train, distributed letter-bags at every station. Here were waiting young girls acting as postmistresses, many of whom had come from a considerable distance, having ridden on bicycles, bare-headed, in the scorching sun, along dusty roads, to deliver up their heavy loads and to enjoy a chat with the travelling postman, who was evidently welcomed by them as bringing all the latest bits of gossip along the line.

About a mile away there is a very beautiful view of the town, and the general effect is a grey one. Roofs and houses—the latter perhaps originally built of yellow-white stone—have all weathered to a beautiful grey, and there is an air of mediÆvalism about the place. Bourges, indeed, like many other towns in France, goes back to early days for its greatness, and belongs far more to the past than to the present. The fifteenth century saw it at the height of its fame as a king’s residence; Charles VII., perhaps finding the more northerly towns too hot for him during the English occupation, took up his abode there and became for the time being “King of Bourges”; and Louis XI. founded a university in the town.

Here was born the famous Bourdaloue, and Boucher, the painter of Versailles before “le DÉluge,” Boucher who was

and who now, his Grasshopper days ended, lies buried beside his mother in the Church of Saint Bonnet.

BOURGES
BOURGES

Perhaps the principal interest of old Bourges centres in the name of Jacques Coeur, the merchant prince, “a Vanderbilt or a Rothschild of the fifteenth century,” who in his days of prosperity built a great house on the hill-side where his native town stands. Coeur, we are told, founded the trade between France and the Levant; later he became Master of the Mint in Paris, and one of the Royal Commissioners to the Languedoc Parliament. He was three times sent on an embassy to foreign powers, notably to Pope Nicholas V. Charles VII., weak, unstable, and always in need of money, relied on him absolutely, but with the usual characteristics of a weak master, was one of the first to desert and despoil him of his wealth when occasion offered. The beginning of the end came through a disgraceful and apparently quite unfounded accusation against Coeur at the time of the death of the famous Agnes Sorel, whom he was accused of poisoning. Jacques was too prosperous not to have enemies, and these were, as usual, prompt to use every opportunity against him. The first steps taken, calumnies of all kind poured in to defame the man whom France had once delighted to honour, and the rest of his career is a strange mixture of exile, mysterious captivity, and equally mysterious escape, honourable reception in Rome, and friendship with the Pope; the last scene of all, perhaps the strangest and most foreign to all idea of a peaceful, prosperous merchant—for here we see him in command, not of a fleet of trading ships laden with merchandise, but of vessels of war sent against the Turks by Pope Calixtus III. Rumour has it that, far from dying in poverty and sorrow, Jacques Coeur, at the end of his life, had acquired greater riches than when at the zenith of his fame in France, but the fact remains that he died in exile, with a cloud over his memory which was not cleared away until many years after, when popular favour again smiled on his name, and he became, what he remains to this day, the citizen-hero of Bourges.

There is a very charming description—too long to quote here—in Mr. Henry James’ “Little Tour in France” of the house of Jacques Coeur; and one point of interest attaching to it is that it is built upon the old defences of the town, and at the back are many considerable remains of solid Roman bastions.

It is one of the most beautiful types of a fifteenth-century town-house that can possibly be imagined—a veritable remnant of the ancient prosperity of Bourges, of a time when such houses were no uncommon feature in the streets—when men who had made their fame and fortune loved to build for themselves a beautiful home in their native town, and enrich it with every conceivable ornament. Modern nouveaux riches indeed do the same, though perhaps not in their native place, where their memory as butcher or baker might, in their eyes, tell against them; but the difference between their “mansions” and the hotel of Jacques Coeur is the difference between an age when the Renaissance was in its early freshness and an age when it has suffered the degradations of many modern horrors in the style that is popularly designated “handsome.” No one looking upon the delicate sculptures, the wonderful wood carving, the courtyard with its cloister, the lovely porticos and galleries, can doubt the taste of the man who built and lived in this “maison pleine de mystÈres.”

THE MUSÉE CUJAS, BOURGES
THE MUSÉE CUJAS, BOURGES

The Cathedral of Bourges, which, as Freeman points out, is essentially French, although at the head of the Aquitanian churches, is well seen in approaching the town, where it rises above a base of grey tiles and warm white walls—a long flank of choir and nave, unbroken by transepts. The thrust of the heavy vaulting is stopped by a perfect forest of flying buttresses, between whose walls are built chapels, either for chantries or family monuments. From inside the town it is not much in evidence until one ascends the Rue Royale, where one comes upon it quite unexpectedly at the end of what Mr. Henry James calls a “short vague lane,” somewhat in the same manner as one comes upon St. Paul’s bursting into view at the top of Cheapside.

The absence of transepts accounts naturally for the want of any central tower or lantern, and as there are no heavy transept pillars supporting the arches at the crossing, to intercept the view, the elevation of the Host is visible to every worshipper, and the eye travels in one sweep through nave and choir to the beautifully jewelled windows of rich old glass, ranging from the twelfth to the seventeenth century. The east terminal vaulting springs so low as to mask part of the side-lights of the apse. This is also very noticeable in the east end of Sens Cathedral, the beauty of whose windows is marred by the vaults cutting across the heads of the lights. At Bourges, however, the spandril or cheek of the vault is pierced by a foliated light, showing a certain amount of the window behind, and thus taking away the appearance of depression in the low springing vaulting of the apse.

It is easily recognised that in point of historical importance Nevers, in comparison with some of its neighbours, dwindles almost into insignificance, and to the traveller coming from OrlÉans and Bourges, fresh from the scene of the triumphs of Joan of DomrÉmy, and from the seats of French kings when France was at the height of her power, there may be a slight sense of disappointment at not finding the same historical “lions” at Nevers. History, though not passing over the town entirely, has only touched it with a gentle hand, and Nevers, though possessed of plenty of material for making itself a name, has never really risen very far above being the capital of the Nivernais. It existed in Roman days under the Celtic name of Noviodunum; CÆsar made use of it as a military depÔt in his Gallic campaign, and thought the town was of sufficient importance to be a storehouse for the imperial treasure; its countship dates from the tenth century, and it became the seat of a bishop, although later than many of the Auvergne cities. Yet the counts of Nevers never made a stir in the world, as did Odo and Thibaut of Chartres, or the Fulks and Geoffreys of Angers, and nowhere on its ecclesiastical roll do we find a name like Hilary of Poitiers or Martin of Tours. Despite these early deficiencies, however, Nevers has much to interest the casual visitor, and there are four principal attractions—the Cathedral of St. Cyr, the Romanesque church of St. Etienne, the ducal palace (now the Palais de Justice), and the Porte du Croux.

THE HÔTEL-DE-VILLE, NEVERS
THE HÔTEL-DE-VILLE, NEVERS

The early church of St. Etienne, begun in 1063, is a fine example of a Romanesque building. It is also a very severe example, with a nave of round-headed pier arches, double-arcaded triforium and small clerestory lights. The bays of the nave are modified in the choir by the pier arches being stilted, by a small triple-lighted triforium, and by more importance being given to the clerestory windows. There are, also, monolithic columns and hollow-necked capitals, which are unusual in France. The church is covered by a barrel vault, the crossing of the transepts being crowned by a dome. Mr. Spiers, in his book on “Architecture East and West,” says: “The French builders of the South of France have always had the credit of being the originators of the barrel vault, with its stone or tile roof, absolutely incombustible, lying direct on the vault; to them also, I contend now, we owe the development of the dome, with its pendentives set out in a manner peculiar to themselves, and in no way corresponding to those found in the East.”

The Cathedral of St. Cyr is the only church in France—with the exception of BesanÇon—which possesses an apse at both the east and west ends. St. Gall in Switzerland, Mittelzall, Laack and many other German churches show this remarkable plan of a western tribune or paradise. In some instances it was used as a tomb-house, with entrance from without by means of a staircase. In the old basilicas, however, the tribune was not unfrequently at the west end, so that the officiating priest could at the same time face the east and also his congregation. The crypt at the west end, with its fine Romanesque capitals, is very interesting, and dates from the early part of the eleventh century, being about contemporary with that of the Cathedral of Auxerre. The original church, with its two transept arches of the same date, was lengthened eastwards in the thirteenth century, and later on had the further addition made of a choir with an apsidal termination; the chancel and nave are not separated by transepts, but the two merge quietly into each other by simple contact.

PORTE DU CROUX, NEVERS
PORTE DU CROUX, NEVERS

One afternoon, while contemplating this strange church, our attention was diverted from arch and apse by the rustle of a small bridal procession entering by a side door and being received by a priest who was waiting at an altar in one of the chapels. After some formalities of examining the certificate of civil registry, the ceremony began; and it was very interesting in its brevity and friendliness. In the English church the priest addresses the principals, with a kind of austere familiarity, by their Christian names, be they princes or paupers. But here such a liberty is rendered impossible by the natural social politeness of the French, and the contracting parties are reminded of their marriage obligations under the courteous appellations of Monsieur and Mademoiselle.

The ducal palace is quite close to the Cathedral. “We find,” Freeman says, “the two great central objects, State and Church, sitting becomingly side by side.” The ducal days of Nevers date only from the end of the sixteenth century, when FranÇois I^er, with his usual love of display, bestowed a peerage upon the Nivernais. Before this its feudal overlords went by the more mediÆval title of count, and the palace (built a century before the count became a duke) has reared itself upon the foundation of their ancient stronghold. The fourth attraction of Nevers, the high square gateway tower known as the Porte du Croux, may also be regarded as a relic of feudal days, seeing that it dates from 1398, and was evidently part of the town’s defences. It is a noble specimen of mediÆval defence, a tall gateway tower, protected, like the Porte Guillaume at Chartres, by its ancient fosse—long lancet openings running up above a low round archway and two pointed turrets flanking the hatchet-shaped central roof, with the treacherous line of machicolation below. In the middle of the sixteenth century Nevers passed to an Italian master, one of the Gonzagas of Mantua, from whom, a hundred years later, Mazarin bought it back again, and left it at his death to the Mancini family, who held it until the Revolution.

Most French towns nowadays fill their shops with a display of local pottery, good, bad and indifferent; the industry of Nevers, however, is an old-established one, dating from the occupation of these very Gonzagas, who came from a land where the faÏence industry, as well as glass-blowing, was fully developed as a fine art, and who founded in their domain a school of artists which should teach their secrets to France. The industry has remained in the town ever since, and some of the modern work is very charming, with its curious trade-sign, the little green arabesque knot or noeud vert, which some fanciful spirit designed for the sign of Nevers.