UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 THE PLEASANT LAND OF FRANCE
 
 FIRST EDITION A P 1 1 9 8 
 
 Second Impression / '9 08
 
 THE PLEASANT LAND 
 OF FRANCE 
 
 BY ROWLAND E. PROTHERO/'M.V.O. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE LIFE OF DEAN STANLEY" 
 "THE PSALMS IN HUMAN LIFE," ETC. 
 
 AND EDITOR OF 
 "THE LETTERS AND JOURNALS OF LORD BYRON," ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. 
 
 1908
 
 DCS" 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 HAZEI.L, WATSON AND VINEY, LD 
 LONDON AND AYLESBURY.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 two of the Essays in this volume refer 
 to political discussions of the day. The 
 essay on French Farming, written in 1887, de- 
 scribes the position of agriculture before the 
 establishment of the Meline tariff in 1892. It may 
 therefore serve as a starting-point for comparisons 
 with existing conditions. For this reason it has 
 been left practically untouched. It was written at a 
 crisis when great changes seemed imminent in British 
 farming. But in this country matters moved more 
 slowly than was expected. Now, however, as in 
 1887, French experience may be useful in sobering 
 extravagant expectations, and in preparing the 
 country for that increased intervention by the State 
 which necessarily accompanies the establishment 
 of small owners or small tenants. 
 
 The third essay tells the story, little known 
 in this country, of boycotting and other forms 
 of agrarian outrage in France. The present con- 
 dition of Ireland gives the history an interest 
 which is unfortunately living. 
 
 The other essays deal with social, literary, or 
 historical subjects, which touch on no political
 
 vi PREFACE 
 
 disputes. As the title of the essay on Some 
 Modern French Poets indicates, the choice is 
 arbitrary, and no attempt is made to trace the 
 modern history of French poetry. The essay 
 includes some verse translations. Madame 
 Duclaux, an English poetess and mistress of both 
 languages, might succeed in rendering French 
 poems into English poetry. The versions con- 
 tained in these pages are less ambitious in their 
 aim. 
 
 In France I have spent many of the happiest 
 days of my life. To her pleasant land I owe a 
 lasting debt of gratitude. If anything contained 
 in these pages helps to disperse a single national 
 prejudice, or to place any features in the genius 
 and character of our neighbours in a fairer light, 
 their object will have been gained. 
 
 I have to thank the Editors of the Quarterly, 
 Edinburgh, Nineteenth Century and Contemporary 
 Reviews for their permission to republish such 
 portions of these essays as have been previously 
 published in their pages. My thanks are also due 
 to Mr. E. H. Coleridge, Mr. G. H. Holden and 
 the Rev. Harold Watts for help in the correction 
 of the proofs. To Mr. Holden I am indebted for 
 the preparation of the Index. 
 
 ROWLAND E. PKOTHERO. 
 
 January 30, 1908.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 ROSES OF JERICHO : A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE . . 1 
 
 FRENCH FARMING ........ 25 
 
 TENANT-RIGHT AND AGRARIAN OUTRAGE IN FRANCE . . 93 
 
 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 126 
 
 RABELAIS 158 
 
 FONTAINEBLEAU 229 
 
 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 288 
 
 INDEX ......... 
 
 vii
 
 ROSES OF JERICHO: A DAY IN 
 PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 A ROSE of Jericho resembles at first sight a 
 -*- bunch of withered roots ; but plunged in 
 boiling water it expands, unfolds and regains its 
 former shape. Our memories are, in a sense, roses 
 of Jericho. They seem to be dead ; but a sound, 
 or smell, or sight, warms their dried-up fibres into 
 a sudden renewal of life, and re-creates, in all their 
 freshness, hours of our past experiences. 
 
 Every winter, thousands of English travellers 
 rush through provincial France on their way to 
 the Riviera, without bestowing a thought on the 
 millions of lives which are being spent in the little 
 towns and villages through which they are carried 
 in the night express. The very names of the 
 stations are unknown to them ; except from a 
 momentary blaze of confused light and the in- 
 creased roar of the train, they are even unaware 
 of their existence. If any chain of association is 
 aroused by what they see, it is generally one which, 
 by contrast or comparison, carries them back to 
 their own homes. Arrived at their destination, 
 surrounded by their fellow-countrymen, occupied 
 with their imported amusements, they have often 
 neither the time nor the wish to study the natives 
 
 1
 
 2 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 of the country in which they are guests. Such 
 a study cannot be pursued in company ; it is 
 necessarily solitary ; it does not lend itself to the 
 excitement of competition ; it is unaccompanied 
 by the delightful thrill of danger ; it is not an 
 athletic exercise ; still less is it a stepping-stone 
 to London society. 
 
 The result is, perhaps, in some respects to be 
 regretted. We know next to nothing of our 
 nearest neighbours, for it is in the quiet of the 
 provinces, rather than in the parade and glitter 
 of cosmopolitan Paris, that the heart of the French 
 nation is beating, and that the best aspects of the 
 national character are presented. Satisfied, as is 
 only natural, that the Englishman is the ideal type 
 of humanity, we are apt to decide that a French- 
 man is inferior to ourselves because he is deficient 
 in certain qualities which we prize. We do not 
 consider whether our criticism is well founded, or 
 prejudiced, or based on traditions which never had, 
 or long ago have lost, any justification. We are, 
 in fact, so keenly alive to his defects that we are 
 blind to the many points in which he is our 
 superior, and which ought to modify our judg- 
 ment. We regard him, for example, as wanting 
 in manliness, in stability, in reserve and self- 
 restraint. We condemn his taste in neckties, 
 despise his boots, and suspect that he wears white 
 lining to his trousers. We laugh at his sporting 
 achievements, and believe that he regards a meet 
 as something between a picnic and a review, or
 
 PLEASURES OF RETROSPECT 3 
 
 shoots only for the sake of the noise and the 
 society. The Frenchman, on what appear to him 
 equally good grounds, feels the same contempt 
 for us. The result was that, at the end of the 
 nineteenth century, the two nations had drifted 
 further apart in their sympathies than they ever 
 were in the previous century, when, though con- 
 stantly at war, they understood each other better. 
 
 To the traveller who knows and loves rural 
 France, such a journey as we have spoken of is 
 at least different. It has one pleasure to com- 
 pensate the discomfort that of retrospect. Every 
 detail awakens some recollection or association. 
 Now it is a turn in the limbs of a tree, standing 
 out dark against the horizon on the summit of 
 a copse-clad hill ; now it is a farmstead, with its 
 high-roofed grange, its sharp-pointed turret, its 
 pigeon-cote, and one window red with the lamp 
 of a lonely watcher. Sometimes it is the short, 
 sharp yap of a sheep-dog, or a snatch of song 
 from a group of belated countryfolk returning 
 from market sounds that are the next moment 
 lost in the rattle of the already distant train. 
 Faster than the hurrying express speeds the 
 memory, recalling scenes that are as disconnected 
 as the visions of a dream, but yet seem to group 
 themselves round some provincial town or upland 
 village. 
 
 Alight at one of these obscure stations, and 
 make your way to the little town which it serves. 
 It matters little for the purpose where the town
 
 4 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 may be situated, provided that it is far enough 
 away from bustling centres of trade to have escaped 
 some of the conventionalities that follow in the 
 wake of material progress. It is best to reach 
 it by an omnibus, if not a diligence ; for, though 
 the distance be not greater than five miles, the 
 delays, the frequent halts, the dust, the self- 
 importance of the driver, the clatter of the arrival, 
 and the interest with which the coming of the 
 vehicle is expected by the natives, all create the 
 impression that thirty times that space divides 
 the journey's end from the starting-point. 
 
 The town must have seen better days, but, 
 though decayed, it should not be entirely dead ; 
 it should rather be the centre of local life, the seat 
 of a market, the chef-lieu of the arrondissement. 
 It has not yet adapted itself to the fashion of the 
 day ; it has no bald, boulevarded, Parisianised streets, 
 wide, straight, and long as a day without bread, 
 in which the traveller is frozen by the wintry wind 
 or grilled by the summer sun. It has bits of old 
 ramparts shaded with plane trees, and labyrinths 
 of lanes engineered on the mediaeval principle 
 dear alike to statesmen and architects that one 
 good or bad turn deserves another. It has, in fact, 
 an abundance of corners and crevices, in which 
 may grow the flowers and the weeds of the past. 
 
 The very name of the hotel at which the traveller 
 alights will help to foster the illusion that he has 
 put not only miles, but centuries, between himself 
 and his ordinary surroundings. Its sign, de la
 
 THE OLD-WORLD ATMOSPHERE 5 
 
 Haute Mere Dieu or de I 'Image, carries him back 
 to the days when men relied for safety in their 
 journeys rather on the hand of an unseen Protector 
 than on the latest sanitary patent of Jennings. So, 
 too, the names of the streets serve to strengthen 
 the same impression. Here he can sip honey with 
 the Bourdon blanc, caper with the Chevres qui 
 dansent, caracole on his destrier by the side of 
 the Quatre fils tfAymon, hunt Huguenots in the 
 rue des Renards, or make the best of both worlds 
 with the Chapeaux Ptofette*. The houses that 
 rise on either side of these quaintly named and 
 tortuous streets are in keeping with the old-world 
 atmosphere. They belong to every age and every 
 style. Here is one with high-pitched roof and 
 timbered front, its three stories jutting out one 
 above the other like an inverted staircase. An- 
 other, decorated with the broken escutcheon of 
 some noble family, fascinates the passer-by with the 
 grotesque figures, into which its joists are carved, 
 or that grimace from the gable-ends. On the 
 door of a third, huge nails trace mysterious hiero- 
 glyphs, some Protestant's confession of faith or 
 some Leaguer's curse on Henri Quatre. A fourth, 
 of less ambitious type, bears upon its front the 
 symbols of a burgher's noblesse de la cloche. A 
 fifth, standing back a few paces from the street, 
 with a stone-paved courtyard, where pigeons are 
 wooing with all the formal courtesies of Sir Charles 
 Grandison, has an iron gateway, worked in the 
 style of Louis the Fifteenth, with marvellous
 
 6 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 interlaced branches, the masterpiece of some 
 unknown Jean L amour. 
 
 There are but few windows in these narrow 
 streets through which the passer-by can peer ; 
 probably also but few interiors, even if he could 
 see them, would repay his curiosity by present- 
 ing any characteristic features. The furniture is 
 modern, and gives no clue to the habits or tastes 
 of the owners, past or present. Crimson plush 
 and gilding are as omnipresent as once were black 
 horsehair and mahogany in this country. At the 
 most a few crudely coloured prints from Epinal, 
 in staring red and blue, suggest the churchwoman. 
 But more rarely the style is distinctive. Here, 
 for example, is a house which must once have 
 belonged to a good citizen who prospered under 
 the First Empire, and bequeathed to careful heirs 
 the alabaster clock, the pier-glass set in its frame 
 of fluted columns, the lyre-backed chairs, and the 
 sofa with its arms adorned with brazen heads of 
 rams or sphinxes. Here, rarer still, is another in 
 the style of the eighteenth century ; the walls 
 are wainscoted with varnished walnut-wood, with 
 the panels decorated with scenes of the chase, or 
 of Arcadia ; in a corner stands a bed of painted 
 wood ; on the chimney-piece groups of faience de 
 Luneville represent the four elements or the 
 four seasons ; from the walls hang a pair of prints 
 IS Amour et Psyche and L' Amour desarme. 
 Whatever may be the taste of the present owner, 
 we may feel sure that in the days of her great-
 
 THE SHREWDEST BARGAINER 7 
 
 grandmother there lay in the drawer of the 
 chiffonier, by the side of the piece of tapestry 
 work, a volume of Voltaire's tragedies, and that 
 the good lady declaimed scenes from Zaire, or 
 hummed La Belle Bourbonnaise, as she prepared 
 her pickles and preserved her jam. 
 
 Emerging into the business street of the town, 
 the traveller passes into modern life, and, if it be 
 market day, plunges into a scene of bustle and 
 picturesque confusion. Carts and gigs, tilted 
 against the edges of the cobbled roadway, crowd 
 the thoroughfare. The pavement is thronged 
 with market-gardeners, farmers, pig-jobbers, horse- 
 dealers, fowl-merchants, people with thick voices, 
 thick red necks and thick sticks, wearing new 
 blouses and fur caps. Shrillest and shrewdest 
 bargainer of all, and conspicuous among the men 
 with her bulgy cotton umbrella, her short skirts, 
 her strong boots, and her round black straw hat, 
 is the maitresse Jemme, who has been early left a 
 widow. Stout, high-coloured, with sharp black 
 eyes twinkling under thick eyebrows, and with 
 something more than a suspicion of a moustache, 
 she is given over, body and soul, to saving money. 
 If she for a moment falls into a fit of abstraction 
 and you might almost as soon catch a weasel 
 asleep one hand unconsciously forms a cup, and 
 above it mechanically rises the other, as though 
 she were counting her sous by transferring the 
 coins from the right hand to the left. Yet she 
 has her virtues. Her bargain may be hard driven ;
 
 8 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 but, once struck, she will carry it out with strict 
 honesty and scrupulous punctuality. 
 
 The crowd grows denser, the noise more con- 
 tinuous, as we approach the little place, which 
 opens on the main street. Along its northern 
 side runs the grey and buttressed wall of the 
 Church of St. Austremoine, whose western front 
 still remains, from base to summit, a floral burst 
 and laughter of stone, though its sculptured niches 
 were defaced by the Huguenots, and its cloister, 
 half-destroyed at the Revolution, is now used as 
 a granary, which bears upon its makeshift door 
 the rudely daubed inscription " Libert e, Egalite, 
 Fraternite." In its centre stands a fountain 
 of the epoch and in the delicate style of the 
 Renaissance, surrounded by avenues of limes, 
 beneath which at intervals are placed benches of 
 stone. On the side opposite to the church 
 stretches the white front and green verandah of 
 the Cafe dc la Paix. 
 
 On ordinary days the place, except in the 
 evening, is almost a deserted spot. A retired 
 citizen occupies one of the seats, a grizzled militaire 
 suns himself on another, warming himself into the 
 fancy that he is once more in Algeria ; on a third 
 sits the grocer's maid-of-all-work, her hands 
 clasped under her white apron, dreaming of her 
 native village, and paying little heed to the over- 
 dressed child which plays by her side in the dust. 
 But to-day the place is bright with the red and 
 blue umbrellas that shade the stalls, and noisy
 
 MARKET-DAY 9 
 
 with the clatter of the keenest chaffering. Yet, 
 busy though the scene is, it is steeped in that 
 indefinable atmosphere of gay leisure which is the 
 heritage of a people who, in spite of their inde- 
 fatigable industry, have yet succeeded in keeping 
 on good terms with idleness. The itinerant tin- 
 man, the vendor of brown earthenware, and the 
 dealer in damaged goods a strangely miscellaneous 
 assortment, which ranges from tattered books to 
 rusty fire-irons are the only representatives of 
 the masculine gender among the stall-keepers. 
 One or two men, with the abstracted air and 
 shuffling gait which in France are peculiar to the 
 unprotected male, are doing their marketing. 
 But, for the rest, buyers and sellers alike are all 
 women, and all appear to be middle-aged. Vain 
 as a Papal bull against a comet is that Salic law 
 passed by Frenchmen to exclude French women 
 from ruling over them. The very existence of 
 such a law is at once the admission of a danger 
 and the acknowledgment of a defeat. Women, 
 with their thumbs thrust through the handles of 
 their doorkeys, and their knitting needles stuck 
 into the bodies of their gowns, try, basket in hand, 
 to cheapen their purchases. Beside the stalls of 
 vegetables, eggs, poultry, and fruit, sit or stand 
 rows of women, who to the eyes of the foreigner 
 are all curiously alike. Dressed in plain cloth 
 gowns, with blue aprons tied round their ample 
 waists, their sleeves turned up to the elbows and 
 showing their bare arms browned and roughened
 
 10 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 by exposure they one and all have apple cheeks, 
 short square chins, and snub noses, set in the white 
 framework of the caps from which their grizzled 
 hair escapes in rebel locks. Bright-eyed, quick 
 in movement, ready of tongue, lively in gesture, 
 they seem by their vivacious vitality to give the 
 lie to the premature wrinkles, which tell a tale, 
 not so much of years, as of a hard, preoccupied, 
 and anxious life. 
 
 The Cafe, like the place, is transformed by the 
 bustle of the market. On ordinary days between 
 the hours of ten and twelve, or from two to four, 
 the whiskered waiter, in his black jacket and white 
 apron, would be lounging at the door, smoking 
 his cigarette in the verandah among the box-trees 
 in green tubs, the wooden tables covered with 
 brown oilcloth, arid the footstools. Within, the 
 fat landlord might be playing piquet with the 
 auctioneer, the veterinary surgeon, or the retired 
 militaire. But no stranger is present, unless it 
 is a black-suited commercial traveller, who, in 
 a quiet corner, contemplates with pride the 
 elaborate flourish which concludes the report of 
 his morning's work. Even the throne behind the 
 bar, placed in a commanding situation to face 
 the door, and flanked on either side by an edifice 
 of punch-bowls crowned with a pyramid of billiard 
 balls, would be unoccupied. But to-day all is 
 different. Not, indeed, the external or internal 
 decorations they remain as they were. Outside, 
 the rabbit still hangs suspended, by the side of
 
 SALONS OF THE DEMOCRACY 11 
 
 a painter's palette, from a festoon of pink ribbon 
 which loosely binds together the three piled 
 billiard cues. Inside, the panels, which alternate 
 with looking-glasses in covering the walls, still 
 represent groups of musketeers and amazons, who, 
 with their every-day air of detached unconcern, 
 drink champagne out of tall glasses in glades of 
 hollyhocks. But the marble-topped tables within, 
 and the wooden tables without, with fresh hand- 
 fuls of sawdust thrown beneath them, are thronged 
 with guests. Backwards and forwards hurries the 
 waiter ; the fat landlord bustles to and fro, 
 ministering with his own hand to the wants of 
 his more important guests ; the stout, comely 
 dame de comptoh-, with a new riband in her dark 
 hair, occupies her throne, and, with lynx-eyed 
 quickness, anticipates the wishes of her visitors 
 by the incessant ringing of her bell. 
 
 The Cafe, on such a day, or any evening, offers 
 infinite scope for observation and reflection. In 
 France, its life is led by all the world, from the 
 highest to the lowest. A history of cafes would 
 be the most important chapter in the history of 
 modern French society ; clean, bright, and gay, 
 they are the salons of the democracy. We have, 
 to our national loss, nothing like them. There 
 is a babel of voices ; but the chief stimulants are 
 coffee or sorbets, and drunkenness is practically 
 unknown within their doors. At nearly every 
 table there is the keenest gambling ; the faces of 
 the players are ablaze with eagerness ; the air
 
 12 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 resounds with " J'en donne " or " Je coupe et 
 atout " ; cards or dominoes are banged down with 
 a triumphant emphasis which rings through the 
 room. But two lumps of sugar are the stake, 
 and give that zest to the game which the English 
 clerk or shop-boy craves, and too often gratifies 
 by a fraud upon his master. If there are soldiers 
 quartered in the town, the room becomes a shifting 
 scene of blended colour. Here the blouse, there 
 the broadcloth ; here the light blue and silver of 
 a hussar, there the dark blue and green facings of 
 the chasseurs a pied., or the red facings and red 
 plumed shako of the artilkrie a pied, or the red 
 facings and red pompon of the infanterie de la 
 ligne. Officers and men take their pleasures 
 together under the same roof, but distinctions in 
 rank are preserved by punctilious salutes. The 
 groups of officers are worthy of a moment's study, 
 because in the knots that gather at the various 
 tables may be marked those common differences 
 in origin which to us are so rare as to present 
 insuperable difficulties. By the side of the grizzled 
 veteran, who has won his epaulettes from the 
 ranks, sits the smooth-faced lad who has jumped 
 into the same grade through the Ecole. 
 
 Wearied with the hubbub of the market, and 
 dizzy with the babel of the Caft, the traveller 
 seeks to vary the scene. He has not far to go. 
 He has but to cross the river and gain the summit 
 of the hill above. On this side of the town the 
 ground rises sharply towards a rocky crest, crowned
 
 THE DISMANTLED CASTLE 13 
 
 by the ruins of a feudal fortress a dismantled 
 castle, whose solid keep has alone defied the powder 
 of Mazarin. A steep path, deeply worn in the 
 rock, winds upwards. A wrinkled sibyl, distaff 
 in hand, herds the solitary goat which browses on 
 the scanty herbage of its banks ; a bare-headed, 
 bare-footed girl, knitting as she goes, marshals her 
 flock of geese with a switch ; a priest, with half- 
 shut eyes and his thumb in his closed breviary, 
 repeats his midday prayers, as he follows its 
 windings, courting the line of diapered shadow 
 which the plane trees cast upon the path. So far 
 as human voices go, it is a silent spot, from which 
 the traveller, seated among the ruined walls, looks 
 down on the town nestling below the hill and en- 
 circled by the river. All around, the air is resonant 
 with the chatter of jackdaws, the hum of insects, 
 and the chirrup of grasshoppers. But these sounds, 
 like that of the sheep cropping the short herbage, 
 merely serve to intensify the stillness and the 
 solitude. Only the ceaseless rataplan of the bats 
 of the washerwomen, rising from below, remind 
 him that he is near the haunts of men. 
 
 The castle and its owners have played a stirring 
 part in French history. The path itself, worn by 
 the traffic of centuries, is that by which the mail- 
 clad men-at-arms hurried down to hold the ford, 
 or drove their booty to their fastness. No wise 
 man travels without a hobby. One is an architect, 
 or a botanist, or a geologist, or a fisherman ; 
 another a student of manners and customs ; another
 
 14 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 a conqueror of Alpine peaks. Nor is the Muse of 
 history so cold a prude that she can never put off 
 her dignity. When once her robe and buskin are 
 laid aside, and she has escaped the glacial influence 
 of the critic, she becomes the most genial, accom- 
 modating and resourceful of companions. Never 
 in the way and never out of it, she requires no 
 paraphernalia of fishing-rods, or hammers, or 
 specimen-cases, or ice-axes. She neither dwells 
 apart on inaccessible peaks of snow, nor hides in 
 antediluvian formations ; she is no shy nymph, 
 only to be wooed and won in exceptional conditions 
 of wind and sky and water. At home in all 
 weathers and all places, she can, with a wave of 
 her hand, people the grass-grown streets of dull 
 villages and humdrum towns with all the picturesque 
 and motley actors in a brilliant past, and carry her 
 companions back to the fresh spring morning of 
 the world, when poetry and romance sparkled like 
 dew on forms of life which now are parched and 
 dust-begrimed. Happy those with whom she 
 travels, and nowhere happier than in provincial 
 France. 
 
 So now, if that were the present object, we 
 might close our eyes and hear again the clank of 
 men-at-arms, or conjure up the gay va-et-vient of 
 mediaeval court and hunting-lodge. But France 
 of to-day, not France of the past, is the theme. 
 If the traveller, following the path which leads 
 away from the town, reaches the nearest village, 
 he will find it silent and deserted. The men are
 
 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 15 
 
 in the fields : the women at market, the washing- 
 place, or harvest. Sunning themselves before 
 their doors, may sit a few white-capped old women, 
 their trembling hands clasped over their sticks, 
 their shoulders covered with gay-coloured hand- 
 kerchiefs on which are printed battle scenes. The 
 rhythmic tap of the cradle rockers within some 
 cottage may tell its tale of infant life. A horse 
 splashes through the half-dried pond ; the blue- 
 green ducks quack, as they wallow in its slime. 
 But other sounds there are none. The traveller 
 retraces his steps and descends along the path, by 
 which groups of market-women, chattering faster 
 than their legs can carry them, are now returning 
 to their homes among the villages on the plateau 
 above. The river lies below him. If he be 
 wise, he will seek its banks. 
 
 The river is a sluggish stream, maintaining between 
 flat banks an undeviating course. Yet, if the fierce, 
 turbulent Loire, with its sudden and disastrous 
 floods, is truly the river of revolutionary France, a 
 stream of this more common type more adequately 
 represents the ordinary aspects of French pro- 
 vincial life and character. It has passed through 
 no stage of enthusiasm or romance ; it was grown 
 up when still a brook. It flows through centres 
 of human life, caring for no other world than that 
 of men. Easy of access, keenly alive to external 
 impressions, suffering no passing object to escape 
 the alertness of its notice, quick to reflect on its 
 surface the most passing lights and ephemeral
 
 16 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 shadows, it will never achieve a romantic end by 
 precipitating itself from a precipice. So, too, the 
 Frenchman intensely and essentially objective, 
 rarely pausing to analyse his own feelings or those 
 of others, concentrated but not absorbed in the 
 immediate object of his pursuit, projecting himself 
 readily and rapidly into the feelings of those by 
 whom he is for the moment surrounded has over- 
 leaped the stage of imaginative romance which 
 separates the child from the man. 
 
 The average Frenchman remains, throughout 
 his life, in many respects a child, just as the average 
 Englishman remains, if not a schoolboy, an under- 
 graduate. The Frenchman se range, when his 
 English contemporary is wandering in the Rocky 
 Mountains of thought or of reality. Sometimes 
 for better, sometimes for worse, many of the 
 national characteristics are governed by the fact 
 that the intermediate stage between the child and 
 the man that of boyhood is a transition through 
 which the one never passes, and from which the 
 other never emerges. A Frenchman, for example, 
 courts admiration with the simplicity of a child ; 
 he has a child's boastfulness, and a child's power 
 of making believe. He calls the solitary box-tree 
 in a painted barrel, by the side of which he drinks 
 his coffee, a bosquet de verdure ; he describes his 
 square yard of garden, with its miniature bed of 
 dahlias, as a vaste jardin dagrement ; with the 
 eagerness of a six-year-old, he solicits your appre- 
 ciation of their beauties. To him they are what
 
 FRENCH PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE 17 
 
 he says ; he prizes them not at their material, but 
 at their relative value. He has fathomed the true 
 secret of happiness, and is a wiser philosopher 
 than the man who sneers. At least he is no 
 hypocrite like the Englishman, who would rather 
 bite his tongue off than express all the admiration 
 that he feels for his own possessions ; who affects to 
 belittle them, describes his rural palace contemptu- 
 ously as his " little bachelor box in the country," 
 and would be seriously offended if his depreciation 
 were accepted literally. 
 
 The Frenchman never feels the personal sense 
 of the ludicrous ; he has no perception of incon- 
 gruities ; he knows nothing of mauvaise honte ; 
 he is a stranger to the self- consciousness of un- 
 recognised dignity ; he cannot understand the 
 meaning of the word " prig," because at no time, 
 though often self-important, does he take the 
 serious view of life, or of his part in it, the 
 precocious conception of which distinguishes that 
 variety of the human race. It is as a child that 
 he can take delight in simple, almost infantine 
 pleasures, that he enjoys himself freely and often 
 selfishly, expresses his emotions openly, whether of 
 joy, pleasure, affection, or rage, and walks in pro- 
 cessions as if he were part of a pageant, not as if 
 he were a shame-faced criminal. He cannot sym- 
 pathise with the Englishman's dread of attracting 
 attention. He cannot comprehend why the only 
 emotion which it is desirable to display in public 
 is ill-temper, or why crayfish a la Bordelaise should 
 
 2
 
 18 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 be eaten with the same air of stoical indifference 
 with which we sit down to a cold mutton chop. 
 If he is immoral, he is so frankly and without 
 disguise ; he bangs the front door noisily as he 
 goes or returns, while the Englishman, shoes in 
 hand, lets himself out and in with a latchkey, and 
 probably officiates the next morning at family 
 prayers. It is, again, because he is never a boy, 
 that the Frenchman remains a child in the zest 
 with which he pursues his immediate end, the 
 naturalness of his enjoyment, the perpetual fresh- 
 ness of his interests. He never mortgages the 
 present for the future. It is this concentration on 
 the passing moment which gives to French life its 
 elan and abandon, its directness and rapidity, its 
 sparkle, allurement, and caprice. 
 
 But the river has other lessons to teach. By 
 the side of the stream stand rows of poplars, and 
 under the shade of every tree sit fishermen watch- 
 ing intently the motions of their floats. Every 
 age and rank are represented. The provincial 
 dignitary, laden with the affairs of state, sits be- 
 tween two ragged urchins, both more successful 
 than himself. Their tackle is equally miscellaneous ; 
 it ranges from the mast of " some great ammiral " 
 and a line capable of holding Leviathan himself, 
 to a mere twig, a coloured string, and a crooked 
 pin. Their common prey is the gudgeon, and the 
 sport is par excellence the national pastime of pro- 
 vincial France, the index and the school of national 
 character. It is here that the good people of the
 
 GUDGEON-FISHING 19 
 
 provinces acquire habits of frugality and patience, 
 and are trained to be content with little and to 
 make the most of everything. It is here that the 
 rural shopkeeper was taught the motto, au-gagne- 
 petit, which is the canon of his trade. He appor- 
 tions his family to his income : his quiver is 
 never so full that he is forced into fraud. His 
 pleasures are domestic ; his dissipation is the cafe, 
 where his sugar gives him a keener interest in his 
 game than the bet which the British shop-boy robs 
 the till to pay. It is here that the peasant has 
 learnt to cultivate every barleycorn of soil, to 
 utilise every possible coign of vantage, to collect 
 the droppings of his cattle as carefully as the gold- 
 seeker sifts sand for ore, and, prodigal of nothing 
 but himself, sparing of everything except his 
 labour, to toil the livelong day for infinitesimal 
 rewards. Nature is bountiful to him, but he does 
 not squander her largess. He himself, his wife, 
 his cow, his dog, are beasts of draught and of 
 burden ; his baby, as soon as it can toddle, is a 
 herder of flocks ; the puff-ball puppy is trained to 
 guard its master's property ; even the animals 
 eat within their tether. As gudgeon-fishers the 
 industrial classes have learned to live on food which 
 the British pauper throws to the dogs. If wealth be 
 attained, they neither slacken their exertions nor 
 increase their expenditure. They still don the 
 blouse, whose purple patches are as honourable to 
 them as the gaudy quarterings with which heralds 
 adorn the coats of our successful tradesmen. The
 
 20 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 women wear their simple caps rather than affect 
 those Parisian novelties which on the heads of 
 some of our fellow-countrywomen are as grotesque 
 as the kiss bestowed by Titania on the cheek of 
 Bottom. 
 
 Small and unworthy of notice though the single 
 gudgeon may be, thefriture is incomparable. The 
 lesson has been learned in many ways, and the 
 influence of the national pastime is not only 
 culinary but literary, social, and moral. From it 
 the man of letters has learnt the art of raising a 
 dainty palace out of airy nothings and of building 
 on slender facts his unrivalled generalisations. In 
 society it has taught the Frenchman the value of 
 small talk, and the unwisdom of only opening his 
 mouth when he thinks that he has hooked a salmon. 
 Morally it has revealed to him the secret that 
 happiness consists, not in an isolated day of ex- 
 pensive enjoyment purchased by a vast outlay of 
 time and trouble, but in the succession of small 
 pleasures which lie at his feet that it is, in fact, 
 rather a mosaic of an infinite number of tiny gems 
 than the single jewel of great cost, which philo- 
 sophers seek and seldom find. The jostling of 
 young and old in pursuit of the same sport keeps 
 the grandptre in touch with the bebe. The juxta- 
 position of rags and respectability on the banks of 
 the same stream carries on the work of the Cafe, 
 and promotes the kindly feeling of rural classes. 
 It also fosters that contempt for appearances which 
 enables the country gentleman to tether his cows
 
 INFLUENCE OF NATIONAL SPORT 21 
 
 under his dining-room windows, to dispense with 
 liveries for his servants, and to drive in his anti- 
 quated shay a horse not unacquainted with the 
 plough. Gudgeon-fishers can have no false shame. 
 
 Finally, the absurd disparity between the means 
 and the end in gudgeon-fishing a disparity which 
 runs through other forms of French sport accounts 
 for the absence of any sense of incongruity which 
 in France meets and amuses us on every side. 
 When, with imperturbable gravity, the cat's-meat 
 man proclaims his wares with a fanfaronade of 
 trumpets which might herald the approach of a 
 conqueror of kingdoms, we feel that he must 
 occupy his spare time in fishing for gudgeon with 
 a barber's pole and a hawser. The same reflection 
 may explain, in French literature, the frequent 
 contrast between the grandiloquence of the ex- 
 ordium and the insignificance of the conclusion ; 
 it may also help us to comprehend the process of 
 thought by which a would-be landscape gardener, 
 with a taste for topiary work, can cheaply satisfy 
 his passion by clipping the back of his poodle 
 into rosettes and pompons, or to understand the 
 habit of mind of the carter who gravely harnesses 
 with bits of string an ass no bigger than a dog 
 as the leader to the magnificent Percheron who 
 stands eighteen hands high in the shafts. 
 
 In England natural gudgeon-fishers are un- 
 fortunately rare. But they may be trained ; and 
 never had any nation a greater need of reviving 
 a lost art or practising a forgotten craft. Much
 
 is talked about " salmonising " the Thames. It 
 would be more useful to stock it with gudgeon. 
 If we could only establish an inspector of gudgeon 
 fisheries in the place of the guardians of our 
 salmon, the country would be happier. But 
 writer and reader alike are weary of moralising. 
 It is growing late in the evening of an early 
 autumn day. Summer is dying ; a shiver passes 
 over the plain, and faint white mists begin to 
 float in undulating wisps across the flat meadows. 
 It is time to make for the bridge and the town. 
 On the bridge is gathered a motley crowd. 
 Sleek citizens have closed their doors, and sallied 
 forth, with their wives and sons and daughters 
 and servants, to take the air ; peasants bid adieu 
 till the next market day to the dancing lights of 
 the local metropolis, and, laden with baskets and 
 bundles, tramp sturdily homewards ; artisans lean 
 over the bridge to catch the freshness of the 
 river breeze ; on the parapet sit men and women, 
 boys and girls, chattering and twittering like 
 swallows on a church tower. Here the bucherons, 
 bent double beneath their loads, rest their burdens 
 against the sides of the bridge to interchange a 
 pinch of snuff. There washerwomen poise their 
 hottes upon the wall and free their arms for a 
 gossip. Beneath, great timber-laden barges shoot 
 silently from under the arches, and lose themselves 
 in the dark shadow of the poplars beyond. Above, 
 soldiers swarm like bees, gather into knots, dis- 
 perse, and collect again. Reservistes of all shapes
 
 TWO PRIESTS 23 
 
 and sizes, uniform only in the inevitable red 
 trousers and long blue coat, stand awkwardly at 
 attention to salute a group of officers who pass 
 clanking down the pavement. Now and then a 
 tramp slouches by, begging his way, not like the 
 medieeval palmer, to the Holy Land, but to 
 Paris. 
 
 Two priests, enjoying a hard-earned holiday, 
 pause by the parapet ; the one short, round, and 
 rubicund ; the other tall, spare, severe. It is 
 ever thus ; the jour gras always hunts in couple 
 with the jour maigre. The one leans his paunch 
 against the bridge, doffs his tricorne, mops his 
 face, and looks down upon the lights dancing on 
 the stream below ; the other stands erect, gazing 
 across the mirror which the river holds out to 
 life, into the depths of the distant shadows. 
 Sportsmen, faultless in all the details of their 
 appointment, followed wearily by their liver-and- 
 white pointers, tramp over the bridge into the 
 town. A grey-bearded goat jumps upon the 
 parapet, looks inquisitively at the water below, 
 shakes his head, leaps down, and scampers off, as 
 the wild reedy note of the herdsman's pipe blends 
 with the blare of the cowhorn with which a 
 personage in a general's uniform hawks copies of 
 Le Petit Journal at a halfpenny apiece. Down 
 the centre of the bridge pours an incessant stream 
 of vehicles. Over the paved causeway clatters a 
 " dogue cart," with jangling bells, and Cesar or 
 Minos yelping in advance. The great grey horses
 
 24 A DAY IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 
 
 strain against their lyre-shaped painted collars, 
 and strike sparks from the stones as they answer 
 to the whips and shouts of the drivers in the 
 effort to drag the high-wheeled timber-laden 
 waggons up the steep pitch of the crown of the 
 bridge. Creaking and groaning over the pave- 
 ment lumbers a bullock cart, as rude in con- 
 struction as the state coach of King Dagobert. 
 Antediluvian hooded gigs pass by at a steady pace, 
 filled with peasants, the women holding lanterns 
 on their ample knees, the horses going at a 
 dogged, patient trot, as though they knew that 
 they must travel far on into the night before 
 the home is reached in one of the little clearings 
 of the forest of the Laigue. From the town 
 beyond comes the lively rattle of the drums, as 
 with quick step the patrol beats the rataplan 
 through the streets, and all is over for the day.
 
 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 "Tj^NGLAND draws her supplies from the civilised 
 -*^ world, while France is self-sufficing, and 
 might be self-supporting. England concentrates 
 her agriculture on bread, milk, and meat ; the pro- 
 duce which is raised in France is as varied as it 
 is abundant. No comparison between the two 
 countries in respect of fertility is fair if it is based 
 solely on products of which our farmers have 
 made a speciality. While variety is the essence 
 of French husbandry, quantity and quality within 
 a limited range are the characteristic of English 
 farming. 
 
 Within her own borders France produces not 
 only the necessaries but the luxuries of existence, 
 all that is required to enjoy as well as to support 
 life. England can breed no finer horses for their 
 respective purposes than the Anglo-Norman 
 carriage-horse, the sturdy Percheron, the heavy 
 animal of the Boulonnais, or the mettled race 
 bigourdane of the plain of Tarbes. Of her native 
 cattle France is justly proud. The white Charollais- 
 Nivernais cattle are unrivalled for their precocity 
 and their power of work. The golden-hued cattle 
 of the Parthenais, with their delicate heads, large 
 
 25
 
 26 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 soft eyes, and black points, fill the markets of 
 Cholet, or are bought up by Norman graziers for 
 the rich pastures of the Valle'e d'Auge ; like the 
 Limousin cattle, they are excellent in the plough, 
 but are slow in arriving at maturity. No finer beef 
 is sent to market than that of the Mancelle breed 
 crossed with the Durham, which the Comte de 
 Falloux has brought to perfection ; and England 
 cannot dream of competing with the veal of 
 Champagne. The cows of the Cotentin have 
 no superiors as milkers. The bright-coloured 
 red Salers or Auvergne cattle, with wide-open, 
 backward-sloping, tapering horns, or their rivals 
 of the d'Aubrac breed, with their white muzzles 
 and badger-coloured hides, or the race femeline 
 of Franche-Comte, are praised for their excellence 
 in meat, milk, and work. Agriculturists in the 
 south again have their special breeds, such as the 
 race gasconne or the race ariegeoise the strongest 
 workers of districts south of the Garonne the 
 races bazadaise, garonnaise, landaise, and basquaise. 
 The department of the Aisne, and especially 
 the neighbourhood of Soissons, holds its own with 
 its merinos and metis-merinos against the English 
 Leicesters, while the mutton of the Berrichon or 
 the Solognot is as famed for its delicacy as that 
 of Clun Forest or Wales, and the ewes of the 
 Larzac breed, on the pebbly causses of Aveyron, 
 produce the celebrated Roquefort cheese. The 
 mules of Poitou, of Barcelonnette ( Basses- Alpes), 
 and of Hautes-Pyrenees are famous for their size
 
 VARIETY OF PRODUCE 27 
 
 and strength. The long-necked, wall-sided, round- 
 backed, long-legged white pig, once so familiar in 
 rural districts, is improved by judicious crossing ; and 
 the pure races Craonnaise, Normande, Limousine 
 and Perigourdine are not to be despised. In the 
 production of milk, butter, and cheese the Valle'e 
 d'Auge, the terre classique de Vherbe where grass 
 is literally the bras d'or, and the districts of Isigny 
 and Gournay are unrivalled by the richest pastures 
 of which this country can boast. The eggs and 
 poultry of the fowl-yards of Western Normandy 
 supply food both to France and England. 
 
 The northern departments not only feed thou- 
 sands of cattle on the pulp of the beetroot, but 
 manufacture enough sugar for home consumption 
 and foreign exportation. The mulberry plantations 
 of Gard or Herault, the wool of t^e Aisne, and the 
 flax of the Pas de Calais supply the raw material 
 of the textile fabrics of France. "Les arbres de 
 Normandie," as Bernardin de St. Pierre called the 
 apple trees, produce cider in abundance ; wines and 
 spirits of all kinds and qualities are manufactured 
 from vines, beetroot, or potatoes ; hops supply the 
 wants of her people, though the loss of the Alsatian 
 provinces has reduced the growth ; olive-yards and 
 walnuts produce oil for domestic use. France 
 supplies the English markets with her early vege- 
 tables, the asparagus of Argenteuil, the artichokes 
 and broccoli of Roscoff, and the kitchen-garden 
 produce of the environs of Paris or the hortilloris 
 of Amiens. Every grocer's shop in Europe con-
 
 28 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 tains her almonds, her preserved fruits, her dried 
 apples, or her tinned vegetables. According to 
 the season she floods Covent Garden with her 
 strawberries, cherries, pears, apricots, and plums ; 
 her chasselas grapes from Thomery, her peaches 
 from Montreuil, or her melons from Vaucluse. 
 Angers sends her flowers, famous since the days 
 of King Rene, and Grasse her perfumes to every 
 part of the country. Nor is France deficient in 
 the more solid sources of national wealth. She 
 has coal, iron, lead, stone, timber, slate, and clay 
 for earthenware in rich abundance. La Belle 
 France fairly earns the enthusiasm of her patriotic 
 inhabitants by her natural fertility. 
 
 France is, in fact, a country of varieties and 
 of differences ; her climate, her soil, her scenery, 
 her agricultural practices, her land tenures are no 
 less diversified than her crops. Every climate, 
 except that of the tropics, is represented in the 
 country. Her soil is, on the whole, superior to 
 that of England, and in one respect she has a 
 marked advantage. Berri has its brandes, Gascony 
 its landes, Champagne its bald, dusty chalk 
 hills ; but throughout the length and breadth of 
 the country there are none of those stubborn 
 clays which break the heart of the English farmer. 
 Her scenery is said to be monotonous ; yet every 
 district, even among those which bear no marked 
 features, differs from its neighbour. The rolling, 
 treeless, unenclosed plains of Picardy are totally 
 unlike the small, well wooded, double-hedged fields
 
 CHARACTERISTIC DIVERSITIES 29 
 
 of Normandy, or the closertes of Anjou, or the 
 copse-clad labyrinth of short, choppy hiUs and 
 valleys of the Vendean bocage, where the peasantry 
 could literally fulfil the command s'egailler, and 
 disperse themselves like dew. The uniformity of 
 English agriculture, land tenures, and civilisation 
 imprint monotony on much of her rural economy. 
 But throughout France diversities of climate, land- 
 ownership, and land tenure have left their mark. 
 Here farm labourers are hired by the year, and are 
 lodged and fed in the farmhouse ; here they have 
 their separate homes houses which they have 
 purchased with their savings and small properties 
 that supplement their weekly wages. Each flock 
 of sheep is here the property of a single owner, 
 here of many Proven9al sheepmasters ; here, as 
 in Champagne, the common herdsman leads the 
 flocks of the villagers to the pastures. Here is a 
 metayer or a maitre valet ; here a peasant proprietor, 
 or a Picard holding under the droit de marches 
 here a rack-rented tenant-farmer, or a Breton 
 domanier a congement. Each different system of 
 land tenure affects the grouping of the rural 
 population. In Seine-et-Marne or Somme, large 
 farms and farmsteads, isolated from one another, 
 are the rule, as on a smaller scale they are in 
 Brittany. In Champagne, Picardy, or La Brenne 
 the cultivators of the soil are grouped together 
 in villages ; a palisade of hedge and trees marks 
 the clusters in which, on the high table-land of the 
 Pays de Caux, the Cauchois congregate ; in Marche
 
 30 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 the farmers are clustered together in village com- 
 munities of peasant owners, each village group 
 consisting of members of the same family. Archi- 
 tectural peculiarities mark the differences of climate 
 or of soil; the white, flat-roofed, red-tiled houses 
 of the south, the Norman farmsteads standing in 
 the midst of pastures and orchards, the Pyrenean 
 dwellings built of flints interspersed with courses 
 of brick, the whitewashed buildings of Saintonge, 
 the brick walls and slated roofs of the Ardennes, 
 the black, lava-built dens of the Auvergnat, the 
 sombre granite houses of the Breton, the thatched 
 cottages of the Marche, the cave dwellings bur- 
 rowed into the chalk cliffs of the Loire, each tell 
 their own, and each a different, story. 
 
 Variety is at once the charm and the solid 
 advantage of France. It is by her diversities of 
 soil and climate that her peasant proprietary thrives. 
 By the same diversity she is protected against 
 foreign competition or adverse seasons. As in 
 England the relations of landlord and tenant- 
 farmer constitute practically the only system of 
 land tenure, and corn-growing and cattle-feeding 
 her only agricultural industry, so her districts are 
 purely agricultural or purely manufacturing. It 
 is not so in France, and too much stress can hardly 
 be laid on the contrast. On the one hand, her 
 land tenures are more flexible and more elastic, and 
 her modes of cultivation more diversified, so that 
 all her eggs are not stored in a single basket ; on 
 the other hand, agriculture and manufacture are
 
 AGRICULTURAL PROGRESS 31 
 
 not separated into distinct districts. The squalid 
 haunts of English trade are surrounded at the best 
 by blackened wastes ; in French Flanders dense 
 population and high farming advance hand in 
 hand. At the doors of factories, at the brink of 
 coal-pits, is some of the best cultivated land in 
 the world, land which affords recreation and profit 
 to thousands of artisans. The importance of 
 this feature in its bearing on the happiness of 
 the industrial population and on the alleged 
 pulverisation of the ownership of French soil can 
 hardly be exaggerated. 
 
 To attempt within the limits of a single essay 
 a detailed picture of the varied rural economy of 
 France would be an impossible task. I propose 
 first to sketch the history of her agricultural 
 progress ; and, secondly, to glance at the existing 
 condition of the cultivators of the soil, in order 
 to see whether the varied relations of labour with 
 land which prevail in France have stood the strain 
 of agricultural depression better than the uniform 
 system of landlords and tenant-farmers with which 
 we are familiar in England. 
 
 Traces still linger of the primitive method of 
 common field husbandry upon which, in France 
 as well as in England, was superimposed the 
 feudal system. In Marche, for instance, the border 
 country of " no man's land " which separated 
 the roitelet of Bourges from his English rival in 
 Aquitaine, are to be found family communities 
 grouped in villages consisting of from ten to
 
 32 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 twenty houses, inhabited by men of the same 
 name who farm their private properties and enjoy 
 the use of common lands. The Department of 
 the Creuse, which represents part of this district, 
 contains about 3f million acres. Of this, 1,900,000 
 acres are owned by peasant proprietors, and 650,000 
 acres are held in common. Interesting as it would 
 be to trace the growth of this system out of the 
 primitive village community, and to follow the 
 steps by which it was almost universally exchanged 
 for some form of feudal tenure, my present object 
 is rather to sketch the growth in importance and 
 efficacy of the despised practice of agriculture. 
 
 At first in France, as well as in England, the 
 monks were the only pioneers of good farming. 
 The North of France owes some of its agricultural 
 pre-eminence to the start which it obtained through 
 the great monastic establishments with which it 
 was studded. Already in the eleventh and twelfth 
 centuries the monasteries had begun to reclaim 
 the vast forest of the Ardennes which stretched 
 from the east to the sea coast. In other districts 
 their influence proved less advantageous. La 
 Brenne in Berri, like the Vale of Evesham, was 
 sacrificed to their desire for grain crops, when 
 pasture was the natural source of wealth. Yet 
 even here it has been to the monks of St. Cyran 
 and Mdobecq that the Brennois owes the pisciculture 
 of the district, with its three well-arranged ponds 
 a menu, a norrain, and a gros poisson. 
 
 With the fourteenth century begins the literature
 
 LITERATURE OF THE FARM 33 
 
 of French farming. And here, on the threshold 
 of the history, appears a distinctive difference in 
 point of development between French and English 
 agriculture. Charles V caused the treatise of 
 Crescentius of Bologna to be translated into French, 
 and paid 1,000 livres to " le rustique Jean de la 
 Brie, dit le Bon Berger," for his " Livre de Berger." 
 Thus, while in England the gentry succeeded the 
 monks as pioneers of agriculture, in France it is 
 the State, whether represented by the monarchy, 
 the empire, or the republic, which followed the 
 Church in promoting the progress of good farming. 
 The sixteenth century witnessed a general impulse to 
 the study of agriculture. It was now that Herrera 
 in Spain, Tarello in Italy, Heresbach in Germany, 
 Fitzherbert and Tusser in England wrote upon 
 the subject. In 1554 Charles Estienne, a member 
 of the illustrious family of printers, published 
 his " Praedium Rusticum," which was the first 
 methodical work on French agriculture. It con- 
 tains disquisitions on everything necessary for 
 country life, descends into such details as the 
 management of bees, and concludes with a curious 
 chapter on sport and on birds and beasts of 
 chase. As Googe translated Heresbach, so Ger- 
 vase Markham made an English version of the 
 " Praedium Rusticum." The gentry began to pay 
 attention to the cultivation of the soil. Michel 
 de 1'Hopital solaced his exile from court with his 
 farm at Etampes. One other book of importance 
 belongs to this period. In 1563 Bernard Palissy. 
 
 3
 
 34 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 the Huguenot potter, wrote his " Recepte veritable 
 par laquelle tons les hommes de la France pourront 
 apprendre a multiplier et augmenter leur tresors." 
 It may be compared with Fitzherbert's treatise 
 on surveying, and Markham's " Improvement of 
 the Weald of Kent." 
 
 Religious wars checked further progress. When 
 peace was restored, Henry IV and Sully laboured 
 to promote a better state of things. Strong in 
 the faith that arable and pasture farming is the 
 nursing-mother of a State and the true gold mine 
 of Peru, they protected agricultural implements 
 from seizure for debt, offered rewards for the 
 reclamation of wastes, opened out new roads, and 
 urged the adoption of new crops and improved 
 practices. Nicot had already introduced the to- 
 bacco plant ; the potato was known as food for 
 cattle ; beetroot, hops, and forage crops were ready 
 for use, but their value was little understood. 
 To destroy the wolves which devoured sheep by 
 thousands, Henry revived the louvetiers whom 
 Francis 1 had instituted ; to improve the French 
 horses he organised the State-breeding establish- 
 ments. In Olivier de Serres, Seigneur du Pradel, 
 the father of French agriculture, the king and his 
 adviser found an able coadjutor. At Henry's re- 
 quest, de Serres wrote a treatise on the silkworm. 
 But his great work is his " Theatre d' Agriculture," 
 published in 1600. He wrote of the beetroot: 
 " Le jus qu'elle rend en coulant est semblable au 
 sirop a sucre." It was two centuries before his
 
 THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 35 
 
 hint was taken, when France was thrown back 
 by the loss of her colonial sugar supplies upon 
 her native resources. He also insisted on the 
 value of sainfoin, and introduced it into the Vivarais. 
 Arthur Young was an enthusiastic admirer of the 
 great French agriculturist, made a pilgrimage to 
 his birthplace, Villeneuve de Berg (Ardeche), and 
 subscribed to the statue then being erected to his 
 honour. 
 
 Once more a dreary interval elapsed during 
 which agriculture remained stationary. Colonial 
 and commercial enterprise, or foreign aggrandise- 
 ment, absorbed the energies of the Ministers of 
 Louis XIII and Louis XIV. As in England so 
 in France, little use was made of the new crops 
 which subsequently enriched the country. No care 
 was bestowed on the improvement of live stock ; 
 horses alone received attention ; the Government 
 haras date from the seventeenth century, and the 
 only important work published in the period is 
 the " Parfait Marechal " of Jacques de Soleyssel. 
 Yet the name of Dom Pierre Pe'rignon of the 
 Abbey of Hautvilliers, near Epernay, who died 
 in 1715, deserves to be venerated as the inventor 
 of champagne. The tide of fashion set in the 
 direction of Le Notre's improvements, who laboured 
 to show how 
 
 L'Art peut subjuguer la Nature rebelle. 
 
 The patronage of Louis XIV was reserved for 
 this " Capability " Brown of the seventeenth cen-
 
 36 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 tury, and for Jean de la Quintinie, the first kitchen 
 gardener of the day. 
 
 On the peasantry the reign of the " Grand 
 Monarque " inflicted cruel hardships. The frequent 
 risings of the Jacquerie in the fourteenth and 
 fifteenth centuries proved that even the proverbial 
 patience of a rural population was limited. 
 Throughout the sixteenth century rebellions had 
 been frequent ; Guienne had had its Piteaux in 
 1541, and Auvergne its Gauthiers in 1562 ; in 1594 
 PerigOrd was harried by the Croquants, whose 
 name passed into a common expression for a 
 " poor wretch " : 
 
 Passe un certain croquant qui marchait les pieds nus. 
 
 But the peasants had never before known such 
 misery as between 1680 and 1750. In 1697 they 
 were obliged, as Boisguilbert states in his " Detail," 
 to sell the land which they had painfully acquired 
 in the two preceding centuries. Famine was 
 chronic in rural districts ; bread made of fern- 
 leaves was the diet of the peasantry, and they 
 died like flies. The winters of 1709 and 1740 
 were two of the severest ever known ; the cattle 
 plague which visited the country in 1747 carried 
 off its victims by the thousand ; taxes grew heavier 
 every day, and their incidence fell exclusively on 
 the industrial classes. The nobility flocked to 
 Paris, became absentees, and vied with one another 
 in lavish display, for which the peasant paid. 
 Campaigns abroad denuded the country of its
 
 MISERY OF THE PEASANTRY 37 
 
 strength ; at home the wars of religion or of the 
 Fronde had turned districts, like Berri and Sologne, 
 into deserts ; the peasantry wandered over the 
 country, listless, livid spectres, neglecting their 
 land because they had no certainty of reaping its 
 fruits, living on roots and herbs. Vauban, in his 
 " Dime Royale," states that one-tenth of the people 
 were beggars, and that five-tenths of the remainder 
 could give no alms because they were starving. 
 The revocation of the edict of Nantes destroyed 
 hundreds of local industries which had eked out 
 the earnings of the peasantry. Thus, to take a 
 single district in the North of France, the hat 
 factory of Neufchatel near Caudebec, the paper- 
 mills of Vire, the cloth works of Coutances, the 
 pin factories of Conches and Laigle, were either 
 wholly or partially closed. The old Burgundian 
 saying applied in the seventeenth century to many 
 parts of Central France : 
 
 En mil trois cent quarante et huit 
 A Nuits de cent resterent huit. 
 
 Even the measures taken by the Government to 
 prevent the recurrence of famine aggravated the 
 evil. Everything was sacrificed to corn ; the time 
 for sowing was fixed by law ; vineyards were 
 ploughed up ; no new crops could be introduced ; 
 the impoverished soil became more and more 
 exhausted. 
 
 The second half of the eighteenth century wit- 
 nessed a complete change. We turn, as it were,
 
 38 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 from the sombre etchings of La Bruyere to the 
 smiling pictures of Watteau. The best side of 
 the reign of Louis XV and of the ascendency of 
 Madame de Pompadour is the encouragement 
 offered to agriculture. The period from 1750 to 
 1789, in spite of many dark features, is the 
 brightest we have yet reached in the history of 
 French husbandry. Farmers felt the spur of 
 commercial progress. Political science and philo- 
 sophy combined to encourage agriculture. Law's 
 disastrous enterprises had so shaken the old com- 
 mercial system, that France welcomed with delight 
 the theory that Quesnay and the physiocrats 
 pushed to extravagant lengths, and believed land 
 to be the only source of wealth, and tillers of the 
 soil the only productive labourers. The Encyclo- 
 pedists and Rousseau stimulated the love of rural 
 life by their doctrine of a return to nature. 
 Country pursuits became a passion : 
 
 Choiseul est agricole et Voltaire est fermier. 
 
 Agriculture was officially recognised as a depart- 
 ment of the administration in 1759. The agro- 
 manie was encouraged not only by Louis XV, 
 his mistresses, and his Ministers, but by men of 
 science like Buffon. Sevres china presented its 
 idyllic pictures of Arcadian felicity ; and Voltaire, 
 the darling of the hour, wrote: 
 
 Et 1'on ne doit pas moins pour le soutien du trone 
 A la faux de Ceres qu'au sabre de Bellone. 
 
 Enlightened prelates, like the Archbishop of Bor-
 
 REVIVAL OF FARMING 39 
 
 deaux or the Bishop of Agde, who introduced into 
 Lower Languedoc the African sheep of the race 
 barbarine, vied with the lay peers in agricultural 
 zeal. The Marquis de Turbilly was the Towns- 
 hend of the new movement, and offered the best 
 example of a reforming landlord. He improved 
 his estates near La Fleche, reclaimed wastes, and 
 incited his tenantry to healthy rivalry. He was 
 the adviser of Louis XV, and of Bertin, the first 
 Minister of Agriculture, and his "Memoire sur 
 les defrichements " (1760) was studied by Arthur 
 Young. A host of agricultural writers sprang up, 
 among whom may be mentioned Duhamel de 
 Monceau and Mirabeau, the father of a more 
 celebrated son, whose " Ami des Hommes " was 
 published in 1755. In 1751 the first agricultural 
 newspaper, the " Journal Economique," was set on 
 foot by Guettard and Boudet. An agricultural 
 society was established at Rennes in 1757, and this 
 example was followed in every part of the country. 
 In 1761 a central society was formed at Paris, to 
 correspond with the various local societies. A 
 veterinary school was created at Lyons in 1762, 
 chiefly through the instrumentality of Charles 
 Bourgelat ; and four years later a second was 
 founded at Alfort. Prizes were offered at pro- 
 vincial academies on agricultural topics ; courses of 
 lectures were given on botany ; steps were taken to 
 establish itinerant inspectors and professors ; finally, 
 Bertin himself opened the model-farm school at 
 Annel-les-Bertinval near Compiegne,
 
 40 
 
 The movement culminated in the reign of 
 Louis XVI, who placed himself at its head. 
 Marie- Antoinette had her dairy at the Trianon, 
 and Louis, by the aid of Daubenton, formed his 
 flock of merinos at Rambouillet with the Abbe" 
 Tessier for its head shepherd. Great landlords 
 followed the royal example, like the Due de 
 Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, the patron of Arthur 
 Young, who established his model farm at Lian- 
 court, or the Due de Bethune-Charost, of whom 
 Louis XV said, " il n'a pas beaucoup d'apparence, 
 mais il vivifie trois de mes provinces." It was 
 now that Parmentier introduced the potato into 
 cultivation as an article of human food, and his 
 name is commemorated in a soup ; turnips were 
 imported from England into the North of France, 
 and the Government spent a considerable sum on 
 the purchase of seed from English farmers ; mangel- 
 wurzels were brought from Germany ; the use of 
 sainfoin and colza spread in the northern districts. 
 Now also Althen, whose romantic life was chiefly 
 passed in slavery in the East, introduced madder 
 into the district of Vaucluse, made the fortune 
 of the province, and died in miserable poverty. 
 Gilbert, who might almost be called the Arthur 
 Young of France, was the apostle of judicious rota- 
 tions, and sought to improve the old three-course 
 system, with its wasteful fallows, by using such 
 crops as lucerne, clover, vetches, and sainfoin. 
 
 The Government redoubled its efforts to promote 
 the growth of farming. It recognised the value
 
 DEMAND FOR FREE TRADE 41 
 
 of statistical information, and charged intendants 
 with the duty of procuring from every parish 
 returns, many of which are still extant, of the 
 prospects and results of the harvests. It distributed 
 tracts and treatises, encouraged men of science 
 to investigate the principles of farming, fostered 
 stock breeding. New systems, crops, and imple- 
 ments were introduced ; new blood was imported 
 from Denmark to improve the Breton horses ; the 
 Dishley sheep were smuggled into the North of 
 France to cross with the merinos. Forest laws 
 were better administered ; rivers and watercourses 
 were cleaned, straightened, and embanked. Fiscal 
 imposts were lightened ; exemptions from taxation 
 conferred on the best farmers ; military duties 
 modified in the interests of the tillers of the soil ; 
 aid was distributed to those who had suffered from 
 floods, storms, bad harvests, or the cattle plague. 
 It is curious to notice the demand for free trade. 
 Wages, it was said, could not rise unless corn was 
 rendered dearer by permission to export. France at 
 the end of the eighteenth century was a free trader 
 for the same reason which now in the twentieth 
 century makes the nation protectionist. Other 
 economists were more visionary or more enlightened. 
 Turgot and Mirabeau dreamed of free trade in 
 corn in peace and war, with friends and enemies. 
 One of Turgot 's first measures as a Minister was 
 to authorise the free circulation of corn within the 
 limits of the kingdom, a measure which he had 
 advocated in his famous letters written as intendant
 
 42 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 of the Limousin. In 1787 freedom to export corn 
 out of the country was granted. A committee 
 of agricultural inquiry was appointed, on which 
 sat such men as Lavoisier, Dupont de Nemours, 
 Tillet, and the Abbe Lefebre. Its recommendations 
 throw considerable light on the existing state of 
 agriculture. The committee complains of the 
 inability of corporate bodies to grant leases, the 
 incidence of tithes, the vexatious rights of common 
 pasture. It deplores the small quantity of live 
 stock, and points out the means of carrying a 
 larger head afforded by roots and artificial grasses. 
 It proposes to encourage domestic industries by 
 the cultivation of flax and hemp and the establish- 
 ment of spinning schools. It advocates, as the 
 Abbe Rozier had already done, the creation of 
 experimental farms. It urges the reclamation 
 of sandy wastes by the growth of pines. The credit 
 of this last recommendation was due to Bremontier, 
 who was permitted to carry out his plan on the 
 sterile districts between the Gironde and the 
 Adour. In the reign of Louis XVIII a statue 
 was erected on the dunes, which he had fertilised, 
 to the memory of the man who conquered for 
 his country upwards of 370,000 acres. 
 
 For the most part the Government proved 
 powerless to carry out its projected reforms ; an 
 empty treasury, an exhausted credit, a corrupt 
 currency, presented insurmountable obstacles. As 
 though in mockery of deferred repentance, these 
 tardy efforts only served to accelerate the Revolu-
 
 TARDY EFFORTS AT REFORM 43 
 
 tion. The peasantry were still exposed to cruel 
 injustice. Inequalities of taxation, local and per- 
 sonal, urban and rural, exemptions bestowed upon 
 the rich, different laws, customs and usages created 
 a chaos of inextricable confusion which readily lent 
 itself to endless waste, corruption and wrong. 
 Turgot and Necker failed to break up the corn 
 rings ; societies of jobbers still raised and lowered 
 prices ; and it was the royal speculations in these 
 operations which gave rise to the legend of the 
 " Pacte de Famine," and sent the Paris mob to 
 seek the boulanger at Versailles. Like all these 
 tardy efforts at reform, the fashionable pursuit of 
 agriculture and the sympathy of philosophers only 
 rendered revolution more imminent. Formerly 
 the peasant was sunk in torpid acquiescence ; he 
 accepted his condition as inevitable ; his mind was 
 concentrated on the accumulation of sou after sou 
 to gratify his soif du sitton. Now he awoke to 
 find that he was the only productive labourer, the 
 sole representative of the virtues of primitive 
 society ; landlords apologised for the feudal dues 
 which they exacted ; State tax-gatherers admitted 
 the fiscal system to be intolerable. As the peasant 
 paid his dues at the mill, the bakehouse, the 
 winepress, the bridge, the market ; as he was 
 dragged from his plough to labour for others, while 
 his own land lay untilled his smouldering dis- 
 content was fanned into a flame. No longer torpid 
 and apathetic, he was alert, open-eyed, straining 
 his ears to patch the faintest whisper of coming
 
 44 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 change. At last two passionate desires banished 
 every other feeling from his mind the fierce wish 
 to sweep away those royal, ecclesiastical, and feudal 
 dues which he was told were as unjust as he knew 
 them to be oppressive, and the intense longing 
 to possess the land which he was assured was his 
 by natural right. 
 
 When the storm burst, the condition of the 
 peasant was indisputably improved. Territorial 
 privileges were abolished, feudal incidents dis- 
 appeared ; the peasant proprietor was freed from 
 his fetters. Though the Revolution did not create, 
 it greatly enlarged his class. In the fourteenth 
 century peasant proprietors were numerous in 
 France, and, on the whole, they increased con- 
 tinuously. In 1697 they were forced, as we have 
 seen, to sell their estates. But this check was only 
 temporary. Forbonnais points out that in 1750 
 impoverished landlords sold their lands to their 
 tenants. Necker states that there was in his time 
 une immensite of peasant proprietors. Doniol 
 ("Hist, des Classes Rurales ") says that before the 
 Revolution a quarter of the soil had passed into 
 their hands. Arthur Young goes further when he 
 declares that in 1787 a third of the land was tilled 
 by peasant owners. The returns on which the 
 land tax was based in 1790 show that, in many 
 districts, the number of proprietors then amounted 
 to two-thirds of those among whom the land is 
 now divided. It is probable that before the Revo- 
 lution there were four millions of peasants who
 
 SCIENCE WITH PRACTICE 45 
 
 farmed their own land. The sale of the lands of 
 the Church, the nobles, and the communes increased 
 their number by nearly a half. It would have 
 added many more, but that the sale of the common 
 lands was suspended because it deprived commoners 
 of their rights. The early extinction of commons 
 in the north is one of the most important causes 
 of its agricultural supremacy. 
 
 The National Assembly, the Convention, and 
 Napoleon interested themselves in the promotion 
 of the science of farming. Experimental farms 
 were established at Sceaux and Versailles ; Gilbert 
 was employed to import merinos from Spain ; 
 a national sheepfold was established at Aries ; 
 Napoleon ordered an accurate agricultural survey 
 of the country. But the real energies of the 
 country were absorbed elsewhere, and progress 
 was suspended. Thouin, Fra^ois de Neufchateau, 
 the Comte de Chanteloup, Fra^ois Yvart, and 
 many others vainly strove to inculcate the union 
 of science with practice. Their words fell un- 
 heeded on the ears of a nation absorbed in the 
 conquest of the world or a death-grapple for 
 existence. Another cause which impeded the 
 growth of scientific agriculture was the ill-success 
 of theorists. As Gabriel Plattes, Jethro Tull, 
 and Arthur Young failed in land management, 
 so the Marquis de Turbilly, the Comte de Chante- 
 loup, and Althen lost fortunes by their experiments. 
 In more peaceful times France has advanced 
 with great rapidity. Among the crowd of names
 
 46 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 associated with recent progress we shall mention 
 only three names hardly less familiar in England 
 than in France those of Mathieu Dombasle, de 
 Gasparin, and Leonce de Lavergne. The first- 
 named conferred inestimable benefits on the 
 country by the improvements which he effected 
 in agricultural implements. His statue at Nancy 
 represents him in his simple farming dress, holding 
 in his hand the " Annales de Roville " ; at his 
 feet is the plough, which symbolises his extra- 
 ordinary influence on the cultivation of the soil. 
 Since 1840 thousands of acres have been added 
 to the profitable occupation of the country. 
 Waste lands have been broken up, marshes drained, 
 sands planted, foreshores enclosed ; in Brittany 
 alone 750,000 acres have thus been brought into 
 cultivation. New roads have been opened up, new 
 facilities of transport provided, new markets 
 brought to the door of the farmer. Agricultural 
 education, adapted to the scientific and the igno- 
 rant, has been organised by the State in a manner 
 which cannot fail to produce important results. 
 In the best cultivated districts of France the 
 soil is .well tilled, and the crops are well adapted 
 to the requirements of the locality ; the best 
 implements are employed ; marl, lime, and manures 
 are freely used ; the wasteful system of fallow is 
 abandoned. Farm buildings have improved, and, 
 if France uses less machinery in the cultivation of 
 the soil, it is because less is required. But, true to 
 her character for variety, the difference between
 
 DEFICIENCY OF LIVE STOCK 47 
 
 the best and the worst cultivated districts is 
 startling. The cereal produce of the country has 
 more than doubled since 1815 ; the area of wheat 
 cultivation has extended, to the restriction of rye 
 and maslin ; and, though the average yield of 
 wheat per acre scarcely exceeds half that of 
 England, that of oats has nearly doubled, and 
 the French farmer competes successfully with his 
 English rival both in the quantity and in the 
 quality of his barley. In industrial crops the 
 most noticeable feature is the extended cultivation 
 of sugar beetroot, the lever of northern farmers, 
 which has increased fivefold in the past forty 
 years. In meadow management and in dairy 
 farming the French are admittedly our rivals ; they 
 are our superiors in the produce of their poultry- 
 yards. In horses, cattle, sheep, and pigs a marked 
 improvement is manifest both in quantity and 
 in quality. 
 
 Yet the great deficiency in the rural economy 
 of France still continues to be the comparatively 
 small quantity of its live stock. For this there 
 are several reasons. The peasant proprietor values 
 his cattle for their work, as well as for their milk, 
 meat, and manure. He cannot afford to keep 
 two sets of animals, horses for the plough and 
 cattle for the butcher. But this question of em- 
 ploying cattle in agricultural operations has recently 
 assumed a new aspect. Formerly the peasant 
 killed his cattle either too soon or too late as 
 young calves, or as worn-out animals from the
 
 48 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 plough. He still rears calves for the butcher, an 
 operation which we in England regard as wasteful, 
 but which is profitable for small landowners. He 
 still sends his cattle to the market after they have 
 served their time at the plough. But he no longer 
 sends them when they are aged and worked to 
 skin and bone. He uses them carefully for five 
 or six years, and then sells them to the grazier 
 before they are too exhausted to be fattened. 
 Frenchmen urge that the beef of healthy animals 
 is far better than that of the unnaturally pre- 
 cocious beasts which our farmers send to market 
 at two years old. Again, sheep have declined in 
 numbers, and it is obvious that this diminution is 
 the inevitable result of the extension of a peasant 
 proprietary. There is no room for a flock upon 
 his small holding. The extinction of vaine pdture, 
 and parcours, and common rights has destroyed 
 the only means which the peasant possessed of 
 keeping sheep. Other causes combine to produce 
 the same result. Wool no longer fetches its price, 
 and the peasant will not eat mutton. Since the 
 days of Bakewell English sheep have been bred 
 for meat ; French sheep from the time of 
 Louis XVI have been valued for their wool. 
 If it is said, Why not breed sheep exclusively 
 for meat ? the answer would be, Who is to eat 
 it? Parts of Bas-Languedoc, and especially the 
 department of the Aude, are the only districts 
 with which I am acquainted in which the beef 
 of the pot-au-feu is replaced by mutton. The
 
 SLOW GROWTH OF POPULATION 49 
 
 labourer fed on the farm in Touraine or Anjou 
 expects beef, and turns up his nose at mutton ; 
 domestic servants will rarely touch it. Except 
 in the towns it is hardly eaten. 
 
 But if we trace to this deficiency of live stock 
 the defects of French farming, the ultimate cause 
 of both defects and deficiencies is the slow growth 
 of the population. All the improvements to which 
 we have alluded have been effected without the 
 stimulus of rapidly increasing numbers. In the 
 seventeenth century the population of France 
 was about twenty millions. In 1881 it was 
 37,672,000. The "Journal of the Statistical 
 Society" for January 1881 states that while the 
 birth-rate exceeds the death-rate in Sweden by 
 11*5 per thousand, in Denmark by ll'l, in the 
 United Kingdom by 9 '2, in France the annual 
 excess is only 2*3. In some districts the population 
 is actually declining. This remarkable contrast be- 
 tween England and France explains the divergence 
 in the agricultural history of the two countries. 
 
 In many points French agriculture has followed 
 the same lines of development as English farming. 
 Both countries felt the impulse given to agriculture 
 in the sixteenth century, which in both countries 
 gave birth to a great agricultural literature. The 
 misery of rural France in the central portion of 
 the period is paralleled by the condition of the 
 rural population under the Tudors, though the 
 causes were in the one case civil war, in the other 
 industrial revolution. Towards the close of the 
 
 4
 
 50 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth 
 centuries, agriculture revived in both countries, 
 only to be in both countries checked as the period 
 advances. From 1740 onwards the progress of 
 both countries was rapid. Farmer George, like 
 Louis XVI, headed the movement; great land- 
 lords followed the royal lead ; Lord Townshend, 
 Bishop Watson, Arthur Young, Sir John Sinclair, 
 Mr. Coke of Holkham, each had his French 
 rival. In both countries the taste was accom- 
 panied by a change in the prevailing tone of 
 philosophy and literature ; in both, the State 
 recognised the need of improvement by the creation 
 of agricultural boards. From this point the his- 
 tories of the two countries diverge rapidly asunder. 
 The reasons of the divergence are sufficiently 
 obvious. The French Revolution of 1789 was 
 diametrically opposed to the agricultural convul- 
 sions which changed the face of rural England in 
 the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. France 
 offers no parallel to the commercial exigencies 
 which in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries 
 required the home production of wool, and evicted 
 crowds of small farmers from the land to make 
 room for the shepherd, his dog, and his flock. 
 So again the circumstances under which the 
 French and English Revolutions took place were 
 widely different. The population of France re- 
 mained stationary, while that of England increased 
 at the rate of geometrical progression ; the one 
 country, confronted by the practical problem of
 
 STATE INTERFERENCE 51 
 
 making bread and meat for the million, concen- 
 trated her energies on the wholesale production 
 of corn and cattle ; the other, opposed by no such 
 difficulty, developed a different system of land 
 tenure and of farming. The effect of the French 
 movement was to tighten the peasant's hold upon 
 the land, of the English to tear it from his grasp. 
 
 Population, then, is the factor which has mainly 
 determined the course of agricultural development 
 in England and in France. The contrast between 
 the private enterprise of England and the State 
 intervention of France is due to the different 
 directions which the same all-powerful cause has 
 given to farming. At home the Church, and 
 subsequently great landlords and large tenant- 
 farmers, revolutionised agriculture ; in France the 
 Church and the State have been the chief pioneers 
 of improvement. Where properties are large, 
 State interference is rarely necessary, because 
 enlightened self-interest generally coincides with 
 public policy. But among a mass of ignorant 
 owners minute, isolated policies prevail, and the 
 State alone regards larger interests. At the close 
 of the eighteenth century the existence, not merely 
 the commerce, of England imperatively demanded 
 large holdings, owned by capitalist landlords, and 
 let to capitalist tenants. By this means only, 
 when no foreign produce supplemented native 
 resources, could the soil supply food to its vast 
 population. France has felt no such overwhelming 
 pressure of population ; no inexorable law of
 
 52 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 demand and supply has divorced her peasantry 
 from the soil. In England, for public purposes, 
 the State favoured the growth of a small class 
 of capitalist landlords ; in France the State sacri- 
 ficed the few to the many, and promoted the 
 increase of small owners who stand on the 
 border-line of pauperism. In England the State 
 leaves agricultural improvement to private enter- 
 prise ; in France, the State supplies the capital and 
 direction in which her land-system is wanting. It 
 would be a tedious task to describe minutely all 
 the means by which in France the State discharges 
 the duties which arise out of her agricultural 
 policy. But there are not wanting signs that the 
 French system of land-tenure may, before many 
 years are past, become, to a certain extent, the 
 English system. From this point of view a brief 
 summary of some of the leading features of State 
 aid appears necessary. 
 
 In France, as in Germany, Italy, and the United 
 States, agriculture is recognised as a department 
 of the administration. Elementary agriculture is 
 taught in primary schools, where children learn 
 to distinguish between plants, grasses, and soils ; 
 often a plot of ground is attached to the school, 
 which serves as an experimental farm. The 
 school teachers are supplied with training in the 
 subject by departmental professors, who, under 
 the orders of the Minister of Education, give 
 courses of lectures in the ccoles normaks. The 
 rest of the system of agricultural education falls
 
 AGRICULTURAL EDUCATION 53 
 
 under the direction of the Minister of Agriculture. 
 Three classes of schools are provided (1) the 
 fermes-ecoles ; (2) the ecoles pratiques or regionales ; 
 (3) the ecoles nationalcs. The fabric is crowned 
 by the Institut Agronomique, which was removed 
 from \ r ersailles and reconstituted at Paris in 1876. 
 
 The fermes-ecoles are numerous and useful ; 
 among them are those of Trois Croix, near Rennes 
 (Ille-et-Vilaine), St. Gauthier at Domfront (Orne), 
 Nolhac (Haute-Loire). Many of these primary 
 agricultural schools were founded by private 
 enterprise after the Restoration, but in October 
 1848 they were recognised as part of the adminis- 
 trative system of the State. Lads enter these 
 farm schools as apprentices, not as pupils. They 
 must not be over sixteen at the time of entrance ; 
 they are fed and treated as labourers ; they go 
 through a course of two or three years, and at 
 the end leave the school with a certificate which 
 qualifies them to act as bailiffs. If they show 
 any decided aptitude, they may obtain a bursary 
 at one of the ecoles nationales. The cost of each 
 farm pupil to the State is about 10 ; the State 
 also defrays the expenses of the salary of the 
 director and his assistants. The director obtains 
 the labour of the pupil for nothing, and manages 
 the farm for his own profit and at his own risk. 
 
 The ecoles pratiques are assisted and superintended 
 by the State. It was intended that these should 
 be distributed among the twelve agricultural 
 regions into which France is divided. These
 
 54 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 agricultural high schools are designed for the 
 sons of the wealthier class of cultivators. The 
 cost is from 16 to 20 a year. The pupils 
 learn practical agriculture and the elements 
 of physics, chemistry, natural history, botany, 
 veterinary science, and stock breeding. They 
 did not, in the first years of their establishment, 
 prove particularly successful. 
 
 The three ecoks nationales are placed in the centres 
 of three districts of France. They are Grignon, 
 near Versailles (Seine-et-Oise) ; Grand Jouan, 
 near Nozay (Loire - Inferieure) ; Montpellier 
 (Herault), formerly La Saulsaie (Ain). All three 
 schools were founded before the Second Empire 
 Grignon in 1827, Grand Jouan in 1832, La Saulsaie 
 in 1840. They were all of them adopted by the 
 State in October 1848. Grignon is a huge brick 
 building of the seventeenth century. It was given 
 by Napoleon to the Duke of I stria, and bought 
 from his widow by Charles X for an agricultural 
 college. Auguste Bella was the first director. 
 The course of instruction lasts two and a half 
 years ; and each year is divided into two terms, 
 the first from October to March 15, the second 
 from March 15 to August. All the pupils are 
 obliged to pass the entrance examination, unless 
 they have previously taken the degree of Bachelier 
 es-Sciences. They may be either externes or 
 internes. The externes pay 8 a year for their 
 lectures ; the internes pay from 40 to 44 for 
 their board, lodging and lectures. There are
 
 bursaries in each of the three colleges, which are 
 filled up by open competition among the pupils 
 of the farm schools. The Institut Agronomique, 
 which crowns the fabric, forms a faculty of 
 agriculture. 
 
 Besides these schools of the general practice and 
 science of agriculture, there are special schools 
 such as sheep, cheese and dairy farms, the 
 gardening establishment at Versailles, the school 
 of drainage and irrigation at Le'zardeau near 
 Quimperle, the three veterinary schools of Lyons, 
 Alfort, and Toulouse, and the horse-breaking schools 
 like that near Caen. In 1879 departmental pro- 
 fessors were appointed, whose duties are twofold. 
 Under the direction of the Minister of Education 
 they lecture at the normal schools to pupils who 
 are being trained as schoolmasters ; under the 
 instructions of the Minister of Agriculture, they 
 hold conferences in each canton with the agricul- 
 turists, teachers, and proprietors, perambulate all 
 the country villages to observe agricultural pro- 
 cesses, keep in touch the various local societies, 
 and spread the knowledge of improvements. By 
 the law of June 16, 1872, each department is to 
 be provided with a Professor, and their agricultural 
 duties were minutely defined in a circular of 
 M. Tirard in 1881. 
 
 Agricultural shows and competitions, as well as 
 horse-races, are encouraged by the State. The 
 great central show is held at Paris ; but, for the 
 promotion of provincial competitions, the whole
 
 56 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 country is divided into twelve regions, Algiers 
 forming a thirteenth. These concours regionaux 
 are under the direction of the State, which gives 
 the prizes and pays the expenses of the judges. 
 Agricultural societies have been formed under 
 State patronage for the departments, the arrondisse- 
 ments, and even for the cantons. Veterinary 
 science is a subject to which the State pays great 
 attention. There is a veterinary officer attached 
 to each arrondissement, who has passed through 
 the four years' course at one of the three veterinary 
 schools, and has received the diploma entitling 
 him to practise. The powers of the veterinary 
 officers are considerable. All the foreign live 
 stock is subjected to a veterinary examination at 
 one of the points at which it is permitted to be 
 imported, and only sound animals are allowed to 
 enter the country. Internally the existing law 
 contains most stringent provisions for the slaughter 
 of infected cattle. State indemnities are granted 
 to owners of slaughtered animals. The State 
 interests itself in the breeding of horses, cattle, 
 and sheep. The Ministry of Agriculture contains, 
 for instance, a Directeur des Haras, who has under 
 him inspectors-general and inspectors. At the 
 Haras du Pin there is a free school, in which is 
 taught every detail connected with the manage- 
 ment of horses. There are twenty-one depots of 
 the great Haras de Pompadour ; and more than 
 2,500 stallions are placed at the disposal of the 
 owners of mares.
 
 OTHER FORMS OF STATE AID 57 
 
 Nor is the State aid confined to education and 
 the improvement in live stock. Each arrondisse- 
 ment has its Inge'nieur des Fonts et Chaussees 
 who assists proprietors in all drainage operations. 
 In each arrondissement again there is the agent 
 voyer, who inspects the roads of the district in his 
 care. There are three different classes of roads, 
 the chemin vicinal, departemental, and national. 
 The first class is kept in repair by the Communes, 
 the second by the Department, the third by the 
 State. It is the duty of the road overseer to 
 assess the expenses of the repairs. 
 
 Lastly, the State assists works of irrigation, 
 reclamation, and similar improvements, indirectly 
 through the Credit Foncier, and directly with 
 subventions and loans. It has facilitated means 
 of transport, subventioned the erection of bridges 
 in place of the old ferries, assisted canals, railways, 
 and roads. It has aided in works of irrigation like 
 those of Verdon (Bouches-du-Rhone), St. Martory 
 (Haute- Garonne), Lagoin (Basses-Pyrenees), La 
 Bourne near Valence. It has helped to improve 
 barren wastes by such means as winter submersions 
 in the valleys of the Durance, the Arc, and the 
 Isere. It has attempted to replant the forests, 
 and so check the ruinous floods so common in the 
 mountainous districts of the Alps. It has assisted 
 in the reclamation of La Sologne, the barren tract 
 of heath and furze or sandy wastes diversified with 
 marshy ponds, which formerly belonged to the 
 Orleannais, and now makes up part of the Depart-
 
 58 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 ments of the Loir-et-Cher, the Cher, and the 
 Loiret. Thirty years ago the district was a desolate, 
 thinly populated plain, soppy as a sponge in winter, 
 dry as a cinder in summer, and so unhealthy that 
 the average length of human life was only twenty- 
 seven years, inhabited by a stunted race whose 
 stupidity passed into the proverbial saying of 
 un niais de Sologne. The State set on foot 
 drainage works, cleaned out the watercourses, 
 introduced marl, planted pines, and set an example 
 which has been followed by many proprietors. So, 
 too, it has aided to drain the district of the Dombes 
 (Departement de 1'Ain), where grass alternates with 
 water, and cattle with fish, and to bring into culti- 
 vation the landes of Gascony by pine plantations. 
 Private companies, working with concessions from 
 the State, reclaim bays of the sea on the west coast, 
 and convert the marshes into polders ; thus in the 
 bays of Mont St. Michel, des Veys, and Bougeneuf, 
 thousands of acres have been reclaimed by the 
 Compagnies des Polders de 1'Ouest and de Bouin. 
 The agricultural histories of France and England 
 run parallel for centuries, and then diverge in 
 opposite directions. We have already traced the 
 course of development which French agriculture 
 has followed, and alluded to one aspect of the 
 different results which have been attained namely, 
 the contrast between private enterprise and State 
 intervention. Another result is represented by 
 the absence of peasant proprietors in the one 
 country and their presence in the other ; another
 
 PEASANT PROPRIETORS 59 
 
 by the uniformity of English, and the variety of 
 French, land-tenures. It remains to glance at 
 these last two points, to investigate the condition 
 of the peasant proprietary of France, and to inquire 
 which of her land-systems has best stood the strain 
 of agricultural depression. 
 
 France and Corsica contain, roughly speaking, 
 132,000,000 acres. How is this property culti- 
 vated, and how divided ? Both questions are 
 difficult to answer. French statistics are often 
 handled by English writers with very little caution. 
 Thus, no account is taken of whether Corsica is, 
 or is not, included. Or again, in comparing the 
 produce of 1840 and 1852 with that of 1862 and 
 1873, it is often forgotten that, by the annexation 
 of Savoy and Nice, France gained an increase of 
 nearly 3,000,000 acres, and that, by the Treaty 
 of Frankfurt in 1871, she lost rather more than 
 this through the surrender of Bas-Rhin and parts 
 of Haut-Rhin, Meurthe, Moselle, and Vosges. By 
 the annexation she acquired backward pro- 
 vinces ; by the surrender she lost some of her 
 best cultivated soil. It is therefore easy, if these 
 facts are not taken into account, to establish a 
 marked retrogression in agriculture between the 
 years 1862 and 1873. Again, in estimating the 
 produce of different classes of crops, several 
 stumbling-blocks arise. Thus, under the head 
 of " farineux " are included not only the ordinary 
 cereals, but chestnuts and potatoes, which cover 
 an area of more than 3J millions of acres. Again,
 
 60 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 in the returns for 1840 and 1852, mountain pastures 
 are not included under the head of productive 
 land ; in the returns for 1862 and 1873 they are 
 so included. Again, in calculating the number 
 of owners, it must be remembered that the number 
 of cotes fonder es supply an illusory test, since 
 several cotes may be the property of the same 
 proprietor. Lastly, the word parcelle, on the 
 increase of which English opponents of peasant 
 proprietorship are apt to base their charge of the 
 pulverisation of the soil, gives rise to ambiguity. 
 Its meaning, as a term of land-surveying and of 
 law, is not necessarily a small plot isolated from its 
 neighbours and belonging to a different proprietor ; 
 it does not always imply a different ownership, but 
 only a division and a different cultivation. Even 
 those who bear in mind these pitfalls find statistics 
 a difficult subject, and I can only vouch for the 
 approximate truth of the figures given below. 
 
 Reducing hectares to their rough equivalents 
 in English acres, these 132 million acres are thus 
 distributed : 65J million acres are arable ; the 
 extent of cereal crops is about 40 million acres, 
 of which wheat occupies 17 millions, and the 
 remainder is distributed between barley, oats, 
 rye, maslin, buckwheat, maize, etc. There are 
 18^ millions of grass land ; 6| million acres devoted 
 to the culture of the vine ; 3J millions appro- 
 priated to gardens, orchards, chestnuts, mulberries, 
 olives, and almonds. 93| million acres are agri- 
 culturally productive. The remaining 38J million
 
 SIZE OF RURAL POPULATION 61 
 
 acres are thus disposed of: woods and forests, 
 21 millions ; marshes, mountains, bogs, barren 
 lands, 1 1 millions ; lakes, rivers, watercourses, 
 meres, and pools, 1 f million ; finally 4 -J million 
 acres are occupied by towns, roads, etc. 
 
 The classes who own or cultivate this land are 
 very various. But one remarkable feature deserves 
 notice, because it presents so great a contrast with 
 England, namely, the proportion which the rural 
 population bears to the total population of France. 
 At the close of the eighteenth century Lavoisier 
 estimated that fourteen millions out of twenty-five 
 were engaged in agriculture. In 1851 the industrial 
 classes numbered 83 per cent, of the total popula- 
 tion, and 56 per cent, were agriculturists. In 
 1876 the industrial population had risen to 90 
 per cent., and 53 per cent, were engaged in the 
 cultivation of the soiL The classes of which this 
 large rural population is composed consist of 
 landowners and tenant-farmers, including metayers, 
 domaniers, and maitres valets, and labourers, 
 whether hired by the week, the day, or the year. 
 
 The first important question which arises is : 
 How is the landownership distributed ? In 1842 
 the population of France consisted of 33,000,000 
 souls or 7,000,000 families. Of these 7,000,000 
 families, 5,500,000 possessed land; 5,493,000 
 enjoyed annual incomes ranging from 3/. to 400/. ; 
 the remaining 7,000 derived incomes from their 
 estates exceeding the last-mentioned sum. M. de 
 Lavergne calculated in 1862 that 37^ million
 
 62 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 acres were owned by 50,000 owners whose estates 
 averaged 750 acres ; 37^ millions by 500,000 
 owners whose estates averaged 75 acres ; and 
 37J millions by 5,000,000 who held properties 
 averaging 7j acres. In other words, that one- 
 third of the land was held by 50,000 owners, 
 one-third by 500,000, and one-third by 5,000,000. 
 The statement is too neat and clear-cut to be 
 absolutely true. Yet, so far as the number of 
 small proprietors is concerned, it is substantially 
 confirmed by the calculations of M. Bochin in 
 1871, and M. de Foville in 1884. M. Bochin 
 reported to the Socie'te des Agriculteurs that 
 14,000,000 names were entered for the land tax, 
 and that, if 5,000,000 names were struck off as 
 duplicates, the soil would be found to be divided 
 between 9,000,000 proprietors, of whom 5^ millions, 
 the exact figures named by M. de Lavergne, are 
 medium-sized and small proprietors. Half of 
 this last class, added M. Bochin, are in a state 
 bordering on destitution, paying no direct taxes, 
 and even receiving parish relief. Thirteen years 
 later M. de Foville divides properties into five 
 classes : (i) very small, below 7 acres ; (ii) small, 
 from 7 to 15 acres ; (iii) middle-sized, from 15 to 
 125 ; (iv) large, 125 to 500 ; (v) very large, above 
 500. He proceeds to show that, roughly speaking, 
 
 Class (i) occupies 10i per cent, of the whole land of France. 
 (ii) 
 
 
 
 (in) 39 
 
 ( iv ) " 
 ( v ) 
 

 
 LARGE AND SMALL PROPERTIES 63 
 
 Thus we may say that 64f per cent., or two-thirds, 
 of the whole land of France is held by proprietors 
 of small or middle-sized estates, ranging from 
 below 7 acres to 125 acres. 
 
 It is very difficult to group the departments 
 by the size of properties ; yet, if it could be done, 
 interesting light might be thrown upon the con- 
 ditions necessary for the existence of peasant 
 proprietors. The greatest proportion of large 
 properties is to be found in two regions ; the one 
 situated in the south, south-west, and south-east, 
 the other in the central districts upon the borders 
 of the Loire. Thus, in the Hautes-Alpes 69 
 per cent, of the properties are over 300 acres ; 
 the Cher comes next with 54 per cent. ; the 
 Bouches-du-Rhone third, with 53J per cent. In 
 the Basses-Alpes, Alpes-Maritimes, Hautes- 
 Pyrenees, Pyrenees-Orientales, Basses-Pyrenees, 
 Herault, Ariege, Lozere, properties of 300 acres 
 average from 30 to 50 per cent, of the whole. So 
 again, to take a central district, in Loiret, Cher- 
 et-Loir, and Indre, from 40 to 50 per cent, of 
 the properties are large. The southern zone of 
 large properties consists in whole or part of moun- 
 tain and hill. Here, it might be supposed on 
 the analogy of Wales or the New Forest, was 
 the locality best adapted to the peasant proprietor, 
 because here he has rough pasture for his live 
 stock. But as a matter of fact the rough pasture 
 is nearly always let to Provei^al shepherds, who 
 come up with their caravans of sheep for the
 
 64 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 transhumance, which lasts for six of the summer 
 months. This remark applies strongly to Hautes- 
 Alpes, which stands first in the proportion of large 
 properties, for it contains the famous mountain 
 pastures of Orres and Vars. Cher stands second 
 on the list, and may be taken as a representative 
 of the central district of large properties. Here 
 again is a country covered with wide expanses, 
 called brandes, in which wild heath, sandy wastes, 
 and marshy pools preponderate. It was one of 
 the favourite hunting districts of the French 
 monarchs. Here are situated the proverbially 
 barren tracks known as La Sologne and La 
 Brenne ; here, too, are fed the flocks of Berri, 
 which are the sheet-anchor of the country, as is 
 testified by the arms of Bourges three rams argent 
 on a field azure, with a shepherd and shepherdess 
 as supporters. Bouches-du-Rhone, the third on 
 the list of high averages, contains two large districts 
 wholly unsuited to peasant farming. The first is 
 La Crau, a dry, treeless, uninhabited plain, on 
 which some 200,000 sheep cower in the winter 
 before the mistral, and pick up a meagre livelihood 
 before the transhumance. The second is the 
 Camargue, a district which is repeatedly flooded. 
 Like La Crau, it is largely given up to flocks of 
 sheep, which, during submersions, have a right of 
 asylum (droit (Fespleche) on the first-named plain. 
 
 The departments in which large properties are 
 rarest are the following : Gers, Charente, Haute- 
 Loire, Manche, Lot, in which only 6 to 10 per
 
 DISTRICTS OF SMALL OWNERS 65 
 
 cent, of the properties exceed 300 acres ; and 
 Charente-Inferieure, Rhone, Tarn-et-Garonne, and 
 Seine. It is impossible to assign any general 
 reasons for the relatively large number of peasant 
 proprietors in these departments. In each different 
 locality much depends on the character of the soil 
 and climate, the special crops, the rate of agricultural 
 wages. Thus, for instance, in Manche, with its 
 unrivalled pastures, its ready markets for eggs, 
 poultry, and butter, its fruit orchards, and its 
 domestic industries, peasant proprietors flourish. 
 Owing to the amount of grass and to the decrease 
 of population, but little agricultural employment 
 is provided. Consequently wages are very high, 
 and self-farming is profitable. The same remarks 
 apply to the neighbourhood of Paris, where the 
 rural population is attracted into the city, and 
 where market-garden produce commands a ready 
 sale. In Rhone, again, where manufacturing 
 industries abound which give employment to 
 thousands of peasant proprietors, tenant-farming 
 is unprofitable, while at the same time the market 
 is good, and the peasant supplements his earnings 
 in the muslin works of Tarare, or some of the 
 numerous manufactories of Givors. So, lastly, 
 Charente-Inferieure is well suited to a peasant 
 proprietary. Its soil varies between the reclaimed 
 marshlands of La Rochelle and Rochefort to the 
 valleys and gently undulating plains of Saintes, 
 the well- wooded district of St. Jean d'Angely, or 
 the heathy ground of Jonzac. Peasant proprietors, 
 
 5
 
 66 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 who number considerably more than half of the 
 adult male rural population, are to be found in 
 the richest districts, where, besides the vine and 
 the ordinary cereals, hemp, flax, fruits, and garden 
 vegetables are grown in great abundance. There 
 is also a large trade carried on in horses. One 
 farmer breeds the colts, the other buys them at 
 six or eight months and sells them at two or 
 two and a half years old. Lastly, every farmhouse 
 has its still for the manufacture of spirits ; large 
 quantities of oil are extracted from walnuts ; and 
 the paper works on the river Touve employ 
 thousands of artisans who are also small land- 
 owners. 
 
 It appears, then, that in purely agricultural 
 districts, where hired labour is cheap, or in moun- 
 tainous and barren tracts, peasant proprietors do 
 not thrive. On the other hand, the system of 
 small farms worked by their owners succeeds 
 wherever population is dense, labour dear, manu- 
 facturing industries abundant, and markets good 
 for garden stuff, dairy produce, or poultry. The 
 absence or presence of peasant proprietors depends 
 on certain conditions of success, without which no 
 peasant proprietor is eager to buy the land. They 
 will not thrive wherever they are planted, a fact 
 which is often overlooked by theorists who point 
 to the French peasant as a proof that owners of 
 land will make gardens out of deserts. The fact 
 is, no French peasant makes the attempt where it 
 appears useless. If he can command some specially
 
 WHY SMALL OWNERS FLOURISH 67 
 
 fertilising substance like the seaweed which the 
 Breton peasant collects, or if he enjoys exceptional 
 advantages of climate like that of Roscoff, his 
 industry and energy know no limits, and he will 
 in a few years transform a wild coast into a 
 ceinture dore'e. But it is not inland, on barren 
 moors of heath, ling, broom, and stunted pine, 
 that he thrives or even exists. A closer review 
 of French farming will prove the point that the 
 presence or absence of peasant proprietorship 
 depends on the presence or absence of some 
 essential conditions of success. 
 
 Compare the district round Yvetot and that near 
 Neufchatel, both in Seine- Inferieure. The first is 
 a sheep pasture, the second a rich grass country ; 
 in the one, one-fifth of the landowners are peasant 
 proprietors, in the other seven-tenths. Again, the 
 most barren district in Maine-et-Loire is the country 
 of Bauge and Segre ; the richest is the vicinity of 
 Saumur. In the first, large properties and me'tayers 
 are the rule ; in the second, half the land is owned 
 and tilled by peasant proprietors. In Mayenne, 
 where cattle breeding is extensively practised on 
 a large scale, there are only 25 per cent, of peasant 
 proprietors to 26 per cent, of me'tayers, and 49 per 
 cent, of tenant-farmers. In Finistere, on the other 
 hand, where the peasant has reclaimed a country, 
 which fattens a quantity of stock on the rich plain 
 of the Leonais, which possesses the ceinture dar^e 
 of the coast and supplies the peasant with fertilising 
 manure, the Breton will give anything for land :
 
 68 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 53 per cent, of the farmers are peasant owners 
 cultivating estates averaging 16^ acres ; 41 per 
 cent, of the remainder are tenant farmers, and 
 6 per cent, are metayers. The Department of the 
 Indre contains three distinct regions theBoischaud, 
 Champagne, and Brenne. The first district is com- 
 paratively fertile ; the second and third are unpro- 
 ductive, barren, or marshy tracts, where the chief 
 product is sheep, and at nightfall the only sound to 
 be heard for miles is the cry of the curlew or the 
 bark of a sheepdog. In Boischaud, seven-tenths 
 of the land is owned and tilled by peasant pro- 
 prietors ; in Champagne and Brenne large estates 
 are almost the universal rule. Again, in the De- 
 partment of Saone-et- Loire, the Maconnais, which 
 is the richest district, contains 90 per cent, of 
 small owners ; the Autunois, which is almost the 
 poorest, has only 25 per cent. The two great corn- 
 growing districts of France are Beauce and Brie. 
 The first is an arid, unwatered plain, where sheep 
 and cereals alone can be produced, where natural 
 pasture is hardly to be found, and where high 
 farming is necessary. There the peasant proprietor 
 is practically extinct. Brie is a well- watered tract, 
 which in a dry season grows more wheat than even 
 Beauce produces in a wet year. It abounds in 
 large farms, but in the grassy valleys are numbers 
 of small peasant proprietors who till their own 
 plots and eke out their earnings by hiring them- 
 selves out as labourers, by rearing calves, or by 
 dairy produce and market gardening.
 
 APPARENT EXCEPTIONS 69 
 
 On the other hand, such districts as Creuse, 
 Puy-de-D6me, Franche-Comte, and Champagne 
 may be quoted against my contention. But, in 
 point of fact, these apparent exceptions prove the 
 point. Thus, the Creuse is a barren district, 
 purely agricultural, in which wages are cheap, and 
 peasant proprietors enormously preponderate. But 
 it is to be noticed that here every peasant pro- 
 prietor enjoys common rights, and thus he is 
 enabled to exist. Yet here and throughout 
 Auvergne, in which commons are numerous, the 
 peasantry could not exist on their land. For 
 nine months every year the Marchais leaves his 
 home and hires himself out as a stonecutter or 
 a mason ; so also, for the same period, the 
 Auvergnat emigrates in search of employment as 
 a chimney-sweep, a scavenger, or a porter. Their 
 wages enable the family to live during the winter, 
 and, if necessary, to buy out brothers and sisters, 
 and so avoid the partage force. These districts 
 are often quoted, it may be observed in passing, 
 as instances of the bad farming of small proprietors. 
 This is unfair to the peasant. The farming is 
 really done by the old men, the women, and the 
 children ; the stalwart youths are rarely at home 
 during the months of agricultural labour. Again, 
 in Franche-Comte there are upwards of 90,000 
 holdings, only 800 of which are above 100 acres, 
 and 50,000 are under 12 acres. Yet the district is 
 mountainous, and, therefore, apparently militates 
 against my contention. The explanation is, that
 
 70 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 the mountains are not let to Provencal shepherds, 
 but are the common lands of the upland villages, 
 and that every peasant plies a trade. Many parts 
 of Champagne consist of bald, bare, dusty chalk 
 hills, which are naturally unproductive. Yet no 
 country possesses more small farmers, owning the 
 land they till. The inhabitants are clustered 
 together in villages, standing a considerable dis- 
 tance apart, and the pastures are held in common. 
 Only the land which stands close to the village is 
 well farmed. As you recede farther from the 
 hamlet, the cultivation deteriorates, and at the 
 boundaries it is miserable. Every one of the village 
 inhabitants is entitled to keep sheep in proportion 
 to the acreage of his freehold ; and every morning 
 the common herdsman gathers the live stock and 
 guides them to the common pastures. It is by 
 these common pastures that the peasant farmer 
 holds his own, when he would starve on the produce 
 of his arable plot. 
 
 The condition and prospects of the peasant pro- 
 prietor afford agricultural writers a favourite theme. 
 In France the system has its opponents as well 
 as its advocates. One school of writers, founded 
 by Arthur Young, urge that the plough is the only 
 effective instrument of national prosperity, and 
 that any land system which turns arable fields into 
 spade-wrought gardens is not only deleterious but 
 deadly to the health of a State. Gardens are valu- 
 able auxiliaries to comfort, but it is only by a 
 broad system of agriculture that nations are fed.
 
 LIFE OF SMALL OWNERS 71 
 
 In the end it is said that the inevitable result of 
 the partage force will be either to check the 
 population or to divide estates by logarithms, 
 yhe argument is supported by the positive decrease 
 of the Norman peasantry who secure the advan- 
 tages of primogeniture by unigeniture, or by the 
 pulverisation of land in districts like Chalonnes on 
 the Loire, where each estate is so minute that the 
 proprietors enjoy it for a year turn and turn about. 
 In the one case the country is denuded of its 
 strength, and every year grows weaker relatively to 
 foreign nations ; in the other this crumbling 
 (emiettement] of the land renders the soil a mere sand- 
 heap of disconnected atoms. These arguments of 
 opponents are strengthened by other considerations. 
 The peasant proprietor is miserably lodged. He 
 has often only a single ground -floor room, entered 
 by a door which is the common entrance of the 
 cowhouse and the kitchen. In this room, divided 
 by a mere partition from the stable, the family 
 cook, eat, sleep, live, and die, sharing the accom- 
 modation the house affords with the cow, the pigs, 
 and the poultry. In many parts of rural France 
 the cowhouse and stable are separated from the 
 dwelling ; but even then the house consists of one 
 large ground-floor room, which is kitchen, dining- 
 room, and bedroom in one, for the farmer, his 
 family, and perhaps his hinds. The solitary window, 
 for the iniquitous door and window tax offers a 
 premium to the worst ventilated dwelling, is stained 
 and dimmed with dirt, spotted with the excrements
 
 72 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 of flies, decorated with cobwebs which prove that 
 the window has not been opened in the memory 
 of man. The floor, too uneven to be swept, is 
 made of beaten earth or ill-fitting flags. At the 
 door is a festering mass of rotten straw, a shallow 
 cesspool as it were, into which stable, cowhouse, and 
 pigsty are drained, and on to the top of which is 
 thrown the filth of the house. 
 
 Again, the peasant proprietor is miserably fed. 
 His food varies with the district, and also with 
 his disposition. He might eat better food, but 
 such is his parsimony that he makes a pleasure of 
 self-denial rather than denies himself a pleasure. 
 In Brittany many of the peasants live on porridge 
 made of buckwheat without milk, potatoes, rye 
 bread, and buckwheat pancakes without butter. 
 If they are a little better off, they add milk and 
 salt butter, and pork and cabbage two or three 
 times a week. Their drink is water or cider. In 
 Normandy, on the other hand, food is good and 
 abundant ; at its worst it consists of gaieties of 
 maize with a little bacon, butcher's meat once a 
 week, and cider. In Anjou the farmer is well 
 fed, and the peasant proprietor and the hired 
 labourer share the same simple abundance. In 
 Touraine all classes can enjoy abundance of food. 
 The hired labourer expects, if fed on the farm, 
 to have meat once a day ; he turns up his nose 
 at mutton, and prefers white wine to red. In the 
 central districts of France chestnuts are the staple 
 diet of the rural population. In Berri, Marche,
 
 MORTGAGES OF LAND 73 
 
 Limousin, and Auvergne, chestnuts are first placed 
 in a well-heated room, then skinned, and boiled in 
 a very small quantity of water, covered closely in 
 and steamed so as to retain their flavour ; they are 
 then converted into a sort of porridge or paste and 
 eaten hot. This diet is eked out with bread made 
 from buckwheat or rye, and potatoes when the 
 latter are not all wanted by the pigs. Chestnuts 
 are also Tarbre a pain in the Cevennes, and are 
 said to be more nutritive than potatoes. The 
 position of the peasant, thus miserably lodged and 
 poorly fed, is said to be precarious and perilous. 
 He is a proprietor only in name. The real owner 
 is the moneylender, and the peasant proprietor is 
 a veritable serf. So fierce is the soif du sillon that, 
 to gratify it, the peasant raises money at ruinous 
 rates to buy land. He never expends a loan on 
 improvements, but rounds off his possession by an 
 additional purchase. No doubt this charge is in 
 the main true. In some parts of France the mort- 
 gage debt is said to be 80 per cent, of the value of 
 the land. On the other hand it should be borne in 
 mind that the general average is only 16 per cent. 
 
 Again, it is said that the peasant is badly edu- 
 cated. He has never learned to read himself, and 
 having prospered without education denies it to his 
 children. Besides, he requires his boy to drive 
 the teams, his daughter to herd the sheep. The 
 average of persons above six who can neither read 
 nor write in France is, speaking roughly, 30 per 
 cent. Doubs (Franche-Comte) is the best edu-
 
 74 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 cated of the departments, with a proportion of 
 only 6 per cent, unable to read or write. The 
 lowest proportions are Haute- Vienne 61 per cent., 
 Finistere 56 per cent., Indre-et-Cher 54 per cent., 
 and Allier and Nievre 49 per cent. Haute- Vienne 
 and Indre-et-Cher are two of those central pro- 
 vinces of France which possess a considerable 
 proportion of large properties ; and here un niais 
 de Soigne has passed into proverb. Allier and 
 Nievre are distinguished for the prevalence of 
 me'tayers and tenant-farmers ; nearly half the rural 
 population of Finistere are tenant-farmers holding 
 under the domaine congeable. Haute - Saone, 
 Doubs, and Jura are essentially districts of peasant 
 proprietors ; yet Doubs is the best educated de- 
 partment of France ; Jura stands fourth on the 
 list, and Haute-Saone ninth. In Champagne the 
 peasant proprietor preponderates, and the people 
 are so proverbially stupid that quatre-vingt-dioc- 
 neuj moutons et un Champenois font cent betes. 
 Yet the average of the departments of Marne and 
 Aube show only 12 per cent, who are unable to 
 read or write. Again, in the northern provinces 
 and in Normandy, where the country is tilled by 
 peasant owners, the number of those who can 
 neither read nor write is far below the general 
 average of France. It is therefore impossible to 
 show that the peasant proprietor is worse educated 
 than the ordinary cultivators of the soil. It is 
 perfectly true that he is illiterate ; he seldom or 
 never reads a newspaper, and cannot keep accounts ;
 
 EFFECT OF PART AGE FORCE 75 
 
 but he is remarkably shrewd and intelligent. Every 
 faculty of his mind is sharpened and kept bright 
 by repeated bargainings for the sale or purchase 
 of agricultural produce. At the same time he 
 is trained in habits of industry, self-denial, and 
 frugality. He may be poor, but he is rarely 
 miserable ; he is independent, and his lot is never 
 hopeless. As a citizen he is far better equipped 
 than the English agricultural labourer, who is 
 vastly his superior in literary accomplishments. 
 
 Insufficient food, wretched accommodation, heavy 
 mortgages, and a low standard of education, are no 
 doubt evils to which the peasant proprietor is ex- 
 posed ; but they are by no means the inseparable 
 conditions of his existence. There are, as it 
 .appears to us, more formidable arguments based 
 on the operation of the part age force, which 
 secures the permanence of the system while it 
 aggravates its possible dangers. Thus, the law of 
 partition subdivides the soil by a blind mechanical 
 law on no principle of supply and demand, and 
 without regard to the fitness of the owner for the 
 management of the land. If a partition is de- 
 manded, it must be made ; a will which leaves to 
 each heir a separate compact estate, however 
 equitable the division, is as invalid as one that 
 leaves to one coheir the land, to another the 
 equivalent in personalty. The effect of this arbi- 
 trary creation of a plurality of owners is very often 
 to waste the estate in litigation, or force the land 
 on the market, when it either ruins the owners
 
 76 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 by producing too little or their neighbours by 
 producing too much. It divides the estate into 
 such minute strips that there is not space to 
 employ a full-sized spade. A turn of the plough 
 on the wrong side for a single season robs one 
 man of his property or doubles that of his neigh- 
 bour. Trespasses are necessarily* frequent, and 
 behind them follows litigation. Revolutionary 
 legislation has added fourfold to the truth of the 
 feudal maxim, Qui terre a, guerre a. It splits 
 up the estate into separate and often distant plots, 
 so that each individual proprietor owns several 
 scattered parcels. Hence arise a loss of productive 
 soil by the number of fences and unprofitable 
 roads, a waste of time, and an increase of expense 
 by the necessity of carrying implements, crops, and 
 manure from point to point. Thus subdivided, 
 distinct properties are so interlaced that agricul- 
 tural progress is checked, and cultivation reduced 
 to one level, and that level the lowest. To such 
 a length is pulverisation carried, that a peasant 
 proprietor is ruined by a single adverse season. 
 His capital is exhausted, and he sinks from a 
 landowner into a hired labourer. Between 1826 
 and 1835, for instance, half the landed properties 
 in the kingdom changed hands ; and half of these 
 changes were due not to gifts or inheritances, but 
 to sales, forfeitures, or exchanges. The land thus 
 passes rapidly from hand to hand ; it is terre 
 volante ; immovable property circulates more fre- 
 quently than movable ; it is invested in as a
 
 RETROGRADE TENDENCIES 77 
 
 speculation ; it is treated almost as if it were 
 stock to be bought and sold on 'change. 
 
 Again, it is alleged that the tendency of a 
 peasant proprietary is to revert to the rudiments 
 of civilisation. Co-operation and division of labour 
 cease. The peasant tries to produce all that he 
 wants upon his farm ; to have a plot for his vineyard 
 or apple orchard, a piece of arable for breadstuff, 
 a meadow for his cow. It cuts him to the heart to 
 buy. Consequently he often ploughs up land which 
 is best suited by nature for pasture, and thus wastes 
 the natural advantages of the soil or climate. 
 Lastly, it may be urged that compulsory division 
 leaves no adequate authority, and no clearsighted 
 public interests. In a mountainous district, for 
 instance, like the neighbourhood of Embrun, it is 
 no one's business to clear out watercourses, and a 
 single goat may cause an inundation. Mountain 
 torrents strew the plains with pebbles spreading 
 outwards like a fan, and threatening to convert an 
 Arabia Felix into an Arabia Petrsea. The evil is 
 to some extent met in such cases by State inter- 
 ference, and by the powers vested in the Prefet, 
 under certain circumstances, to form a syndicate 
 for works of drainage, irrigation, and protection 
 against floods. 
 
 Other arguments may be urged on the score 
 of agriculture against the system ; but I do not 
 consider them established. It is, for instance, said 
 that the peasant proprietor is an obstacle to high 
 farming. He cannot keep the best stock ; he has
 
 78 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 not land enough for sheep ; he cannot afford to 
 grow wheat. But the soil of France, like that of 
 England, is no longer young; and the question 
 is whether intensive farming is not the best method 
 by which an old country can supplement the sup- 
 plies it draws from virgin soils ; in other words, 
 whether the French peasant proprietor who with 
 unremitting toil and infinite patience concentrates 
 his energies on agricultural produce, which is 
 naturally protected by its rapidly perishable nature, 
 is not steering a better course than the tenant 
 farmer who competes with new countries in the 
 production of corn, beef, and wool. Of most of 
 the troubles which beset tenant-farmers, peasant 
 proprietors have little experience. Farms of any 
 size are difficult to let, especially if they range 
 above 150 acres. But the small farmer lives by his 
 butter, 'his market garden, and his poultry-yard. 
 His eggs are collected by hucksters or cocotiers, 
 who carry them to the central depots to be packed. 
 From an English point of view, the subdivision of 
 land is excessive ; but we have not the same variety 
 of soil, climate, and crops, which complicates the 
 agricultural question in France. 
 
 But it is urged that, though the part-age force 
 may not yet pulverise the land, it must do so 
 eventually; and that then the impoverished peasant 
 proprietor will find that there are no employers 
 of labour, but only small owners as poor and 
 miserable as himself. In theory, this result seems 
 inevitable ; in practice, it does not necessarily
 
 PULVERISATION CHECKED 79 
 
 follow. The outcry against small properties had 
 commenced twenty years before the Revolution ; 
 to them agricultural societies then attributed 
 the backward condition of farming. The sale 
 of large corporate and private estates, and 
 the distribution of common lands among the 
 commoners seemed to intensify the evils of a 
 system which the partage force perpetuated. It 
 was not till after the Restoration that compulsory 
 subdivision began to be dreaded. Previously pul- 
 verisation was checked by foreign wars ; civil law 
 made a man a landowner, military law marched 
 him off to Austerlitz or Borodino. Yet equal 
 partition had already begun to produce some bad 
 results, for in 1826 the Government issued a 
 manifesto offering special facilities and reduced fees 
 to all landowners who wished to surrender their 
 estates through inability to pay the land tax of IQd. 
 an acre on their estates. Since that period, how- 
 ever, the peasant has not merely retained, but 
 extended his hold upon the land ; he has saved 
 money, and, except in rare instances, has checked 
 pulverisation " au point," to use the words of 
 Benjamin Constant, who foretold the fact, " au 
 dela duquel il deviendrait funeste." How has he 
 achieved these results ? 
 
 The peasant has extended his hold upon the 
 land mainly at the expense of middle-sized estates, 
 which are too large to be worked by the labour 
 of the proprietor and his family, and become un- 
 profitable if tilled by hired labour. Large estates
 
 80 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 have for the most part remained intact. French 
 landlords rarely have the bulk of their property 
 in land, and family arrangements are easily effected 
 among the rich. The peasant has also saved 
 money. He has made his small holding pay 
 because he does not hire labour, or grow corn, or 
 depend upon wool. He is a market gardener, a 
 vinedresser, a florist, a dairyman, and a poulterer. 
 He grows certain special crops which require in- 
 cessant and minute attention, for which the soil 
 and climate of the country offer him facilities. 
 He rears little or no stock. He feeds calves for 
 the veal market ; he either breeds or breaks in 
 mules and horses ; he sells his colts as soon as they 
 are weaned, or at two and a half years old ; and 
 this division of labour places a profitable industry 
 within the reach of the small peasant owner. 
 Lastly, he has avoided, except in cases which 
 scarcely affect the question of farming, the pulveri- 
 sation of the land. Parcels have recently increased 
 very slowly, and within the last three or four years 
 they have positively decreased. This seems to 
 show that the peasant is not so hungry for land 
 as to buy it when its produce is comparatively 
 valueless, or to split it up into liliputian estates 
 which cannot be tilled at a profit. Often the 
 peasant is attracted away from the land by high 
 wages or the delight of town life ; he is not un- 
 willing to sell his land and seek his fortune in 
 trade. In Normandy he preserves his estate intact 
 by instinctively practising the principles of Malthus,
 
 PARTITIONS AVOIDED 81 
 
 of whom he has never heard. In the north several 
 small proprietors throw their land together and 
 let it as a single farm to one of their number or 
 to a stranger, under whom they work for wages. 
 Sometimes one of the coheirs carries on the farm, 
 paying rent to his brother and sister, or the two 
 latter abstain from marriage and live under his 
 roof, working as hired labourers. Difficulties are 
 doubtless experienced when partitions of land are 
 insisted upon, which result in numbers of inter- 
 laced plots belonging to different owners. But 
 exchanges are more frequent since these partitions 
 are no longer taxed as double sales, and the 
 Government might still do much more for their 
 encouragement. Without infringing upon the 
 essential principles of the partage force, it would 
 be possible to permit the head of a family to leave 
 his personalty to one coheir and his realty to 
 another, provided that they were of equal value, 
 or to render exchanges compulsory for the con- 
 solidation of the various estates on the demand 
 of two-thirds of the owners. 
 
 So long as peasant owners are able to supplement 
 their agricultural gains by industrial wages, they 
 are especially prosperous. Thus the weavers of 
 Elboeuf, the ironworkers of Conches, the cotton- 
 stuff workers of the valley of the Andelle are not 
 only artisans, but farmers, market gardeners, or 
 florists ; in the summer they are harvesters or hay- 
 makers. It is this combination of agriculture with 
 manufacture which constitutes an important ele- 
 
 6
 
 82 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 ment in the happiness of Normandy. So again, 
 Saumur has its enamel factories, Tours its silk 
 fabrics, Le Mans its tinned vegetables, Angers 
 its slate quarries, Cholet its cheap handkerchiefs, 
 Laval its sacking and sailcloth, and in all these 
 cases the artisan is also a peasant proprietor. In 
 Vaucluse numerous industrial enterprises employ 
 men who also possess small plots of land, such as 
 madder, flour, and oil mills, silk spinning, brick 
 and tile yards, and limekilns. So also the people 
 of the Pas de Calais and the Somme are largely 
 employed in local manufactures which supplement 
 their agricultural earnings. So also in Franche- 
 Comte the peasants are turners, lapidaries, electro- 
 platers, wood-carvers, and spectacle-makers. The 
 same remark holds good of the Nord with its high 
 farming and dense population. It must be re- 
 membered, as was pointed out at the outset, that 
 manufacturers are less concentrated in cities than 
 they are in England. If there are no manufacturing 
 industries in the locality, peasant proprietors like the 
 Auvergnat, the Limousin, or the Nivernais, migrate 
 in search of work for nine months of the year. 
 In other districts the small landowners work 
 alternately for one another. Thus in the Basses- 
 Alpes they eke out their profits by moncta forestiere ; 
 in Herault they are day labourers who till their 
 own plots of land, or as their patois expresses it, 
 font rimperaou out of working hours ; in Hautes- 
 Pyrene'es they hire themselves out for daily wages ; 
 in Tarn-et-Garonne the pages, as the peasants are
 
 AGRICULTURAL DEPRESSION 83 
 
 called, work in harvest times as estivandiers and 
 solatiers. 
 
 The peasant proprietor has suffered comparatively 
 little by agricultural depression. Employing no 
 hired labour, and growing corn only for his own 
 consumption, he has not been, and hardly can be, 
 affected by foreign competition. But for the 
 tenant-farmer the agricultural crisis is hardly less 
 serious in France than it is in England. The 
 proof lies on every side. Forced sales of stock 
 and rural bankruptcies are numerous ; disputes are 
 rife respecting claims to unexhausted improve- 
 ments ; farms are difficult to let, rents are falling, 
 population migrates into the towns, land decreases 
 in value. It no longer pays to grow wheat ; flock- 
 masters get nothing for their wool ; American 
 pork undersells French produce ; the florist of 
 Angers complains of his Belgian rival ; the madder 
 of Vaucluse is beaten out of the field by indigo. 
 Wages are rising in a falling market ; labour is not 
 only scarce and dear, but it has deteriorated in 
 quality. The younger generation is not, it is said, 
 like the old ; lads go off to seek fortunes in towns, 
 or cannot endure, after the gaiety of barrack life, 
 the monotony of the country. Girls will not work 
 like their mothers, but become dressmakers or 
 shopgirls. In France, as in England, politico- 
 economic questions are chained to the car of 
 party politics ; no one dares to investigate the 
 principles which regulate commercial dealings. In 
 France, as well as in England, a new privileged class
 
 84 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 has been created, that of the rentier, who escapes 
 the taxation which crushes the agriculturist. As in 
 England, so in France, through railway rates are 
 said to favour the foreigner ; and in both countries 
 the cry grows louder that the cheapest loaf becomes 
 the dearest when no one has money to buy it. 
 If French tenant-farmers have suffered less than 
 their English brethren, it is because the land has 
 never been called upon to produce two gentlemen's 
 incomes, and because large employers of labour are 
 never ashamed of the blouse and the sabot. 
 
 It is the tenant-farmer renting a large farm, 
 employing hired labour, and growing corn and 
 beef for sale and not for home consumption, who 
 has suffered most by agricultural depression. One 
 noticeable result of bad times is the increase of 
 metayage. It is admitted by many agricultural 
 writers that on this system landlords and tenants 
 have got most out of the land, and have suffered 
 least from the recent distress. The proof lies in 
 the fact that not a few tenant-farmers have lately 
 preferred to take on their farms as metayers. If 
 metayage is indeed the land system of the future, 
 or even affords a temporary shelter from the storm, 
 some few remarks may be usefully offered upon 
 the shape which the tenure now assumes in 
 France. 
 
 Like every other system of agricultural tenure, 
 metayage has been greatly abused. Strong pre- 
 judices have been created against the system by 
 the writings of Arthur Young and Mill, who
 
 PREVALENCE OF METAYERS 85 
 
 studied the tenure in its most debased conditions. 
 Before the Revolution, land farmed by tenants 
 was almost universally let to metayers ; in the 
 north and north-east alone the tenure was excep- 
 tional. Even at the present day there are scarcely 
 any departments in which the system is not to 
 be found, and it prevails extensively in the centre, 
 west, and south of France. Mayenne is the most 
 northern department in which metayers are 
 numerous. Twenty-six per cent, of the land is 
 cultivated by peasant proprietors ; 49 per cent, 
 by tenant-farmers ; 25 per cent, by metayers. 
 In Finistere, 6 per cent., in Morbihan, C6tes-du 
 Nord, Ile-et-Vilaine 3 per cent, of the cultivators 
 of the soil are metayers. In the Department of 
 the Sarthe they number about 3^ per cent. In 
 the Nord and the Pas de Calais their numbers 
 do not amount to more than 1|- per cent, of the 
 farming population. In Eure-et-Loire (La Beauce), 
 out of an adult male agricultural population of 
 over 70,000, there are not 300 metayers. In 
 Maine-et-Loire metayers are more numerous, es- 
 pecially in the wild bocage districts of Bauge 
 and Segre, where their numbers exceed 7,500. 
 Farther south they grow more and more abundant. 
 In Creuse, for instance, the land is cultivated by 
 metayers, or peasant proprietors, or village com- 
 munities ; the English tenant-farmer is almost 
 unknown. In the department of the Allier, which 
 includes part of the Bourbonnais and Basse- 
 Auvergne, nearly two-fifths of the landholding
 
 86 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 classes are metayers. South of the Garonne, except 
 on the East and in Ariege, tenant-farmers are 
 altogether outnumbered by peasant proprietors and 
 metayers. Half the Landes is in the hands of 
 metayers ; the Gironde contains 19,000 metayers 
 against 4,000 tenant-farmers ; in Tarn-et-Garonne 
 there are 9,000 metayers to 700 farmers. 
 
 Metayage has altered for the better since it was 
 condemned by Arthur Young and Mill. In details 
 the system varies with every district ; the main 
 features remain the same. Landlords and tenants 
 combine to stock a farm ; the tenant tills the soil, 
 and manages the live stock under the direction of 
 the landlord ; the profits are divided as the 
 interest on their respective capitals. The theory 
 is admirable. It applies co-operation directly and 
 simply to agricultural industries ; it forms an 
 association of capital and intelligence with labour, 
 of practice with science ; it brings to bear on both 
 partners the strongest motives of self-interest. So 
 long as landlords were resident the system suc- 
 ceeded, because the metayer worked under the eye 
 of his partner. But when estates were too small 
 to offer inducements to landlords to adopt a 
 country life, or large enough to support them as 
 courtiers, the system was grossly abused. Land- 
 lords resided in towns because town life offered 
 more distraction to the wealthy, or more professions 
 to the poor. They knew nothing of farming, 
 abandoned the sentiment of their position, looked 
 upon their land as so much capital realising
 
 87 
 
 a certain interest, and generally handed it over 
 for fixed payments to bailiffs, who sublet to 
 the metayers. This middleman, frequently a 
 solicitor, was, like his employer, a citizen. He 
 knew too little of farming to improve the yield 
 from the land, and yet was determined that it 
 should yield three rents. The terms of the tenancy 
 grew more harsh, and the contribution to the 
 stocking of the farm (cheptel) more niggardly. No 
 artificial manure was used ; the plough was that 
 of Triptolemus ; the cropping antiquated and bar- 
 barous. The metayer, never receiving any advice 
 or instruction, surrounded by other tenants as 
 ignorant as himself, plodded on in the footprints 
 of his ancestors, content if he could avert starvation 
 from himself and his family. With his land and 
 farmbuildings he was given a cheptel, consisting 
 of eight oxen for the plough, half a dozen lean, 
 wretched, inbred cows, a small flock of sheep, 
 and two or three sows. All the animals were 
 dwindling to half their proper size. Two-thirds 
 of the land was arable ; an unmanured meadow 
 occupied one-tenth of the farm ; the rest was left, 
 with the assistance of broom, heath, or gorse, as 
 coarse pasture. The land was incessantly cropped 
 for potatoes, buckwheat, maize, barley, rye. The 
 metayer's own contribution to the stock was about 
 a fourth of that of the proprietor two carts, two 
 or three wooden ploughs, two harrows (also of 
 wood), the harness of the oxen, sickles, hoes, 
 and other implements.
 
 88 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 Within recent years the system has been revo- 
 lutionised. Divisions of property compelled land- 
 lords to reside on their estates, supervise the 
 letting and management of the metairies, and 
 dispense with farmers or middlemen. If landlords 
 are interested and skilled in agriculture, the system 
 offers exceptional advantages. The tenancy is not 
 inherently aggressive ; it does not lend itself so 
 readily to the reclamation of land as a peasant 
 proprietary ; it is rare to find metayers who have 
 reclaimed land. But where the landlord is ready 
 and competent to take the initiative, the tenure 
 has achieved wonders. It doubles the capital, 
 entrusts to the brains the direction of the enter- 
 prise, and supplies the incentive of self-interest to 
 the labour. 
 
 One condition of success is that the farm should 
 not be too large to be cultivated by a single family. 
 If hired labour is employed, the conditions of the 
 tenancy become complicated by the question of 
 wages, and misunderstandings frequently arise. The 
 size of an arable metayage farm varies from thirty 
 to seventy acres. In vine-growing countries the 
 holdings are smaller. The land is generally let 
 on lease for three or six years ; afterwards the 
 tenure is renewed by the tacite reconduction, 
 subject to a six months' notice to quit on either 
 side. Far more capital is put into arable farms 
 by both the partners. Formerly the value of the 
 landlord's cheptel rarely rose above 40, and the 
 tenant's contribution often fell below 10. Now
 
 IMPROVEMENT OF METAYAGE 89 
 
 both parties often contribute from 70 to 100 
 apiece, besides the capital which the landlord has 
 sunk in the improvement of his land. The metayer 
 pays a necessary rent, which represents half the 
 land tax, half the seed corn, the rent of his house 
 and private garden, his use of potatoes, milk, and 
 wood, and the profits of his poultry-yard, the 
 larger share of interest on invested capital which 
 belongs to the landlord. This rent varies from 
 Is. to 2s. an acre. Subject to the deduction of 
 this sum, or its equivalent in kind, the profits or 
 produce of the farm are equally divided. The 
 landlord contracts to keep the buildings in repair, 
 to maintain the fire insurances, and to pay the 
 taxes. The metayer agrees to keep the fences 
 and implements in good order, to till the soil and 
 tend the stock en bon pere de famille. All forage 
 crops grown on the farm are to be consumed on 
 the premises ; the milk is set aside, in the first 
 instance, to rear the calves the surplus belongs 
 to the metayer. The cattle and other live stock 
 are valued at the commencement of the tenancy ; 
 at the close of each year, or at the expiration of 
 the lease, the profit or loss is shared between the 
 partners. All the expenses of cultivation fall 
 upon the metayer. The course of cropping, the 
 sale and purchase of stock, and the general plan 
 of management are determined by agreement 
 between the partners ; in case of dispute the 
 landlord's will prevails. In vine-growing districts 
 the metayer, bordier, or mcger, is often rather a
 
 90 
 
 maitre valet than a metayer proper. The proprietor 
 finds a vigneronnage complet, that is land, vines, 
 buildings, implements, utensils, pays half the 
 taxes, and defrays half the cost of the straw and 
 poles ; the tenant undertakes the culture of the 
 vine, the vintage, and the operations of wine- 
 making. The profits are divided upon terms 
 which vary with each contract. The essential 
 difference between the me'tayer and the maitre 
 valet is that the latter contributes nothing to the 
 joint enterprise except his labour. He is a 
 me'tayer in embryo; he occupies a lower step in 
 the social ladder. He takes a farm for a year, 
 and cultivates the soil under the direction of the 
 landlord. He is paid a fixed sum of money, and 
 a fixed proportion of the produce. He also shares 
 in the success of the farm, receiving, for instance, 
 a tenth of the fleeces or of the increase of the 
 live stock. The system is very common, not only 
 in the vineyards but on the arable farms of the 
 south. Very often farms are taken by associations 
 of metayers called personniers, or by companies 
 of maitres valets, who work under the supervision 
 of their leader, or bourrat. Some of these asso- 
 ciated farmers have cultivated the same land for 
 many years in succession ; and when they break 
 up, the farm is generally taken on by one of the 
 old association. 
 
 Metayage is the most important, but by no 
 means the only, modification of the ordinary 
 relations of landlord and tenant which prevail in
 
 SOCIAL ADVANTAGES 91 
 
 France. Two of the others might be studied, if 
 space allowed, in their bearing upon the Irish 
 land question. The domaine congeabk of Brittany 
 still finds supporters, and prevails extensively in 
 Finistere. Of the droit de marche of the Picard 
 farmer, with its dark tale of agrarian crime and 
 outrage, and its immemorial practice of boycotting 
 land-grabbers or depointeurs, I will only observe, 
 as a coincidence, that it must have been familiar 
 to every divinity student of Douai or St. Omer. 
 But, for practical purposes, the condition and 
 prospects of peasant proprietors and metayers are 
 of greater interest to English agriculturists. 
 
 No one will deny that the system of peasant 
 proprietors is socially advantageous. It affords a 
 training to the rural population for which we in 
 England have found no substitute. It checks the 
 centralisation of pauperism, the overgrowth of 
 population, and the migration into towns. The 
 element of stability which it contributes to the 
 State is more valuable to the French than 
 ourselves. There the towns are inflammable as 
 touchwood, while the country ignites more slowly. 
 Yet even in England it is useful to have a class 
 of slow-thinking men, who will answer political 
 firebrands with * Cela est bien, mais il faut cultiver 
 notre jardin.' But, while conceding the advantages 
 of a peasant proprietary, we cannot ignore the 
 difficulties which beset its artificial creation. The 
 poverty and misery or the wealth and happiness 
 of French peasants are often exaggerated, in the
 
 92 FRENCH FARMING 
 
 interests of politicians or of theorists. I have 
 endeavoured to show that the small owner is not 
 superior to the ordinary conditions of agricultural 
 success. He will not thrive wherever he is planted, 
 or exist on land which starves a rabbit. The chief 
 conditions of his prosperity do not exist in England. 
 We have few commons, few domestic industries, 
 no union of agriculture with manufacture, few 
 special crops for which his minute labour is 
 peculiarly adapted. Some of these conditions can 
 be created ; but it is well to bear in mind what 
 is entailed in the legislative establishment of a 
 peasant proprietary, as well as to recognise the 
 duties which such a system throws upon the 
 State. 
 
 Finally, I have drawn attention to the metayage 
 system, because it has in France proved the best 
 shelter for tenant-farmers against the agricultural 
 storm. The capacities of the tenure have been 
 severely tested, and it has not broken down. This 
 fact should at least remove the prejudices, based 
 on obsolete conditions, which are entertained 
 towards metayage. The English farmer has lost 
 the whole or the greater part of his capital. 
 Metayage suggests a means of uniting capital and 
 labour, self-interest and intelligence, in the cul- 
 tivation of the soil. But the experiment must 
 necessarily fail unless implicit confidence exists 
 between the landlord and his working partner.
 
 TENANT-RIGHT AND AGRARIAN 
 OUTRAGE IN FRANCE 
 
 "JVTOTHING is new under the sun. Ireland 
 -*-^ enjoys no monopoly of agrarian outrage ; 
 she cannot even boast the invention of boycotting. 
 France affords a proof that land hunger alone, 
 whetted by no race hatred or religious prejudice, 
 can so transform the character of a peasantry that 
 they shrink from no crime against a legal system 
 which they regard as tyrannical and oppressive. 
 
 In the ancient province of Picardy every feature 
 of Irish land agitation is reproduced, and has pre- 
 vailed for centuries. The droit de marche of 
 Picardy corresponds more or less closely to the 
 tenant-right of Ireland, and both have treated the 
 law of the land as a dead letter. In France 
 the combat began at least as early as 1679. 
 Without intermission, from that day to this, law 
 has been defied and its administration baffled 
 by secret coalitions among tenant-farmers, by 
 boycotting, incendiarism, destruction of crops, 
 breaking of implements, maiming of cattle, muti- 
 lation of horses, assassination of land-grabbers, 
 and all the familiar forms of agrarian terrorism. 
 Special legislation, enforced by the most despotic 
 of governments, failed to stamp out the illegal 
 
 93
 
 94 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 custom for which a handful of tenant-farmers 
 were contending. Fines, martial law, suspension 
 of local tribunals, extraordinary powers vested in 
 royal officials, billetings of soldiers on suspected 
 villages, imprisonments, executions, transporta- 
 tions, only acted like water on burning oil : they 
 spread the area of disaffection. The tenant-farmer 
 has triumphed ; to-day Picardy is as peaceful as 
 a humdrum English county. What was the 
 nature of the disturbance ? How has the pacifi- 
 cation been achieved ? 
 
 The centre and heart of the agrarian outrages to 
 which the droit de marche has given rise are the 
 districts of Picardy known by the sinister title of 
 Sangterre or Santerre, forming a portion of the 
 Department of the Somme. It includes the 
 arrondissements of Peronne and Montdidier, to- 
 gether with the canton of Corbie in the arron- 
 dissement of Amiens. Here are clustered most 
 of the numerous villages, such as Belloy, Bouchoire, 
 Lihons, Rouvry, which boast the addition to 
 their names of "en Santerre." The greater 
 part of the district lies in a niche between 
 three railways, bounded on the north by the line, 
 from Amiens through Nesle and Ham to Tergnier, 
 on the west by the main line from Amiens to Paris, 
 on the south-east by the branch line from St. Just 
 through Montdidier, Roye, Chaulnes and Peronne 
 to Cambrai. It is a great rolling plain, traversed 
 by the departmental road from Amiens through 
 Roye to Noyon. Though it nowhere rises above
 
 400 feet, it forms a tableland, furrowed by 
 numerous valleys, the channels of little streams 
 which create the peat bogs for which Picardy is 
 famous. The cultivators of the soil are congregated 
 in villages : detached farmhouses or farmbuildings 
 are scarce. No hedge is to be seen for miles, and, 
 except round the villages and by the side of the 
 roads, there are but few trees. Before the crops 
 are cleared, the billowy tumult of the corn lends a 
 charm to the landscape : but after harvest the 
 district wears a singularly melancholy aspect, with 
 its monotonous outlines, confined horizon, and 
 solitary expanse. 
 
 Santerre possesses no coal-fields and no important 
 manufactures. Stocking- weaving flourishes in the 
 neighbourhood of Montdidier, and Peronne carries 
 on some trade in cotton prints. But practically 
 the district is purely agricultural. The land is 
 chiefly arable, though Moislains, the largest village 
 in the canton of Peronne, is surrounded by some 
 fine pastures. The soil varies widely in quality. 
 The best is an argile douce mingled with sand ; the 
 medium is a sandy clay mixed with a species of 
 Oxfordshire "stone-brash," known by the local name 
 of cornu ; the worst is a marl which nothing but 
 incessant labour will render fertile. Of the nine 
 cantons which form the arrondissement of Peronne, 
 the largest proportion of poor land is to be found 
 in Bray and Peronne ; and it is in these two cantons 
 that the droit de marche has been enforced in the 
 most exaggerated form, The best land is found in
 
 96 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 Roissel, Combles, and Nesle, where the droit de 
 marche is comparatively restricted. The soil is 
 cultivated in holdings of various sizes. Small 
 farms of between 10 and 75 acres are tilled by the 
 owners who, in addition, often occupy land as 
 tenants ; middle-sized farms range from 100 to 500 
 acres ; a few large farms rise from 500 to 1,500 
 acres. Speaking generally, land in Santerre is now 
 divided in equal proportions between these three 
 classes, with an increasing preponderance in favour 
 of the smallest class. 
 
 The term droit de marche is derived from the 
 marche, or lot of land which forms the object of a 
 lease, or from the same word used in the sense of 
 the primitive contract on which the right is by 
 some supposed to depend. It may be translated 
 as tenant-right. By it the tenant-farmer means 
 three things : his claim, subject to the payment of 
 his annual rent, to a perpetual enjoyment of the 
 marche or plot of land which he occupies ; the 
 power to dispose of his droit to his representative 
 by sale or will ; and, if the land comes into the 
 market, the right of pre-emption. He denies the 
 landlord's right to let or sell the holding over his 
 head, to evict him for another tenant, to raise his 
 rent, or refuse the lease to his nominee. He 
 only recognises the rights of the nominal owner 
 by paying an annual rent, and certain premiums 
 for the admission of new tenants or the renewals 
 of old leases, called respectively intrudes or pots 
 de vin.
 
 NATURE OF TENANT-RIGHT 97 
 
 A landlord has a farm to let. The land is not 
 free land, but is subject to the tenant-right. The 
 owner of the land has no voice in the selection of 
 the farmer ; the new tenant is the representative 
 of the late occupier, from whom he has first 
 acquired the tenant-right by purchase or inherit- 
 ance. This nominee of a third person on entering 
 into possession pays to the landlord a sum of 
 money called the intrude, which is generally 
 equivalent to a year's rent, and is payable whenever 
 the farm changes hands. This payment is, so to 
 speak, the premium for the tenant's investiture. 
 On some estates another sum, called chapeau, or 
 pot de vin, is payable whenever the lease is 
 renewed. 
 
 The intrade varies in amount with the relation- 
 ship which the incoming tenant bears to his 
 predecessor in title. Thus, a stranger acquiring 
 the tenant-right by purchase, pays more than a 
 collateral descendant ; the rate is almost nothing 
 in the case of a tenant in a direct line of descent. 
 The new tenant is, as has been said, the nominee 
 of the former occupier ; he has acquired from him, 
 whether by purchase or inheritance, the tenant- 
 right with all its accessory privileges. Theoreti- 
 cally, the purchase-money paid for the tenant-right 
 represents the value of the tenant's interest in the 
 land after satisfying the landlord's claim for rent. 
 It necessarily varies in amount, and fluctuates with 
 the rise or fall in rent or agricultural prices. This 
 perpetual readjustment of the balance is practically 
 
 7
 
 98 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 neglected ; it is the weak feature of the system, 
 and the point in which tenant-right has been 
 most abused. Certain communes of the canton 
 of Peronne, notably Brie, Bouvincourt, Mons-en- 
 chaussee, and Estrees-en-chaussee, have distin- 
 guished themselves by the extravagance of their 
 claims. Landlords have been powerless to raise the 
 old rents of half a century ago. Consequently, in 
 1836, the value of the tenant-right was estimated 
 at nearly three-quarters of the value of the land. 
 On the other hand, it must be remembered that 
 the soil of this canton is for the most part of so 
 poor a quality, that it can only be rendered pro- 
 fitable by unremitting toil. In other cantons 
 farmers have allowed rents to follow the rise in 
 prices. The value of the tenant-right throughout 
 the whole district of Santerre ranges from 500 to 
 1,200 francs the hectare. Free land sells for about 
 40 the acre. The tenant-right may, therefore, be 
 calculated as between a quarter and a half of the 
 value of the land. 
 
 A farmer has purchased from his predecessor 
 his tenant-right ; he has paid the landlord his pre- 
 mium ; he has taken a lease. What is his position ? 
 Leases are generally for nine or eighteen years ; 
 but, whatever clauses are inserted to provide for 
 the surrender of the farm at the expiration of the 
 specified term, the tenant considers himself as a 
 co-proprietor of the land. He has acquired a 
 right against all the world, a right which he can 
 transmit to his representatives or successive lessees
 
 POSITION OF LANDLORDS 99 
 
 of the farm on the conditions contained in the 
 original lease. Of this joint ownership he con- 
 sidered the payment of rent in kind to be a sign ; 
 at the present day he pays in money, but the 
 amount is calculated upon the market price, on 
 certain days, of a fixed quantity of corn. The 
 landlord has parted with all control over his 
 property : he cannot choose his tenant ; he cannot 
 raise the rent, or enforce new conditions. The 
 landlord receives his pots de vin, intrades, and 
 rent ; but the tenant regards these payments as 
 entitling him to the hereditary enjoyment of the 
 land, and as conferring the power to dispose of 
 his farm by will, sale, .gift, or sub-lease. In Picard 
 phrase the tenant says of the farm, ctCest a Dieu 
 et a mi, and treats it accordingly. Jealous of 
 his independence, he often conceals from the land- 
 lord even his name. The rent or the intrade is 
 sometimes paid by third persons, and the receipt 
 is drawn in blank. 
 
 Before the Revolution landlords could always 
 re-enter upon their land when a lease had expired, 
 and cultivate it themselves. Tenant-right only 
 protected the farmer against his own class. When 
 the landlord grew tired of gentleman-farming, he 
 was bound to re-let the farm to the representa- 
 tives of the original tenant whom he had dispos- 
 sessed. In 1867, even after the lapse of twenty 
 years, men were willing to pay 150 francs the 
 hectare to purchase from the evicted tenant his 
 vague prospect of re-entry. So long as landlords
 
 100 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 could dispossess tenants, fixed terms were neces- 
 sary for the protection of the latter. It is under 
 this moderate form that the droit de mar die exists 
 in parts of Santerre, and in the arrondissement 
 of St. Quentin. But in the greater part of the 
 district the farmer has now protected himself 
 against his landlord as well as against his neigh- 
 bour. Since 1789 tenants cannot be dispossessed 
 even by owners of the soil who want to cultivate 
 it themselves. Commercial interests have, in fact, 
 changed the quarter from which farmers antici- 
 pate danger. A new peril threatened tenant-right 
 when land speculators bought up land, which was 
 sold at a low price because it was subject to the 
 tenant-right, dispossessed the tenants, and threw 
 the intermixed holdings of which the old farm 
 consisted into one large colza, wheat, or beetroot 
 farm. In former days there was little risk of the 
 landlord taking into his own hands a farm which 
 was made up of small detached parcels, and on 
 which there were no farmbuildings. He had 
 little or no inducement for the necessary outlay 
 of capital. The Santerre fanner only feared that 
 his neighbours might outbid him, and annex his 
 holding to that which they already occupied. 
 Another privilege, which is of infinite value to the 
 tenant-right farmer, is the right of pre-emption. 
 When land was offered for sale, the tenant-occupier 
 claimed the first offer. No purchaser would bid 
 till he had exercised his option. The principle of 
 the tenant-right is now confined to land. But it
 
 AN ELDEST SON 101 
 
 once extended to everything which could form the 
 object of a contract of letting and hiring. Thus, 
 places in the market, or seats in church were 
 transmitted in perpetuity, and could not be 
 acquired except with the consent of the last occu- 
 pier. Similarly, ploughmen, threshers, reapers, 
 and shepherds claimed a hereditary right to retain 
 their situations in their families, or to nominate 
 their successors, and boycotted employers who 
 engaged strangers. 
 
 When once tenant-right has been acquired, 
 farmers leave it by will, divide it among children, 
 give it by way of dower, sell it to strangers by 
 public auction or private bargain, make it the 
 subject of contracts embodied in legal form by 
 notaries. It forms an item of account in bank- 
 ruptcies, liquidations, or inventories for valuations. 
 It confers upon tenants rights of pre-emption, 
 perpetual possession of their farms, powers to 
 sublet, as well as to refuse increased rent or the 
 insertion of new conditions. In defiance of the 
 Code Civil, it creates a species of droit dainesse. 
 Whichever of the sons carries on the farm is 
 treated as the eldest. To him alone brothers and 
 sisters can sell or lease their shares of the land ; 
 and if he purchases the portion of a sister, custom 
 compels him to pay only half-price. The right 
 links together the tenants in the closest possible 
 union, binding them to abstain from competition 
 for each other's farms, to punish traitors, to conceal 
 the perpetrators of agrarian crime, and to help one
 
 102 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 another in time of need. The extent to which 
 this last pledge is recognised is illustrated by a 
 story which Deverite tells in the Supplement to 
 his "Essai sur 1'Histoire de Picardie" (London and 
 Abbeville, 1774). A farmer was hanged for the 
 murder of another who had outbid him for his 
 farm. The village council determined that the 
 wealthiest bachelor should marry the widow of 
 the murderer, and that a wedding present should 
 be provided by the community, and " la chose 
 fut execute'e." Yet this tenant-right, which is 
 thus openly dealt with, and which confers such 
 important privileges on its owners, appears to have 
 no legal existence. By the legislation of December 
 1790, all tenancies of a perpetual nature were 
 abolished, and they were at the same time rendered 
 redeemable by the farmer. Tenants might convert 
 their holdings into freehold, but after that date 
 they could not continue to occupy under a per- 
 manent lease. The Code Civil renders null and 
 void any disposition of property in perpetuity in 
 favour of individuals. Thus, even assuming that 
 before the Revolution, the right rested upon the 
 prescriptive title of immemorial possession, it was 
 abolished in 1790. So careful is the law to avoid 
 even the appearance of recognising the legality of 
 the droit de marche, that it refuses to assess it for 
 purposes of taxation, and prefers to see the public 
 revenue defrauded of a valuable source of income. 
 
 The growth of the tenant-right is an isolated 
 phenomenon in rural France. It possesses no
 
 ORIGIN OF TENANTS' CLAIM 103 
 
 title deeds, no charter ; no public record, no 
 private document can be produced in its favour ; 
 it can only appeal to immemorial tradition, and 
 to the deep-rooted, inveterate, and almost uni- 
 versal feeling of Santerre. The origin of the 
 usage is uncertain ; even its age is a subject of 
 dispute. Its opponents regard it as a recent 
 invasion upon the landowner's rights ; its advo- 
 cates assign to it a legal or equitable foundation 
 in remote antiquity. Some writers have treated 
 the droit de marche as the object for which the 
 intrade is paid. But the intrade is really the effect 
 of which the droit is the cause. It is the com- 
 pensation paid to the landlord for the loss of his 
 rights. The choice of explanation lies between 
 five theories that have been offered to account 
 for the growth of the usage, each of which is 
 supported by some special circumstance in the 
 history of the province. 
 
 The great forest of Ardennes originally covered 
 the whole district, spreading down to the shores 
 of the Channel. Traces of it still linger in the 
 line of forests which join hands almost from Calais 
 to Paris, in the names of numerous villages, and 
 even, it is said, in the word Santerre itself, which 
 has been derived from sarta terra, or cleared land. 
 The droit de marche, say some authorities, is the 
 reward offered to tenants for the exceptional 
 labour of clearing the land. 
 
 Somewhat similar is the explanation which traces 
 the origin of the right to the necessities of cultiva-
 
 104 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 tion, combined with imperfectly understood inci- 
 dents of Gallo-Roman or feudal tenures. This wild 
 forest land is covered with vestiges of the Roman 
 occupation. It is intersected with Roman roads, 
 which converged on the frequented seaports of the 
 shores of the Channel. In the train of the Roman 
 soldier followed the Roman farmer. Under the 
 empire the " Colonus " was not a slave, but the 
 owner of slaves : he held his land in perpetuity ; 
 he could not leave it, or be separated from it. 
 He paid a fixed rent in kind, which could not 
 be raised. Tenant-right, therefore, is explained 
 as the recognition by the Prankish conquerors of 
 this hereditary claim to the perpetual occupation 
 of the soil. 
 
 Picardy is studded with ruins of religious houses 
 and feudal fortresses, and some writers have seen 
 in the droit de marche special payment made to 
 peasants for manual labour in their erection. It 
 was thus, according to tradition, that the Abbey of 
 Lihons-en-Santerre was erected. Pioneers of agri- 
 culture, as well as backwoodsmen of Christianity, 
 the monks induced their serfs to build their 
 monasteries or clear the forest by granting per- 
 petual leases of the reclaimed land. The example 
 of the monks of Corbie was followed by the feudal 
 nobility of Picardy. Some writers, therefore, see 
 in the tenant-right farmers the representatives of 
 the original grantees or proprietors. 
 
 Peter the Hermit, whose statue stands in the 
 square at the east end of the Cathedral of Amiens,
 
 HISTORICAL EXPLANATION 105 
 
 was a native of Picardy. He drew from his native 
 province the greater number of his followers. The 
 piety of Picard Crusaders so enriched the country 
 with relics that the word Santerre has been de- 
 rived from sancta terra. Local tradition, which 
 is almost universally prevalent, assigns to the 
 Crusades the origin of the droit de marche. The 
 popular explanation which is in the mouth of 
 every peasant is that the feudal nobles raised 
 money from their tenants to equip themselves 
 for their expedition, and repaid the loan by 
 granting to them the perpetual enjoyment of 
 the land which they occupied. The explanation 
 does too much honour to the scruples of the 
 baron and the wealth of the serf. If the Picard 
 saying may be used against this favourite theory 
 of the Picard farmer 
 
 Ge sont des contes 
 De Robert mon onke. 
 
 No country has suffered more than Picardy from 
 devastating wars. Fire and sword laid waste the 
 district from the time of Brunehild and Fredegund. 
 Pillaged by the Normans, ravaged by the English, 
 devastated by the petty warfare of feudal barons, 
 wasted by the contests of the Burgundians and 
 Armagnacs, Picardy bore the brunt of the struggle 
 between Louis XI and Charles the Bold ; re- 
 peatedly invaded by the Germans, the Spaniards, 
 or the English, it was plundered by the pandours 
 of Prince Eugene, and the Cossacks of the allied
 
 106 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 armies. The last shot fired in the war of 1814 
 was fired from the walls of Peronne. The origin 
 of the droit de marche has been traced to the 
 exceptional risks which attended agriculture in 
 this border country of " Sang-terre." Advocates 
 of tenant-right treat it as the bribe offered to 
 induce farmers to face special dangers ; opponents 
 of the droit regard the perpetual wars as the 
 opportunity which the peasant seized to invade 
 the rights of the landlord. 
 
 Whatever may have been the origin of the 
 right, it is at least remote. The earliest allusion 
 to it in any French official document occurs in an 
 edict published by Louis XIV in 1679. In the 
 preamble to an edict of 1724 it is stated that 
 tenant-right, originally claimed only over the lands 
 of citizens, was now extending to the estates of 
 the Church and the nobility. The document is 
 sometimes quoted as conclusive in determining the 
 date and character of the usage. But the question 
 can hardly be settled on the evidence of a preamble 
 which was intended to justify a legislation of 
 ferocious severity. In the early days of agriculture 
 rents were rarely, if ever, raised ; farms were un- 
 interruptedly occupied by members of the same 
 family. It was not till the right was disputed 
 that its existence was suspected. Towards the 
 close of the seventeenth century the old order 
 was rapidly changing. The feudal spirit was com- 
 paratively extinct. Provincial nobles flocked to 
 Paris, where their finances were speedily exhausted ;
 
 ANTIQUITY OF THE RIGHT 107 
 
 retainers were less valued than cash. The history 
 of other provinces proves that the Grand Siecle 
 was the period during which landlords endeavoured 
 most strenuously to assert their nominal rights. 
 The attempt to raise the rent brought the landlord 
 at once into collision with the tenant-right ; it 
 revealed the nature of the farmer's claim. The 
 popular tradition of the Crusades may be of little 
 value as evidence, but its antiquity is important. 
 The language of the preamble to the edict of 
 1679 shows that the organisation to enforce the 
 tenant-right was already too firmly established to 
 yield to the ordinary laws. Many of the details 
 of the right indicate its early origin, and confirm 
 the view that it was founded partly on the 
 exigencies of clearing forest-land, partly on the 
 imperfectly understood analogies of the Gallo- 
 Roman and feudal tenures. A remarkable feature 
 of the claim is that one part of the same property 
 is subject to it, while another remains exempt. 
 In all forest countries land cleared by individual 
 members of a village community was treated as 
 " exsors " i.e. not liable to the annual division. 
 If the Picard tenant-right originated in these 
 private clearings, the existence of tenant-right and 
 free land side by side, as well as the prevalence 
 of the same usage over the forest district of the 
 north, are satisfactorily explained. When once 
 the claim had been made, a larger share of the 
 distractions of war, combined with the determined 
 character of the Picard peasant, accounts for its
 
 108 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 vitality. Like other men of his class, he was 
 impervious to new ideas. He might love his 
 priest ; but he did not obey him in secular affairs. 
 His only guides were les anciens, and the on dit 
 of the market and the fair. Bignon, the Intendant 
 of Picardy in 1707, speaks of the people of Picardy 
 as hard-working, frugal, deeply attached to the 
 soil, slow, and obstinate. Local sayings confirm the 
 character. The " franc Picard " is proud of his 
 independence ; the " bon Picard " is upright, simple- 
 minded, straightforward ; he is sluggish, for " Picard, 
 tamaisonbrule!" "Fuche! J'ail'clefdinsm'poke." 
 Yet " les Picards ont la tete chaude " ; their passion, 
 once aroused, is not easily allayed. The Picard 
 is made of the stuff which offers an invincible 
 resistance to the loss of what he regards as a right. 
 The Picard tenant-right is not only unrecog- 
 nised, but proscribed by law ; it can show no legal 
 right for its existence ; it only holds its ground 
 by terrorism and compact coalition among the 
 persons interested in its maintenance. Suppose 
 that a landlord endeavours to extinguish the 
 tenant-right in other words, to emancipate his 
 land from the tenant-right, and convert it into 
 free land he takes the opportunity of a renewal 
 of the lease to alter the conditions of the tenancy 
 and raise the rent, or even to evict the tenant in 
 order to introduce a farmer of his own choice. 
 The occupier of the farm enters the village inn, 
 and utters the formula, " Je n'ai jamais demonte 
 personne ; j'espere que personne me demontera,"
 
 LAND-GRABBING 109 
 
 From that moment the farm is boycotted. It is the 
 proud boast of the district " En Santerre on ne se 
 demonte jamais." The occupier abandons the farm ; 
 no new tenant comes forward ; the land falls out of 
 cultivation. If a new tenant is brought in from a 
 distance, or if a neighbour makes a bid for the land, 
 without first obtaining the consent of the evicted 
 occupier, the commune proceeds from passive re- 
 sistance to violence. The new tenant is denounced 
 as a depointeur, or in Picard patois, depointeux. 1 
 
 1 The words depointeur, depointer, depointement are found in 
 the Supplement to M. Littre's Dictionary, where the meaning is 
 explained as one who supplants another in his farm in defiance 
 of the droit de marche of Santerre and elsewhere ; the derivation 
 is given of de-point i.e. "faire quitter le point ou Ton est." 
 M. Jouancoux (Etudes pour un glossaire etymologique du patois 
 Picard) adopts the accurate definition of the word which is given 
 by M. Corblot, whose Picard dictionary was published in the 
 " Memoires de la Societe des Antiquaires de Picardie " (2nd 
 Series, vol. i. Amiens, 1851). According to these authorities, 
 a depointeux is any one who makes a bid for another's farm. 
 " Dej}ointer se dit d'un fermier qui, par un enchere, obtient une 
 terre affermee jusqu'alors a un autre. II existe dans le Santerre 
 une espece de contrat tacite qui interdit aux fermiers d'encherir 
 ou d'accepter le marche d'un autre sans son consentement expres. 
 Las rares infracteurs de cet usage sont appeles depointeurs." 
 Neither of these authors offers any derivation of the word. Many 
 writers connect it with " disappointment," and translate it as a 
 breach of faith. The true derivation is that of Du Cange : " De- 
 pun ctuare, depunctare, rei alicujus dominio et possessione exuere, 
 privare, ab officio removere, nostris etiam depointer." The word 
 was added to the Glossary by Carpentier in 1766 (Supplementum), 
 thus confirming the view that recent events had drawn attention 
 to the tenants' claims. At Noyon the word is used by children 
 of taking each other up in class : has lost its peculiar opprobrium, 
 because there the tenant-right has disappeared.
 
 110 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 No greater insult can be offered to a native of 
 Santerre than to call him by a name which implies 
 that he is a false brother, a traitor to his class. 
 From this moment war is declared. If threats 
 fail, men in masks or with blackened faces sow 
 tares by night with the seeds of the depointeux, 
 break his implements, destroy his growing crops, 
 mutilate his horses and cattle, burn his ricks, set 
 fire to his buildings, fire shots into his house. 
 Finally, if these hints are disregarded, the depoin- 
 teux is found " gisant au coin d'un bois, frappe 
 d'une balle discrete." Men, who in ordinary affairs 
 are the gentlest and most scrupulous, shrink from 
 no crime against a depointeuoc. He, and every- 
 thing that belongs to him, are placed under an 
 interdict. The farm labourers refuse to work for 
 him ; his sons can find no employment, his 
 daughters no husbands, his servants no places ; 
 and the stain of a depointement is irremovable. 
 If his ricks or his barns are on fire, the neighbours 
 assemble, and stand by with folded arms, refusing 
 to render him any assistance. In 1860 two poor 
 women helped a depointeuoc and his family to 
 extinguish the flames by carrying pails of water. 
 They were compelled to leave the district. The 
 law is entirely baffled. The perpetrator of a crime 
 may be known to every one ; his name may be 
 on every lip ; but no evidence can be produced. 
 Instances are known in which witnesses, under the 
 first impulse of horror or compassion, have given 
 evidence ; but in the law court, at the trial, they
 
 MURDER IN PUBLIC 111 
 
 have sworn that they know nothing, and were 
 suborned by the authorities to give false testimony. 
 Agrarian crime courts publicity, as though to 
 proclaim its open defiance of the law and its 
 absolute sense of security. In 1780 a shepherd 
 of Mesnil Bruntel took the place of another with- 
 out compensating his predecessor ; a few days later 
 he was shot as he was walking down the village 
 street in broad daylight between two friends. In 
 1783 the cure of Dompierre, near Peronne, took 
 his glebe into his own hands ; the following Sunday 
 two hundred persons assembled at church ; the cure 
 was shot at the high altar, and no one saw the shot 
 fired. A few years later, at Villers Guislain, a 
 farmer took his neighbour's farm. He was shot at 
 church in the middle of the congregation. Again, 
 no one saw the crime committed, and, at the in- 
 quiry, all swore that they had seen nothing. Every 
 village has some similar tradition ; of later events 
 they are more reticent. Between July 1775 and 
 November 1776, in the district of Peronne alone, 
 twenty-five crimes, " plus criminels les uns que les 
 autres," were brought before the law courts ; in no 
 instance was the criminal discovered. Besides these 
 cases, numerous other crimes were well known to 
 private individuals. In 1787 the Provincial Assembly 
 of Picardy met. A memorial relating to tenant- 
 right was read before a sub-committee, and finally 
 discussed in the Assembly. 1 The delegates decided 
 
 1 " Proces- verbal de 1'Assemblee de la generalite d'Amiens," 
 pp. 109-13 (Amiens et Paris, 1788).
 
 112 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 to address the king to put down a system which 
 was not only disastrous in its immediate effects, 
 but dangerous to the most sacred rights of pro- 
 perty. In 1810 a Code Rural was projected, 
 and local committees were appointed to frame 
 suggestions. Two of these committees, those of 
 Douai and Liege, demanded the suppression of the 
 right, which they characterised as " un odieux et 
 reVoltant abus." At that very moment ten cases 
 of incendiarism were before the Criminal Court of 
 the North. The committee insist on the power- 
 lessness of the executive to enforce the law. Justice 
 was baffled not only by the impossibility of ob- 
 taining evidence, but by the sympathies of local 
 tribunals. Vrely is a village near Rosieres, where 
 the Abbe of St. Eloi at Noyon possessed land. 
 In 1779 the land was let to a dcpointeux named 
 Dangest. Within six weeks of his entry upon the 
 farm, Dangest 's farmbuildings, ricks, and stables 
 were burned to the ground. He took the hint, 
 and threw up the lease. Five years later the 
 Abbe again tried to raise his rents ; the land was 
 at once thrown upon his hands. He issued the 
 statutory notices, and applied, under the existing 
 law, to the tribunal of Montdidier to aid him in 
 exacting the rent from the commune. They 
 decided against him with costs. 
 
 It is easier to collect old instances of the 
 system of terrorism than to cite modern cases. 
 The weapon is partially laid aside, because it has 
 done its work. Landlords as well as lawyers have
 
 acquiesced in a usage which they are powerless 
 to resist. In 1865 a landlord threw a number 
 of small tenant-right holdings into a single farm, 
 expended considerable capital on the erection of 
 buildings and other improvements, and let the 
 whole to a Belgian farmer. Four years in suc- 
 cession the crops were no sooner housed than they 
 were burned. In 1870 they were only saved by 
 being threshed hi the open field. The landlord 
 was compelled to come to terms with his evicted 
 tenants. In 1845 the farmers of Bouvincourt 
 refused to pay an increased rent. Judgment was 
 obtained against them for the amount ; it remained 
 unpaid. Finally a company of soldiers was sent to 
 enforce the payment. The villagers were armed, 
 and had mounted an old cannon, captured from 
 the Spaniards in 1636, upon four coach wheels. 
 For many years the gun, which formed one of 
 the pieces justificative*, stood in the corridor of 
 the Palais de Justice at Peronne. The gun was 
 removed by the Prussians in 1871, but the carriage 
 still remains. In 1868 there were ten cases of 
 incendiarism before the criminal courts which 
 were attributed to the droit de marche. The two 
 following instances occurred within the memory 
 of a man little over fifty. At Chipilly, a village 
 between Corbie and Bray, a landlord took his 
 land into his own hands. His house and farm- 
 buildings were burned to the ground. In the 
 same neighbourhood, thirteen horses belonging to 
 a depointeur had their tongues cut out. Within 
 
 8
 
 114 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 the last fifty years, in the neighbourhood of 
 Peronne, a landlord re-entered upon a number of 
 tenant-right farms, and cultivated them himself. 
 The tenant-right demanded that, when tired of 
 farming, he should re-let the land to the repre- 
 sentatives of the original tenants. Instead of 
 complying with the usage, he let them at an 
 increased rent to the mayor of the commune. A 
 few weeks later the mayor was found drowned in 
 a well. Cases of violence are admittedly becoming 
 rarer every day. The end which terrorism secured 
 is now attained by more peaceful means. But 
 there can be little doubt that, if the occasion 
 arose, the Picard peasants would again deserve 
 the title, which has locally belonged to them for 
 centuries, of " metteux de feu." 
 
 Legislation failed to stamp out tenant-right. 
 Yet the exceptional means adopted for its sup- 
 pression were such as only a despotic government 
 could frame or enforce. Special legislation against 
 the droit de marche commences with the royal edict 
 in November 1679. The edict first states the 
 offence. Farmers refuse to surrender their farms, 
 or to permit the rent to be raised, or the conditions 
 of their lease to be altered ; they dispose of the 
 land as their own, by will, exchange, sale, or 
 partition ; they retain possession by a system of 
 threats, violence, and outrage, of which, however, 
 "il est presque impossible d'avoir des preuves." 
 Existing law failed to check the abuse. Louis XIV 
 had, therefore, determined to employ legislation of
 
 an extraordinary nature and exceptional severity. 
 His edict deals with two points, the passive resist- 
 ance of boycotting and the connivance of local 
 authorities. It renders the inhabitants of the 
 commune in which boycotted land was situated 
 responsible for the rent and cultivation ; it ousts 
 the jurisdiction of local tribunals, and empowers 
 the intendant of the province to deal with all 
 crimes of an agrarian origin. 
 
 A second Order of Council, issued in June 1707, 
 vests jurisdiction over all agrarian offences in a 
 special commissioner ; orders all farmers who held 
 land without leases and against the consent of the 
 landlord, at once to surrender their farms ; forbids 
 under heavy penalties all notaries to embody in 
 legal documents stipulations relating to tenant- 
 right, and calls upon them to furnish to the com- 
 missioner lists of all persons who, to their know- 
 ledge, claimed any such rights. 
 
 On November 3, 1714, another edict was pub- 
 lished. It recapitulates the abuses of the droit de 
 marche, and re-enacts, with increased severity, the 
 provision of the edicts of 1679 and 1707. It gives 
 remarkable extension to the system of responsibility. 
 The evicted occupier was treated as a hostage for 
 the safety of new tenants. If any violence was 
 committed against the person or property of a 
 depointeur, the former tenant was held responsible. 
 Without any proof of complicity, the intendant 
 was empowered to throw him into prison, to keep 
 him there till he proved his innocence, and, if
 
 116 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 he failed to disprove his guilt within three months, 
 to sell his property, and compensate the injured 
 persons. 
 
 In March 1724 a still more severe edict was 
 promulgated, renewing with increased penalties all 
 previous provisions, and designed to cut at the 
 very root of the droit de marche. Under the 
 ancien regime tenants, holding land after the ex- 
 piration of the term contained in their lease, were 
 considered to have their lease implicitly renewed. 
 This implied renewal (tacit e reconductiori) was 
 now abolished in Santerre. All tenants were 
 ordered either to obtain a formal renewal of their 
 leases, or within three months from the date of the 
 edict to notify their surrender of the farms. Those 
 who continued to occupy the land without written 
 leases were liable on the first offence to pay double 
 the rent, on the second to imprisonment and trans- 
 portation to the colonies with their wives and 
 families. When land was thrown upon the land- 
 lord's hands by the surrender of a farm, statutory 
 notice was to be given of the fact upon the church 
 door. If no new tenant offered himself, the letting 
 value of the land was to be estimated by experts, 
 and half the rent was exacted from the former 
 occupier and the remaining half from the commune. 
 The commune was also held responsible for the 
 cultivation of the land. Landowners and new 
 tenants, with their properties, families, and servants, 
 were placed under the protection of the former 
 occupier and the commune. If any of the greater
 
 SEVERE LEGISLATION 117 
 
 agrarian crimes of murder or incendiarism were 
 committed against them or their properties, and 
 the perpetrator was not discovered, the former 
 occupier, his wife, and his children, were to be 
 thrown into prison ; unless within three months 
 his innocence was proved by the conviction of 
 the guilty persons, he and they were to be trans- 
 ported to the colonies, and all his property was 
 to be sold to make compensation. If the sum 
 realised proved insufficient, the deficiency was to 
 be made up by the commune. The wife and 
 children of a man executed for agrarian crime, 
 if living under the same roof at the time of the 
 committal of the offence, might be arrested and 
 transported to the colonies. The commune were 
 required to render every assistance to the officers 
 of justice, and the intendant was empowered to 
 billet soldiers upon the inhabitants for an indefinite 
 period. 
 
 New edicts in 1732 and 1747 filled up the gaps 
 which were left in 1724. Decrees of October 
 1732 and October 1747, applied the principle 
 of communal responsibility to minor agrarian 
 outrages, such as the maiming of cattle, and the 
 destruction of standing crops, trees, or agricultural 
 implements. The commune was held responsible 
 for all offences of this description, and was required 
 to make compensation, and was further punished 
 with double contributions to the corvees, militia, 
 and other extraordinary charges. 
 
 This severe legislation was met by the peasants
 
 118 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 with the savage energy of desperation. A pro- 
 clamation of Louis XV, issued in 1764, extends 
 the provisions of the preceding edicts to the greater 
 part of the north-east of France. Yet the address 
 of the Provincial Assembly of Picardy in 1787 
 proves that tenant-right continued to defy the 
 law. Before any action could be taken upon their 
 demands for severer measures, the Revolution 
 had commenced. In 1810 no attention was paid 
 to the suggestions of the committees of Douai 
 and Lie"ge, recommending a more Draconian code. 
 A ferocious legislation, relentlessly enforced, failed 
 to suppress an illegal usage which rested only 
 on an agricultural basis, and was supported by 
 no race hatred. No religious prejudice contributed 
 to its vitality, for the Church lent its influence 
 to the maintenance of law, and more than one 
 cure was threatened or boycotted for advising his 
 parishioners to submit. Law and fact were at 
 open variance, and law proved as powerless to 
 alter facts as the Pope's Bull to check a comet. 
 
 Tenant-right in Picardy is still a living force. 
 Yet undoubtedly it exercises at the present moment 
 a far less important and more restricted influence 
 than at any previous period of its known history. 
 What then are the causes of its decreased import- 
 ance and of its present condition ? 
 
 Fresh tenant-rights are now rarely acquired. 
 Both the natural and legal causes of their growth 
 have all but ceased to operate. Most of the land 
 in Santerre which is available for farming purposes
 
 has been already reclaimed. Yet the droit de 
 marche still affords a ready means of compensating 
 tenants for the labour of clearing forest land. A 
 few years ago a landlord was anxious to clear 
 250 acres of wood. He cut down the trees, and 
 handed over the land to a tenant to stub the roots, 
 giving him a tenant-right, recorded in his lease, of 
 200 francs the acre. The practice and law of 
 letting and hiring have also been modified by the 
 Code Civil in a direction favourable to the tenant. 
 Under the ancien regime leases were short. On 
 Church lands in the arrondissement of Peronne 
 the term was nine years, and any longer periods 
 rendered the whole contract null and void. On 
 lay lands the term was also nine years. Now 
 leases run in Santerre for eighteen years. Not 
 only were leases short, they were also precarious. 
 They were governed by the Roman law maxim, 
 " Emptori fundi necesse non est stare colonum " ; 
 and the proverb, " Mort romp tout louage." In 
 other words, if property changed hands during the 
 continuance of the lease, the new owner might 
 evict the tenant. Revolutionary legislation secured 
 to the tenant quiet enjoyment during the continu- 
 ance of his term. Article 1743 of the Code 
 Civil confirms the law of 1791. If the tenant 
 holds under a bail authcntique (i.e. a lease executed 
 between the parties before a public notary) or a 
 lease for a fixed period, he cannot be dispossessed 
 during the continuance of the term unless pro- 
 vision has been made to the contrary. The tenant
 
 120 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 is now secure for nine, or even eighteen years. 
 But, as Hector Crinon says, " How quickly the 
 time comes round. And then there is a rise of 
 rent, a pot de vin and a notary's fee ! Resistance 
 is impossible, for the landlord holds the handle 
 of the spade. Refuse the terms and you are 
 evicted from the land your family has held for 
 centuries, compelled to serve others as a farm 
 labourer, or reduced to beggary." It is, by the 
 way, to be regretted that the Satires picardes of 
 Hector Crinon, himself a labouring man and a 
 haricotier, have not been translated out of the 
 Picard patois for the benefit of those who take 
 too rose-coloured a view of the comfortable life of 
 peasant proprietors. Undoubtedly an incoming 
 tenant expends capital in the purchase of his pre- 
 decessor's tenant-right, which might be more profit- 
 ably employed on his farm. On the other hand, 
 he gains security and length of tenure. Without 
 the tenant-right, and under the old legal conditions, 
 forest land in Santerre would never have been 
 reclaimed. 
 
 While tenant-right is no longer reinforced from 
 the old sources, it is constantly being extinguished. 
 Land subject to tenant-right is sold or let for a 
 third or a quarter less than free land. The old 
 landowners of the district for the most part 
 acquiesce in a burden which has descended to 
 them, together with their property, from genera- 
 tion to generation. Many new purchasers, on the 
 other hand, have bought tenant-right land at a
 
 MODERN INSTANCES OF RIGHT 121 
 
 cheap rate, and sold it at the price of free land, 
 or raised the rents to the level of the letting 
 value of terre libre. Such cases have always pro- 
 voked opposition ; but some of the large sugar 
 companies have defied the consequences of the 
 tenant-right more successfully than individual 
 landowners. On the other hand, M. Vion, who 
 twenty years ago was one of the most widely 
 known and scientific agriculturists of the district, 
 gives evidence from his own experience of the 
 respect which the best landowners show to the 
 rights of their tenants. M. Vion's father was a 
 tenant-right farmer at Loeuilly, near Pe'ronne. 
 He had bought the right from his predecessor in 
 title at 600 francs the hectare. Several years ago 
 the landowner was anxious to sell the land. 
 M. V r ion pere offered 1,500 francs the hectare ; a 
 neighbour offered 2,100 francs the price which 
 the land would have fetched as terre libre. The 
 landlord accepted the offer of M. Vion. Another 
 instance fell within M. Vion's personal experience. 
 He himself was not only a landed proprietor, but 
 rented land of which he purchased the tenant- 
 right. The land which he thus occupied was put 
 up for sale. As the possessor of the tenant-right, 
 he purchased it at 2,300 francs the hectare, in- 
 stead of paying the price of free land, namely, 
 3,000 francs. Instances may be quoted in which 
 the high-handed action of landlords has extin- 
 guished a burden on their property which the law 
 regards as illegal. But for every single instance
 
 122 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 of the kind ten cases might be alleged in which 
 the droit de marche has been extinguished, either 
 because the farmers themselves purchased the land 
 over which they claimed the tenant-right, or because 
 landlords redeemed the right by paying to the 
 tenant-farmer an indemnity. Either way the droit 
 de marche triumphs. 
 
 Before the Revolution the ownership of the soil 
 was vested in a few large proprietors, many of 
 whom were religious corporations. Now more than 
 a third of the land is held by peasant pro- 
 prietors. From this division of the soil spring two 
 important consequences, each of which diminishes 
 the importance of the droit de marche. Formerly 
 farmers clutched their tenant-right with the con- 
 vulsive grip of men who knew that, if it escaped 
 their grasp, their last hold upon the land was gone. 
 The soil was not only their one ambition but 
 seemed their sole means of livelihood. Now they 
 have seen more of the world. Land is repeatedly 
 in the market. It costs a little more to become 
 a peasant proprietor ; but the tenant-right farmer 
 improves his social position. Under the changed 
 circumstances of landed property, the old system 
 of terrorism is rendered impossible. The peasantry 
 are divided among themselves. Defiance of the 
 law by means of a secret coalition is difficult when 
 the members of the union no longer form even 
 a bare majority, and when men of their own class 
 are arrayed on the side of order and interested 
 in the maintenance of rights of property.
 
 ITS DIMINISHED IMPORTANCE 123 
 
 The redemption of tenant-right by landlords also 
 became a frequent source of the extinction of the 
 droit de marche. Many landlords acquiesced in the 
 existence of the tenant's claim. They derived from 
 it, especially in days of agricultural depression, 
 important advantages. Their rent, intrudes, and 
 pots de vin were secured to them by the solidarity 
 of their tenants and by the fear that non-payment 
 would forfeit the tenant-right. Farmers are less 
 unwilling than formerly to permit landlords to 
 redeem the droit de marche. Legal and social 
 changes diminished the paramount importance 
 which once attached to the right. The opening 
 up of the country by new roads and railways, 
 the alteration of the old three-course system of 
 farming, the introduction of new agricultural 
 methods and implements, operated in the same 
 direction. Small tenant-right farmers see new 
 resources and new means of acquiring wealth 
 placed at the disposal of large tenants, from which 
 they themselves are debarred by the size of their 
 holdings. Before the Franco- Prussian war French 
 peasants hoarded their savings in holes in the floor ; 
 their loans to Government opened their eyes to the 
 fact that land is not the sole or the most remunera- 
 tive investment. They are more easily induced to 
 sell their tenant-right, and embark their capital 
 in farming on a larger scale, or in other enterprises 
 which yield greater returns. But here again every 
 redemption of the droits de marche, though it 
 extinguishes the right, is a defeat for the law.
 
 124 TENANT-RIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
 It is a practical recognition of a usage, the exist- 
 ence of which the law repudiates. 
 
 Another factor in the extinction of the droit 
 de marche is the droit dainesse, which is opposed 
 to the interests of the younger children. But too 
 much weight may easily be attached to the influence 
 of this last cause. No doubt the law of partition 
 under the Code Civil stamps the creation of an 
 eldest son as unjust to the remainder of the family. 
 The factor is more powerful in theory than in prac- 
 tice. The droit damesse of Picard tenant-right 
 is in harmony with the deep-rooted sentiments of 
 the people, and its operation is limited. It bears 
 hardly upon sisters, because, if they sell to the 
 representative of the family, their portions are 
 docked of half their value ; but in the case of 
 brothers it only consists in the obligation to lease 
 or sell their portions of the tenant-right land to the 
 occupier of the farm. Considering the sacrifices 
 which are daily made in rural France to evade the 
 law of partition and keep together family land, 
 little importance can, in my opinion, be assigned 
 to the contrast between the effects of the law of 
 partition and the custom of the droit dainesse. 
 
 Arguments might be founded upon the restricted 
 area and decreased importance of the droit de marche 
 to invoke exceptional legislation against tenant- 
 right in Ireland. It is here only necessary to say 
 that such reasoning would be founded on a mis- 
 conception of the history of the droit de marche. 
 Except in the few instances where landlords
 
 DEFEAT OF THE GOVERNMENT 125 
 
 succeeded in confiscating tenant-right, penal legis- 
 lation can claim no share in the suppression of the 
 farmer's claim. On the other hand, so far as the 
 Code Civil indirectly sanctions the principle for 
 which tenants contended, and facilitates the division 
 of property and the growth of a peasant proprietary, 
 it has greatly contributed to the extinction of the 
 droit de marche. 
 
 The area and the importance of the droit de 
 marche are diminished by the completeness of its 
 success ; every acquiescence by landlords in the 
 principle of perpetual leases, every redemption by 
 them of the tenant's claim, every purchase of his 
 holding by the farmer at prices below those of 
 terres Ubres, is a triumph for its principles. The 
 executive did not require new powers ; it only 
 needed the means to make their existing powers 
 respected. A handful of tenant-farmers resisted 
 the ordinary law ; though opposed to the most 
 despotic government of the day and supported 
 by neither race-hatred nor religious prejudice, they 
 found it equally easy to baffle an exceptional legis- 
 lation of extraordinary severity enforced with the 
 most ruthless ferocity.
 
 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE. 
 
 npHERE are moments when even the most 
 -*- fastidious taste sickens of wheaten loaves 
 and asks for barley bread times when the appetite 
 inclines to rustic fare, though it be seasoned with 
 grey salt, served on a red tablecloth, and eaten 
 with a two-pronged fork of steel. In such a 
 mood some stray reader may not despise the rude 
 traditions of unlettered peasants. 
 
 The legendary lore of France is rich. Nowhere 
 does it better love to linger than around those 
 Druidic remains which stud the north and west 
 of France, and still hold the popular imagination 
 enthralled with their fresh and potent spell. The 
 sites on which these remains were reared are chosen 
 with instinctive skill. Sometimes they overlook 
 vast panoramas of open plain, standing on rising 
 ground, whence the priest, at the summer or winter 
 solstice, might catch the first glimpse of the orient 
 sun, or whence sacrificial fire might call to sacri- 
 ficial fire across the length and breadth of the 
 land. Sometimes they lie by the sides of running 
 streams, hidden in dark, deep-recessed, wood- 
 clothed glades, where, remote from the profane 
 gaze of the uninitiated, mysterious rites might 
 be performed. 
 
 126
 
 DRUIDIC REMAINS 127 
 
 What were the distinctive purposes of these 
 different megalithic monuments it is not now the 
 object to inquire. Little light is thrown by the 
 surface of the stones themselves on such a topic. 
 After the lapse of centuries it is often difficult 
 to distinguish the artificial work of tools from 
 the natural effect of the constant action of water 
 upon stone. Thus the Pierre du JSenitier near 
 Villac (Dordogne), and the Sabol an Diol (Cotes- 
 du-Nord) appear to bear shallow basins and chan- 
 nels carved upon their faces. Traditionally these 
 hollows were receptacles for the blood of victims ; 
 but it is probable that, like several of the so-called 
 Kist-vens, many were due to the continual dropping 
 of the rain. On the other hand, from the number 
 of stones which are thus distinguished, and from 
 the regularity of the forms, it is impossible to 
 avoid the conclusion that many are artificial. Be 
 this as it may, the most primitive of these erections, 
 like the earliest Hebrew altars, were certainly 
 virgin blocks x of unhewn stone, on which no trace 
 of human labour could be found. The stones 
 served as places of sacrifice and of burial, as 
 temples, sanctuaries, landmarks, bounds, and, like 
 the stones of Bethel and Sinai so their common 
 name of temoins implies as pillars of testimony. 
 In the ancient Eastern world similar stones passed 
 from symbols of eternity and emblems of divinity 
 
 1 In the parish of Bains near Redon (Ille-et-Vilaine) is a spot 
 covered with stone monuments. It is called "Gwerchmen," 
 literally " virgin -stone."
 
 128 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 into gods themselves. So, too, in the degeneracy 
 of Druidic Pantheism, upright obelisks first sym- 
 bolised the forces of nature, and then received 
 the worship of deities. Rude as they are, they 
 were scarcely rougher than the statue of Venus at 
 Paphos, which was nothing but a simple conical 
 stone. Silent guardians of the secrets of the past, 
 they baffle the inquiry of a curious age, and it is a 
 true poetic instinct that has prompted the French 
 peasantry to trace round them the magic circle 
 of awe and mystery. 
 
 These grey granite masses, huge, unhewn, mis- 
 shapen, are scattered over many districts of France. 
 Among the wild scenery of Brittany they seem 
 in strange, unconscious harmony with surroundings 
 as savage as themselves. Here all is in keeping ; 
 they are at home ; their presence is appropriate. 
 But along the course of the Vienne, in the midst 
 of the garden of France, they resemble Puritans 
 at Whitehall in the days of Charles II. Unwel- 
 come, unbidden guests, they watch with reproachful 
 eyes the gaiety and abandonment of nature ; un- 
 couth intruders on the fertile soil of Touraine, they 
 seem to reprove by their grimness the varied beauty 
 of the land, the crystal brightness of its streams, 
 the emerald verdure of its meadows, diapered 
 with the tender green of vineyards, or coloured 
 by flowering forests of fruit-trees. Yet here, too, 
 though the setting is incongruous, and the effect 
 is produced by contrast rather than by harmony, 
 the impression they create is hardly less striking.
 
 THEY ARE DUST! I REMAIN 129 
 
 They do not stand companionless in their isolation 
 from their surroundings. By their side, and like 
 them records of powers that have passed away, is 
 gathered a medley of remains whose associations 
 condense into one glance the history of the land. 
 Here stretches a Roman road advancing straight 
 towards its goal, a fit emblem of the national 
 genius of constructors who were diverted by no 
 obstacle from their destined end ; here stands a 
 dismantled feudal fortress, round which memory 
 and imagination may once again hear the shock 
 of lance and the battle-cries of mail-clad warriors ; 
 here rise the arches of a ruined abbey once the 
 living tomb of human souls wrestling in penitential 
 prayer with the passions and the promptings of 
 the flesh. And the lesson they suggest is that 
 which is contained in Arnold's lines : 
 
 Race after race, man after man, 
 
 Have thought that my secret was theirs, 
 
 Have dreamed that I lived but for them, 
 
 That they were my glory and joy ; 
 
 They are dust, they are changed, they are gone ! 
 
 I remain. 
 
 Captive Rome, with her utilitarian products, still 
 leads her captors into captivity. For the others, 
 on ne prete quaux riches; material wealth is 
 on the side of the modern world; the castle is 
 a storehouse of artificial manure ; the abbey is a 
 granary ; the Druidic stones themselves are a 
 daily sacrifice to Macadam. 
 
 The most common forms of Druidic monuments 
 
 9
 
 130 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 are menhirs, dolmens, allees couvertes, pierres bran- 
 lantes, and cairns. Cromlechs, or, to use the 
 mediaeval term, malli are comparatively rare. They 
 are, however, not infrequently found in Brittany, 
 and are to be met with in Perigord and elsewhere. 
 Such a mallus may still be traced near Marsac, in 
 the neighbourhood of Perigueux, and traditionally 
 the chief stone in the circle (lo Peyro dans nau 
 tours] on certain nights turns round nine times. 
 Menhirs, 1 or Peulvens, are single upright stones. 
 In the charters and legal documents of the Middle 
 Ages they are often referred to as landmarks and 
 boundaries pierres de bornage or hautes bornes. 
 In the local administration of mediaeval times 
 they were, like the English shire oaks, important 
 features on one the lord of the manor distributed 
 salt, on another justice. The people speak of 
 them as les palets, les minches, or ks cailloux de 
 Gargantua ; and, though the remark is in the 
 nature of a digression, it is curious to notice how 
 omnipresent is the name of the gigantic sire of 
 Pantagruel. Mont St. Michel is a rock thrown 
 by his father, Grandgousier, as a stepping-stone 
 when he was on his way to England to help King 
 Arthur ; one of the white cliffs above Duclair, 
 on the Seine, below Rouen, is Gargantua's pulpit ; 
 in the canton of Pontoise (Seine-et-Oise) is a huge 
 menhir known as le palet de Gargantua ; the 
 rising ground on the plain of Montlevicq (Indre) 
 is the mud that dropped from his sabot ; near 
 
 1 Men =- stone ; hir = long.
 
 GARGANTUAN RELICS 131 
 
 Clion (Indre) is a hill called Le-pied-de-Bourges, 
 which fell from his foot as he was coming from 
 Bourges at a single stride ; the pierre Bise, near 
 Redon (Ille-et-Vilaine), was placed there by Gar- 
 gantua ; the pierre de la Mignon, near St. Aubin 
 du Cormier (Ille-et-Vilaine), was a stone which 
 Gargantua carried in his pocket to defend himself 
 from the dogs, as he went to visit his lady-love. 
 Poitou literally bristles with his quoits, his ninepins, 
 and his palaces. But, with this exception of Gar- 
 gantua, it is rare to find in the local names of 
 these stones any commemoration of mythical or 
 historical characters, though there are the Saut du 
 Holland and the Pierre des Huguenots, both in 
 the arrondissement of Fougeres (Ille-et-Vilaine). 
 The most curious record thus chronicled is in 
 La Vendee. The cruelties of Soubise, the famous 
 Protestant leader, who was finally defeated by 
 Louis XIII in 1622, are there preserved alive 
 in popular memory. As wolves are often called 
 " Soubises," so his name is interchangeable with 
 that of the devil, and menhirs may be equally 
 called pierres du Diable and pierres de Soubise. It 
 may be added that the site of his castle (Chaise- 
 Giraud) is still haunted by his unquiet shade. 
 
 Dolmens are vast masses of stone laid horizontally 
 and table-wise on two or more vertical uprights. 
 In Berri they are still used as tables for the 
 nocturnal feasts of the Maries, tall, hideous women, 
 with long black hair, and flabby breasts reaching 
 to their thighs, who invite the shepherds to their
 
 132 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 embrace. The peasant of Pe"rigord calls a dolmen 
 in his patois peyro-levato, or, sometimes, peyro-lato 
 (i.e. pierre levee}. One, in the department of the 
 Dordogne, is called le Cros de la Voige, in allusion 
 to the tradition that under it, during a terrific 
 storm, a shepherdess was sheltered by the Virgin. 
 Another is called la Cabane du Loup. In the 
 wild picturesque district of Lozere they are known 
 as lou geoyon, or the giant, or as peyro-geoyondo 
 (gigantic stone). When one end only of the table 
 reposes on its support and the other is buried in 
 the ground, the mishap is in Berri attributed to 
 the wilfulness of the giant, who thought that 
 he could, alone and unaided, place the slab upon 
 its legs. 
 
 When the dolmens are prolonged so as to form 
 an avenue they are called Alices couvertes, or, in 
 popular language, Grotte aux Fees, Maison des 
 Nains, or Palais de Gargantua. In Brittany 
 (C6tes-du-Nord) one is called le lit de St. Jean, 
 and another (Finistere) le lit de St. Ronan. Both 
 are places to which barren women resort for 
 superstitious practices. 
 
 Rocking-stones (Pierres branlantes or tournantes] 
 were largely used for purposes of rural divination. 
 They are also known by the more popular name 
 of Casse-noisettes (Perigord casso nousillo). 
 
 Lastly, there are heaps of stones, galgals, or 
 cairns. In Roman times similar cairns were 
 sometimes raised at the turning-points of roads 
 or on the summits of hills, in honour of Mercury,
 
 LOCAL EXPLANATIONS 133 
 
 the protector of commerce and industry. One of 
 the names by which they are locally known is 
 Meurgers or Murgets. It is difficult to resist 
 the suggestion that in this provincial word the 
 tenacity of popular memory has preserved the name 
 of Mercury. 
 
 Under these various forms Druidic remains are 
 thickly scattered over the northern and western 
 districts of France. How and why were they 
 brought to the spots where they now are fixed ? 
 
 Perigord is rich in these remains, but, in that 
 paradise of gourmets, life is too easy to foster the 
 growth of legends, which thrive best in stonier 
 soil. The peasantry are credulous enough respect- 
 ing the stones themselves, but they do not occupy 
 their minds with inquiries into their origin. It 
 is not in a country whose patron saint might be 
 Courtois, the famous artist who won by his pates 
 the favour of the great Frederick and an Euro- 
 pean fame, it is not in the country of partridges, 
 of delicately flavoured oronges, of rich Bergerac, 
 of celestial, perfumed truffles the soul of 
 Perigordian cookery that we can expect grand 
 imaginative legends. So far as I can discover, 
 there is no distinct explanation of their origin 
 current among the people. 
 
 Brittany, on the other hand, gives a characteristic 
 explanation. Its superstitions have the grave, sad, 
 and mystic tone which belongs to a province that 
 has been the nursing-mother of thinkers pre- 
 occupied with religious questions. As fishermen
 
 134 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK LORE 
 
 plying their perilous trade on a dangerous coast, 
 as husbandmen wresting by main force a scanty 
 subsistence from a niggard soil, the Breton peasant 
 gives free play to the sombre imagination of the 
 Celt. The mysteries of the unseen are very near 
 to their daily life. They realise to themselves in 
 dramatic form the spiritual world by which they 
 are surrounded, and speak as if the conflict of 
 heaven and hell for the possession of the land were 
 waged before their very eyes. The stones that 
 strew the land are due, in their belief, to diabolical 
 agency. This explanation is not indeed universal. 
 The lits de St. Jean and St. Ronan have been 
 already mentioned ; and in the canton of Bourbiac 
 (C6tes-du-Nord) stands a vast menhir which, as 
 popular tradition tells us, grew year by year like a 
 plant till the crucifixion of our Lord, when its 
 growth suddenly ceased. Sometimes also the 
 stones seem to be endowed with the power of 
 resistance to the Evil One. Thus at Cleder there 
 is one which is scored with the devil's talons. He 
 tried to raise it, that he might hurl it at the church 
 which St. Pol was building at Leon, but it could 
 not be moved. The grey, gigantic warders of a 
 past civilisation that keep watch over the solitary 
 plain of Karnac are, according to one Breton 
 legend, a host of pagan warriors whom St. Comely 
 turned into stone. There is also the Pierre de 
 St. Phillibcrt, between Quimperle and Moelan, 
 which gives immediate relief to the colic, if the 
 stomach is rubbed upon it. In one instance, at
 
 SATANIC ORIGIN 135 
 
 least, the historical account has been preserved in 
 the local name ; not far from Lezardrieux are three 
 dolmens which are called Men-ar-Rumpet, or Stones 
 of the Druids. But the theory of diabolic agency 
 is the most popular and widespread throughout 
 Brittany. Tradition tells us that the Archangel 
 Michael condemned the conquered Satan to labour 
 in raising Mont St. Michel, which was destined to 
 be the stronghold of heaven against the power of 
 hell. Desperate were the devil's efforts to execute 
 his task. There are the Epaule-du-Diable and the 
 Faix-du-Diable, both of which show marks of his 
 bones. Near Louvigne-du-Desert lies a stone 
 which the devil strove with might and main to 
 move. So fiercely did he struggle that, in the 
 long nick which runs down the whole length of 
 the Pierre-du-Diable, may be traced his thin, 
 sharp-pointed spine. But these peculiar marks on 
 stones are not always evil in their origin. Thus 
 in the commune of Lougnac (Correze) there is a 
 stone marked with the footprint of God. It was 
 once no uncommon sight to see the shepherds 
 prostrated in simple adoration before lou pecha del 
 boun Dion. But to resume the common Breton 
 tradition. Passing by Antrain (Ille-et-Vilaine) 
 with two enormous blocks, one under each arm, 
 the devil dropped the Pierre Longuc, which still 
 lies on the spot where it fell ; the other fell on the 
 Champ Dolent near Dol. At Hingle, near Dinan, 
 is a dolmen called Pierre-de-Diabol ; at Pleleuf 
 and at Louvigne-du-Desert is the Cadouer-an-Diol,
 
 136 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 or Devil's Chair, on which he may still be seen 
 sitting in different shapes. Another stone in the 
 C6tes-du-Nord, in which small basins and channels 
 may be traced, is known as the Sabol-an-Diol, or 
 Devil's Shoe. The theory of Satanic worship is 
 probably the parent of a tradition and a practice 
 common in the country. Sometimes the over- 
 throw of these stones is attributed to the patron 
 saint of the district, as if the powers of heaven and 
 hell were here in conflict ; thus, in the neighbour- 
 hood of Guingamp is an Allee couverte which was 
 overthrown by St. Jolivet. And it was the com- 
 mon, if not the universal, practice in Brittany to 
 bury unbaptized infants in the neighbourhood of 
 these Druidic remains. So, too, the peasant of 
 Perigord, who sees at nightfall faint flickering 
 lights playing round menhirs or dolmens, knows 
 that these feux-follets are the spirits of those who 
 have died without Christian baptism. Is it alto- 
 gether absurd to hint that in this popular fancy 
 and practice may be enshrined the remote historical 
 fact that some of these stones were once the burial- 
 places of heathens ? 
 
 South of the Loire different answers are given 
 to the questions how and why the Druidic stones 
 were reared in the spots where they now are found. 
 In the replies of the peasantry of Touraine and 
 Berri, or of Bas Poitou and La Vendee, something 
 of the provincial character may be traced. In 
 neither do we find the full stature of the grand 
 and gloomy imagination of the Celt.
 
 ST. MARTIN AND SATAN 137 
 
 The legend of Bas Poitou and La Vende'e 
 resembles that of Brittany. Nor is this surprising, 
 if it is remembered that, down to B.C. 27, Armorica 
 included almost all the country between the Loire 
 and the Garonne. But the legend is Breton with 
 a difference. Bas Poitou is a country of lawyers, 
 not of poets ; its inhabitants are too sensible to 
 dream, too wise to attempt to fly. The con- 
 troversies of the law-courts, and the spirit of 
 contradiction inherent in the legal mind, turned 
 into satire whatever of poetry the country con- 
 tained. It has no ballads, but its noels en langage 
 poictevin, of which Rabelais speaks, are tart satirical 
 verses. Consequently there is a strong legal 
 colouring, as well as a tinge of satire in the definite, 
 and, as a theory, satisfactory answer which the 
 peasant of the district gives to the question of 
 the origin of the Druidic remains. 
 
 Off the coast near Sables d'Olonne are two 
 islands, Noirmoutier and lie d'Yeu. The smaller 
 island is famous for the Pont de St. Martin. 
 St. Martin, the thaumaturgist of Gaul, desired 
 to cross over on a missionary expedition from 
 Notre-Dame-de-Monts to the island of Yeu ; but 
 he had no means of making the transit. So he 
 determined to play a trick upon Satan. He made 
 a curious mechanical fan of ice, the cooling effect 
 of which was miraculous. As he expected, the 
 ruler of hell was tempted by this fan. One day 
 Satan met him, and asked, " Martin, wilt thou 
 sell me thy fan ? See, here is gold for the
 
 138 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 purchase ! " And even as he spoke, the grass, 
 the leaves, the pebbles, nay, even the trunks of 
 the trees themselves were turned into gold. " Thy 
 gold perish with thee ! " replied Martin ; " yet this 
 fan will I give thee on one condition that thou 
 makest me a bridge, so that I may pass over dry- 
 shod to the Island of Oia." " I will make thee 
 thy bridge," said the Evil One, " if the first soul 
 that passes over it may belong to me." " Be it 
 so ! " said Martin ; " only the bridge must be made 
 this very night, and finished before cockcrow." 
 " A bargain a bargain ! " cried Satan, hardly able 
 to contain himself for joy at the prospect of 
 holding the saint in his grip. Then, as evening 
 fell, he summoned round him all the rank and 
 file of his infernal troop goblins, and imps, and 
 gnomes, and dwarfs, and witches, and sorceresses, 
 and wise women. " Good news ! " said he, " Martin, 
 that Apostle of Christ, our mortal foe, shall be ours 
 this very night." At his words there burst from 
 the troop a yell so fiendish that the men of Tours 
 and Poitiers cowered in terror, and the sailors of 
 a ship far out at sea, making her way to Marseilles, 
 fell on their knees, and crossed themselves in fear. 
 " He will be ours," continued Satan, " if, before 
 the cock crows, you can throw a bridge from the 
 mainland to the Island of Oia. To work, then, at 
 once ! I will go and make the village cock drunk, 
 so that he may not crow so early." Then the 
 devilish troop scoured the country far and near, 
 bringing stones in their hands or on their backs,
 
 SATIRE AND FANCY 139 
 
 and working with desperate energy. Huge rocks 
 were poured into the sea ; the work was all but 
 done ; and but half the night was gone. Already 
 at low-tide St. Martin might have walked across 
 in safety. There wanted but a few more stones. 
 Suddenly, the village cock, excited and restless 
 with his debauch, crowed a tipsy crow, full two 
 hours before the dawn. Satan was taken in his 
 own trap. The work stopped as though by magic. 
 All round the country, for leagues and leagues, the 
 devils were compelled to drop their stones ; and 
 the mark of the saw they were using to cut in half 
 one enormous block is visible to this day, while 
 hundreds are scored by their talons. So St. Martin 
 obtained his bridge. 
 
 The legend of Touraine and Berri is pretty and 
 fanciful rather than imaginative ; it has neither the 
 defmiteness nor the satiric touch of the explanation 
 of Poitou. The stones were dropped by fairies, who 
 were condemned, in punishment for some unknown 
 crimes, to cany them from point to point between 
 nightfall and cockcrow. If the dawn broke before 
 the task was completed, the stones fell from the 
 hands of the fairies and were imbedded in the soil. 
 Therefore the punishment has never been com- 
 pleted, and every evening, at nightfall, the fairies 
 return, and, with low sobs and moans, wander 
 disconsolately round the spot until daybreak. Near 
 the Mer Rouge, in the swampy district of La Brenne, 
 is the Pierre d la Fade. The stone was to be 
 carried by a fairy, in punishment for some crime,
 
 140 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 to serve for the foundations of the Castle of Bouchet. 
 The cock crew before she reached her destination ; 
 the stone fell, and could never again be moved. 
 If the traveller passes the pool at night, he will 
 see a feeble flickering light wander before him over 
 the water. It is the fairy, who has never been able 
 to complete her penance, and therefore always 
 haunts the spot. The only trace of gloomy 
 grandeur about the stone traditions of Berri and 
 Touraine is connected with the Pierre a Norn., 
 near Arminie'. No one knows, nor ever can know, 
 its name ; for whoever knows it dies immediately. 
 
 Almost universally the stones are popularly 
 supposed to be the guardians of treasures. Near 
 Fougeres, for instance (Ille-et-Vilaine), is the 
 Pierre du Tresor. It is to this superstition that 
 many stones owed their destruction. Those who 
 dig for treasures find themselves drawn by unseen 
 hands, slowly but irresistibly, downwards. The 
 adventurers must drop their spades and flee. The 
 stone that bars the entrance is watched with 
 jealous care by the fairies, or the fradets. But 
 once a year, on Palm Sunday, the power ceases. 
 When the priest in the procession reaches the 
 door of the church, and the " Atollite Portas " 
 (" Lift up your heads, O ye gates ! ") is sung, the 
 stone rises from its place, and leaves an entrance. 
 Then the man who has courage may enter, and 
 find himself in the presence of vast treasures. But 
 it is only for a brief space that the stone remains 
 raised. When the words of the sacred hymn are
 
 BELATED TREASURE-SEEKERS 141 
 
 ended, it falls back in its place, and no power 
 on earth can raise it again. Many are the victims 
 of greed who have for ever vanished from the light 
 of day. The PC Rocker, near Bernard, was the 
 scene of a terrible disaster. Two of the fradcts, 
 under the form of black dogs, guard the treasure 
 that is hidden there. Once a year, on the Feast 
 of Palms, at the grand celebration of the mass, 
 the way is opened to the vault. One Palm 
 Sunday a mother and her child were sitting by 
 the PC Rocher when the way was opened. The 
 child entered, and came out again with her pinafore 
 filled with gold. Her mother forced her to return. 
 She passed the black dogs in safety, for the bell 
 still rang ; but the moment it ceased, the aperture 
 closed over the belated treasure-seeker. The 
 screams of the mother attracted the people ; the 
 priest himself came with cross and holy water ; 
 but the opening remained closed, and the victim 
 never again saw the light of day. 
 
 Another legend of similar character ends more 
 happily. A poor widow woman was herding her 
 sheep, and knitting in the moat of the Castle of 
 Boussac, and her only child sat in her lap. It 
 was Palm Sunday, and, as the priest approached 
 the door of the church, a stone flew out of the 
 castle wall, and disclosed a passage. With the child 
 in her arms the woman entered, and saw a heap 
 of gold. Putting the child down, she filled her 
 arms with all that she could carry, staggered with 
 it te the door, hurried out, threw the money on
 
 142 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 the turf, and rushed back to fetch the child. But 
 the stone had sprung back to its place, and no 
 trace of it appeared. She prayed to the Virgin 
 and to the Saints, but her prayers seemed of no 
 avail. That night, exhausted by weeping, she 
 fell asleep, and in her sleep she saw a vision. A 
 fairy of surpassing beauty appeared to her, and 
 told her not to weep ; on the same day a year 
 hence, and at the same hour, the door would open 
 again. " If then," said the fairy, " thou renderest 
 back all the money that thou hast taken, thou 
 wilt receive again thy child. Only, every Saturday 
 night, thou must place at the foot of the wall a 
 child's shift, clean from the wash ; and every 
 Sunday morning thou wilt find the child's dirty 
 one. By this token thou shalt know that she 
 still lives." This the mother did, and at the 
 close of the year she restored the gold, and received 
 back her child. 
 
 It would be impossible to chronicle half the 
 superstitions which cluster round Druidic remains. 
 Here, for instance, is the Pierre degouttante, or 
 Dropping Stone, which is the subject of super- 
 stitious worship, because, when the liquid drops 
 cease to flow, then the Day of Judgment is at 
 hand. Here is a stone which, on a certain night 
 of the year, dances in strange fantastic fashion ; 
 but woe to the man who sees it, for he is pursued 
 and crushed. Here is another, which, in wet 
 weather, glows with a deep red colour, popularly 
 supposed to be the indelible stain of the blood
 
 ATTRIBUTES OF STONES 143 
 
 of victims. Here is the Pierre percee, through 
 the hole in which, according to local traditions, 
 sacrificial victims placed their heads, and were 
 then decapitated with the Sacred Knife. A 
 nosegay passed through this hole is an irrevocable 
 pledge of fidelity between lovers ; blades of grass 
 plucked at its base, moss scraped from its surface, 
 protect those who carry them against the evil 
 spirits that roam through the country. Nearly 
 all the stones possess some miraculous gifts of 
 healing. To others belong other attributes. Thus 
 a slide down the Faix du Diable, or the Roche 
 ecriante (Ille-et-Vilaine), brings good fortune to 
 girls in obtaining husbands. Near Neuilly (Aisne) 
 there is a stone with two channels cut in its 
 surface, from which the bride and bridegroom 
 drink in the presence of their friends, and are 
 ever afterwards happy in their married life. At 
 Bucy, in the same department, the bride slides 
 down a stone on her sabots. It became a 
 proverbial expression for a woman who has by 
 her misconduct forfeited her prospect of honourable 
 marriage Elle a cause son sabot. 
 
 But it is not only round the stones which stud 
 the north and west of France that superstitions 
 linger. Imagination takes a thousand forms. 
 The treasury of Breton legends has already been 
 explored, and in other provinces it is vain to 
 expect traditions of the same sombre imaginative 
 splendour. Beyond the confines of Brittany is 
 found no such impressive portent of war as the
 
 144 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 spectacle of Arthur's host grim warriors who, 
 mounted on grey horses with wide-opened, 
 snorting nostrils, scour the mountain sides. Yet 
 Brittany is not the only province in which the 
 supernatural swayed the popular imagination. 
 Elsewhere in France, if legends are less imposing 
 and less deeply tinged with religious colouring, 
 they are more characteristic of the French nation. 
 The " esprit grivois, malicieux, spirituel," the gay 
 raillery, with its bright fancy and subacid flavour 
 of sly malice, is best represented in other districts. 
 The country between the Loire and the Garonne 
 is still peopled with strange phantom forms ; the 
 barren districts of la campagne Berrichonne, 
 where children shepherd wild-looking sheep on 
 heaths that know no other signs of life, the marshy 
 wastes and glittering ponds of La Sologne, the 
 storm-swept dunes of La Vende"e all are rich in 
 legendary lore. 
 
 Even in Normandy the shrewd peasant shudders 
 as Gallery and his hounds sweep by him on the 
 wind. Like the " Grand Veneur " in the forest 
 of Fontainebleau, this phantom huntsman and his 
 spectral pack are often seen by belated rustics. 
 In Pe'rigord it is called la chasse-volante ; the 
 leader of the ghostly troop, which rushes through 
 the sky with the neigh of horses, the clack of 
 whips, the bay of hounds, and the cries of the 
 huntsmen, is a tall woman clad in white from 
 head to foot, and mounted on a white horse. Its 
 appearance portends terrible calamities, and, as
 
 GALLERY AND HIS HOUNDS 145 
 
 such, it preceded the French Revolution. In 
 other districts of the same province it is called the 
 Chasse du roi Herod. Because of the Massacre 
 of the Innocents the king and his court were 
 condemned thus to travel for ever through the 
 air. The Poitevin obtains charms against the 
 Chasse-Galerie or Chasse-briquet, or, as it is some- 
 times called, the Chasse St. Hubert. The legend, 
 as told in La Vendee and Poitou, runs as follows : 
 Gallery was a great noble, who had neither the 
 fear of God before his eyes nor any bowels of 
 compassion for the peasant. Every week he 
 openly profaned the Holy Day of the Lord. It 
 chanced at length that one Sunday, during the 
 very hour of the celebration of the mass, he put 
 up a stag with his hounds, and followed after it 
 in hot pursuit till the stag took refuge in the 
 cave of a hermit. The holy man was busied with 
 his devotions ; but when Gallery came up, he 
 refused to surrender the dumb guest which had 
 sought the shelter of his cell. As Gallery persisted, 
 the hermit threatened him with the vengeance 
 of Heaven, if he did not, that solemn day and 
 hour, bow his knee in worship to God. But the 
 cruel noble scoffed at the warning, and made as 
 though he would seize the prey by force. Then 
 the hermit pronounced upon him the Divine 
 sentence. " Go," he cried, " sinful man ! pursue 
 thy chase as thou wilt ; the Almighty has con- 
 demned thee to hunt for ever from sunset to 
 sunrise." And from that time to this the spectral 
 
 10
 
 146 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 stag, chased by the hounds and followed by the 
 pricker cheering on his phantom pack, sweeps 
 through the sky. 
 
 Poitou and La Vendee are the haunts of loups- 
 garous and gar aches, human beings who are 
 compelled to assume the shape of wolves, and 
 love to devour the raw flesh of children. In 
 Perigord the sons of priests are obliged at certain 
 hours of the night to become animals. The 
 leberous, as they are called, are seen to leap in 
 human shape from the windows of their houses, 
 and rush to the nearest stream. They plunge 
 into it, cross to the farther side, don the skin 
 which the devil has placed on the bank, and scour 
 the country till daybreak. Somewhat similar to 
 the loups-garous and leberous are the bidoches ; 
 but they are harmless, and generally take the 
 shape of goats.. Nothing can break the spell 
 that lies upon them, unless their blood be made to 
 flow. Against ordinary lead or steel they are proof. 
 But when the gun is loaded with three pieces of 
 consecrated bread collected at the three Christmas 
 celebrations, the enchantment may be broken. 
 It was so in the case of a girl named Dormez, 
 the daughter of wealthy parents near Niort, who 
 assumed the form of a goat. She was struck by 
 a charge of consecrated bread ; blood flowed, and 
 she recovered her human shape. But the villagers, 
 dazzled by the richness of her jewels, killed her, 
 and buried the body in a hastily dug grave among 
 the dunes. Her parents, distracted at her loss,
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE NORTH 147 
 
 were guided by her favourite dog to the spot 
 where she was buried, and the crime was discovered. 
 The place is still called la fosse a Dormez. 
 
 It is unlucky to kill a bidoche, and another of 
 these dunes commemorates the fate of one and 
 the disastrous consequences that followed. It is 
 called la casse a la Reine, for it was the Queen 
 of the North who nightly crossed the seas to play 
 upon the sand in the shape of a goat, and at that 
 spot was killed. A peasant charged his musket, 
 not with the consecrated bread, but with a bullet 
 blessed by the priest. His aim was true ; the spell 
 was broken. She stood before him a queen, clad 
 in gorgeous raiment, glittering with gold and 
 gems. But the bullet had struck her to the 
 heart. " Ah ! luckless man ! " she faintly said, 
 " had I been wounded only, I would have given 
 thee wealth, and honour, and all that thy heart 
 could desire ; thou and thy family should have been 
 rich, noble, fortunate. But my heart is pierced, 
 and thine is not touched. Therefore thy name 
 shall be a byword for misfortune from generation 
 to generation." So saying, she died. The curse 
 was fulfilled to the very letter. The man himself 
 lived barely a year ; his house was burned ; his 
 cattle sickened ; his crops were blighted. All 
 that his family put their hands to failed. Good 
 luck deserted them ; they went from bad to worse, 
 and now are sunk into the lowest scale of fortune. 
 Another monster which haunts the district 
 is the Miaque, which leaps on the backs of
 
 148 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 horses, and rides them furiously all the night 
 through, till they are worn to skin and bone. 
 The animals are found in the morning, their manes 
 twisted and knotted, splashed from head to foot, 
 and in a lather of foam. Pieces of clover are 
 placed on the Druidic stones which abound in 
 this part of the country to preserve the peasant 
 from the cheval-malet. This is a white horse, 
 saddled and bridled, which invites weary, footsore 
 travellers to mount. It even bends its knees if 
 the peasant is aged, in order that he may the more 
 easily reach the saddle. But woe to the man who 
 mounts ! The animal bounds away at headlong 
 speed, dashing through forests and over rocks, 
 and generally ends by throwing its rider over a 
 precipice. Sometimes the cheval-malet has neither 
 head nor tail. Upon it arrives the Guilla-neu or 
 New Year. 
 
 On dark and stormy nights giants prowl through 
 the land, and the name of the ogre Gargantua 
 is everywhere. Nearly every Druidic stone is 
 connected with some legend. In Touraine, for 
 instance, near the Chateau La Valliere, stands the 
 Menhir du Vaujour, at a point where two valleys 
 meet. Every night three ladies, riding on white 
 horses, leave the wooded hills from which the 
 valleys spring, pass down the Vallee des Dames, 
 and celebrate strange religious ceremonies at the 
 Menhir, then ascend the Vallee du Vaujour, where 
 they hold their nightly revels, and at cockcrow 
 disappear. La Birette, a phantom figure shrouded
 
 FIRES OF ST. JOHN'S EVE 149 
 
 in white, traverses Berri, bringing misfortunes to 
 all that encounter it. Round the Fosse des 
 Diables, in the Forest of Chanteloube, are heard 
 mysterious sounds, and spectral figures flit to and 
 fro through the deep shadows of the trees ; he 
 who loses his way in the forest, and draws near 
 to the Fosse, never returns again, alive or dead, 
 to this world of mortals. As has been said, the 
 Maries, tall, hideous, black-haired women, call 
 to the shepherds from the tops of the dolmens 
 which serve as their couches, and invite them to 
 their embrace. By the side of the streams the 
 laveuses de nuit ply their ghostly trade, while 
 round the Druidic remains which stud these 
 provinces gleam strange fires, and unearthly figures 
 celebrate wild festivals. 
 
 At Christmas the Poitevin lights his Yule log, 
 which burns for the whole octave, and is called the 
 Cosse de Neu. At the same season every animal 
 has an extra morsel of good pasture, called guittaneu. 
 On the Eve of St. John fires blaze out in innumer- 
 able parishes throughout France south of the Loire. 
 In Poitou the material of the fire is called lefougeau 
 de St. Jean. Each of the peasants is provided with 
 a hazel bough, from which hangs a bunch of St. John's 
 wort ; its charred embers are a sovereign remedy 
 against toothache. The hazel bough itself is a 
 preservative from all kinds of maladies. As the 
 fire dies down, stones are thrown into its embers ; 
 whoever throws the largest stone is fortunate in the 
 coming year. Walnut twigs burned in the fire are
 
 150 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 passed over the backs of the cattle to protect them 
 from disease. The crepe pcritevine is a sort of 
 pancake which is tossed in the pan three times 
 a year : at New Year's Day, to have money 
 throughout the next twelve months ; at Candlemas, 
 to make the dough rise in the oven; at Shrove-tide, 
 to preserve the corn from the blight. 
 
 The two islands off Sables-d'Olonne, Noirmoutier 
 and lie d'Yeu, have their distinctive superstitions. 
 Nourmoutier is haunted by Braittards, who, on dark 
 stormy nights, utter piercing cries of distress, and 
 so induce the fishermen to believe that there are 
 shipwrecked mariners to be saved. When they 
 have lured their would-be saviours to the verge 
 of some dangerous rock, they rise from the water 
 and disappear with a mocking laugh into the mist 
 and spray. 
 
 All along the sandy shores of the Bay of Biscay 
 legends abound. In La Vendee, near the sea, stood 
 a great city, called Beslebet. It was rich beyond 
 description, full of all that was sumptuous and 
 splendid. The poorest were clothed in silks and 
 soft velvets, and fed from silver dishes ; the food 
 was of the daintiest, the wine was of the rarest. 
 But the city was enchanted ; and the peasants 
 looked askance upon its inhabitants, and crossed 
 themselves when its walls rose in sight. One May 
 the winter had lasted far on into the early spring ; 
 storms raged continuously, and had as yet abated 
 none of their violence, and the fishermen were 
 starving. Desperate from cold and hunger, Pierre
 
 151 
 
 Lebceuf knocked at the gate of the enchanted city, 
 and craved admittance. The warders received him 
 with open arms. He was clothed in gorgeous 
 apparel, and conducted through glittering galleries 
 to a stately hall, where a rich banquet was pre- 
 paring. Yet the fisherman was uneasy in his 
 mind, doubting what might be the purport of 
 this splendid hospitality. His guides had left him 
 in order to give notice of his coming, that his meal 
 might be made ready, and he was alone. He peered 
 carefully into all the corners of the hall, sounded 
 the floor with his foot, tried the panels with his 
 fist. At last, in a dark niche of the building, 
 covered by a heavy curtain, he found a high narrow 
 door. Hah opening it, he saw himself on the edge 
 of a vast pit, filled with the arms and legs and heads 
 of hundreds of human beings who had been foully 
 murdered. Close to him lay the head of his own 
 brother, whom he and his widowed mother believed 
 to have been drowned off Noirmoutier. The eyes 
 glared with an expression of wild horror, and the 
 features were distorted with pain. Then he saw 
 that he was in a great strait. But he called to his 
 aid a stout heart and a ready wit, and boldly asked 
 his hosts if he might leave them for an hour in 
 order to draw his nets higher up upon the shore, 
 for the wind had turned, and they were all that he 
 possessed in the world. He would save them, and 
 return at once, bringing his mother with him. 
 They suffered him to depart, strictly charging him 
 to return with all speed. Pierre passed the gates,
 
 152 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 and rushed forth to raise the alarm. The whole 
 countryside came together ; they stormed the 
 enchanted city, destroyed a full half of the 
 inhabitants, and the priests pronounced a solemn 
 curse upon its cruel walls. Yet, man's vengeance 
 was not severe enough to expiate crimes that had 
 wearied Heaven itself. The sea rose in its wrathful 
 fury, and buried Beslebet beneath a rain of sand. 
 On still evenings can be heard, even to this day, 
 the cries of the imprisoned people, and the choked 
 peals from the belfries as the slow-pacing hours 
 revolve. 
 
 Another of these buried cities is at Lourdes. 
 Many years ago the old city, which was of vast 
 size, and densely populated, stood on the borders 
 of the lake. But the inhabitants were wicked, and 
 God determined to punish their crimes. The lake 
 rose, and flooded the town, and even now on 
 St. John's Eve can be heard the bells of the buried 
 city. A similar legend is current in Languedoc. 
 In the commune of St. Pau, not far from Toulouse, 
 is a lake which popular superstition believes to 
 have swallowed a church and its worshippers. 
 A cluster of enormous stones, called the Nine 
 Stones (Las Naou Peyres], together with one 
 solitary one (La Peyre Souk], are said to be a 
 cemetery and a cross all that now remains visible 
 of a church and a village. The story runs as 
 follows : It was Sunday, and the mass was being 
 celebrated before a crowded congregation, when 
 a pack of hounds gave tongue outside. The
 
 THE LEGEND OF ANGLES 153 
 
 officiating priest, who was a keen sportsman, for- 
 getting in the excitement of the moment the place 
 where he stood, and the sacred office which he was 
 performing, cried out, " If Bellaoude " (his favourite 
 dog) " is there, I will wager that it is all over with 
 the hare." In punishment for his blasphemy, the 
 waters rose and swallowed the church, the celebrant, 
 and the worshippers. 
 
 The tone of this last legend is widely different 
 from that of Breton superstitions. There is about 
 it the touch of sly malice, the covert gibe at the 
 Church, which characterise this group of provin- 
 cial stories. Another and a stronger illustration 
 of the esprit gaulois is afforded by one of the 
 many legends that have gathered round the quaint 
 mouldering figures which adorn the churches. 
 Every visitor to Amiens wiU remember the figure 
 and the legend of St. Firniin ; less known, though 
 similar, is the story associated with the remote 
 church of Angles, a little town on the left bank 
 of the Troussepoil, about twenty miles from 
 Roche-sur-Yon. Upon the gable of the church 
 stands the figure of a beast like a bear, out of 
 which issues a cross. The story is that the valley 
 of Troussepoil was the haunt of a huge animal, 
 with long hair, which ravaged the country for 
 leagues round, devouring the women, children, and 
 cattle. Every morning and evening he bathed 
 in the river, and the name which it bears at the 
 present day is derived from the smoothness of the 
 beast's coat when he emerged from the water.
 
 154 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 The whole country groaned under the infliction, 
 and implored the aid of the Church. The Papal 
 Legate came with pomp and ceremony, and exor- 
 cised the beast ; but his words were powerless, 
 for he had early that morning, as day broke, 
 kissed a comely milkmaid. The Abbot of Fon- 
 taines was not more successful ; for, though a kind 
 man and charitable, he had drunk four bottles of 
 wine after midnight. The Abbot of Talmond had 
 no better fortune ; in his zeal to rid the land of 
 the foul pest he broke the head of a peasant who 
 got in his way. But a holy man, named Martin, 
 was at that time Abbot of Angles. He deter- 
 mined to make the attempt to save the country 
 from this monster. Five days and nights he 
 fasted and prayed ; on the sixth day he sought 
 the lair of the beast. At the first sign of the 
 cross it yielded, and followed him as gently as a 
 lamb back to Angles, while the people shouted 
 their alleluias of triumph. But the girls laughed 
 at him, asking, " Father Martin ! how long hast 
 thou been the devil's shepherd ? " The holy man, 
 making no reply, caused the beast to rise up to 
 the gable end of the church, and with a second 
 sign of the cross turned it into stone ; and there 
 it is to this day. Then turning to the girls who 
 had laughed, he said, " Hitherto men have spoken 
 of the angelic beauty of the maidens of Angles ; 
 henceforth ye shall be ugly." And straightway it 
 was as he said ; and the maidens of Angles are 
 noted for their plainness to the present time.
 
 THE GRANDE BETE 155 
 
 The beast of the Troussepoil may have been 
 similar in size and shape to the mysterious grande 
 bete which still haunts Berri. It is an animal 
 with great fiery eyes, wide branching horns, as 
 large as an ox, and covered with long red hair. 
 It pursues benighted peasants to their homes, but 
 it does them no harm. If they run, it runs ; it 
 stops when they stop, turns when they turn, and 
 always keeps close behind them, with its hot 
 breath passing over their necks. 
 
 Fairies abound in all three districts. In Poitou 
 they are often kindly ; they dress the horses or 
 feed the sheep, and the animals that are tended by 
 the fairies are always fat. In Berri, as has been pre- 
 viously shown, they played an important part. It 
 was the fairies who brought the gigantic dolmens, 
 and the stones are dropped promiscuously here 
 and there, because the fairies were surprised on 
 their way between given points by the crow of 
 the cock. A ford over the river Arnon is simi- 
 larly the work of a fairy. She intended to dam 
 up the bed of the stream entirely, that so she 
 might walk over dryshod. For this end she 
 gathered together a vast heap of earth and stones, 
 which she carried in her pinafore. Coming near 
 to the river, she threw in a part, which forms 
 the present ford. Before she could cast in the 
 rest, a rival fairy changed herself into a mosquito, 
 and stung her on the nose. She dropped the mud 
 upon the bank, and now the place of the ford is 
 marked by a little hill at the side of the stream.
 
 156 A FAGGOT OF FRENCH FOLK-LORE 
 
 Folk-lore has perhaps a scientific value for 
 students of ethnology, and may supply connect- 
 ing links between distant peoples. In France, the 
 character of the provincial legends reflects the 
 character of the different provinces. But this 
 faggot has no scientific value. In this material, 
 cultured century, we have ceased to believe the 
 legends that may still find some credence in rural 
 France. With us "tales of the loup-garou in 
 the forest" have passed into a proverbial expres- 
 sion for the extreme of improbability. Yet these 
 were " the pleasant old stories and tales of former 
 times" which the good Grandgousier told to his 
 wife and her women, as he sat " warming himself 
 over a good, clear, great fire, and, waiting upon 
 the broiling of some chestnuts, was very serious 
 in drawing scratches upon the hearth with a stick 
 burnt at one end, wherewith they did use to 
 stir the fire." These again were the stories which 
 Iseult of Brittany told her children to beguile the 
 weariness of her joyless, blighted life, and which 
 
 She gleaned from Breton granddames, when a child, 
 In every hut along this sea-coast wild ; 
 She herself loves them still, and, when they are told, 
 Can forget all to hear them, as of old. 
 
 We no longer narrate these stories in the 
 domestic circle with the unquestioning faith of 
 the easy-going days of Grandgousier. We do not 
 even, like Iseult, recount them to our children, 
 lest, perhaps, they should laugh at our credulity. 
 Some of us listen to popular legends with thinly
 
 POETIC FAITH 157 
 
 veiled contempt ; others hasten to prove that 
 Gargantua, like Hercules, is the sun drying up 
 the rivers and devouring the crops ; others may, 
 I hope, hear them with wistful regret for the 
 faith, the poetry, and the romance that they en- 
 shrine, and for the moment, in the soft twilight 
 of fancy, suspend those critical faculties which 
 destroy poetic faith.
 
 RABELAIS 
 
 rFIHE tide of the popularity of Frar^ois Rabelais 
 -*- has alternately ebbed and flowed. His imme- 
 diate fame is attested by the sixty editions through 
 which " Pantagruel " passed in the sixteenth cen- 
 tury. Montaigne places Rabelais in the same 
 rank as Boccaccio, second to Ovid and Ariosto ; 
 he was the " bon pere " of Brantome ; the Cardinal 
 du Perron called " Pantagruel " " le livre " par 
 excellence. But barely fifty years had elapsed 
 before a reaction commenced, which culminated 
 in the reigns of Louis XIV and Louis XV. 
 Though La Fontaine and Moliere did not scruple 
 to draw largely from his overflowing treasury, 
 and though Madame de Sevigne was ready mourir 
 a rire at his rich humour, his gigantic offences 
 against decorum blinded the world to the daring 
 originality of his fantastic genius. The age of the 
 " Grand Monarque " was opposed to the sixteenth 
 century. Its spirit was out of sympathy with 
 Rabelais' iconoclastic ideas ; its taste was outraged 
 by his plain-spoken style, its refined licence scan- 
 dalised by the open coarseness of his manners. It 
 ceased to multiply editions of " Pantagruel," and 
 passed from the notes and commentaries of Huet, 
 
 158
 
 BORROWERS FROM RABELAIS 159 
 
 Passerat, and Menage to the abridgements and 
 expurgations of the Abbe's Perau and de Marsy. 
 The general tone of feeling is expressed in Voltaire's 
 remark that Rabelais was " un philosophe ivre qui 
 n'a e^crit que dans le temps de son ivresse." A 
 few years later and the tide had once more turned 
 in favour of Rabelais. His earnestness, wisdom, 
 and philosophy were still depreciated ; but his 
 claims to rank among great humorists were 
 generally acknowledged. Again Voltaire expressed 
 the altered taste of the day when, in 1760, he 
 \\Tote to Madame du Deffand : " Rabelais, quand 
 il est bon, est le premier des bons bouffons." For 
 the last century the stream has flowed steadily in 
 the same direction. The reputation of Rabelais, 
 not only as a humorist, but as a deep thinker, a 
 zealous reformer, a profound satirist, was carried 
 forward on the tide of the French Revolution to 
 a height from which, to say the least, it has never 
 receded. His place is secured among the master- 
 minds of the world. 
 
 Few writers have been more pillaged or more 
 imitated. Besides La Fontaine and Moliere, 
 Racine, Boileau, Beaumarchais, and Piron are 
 indebted to him for the foundations of some of 
 their most famous passages : even Voltaire, in 
 " Le Pauvre Diable," did not hesitate to copy, 
 almost sentence by sentence, Rabelais' attack upon 
 the monks. Crowds of writers, famous and ob- 
 scure, paid his genius the sincere flattery of imita- 
 tion. " Les Aventures du Baron de Faeneste "
 
 160 RABELAIS 
 
 and "La Confession Catholique du Sieur de 
 Sancy," by Agrippa d'Aubigne ; the " Voyage 
 dans la Lune " of Cyrano de Bergerac ; the " Gil 
 Bias " of Le Sage ; the " Contes Drolatiques " of 
 Honore de Balzac, are among the most illustrious 
 scions of " Pantagruel." Foreign men of letters 
 were equally appreciative of his genius. Without 
 Rabelais Spain would have lost the obra jocosa 
 of Quevedo, and England would have been the 
 poorer by the loss of " Gulliver's Travels " and 
 " Tristram Shandy." He has received more con- 
 sistent honour from England than from his own 
 fellow-countrymen. Shakespeare possibly alludes 
 to him in " As you like it," l and three books of 
 "Pantagruel" were translated in the seventeenth 
 century. Southey,. one of the purest of English 
 writers, refers to him repeatedly ; Hallam, the 
 most impartial of critics, blames the French for 
 their unjust depreciation of his intellectual powers ; 
 Scott's healthy temperament found much to admire 
 in his genial humour ; Coleridge regarded him as 
 the deepest and boldest thinker of his age, and 
 classed him with Shakespeare, Dante, and Cer- 
 vantes among the great creative minds of the 
 world. But if his audience in this country has 
 been fit, it has also been few. Many who write 
 allusively of Rabelais as the French Aristophanes, 
 the modern Lucian, the Democritus of his age, 
 
 1 See act iii. sc. 2 : " You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth 
 first." The allusion to Rabelais is not certain, because Gargantua 
 was a popular hero before the publication of " Pantagruel."
 
 PANTAGRUEL LITTLE READ 161 
 
 the impersonation of the esprit gaulois many of 
 those who speak of the cure of Meudon in 
 familiar terms of intimate acquaintance, presume, 
 on the authority of a plausible line in Pope, 
 that he was a mere merry-andrew. It is rare to 
 find any one who has even attempted to read the 
 immortal romance which makes Rabelais as truly 
 the representative of the French Renaissance as 
 Voltaire was the intellectual embodiment of the 
 critical movement of eighteenth-century France. 
 Few would be the guests if the host, like the 
 Cardinal du Perron, admitted none to his 
 table but students of " Pantagruel." Deserted 
 would be the road to preferment if the pass- 
 port to an abbey or a cardinal's hat was, as 
 in the case of Louis Barbier, a knowledge of 
 Rabelais. 
 
 The age, the man, and the book are profoundly 
 interesting. Why, then, is " Pantagruel " so little 
 read ? Much of the humour has lost its savour with 
 the disappearance of the social conditions on which 
 it turned. On the twentieth century a wealth 
 of local and personal allusion is wasted. We 
 know little of the romances of false chivalry which 
 Rabelais parodies ; we are,w,earied by the gigantic 
 
 K &ny3^*L kfc*$fc-* 
 
 bunoonery ; we are sated with a vinous hilarity 
 which harps mechanically on a single string ; our 
 literary taste is offended by the wearisome redund- 
 ancy with which he exhausts his various topics. 
 But the chief reason still remains. To all but 
 students of literature " Pantagruel " must neces- 
 
 11
 
 162 RABELAIS 
 
 sarily remain a sealed book because of its terrific 
 indecency. No writer, ancient or modern, can 
 rival Rabelais for the volume of the torrent which 
 he pours forth of undisguised, unadulterated, and 
 elaborate filth. Three excuses are pleaded for his 
 obscenity the manners of the age, the distinction 
 between coarse and seductive pictures, and the 
 necessity of the times. The three apologies are 
 true, but they do not wholly excuse Rabelais. 
 His indecency is characteristic of an age of un- 
 blushing licentiousness, and belongs to a period 
 when language went stark naked. As Dutch 
 writers spoke of Petronius Arbiter as " vir sanc- 
 tissimus," so the ladies and gentlemen of the Court 
 of Francis I found Rabelais " delectable." Nor 
 is Rabelais an immoral writer. He never panders 
 to impure passions, uses no colours to lure to 
 destruction, takes no sickly delight in tickling 
 the fancy with dreams of unhallowed enjoyment. 
 His freedom of speech is absolutely unbridled ; 
 but, though he says whatever comes uppermost, 
 he strips licentiousness of its gay disguises and 
 exhibits vice in all its naked deformity. As a 
 priest nature had for him no mysteries, as an 
 anatomist no sanctities. Yet for all this no one 
 can rise from the perusal of " Pantagruel " as a 
 whole with any feeling of disgust for the author. 
 Coleridge's remark may seem exaggerated, but 
 it is not far from the fact. " I could write a 
 treatise in praise of the moral elevation of Rabelais' 
 work which would make the Church stare and the
 
 ESCAPE FROM PERSECUTION 163 
 
 Conventicle groan, and yet would be truth and 
 nothing but truth." 
 
 The third excuse for Rabelais is that, as a 
 satirist, he was obliged to work by hints and in 
 masquerade. Like Aristophanes, he disguises his 
 face in the wine-lees. Like Montesquieu, again, 
 in the " Lettres Persanes," he distracts attention 
 from his attacks upon society by his pictures of 
 the nude. Voltaire, to whom the experience of 
 the " Lettres Philosophiques " taught the same 
 secret, represents Rabelais explaining to Lucian 
 and Erasmus in the Elysian Fields the method 
 which he followed. " Voyant que la sagesse et 
 la science ne menaient qu'a 1'hopital ou au gibet 
 . . . je m'avisai etre plus fou que tous mes com- 
 patriotes ensemble. Je pris mes compatriotes par 
 leur faible ; je parlai de boire, je dis des ordures, 
 et avec ce secret tout me fut permis." Rabelais 
 makes the same excuse for himself. When 
 Panurge cursed the Pope-hawk in the Ringing 
 Island, ^Edituus warns him to speak low. Panurge 
 changes his note with " Let us drink," and the 
 sacristan replies, " Vous parlez bien a cette heure ; 
 tant que vous parlez ainsi, vous ne serez jamais 
 heretique." L'komme qui rit n'est pas danger eux. 
 Rabelais' buffoonery enabled his protectors to 
 save him from the Sorbonne. He assumed 
 the mask to elude the search of heresy-hunters, 
 and donned the cap and bells to escape the 
 san benito. The truth of the apology is con- 
 firmed by the fact that his most serious words
 
 164 RABELAIS 
 
 are immediately followed by his wildest freaks 
 of buffoonery. But though numerous passages 
 might be quoted from his works of grave and 
 solemn beauty, of earnest kindly wisdom, and 
 unaffected elevation of moral feeling, it seems 
 impossible to deny that he chose the particular 
 disguise of roystering animalism because it was 
 most congenial to his jovial temperament ; and, 
 after all is said, the intense geniality, the natural 
 heartiness, the fresh joviality of the gros rire 
 tourangeau are the most sincere pleas that can be 
 urged in mitigation of the penalties he justly incurs 
 by his offences against taste and decorum. Rabelais 
 has at least met with retributive justice. His 
 obscenities protected him from immediate persecu- 
 tion ; they have also robbed him of posthumous 
 rewards. They reprieved him from the stake, but 
 consigned him to a literary oubliette. 
 
 Nothing can be done with so incorrigible an 
 author. He must be taken as he is, or not at all. 
 In the original French he is unintelligible to all 
 who have not made a special study of the 
 provincialisms and dialects of the ancient Gallic 
 tongue. He cannot be Bowdlerised, for expurgation 
 would be extinction. English readers can study 
 him, if they will, in a translation which is a master- 
 piece of vigour, rivalling the original in its com- 
 mand of the linguistic resources of obscenity. Sir 
 Thomas Urquhart of Cromarty set to work upon 
 his version with patriotic zeal. He determined to 
 show the world that a true Briton could not be
 
 SIR THOMAS URQUHART 165 
 
 outdone in his native treasures of obscene language 
 by the most erudite of Frenchmen. It is enough 
 to say that he succeeded. 1 A family author 
 Rabelais can never be ; but the originality of his 
 genius, the serious purpose, the humour, the insight 
 into human nature, the moral elevation which 
 characterise many passages of " Pantagruel," to- 
 gether with the historical and etymological value 
 of the work, justify some attempt to present a true 
 sketch of the life and writings of a man who, as the 
 great vernacular satirist of a stormy and excited 
 period, created a new province in the modern world 
 of letters, moulded the form of the language of his 
 country, and profoundly influenced the destinies of 
 the French Reformation. 
 
 In the altered conditions of modern society, and 
 in the wide extension of knowledge, no author of 
 
 1 Sir T. Urquhart stood in need throughout his life of all 
 the Pantagruelian philosophy. He was born in 1611. He 
 travelled in his youth through sixteen different kingdoms, and 
 returned with a knowledge of foreign tongues, which probably 
 procured him his place in the Court of Charles I. He was 
 knighted in 1641. Ruin fell upon his ancient and honourable 
 house, which, in his " Proinptuary of Time," he traces in 
 unbroken ascent to the red earth from which Adam was created. 
 Faithful to his master's cause, he joined the rising of Mackenzie 
 of Pluscardine, and was proscribed as a rebel by the Estates of 
 Parliament. At the battle of Worcester he was taken prisoner, 
 and eventually retired to the Low Countries. Tradition declares 
 that he died in a fit of laughter on hearing the news of the 
 restoration of Charles II. He only completed three books of 
 " Pantagruel." The last two books of Rabelais were translated 
 by Peter Motteux, a Huguenot refugee, who died under discredit- 
 able circumstances in St. Clement Danes in 1718.
 
 166 RABELAIS 
 
 the present day can hope to exercise the wide- 
 spread influence of such universal individualities 
 as Rabelais or Shakespeare. Both are universal, 
 but with a broad difference. Shakespeare's works 
 can be spoken of without reference to the man or 
 his age. There is in them hardly a touch of 
 personal idiosyncrasy ; they possess within them- 
 selves principles of life which have preserved them 
 incorruptible, because they are uncircumscribed by 
 circumstances, unconditioned by time or place, un- 
 alloyed by prejudices or predilections. It is not so 
 with the great French humorist. It is impossible 
 to separate " Pantagruel " from the period when it 
 was written, or from the personality of its author. 
 Rabelais himself is a mystery. The ardent student 
 wears the guise of the roystering Bohemian ; the 
 encyclopaedic master of all the sciences is also the 
 indefatigable jester and extravagant buffoon. His 
 friends paint him as the determined foe of ignor- 
 ance, the profoundest of thinkers, the universal 
 man of letters who, like Pico della Mirandola, 
 could maintain a thesis de omni re scibili ; his 
 enemies describe him as a profligate libertine, a 
 rubicund leering Silenus, a drunken hiccuping 
 monk, who mumbled his mass but mouthed his 
 drinking song, and shortened his vespers that he 
 might lengthen his carouse. His strange and 
 original genius increased the mystery by indul- 
 gence in the wildest freaks. He delights to drop 
 from the heights of wisdom to the depths of 
 folly, to breathe the rare atmosphere of wind-
 
 HIS TWO PORTRAITS 167 
 
 swept summits of thought or to wallow up to 
 the neck in the mire of his obscenities. " Panta- 
 gruel " is no less an enigma than its author. 
 Viewed from one side, it is an allegory enriched 
 with broad humour, piquant satire, sparkling 
 witticisms, dramatic representations of character, 
 containing an inexhaustible store of information 
 on the habits, manners, and customs of the day, 
 exhibiting the most exalted ideal of morality that 
 was conceived by any writer of the epoch. Re- 
 garded from a different standpoint, it is the most 
 outrageously improbable of mediaeval romances, 
 a gigantic burlesque, a frolic of absurdity, an 
 outpouring of vinous drivel, a huge and reeking 
 dungheap. 
 
 These two conceptions of the Homere bouffon 
 and his work are aptly represented in the two ex- 
 tant portraits of Rabelais which assert the strongest 
 claims to be considered genuine. The first, coloured 
 by popular fancy or blackened by the spleen of 
 outraged opponents, represents him as the sensual 
 Franciscan who died with a profane pun upon 
 his lips. The second is drawn by the hand of an 
 admirer, who detects a lofty purpose beneath the 
 Titanic outbursts of ribald laughter, and sees in 
 his terrific indecency a mask which the necessities 
 of the times compel him to assume. Neither of 
 the two portraits appears to be contemporary, or 
 to date from a period anterior to 1620. The first, 
 which is on wood, in the museum at Versailles, 
 was engraved by Isaac Sarrabat in the beginning
 
 168 RABELAIS 
 
 of the eighteenth century. It gives the full-face 
 of a man, turning slightly towards the left and 
 looking towards the right, wearing a priest's cap 
 with a small medallion in front, and dressed in 
 a black gown trimmed with fur. The broad 
 strong nose and wide-open nostrils, the large eyes 
 surmounted by heavy eyebrows, the thick sensual 
 lips, the mocking smile, give the ordinarily accepted 
 portrait of the Ecorcheur des Veaux. The 
 other picture is to be found in the Faculty of 
 Medicine at Montpellier, where several specimens 
 of his handwriting are carefully preserved. It 
 represents him with a grave, dignified, reflective 
 countenance, a smooth, broad, unwrinkled fore- 
 head, large hazel eyes full of fire, a florid com- 
 plexion, mobile lips, large nose, and chestnut 
 beard and moustache. He wears the red gown 
 of a doctor of medicine, with a square red-tufted 
 cap. Upon the picture is inscribed the year 1537, 
 the date at which Rabelais took his doctor's 
 degree ; but it appears that the portraits in the 
 gallery of the Faculty, which extend from H. 
 de Guintonia in 1239, were painted by the order 
 of Chancellor Ranchin in 1610-20. The question, 
 therefore, arises, to which no satisfactory answer 
 can be given, whether this particular portrait is 
 copied from a contemporary picture or is merely 
 an imaginary representation, like the bulk of its 
 companions. One thing seems to be certain. 
 The Versailles portrait is not a true likeness of 
 Rabelais. " Le portrait qu'on voit de Rabelais,"
 
 THE AGE OF RABELAIS 169 
 
 says Tallemant des Reaux, "n'est pas fait sur 
 luy ; on 1'a fait a plaisir a peu pres comme 
 on croyait qu'il e'toit." If both portraits are 
 imaginary, which gives the truer impression of 
 the man ? In the one he is the buffoon, the 
 tippler, the Silenus ; in the other the thinker, 
 the scholar, the man of science. Which was 
 Rabelais ? It is the purpose of the following 
 pages to offer an answer to the question. 
 
 The age of Rabelais, the man himself, and his 
 writings are, as has been said, deeply interesting, 
 and it is under these three heads that the subject 
 will be treated. 
 
 Born in 1483, Rabelais died in 1553. His life 
 thus extends over a period which witnessed the 
 spread of the Renaissance, the growth of the 
 Protestant Reformation, the commencement of 
 the Catholic reaction. The winter of the senile 
 Middle Ages had broken up before the warm 
 spring of the Renaissance. New hemispheres were 
 added to the worlds of thought and action. 
 Navigators, scholars, thinkers were inspired by a 
 spirit of enterprise and adventure which swept 
 over Europe with the resistless flow of the 
 returning tide that succeeds the inactive ebb. 
 Every feature of Rabelais' work betokens a 
 transition period. The taste, the manner, the 
 form are mediaeval ; the criticism, the hatred of 
 ignorance, the contempt for superstition, the 
 thirst for study, the classic culture, the inde- 
 pendence are modern. Rabelais represents the
 
 170 RABELAIS 
 
 thoughts, the exultation, and, at rare intervals, 
 the regrets of the epoch. Analysis, method, 
 freedom of thought were sapping the founda- 
 tions of the social, the scientific, the philosophical, 
 and the religious systems, and all the steps in the 
 coming change are represented in " Pantagruel." 
 Anatomist, physician, botanist, astronomer, pro- 
 ficient in architecture, skilled in navigation, versed 
 in law, deeply read in philosophy, learned in Latin, 
 Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic, and possessing a 
 smattering of many spoken languages, Rabelais 
 brings to bear upon his vast subject that univer- 
 sality of knowledge which characterises the epoch. 
 Though the field of learning was rapidly widening, 
 it was still limited ; he was not compelled to 
 specialise his labours, but took the whole for his 
 province. He has the roving humour of Burton, 
 who among English writers most closely resembles 
 him ; he was not the slave of any one science, 
 but roamed abroad, having an oar in every man's 
 boat, tasting of every dish, sipping of every cup. 
 Rabelais is a humanist neither of the Italian 
 nor of the Northern school. His monastic and 
 medical training and the natural bent of his genius 
 stunted the imaginative, artistic, poetic side of 
 his nature, turned him towards a critical study 
 of humanity, encouraged his inclination towards 
 scientific investigation. He was a stranger to that 
 love of the picturesque which inspired Italian 
 poets and artists. Archaeologist though he is, he 
 feels none of the enthusiasm for antiquity which
 
 A CHILD OF THE RENAISSANCE 171 
 
 thrilled Petrarch as he sat among the Baths of 
 Diocletian. The mystic passion for woman which 
 glowed in Dante and flamed up once more in the 
 sonnets of Michael Angelo was extinguished in his 
 breast. His sentiments are those of a mediaeval 
 monk. " Woman," says Pantagruel, " comes 
 between man and the love of God." Whether 
 Gargamelle died of joy at the death of Picrochole 
 is all one to Rabelais : "I care not for her, or 
 any other woman." He has no feeling for beauty 
 and no artistic insight. The everlasting clang of 
 the bells of the Eternal City impressed him more 
 vividly than all the poetry of her ruins. Nor 
 was his attitude towards the Renaissance that of 
 the humanists of Germany or of Holland. Un- 
 like the Italians, who sought in classic culture 
 beauty of form and refinement of taste, the 
 Northern nations seized upon the practical side 
 of the revival of letters. The determination to 
 see things as they were without reference to 
 tradition or authority was the dynamic force of 
 a movement which led by no uncertain steps to 
 the overthrow of the ecclesiastical fabric. The 
 stress which the Dutch and German humanists 
 laid upon the right of private judgment, their 
 appeals to the supremacy of reason, their insist- 
 ence upon the union of morality with religion, 
 brought them more directly into collision with 
 the Church of Rome than the pagan morals or 
 bantering incredulity of the Italians. 
 
 In his liberality of thought, his encyclopaedic
 
 172 RABELAIS 
 
 knowledge, his unsatisfied craving for study, 
 Rabelais is a true child of the Renaissance. He 
 declares war on all that the Middle Ages had 
 worshipped the love of martial conquest, the 
 life of contemplation, mortification of the flesh, 
 scholasticism, and the sounding words which 
 scarcely concealed their emptiness. The inspira- 
 tion of the movement is upon him. He feels 
 the ecstasy of its renewed life. But its effect on 
 his mind was widely different from the artistic 
 passion of Italy or the practical devotion of 
 Germany. The ideal which he seeks is freedom 
 of thought, the right of every man to pursue 
 knowledge how and when he will, the liberty 
 to worship God as he understood His divinity. 
 He protests against intolerance, but he cares 
 nothing for doctrinal definitions ; to him dogmas, 
 whether of Protestantism or Catholicism, are 
 accidents of time and circumstance. He looked 
 for a gradual reconstruction of the world through 
 the spread of education and of science, a process 
 which was necessarily slow, and, in the face of 
 surrounding circumstances, impossible. The foes 
 of culture were the same as they had ever 
 been: on the one hand the priesthood, on the 
 other the unlearned the narrowness of fanaticism 
 or the panic fear of ignorance. It was because 
 authority checked speculation, upheld shams, dis- 
 countenanced study, asserted absurd pretensions, 
 and bound living men to dead forms by the iron 
 chains of tradition, that he arraigns the Papacy,
 
 HUMANITARIAN FERVOUR 173 
 
 the monasteries and all the learned professions in 
 one sweeping, comprehensive indictment. " Panta- 
 gruel" is an attempt to promote the course of 
 progress in France by the removal of everything 
 that obstructed its advance in religion, law, educa- 
 tion, institutions, or society. And the basis of 
 Rabelais' humanitarian enthusiasm is his faith in 
 the natural goodness of mankind. Restraint 
 creates the evil which it is designed to check. 
 Shake off the fetters, and the innate potentialities 
 of human excellence will have room to expand. 
 Meanwhile the true wisdom is that of the Panta- 
 gruelian philosopher, who strips himself of all that 
 is transitory and passing, possesses his own soul 
 in patience, labours all his life to advance the 
 spread of knowledge, strives to discover the " great 
 perhaps," and dies in the bosom of the Church 
 in which he was born. 
 
 The absorbing interest of Rabelais' attitude 
 towards the French Renaissance consists in its 
 representative character, and in his relation through 
 the sixteenth-century movement to the intellectual 
 changes which preceded the Revolution. There 
 was a period in his life when he inclined towards 
 the Reformation, and readers of " Pantagruel " in 
 its existing form and its English translation l may 
 
 1 Motteux, his English editor and translator, who was himself 
 a Protestant, omits Rabelais' references to the Calvinists of 
 Geneva. Thus, in the fourth book, among the " monstrous brood 
 of eavesdropping dissemblers, superstitious pope-mongers, and 
 priest-ridden bigots " which anti-nature had engendered, Rabelais 
 includes "les demoniacles Calvins imposteurs de Geneve."
 
 174 RABELAIS 
 
 possibly imagine that he was always a Protestant 
 at heart. Calvin says of him that he had once 
 tasted the Gospel, 1 and in the first book of 
 " Pantagruel " he showed himself to have been 
 a supporter of Reuchlin against Ortuin and the 
 theologians of Cologne. He treats the Papacy 
 with scant ceremony, attacks indulgences, pilgrim- 
 ages, and superstitious observances ; he scoffs at 
 the purchase of pardons ; he lashes with the full 
 force of his satire the vices of the monastic system. 
 But these features of his satire are in no degree 
 proofs of his Protestantism. More positive evidence 
 of his inclination towards the Reformed doctrines 
 will be found in his advocacy of a return to the 
 simplicity of Gospel-teaching, his insistence with 
 St. Paul on the spirit as opposed to the letter, 
 his education of Pantagruel to read the Bible in 
 Hebrew and Greek, and finally in Pantagruel's 
 promise that in his kingdom of Utopia the Gospel 
 shall be preached "purement, simplement, et en- 
 tierement, si que les abus d'un tas des papelars 
 et faulx prophetes, qui ont par constitutions 
 humaines et inventions depravees envenime tout 
 
 Motteux omits this last addition. Also it seems certain that 
 the fifth book, published ten years after the death of Habelais, 
 contains a considerable number of Protestant additions, possibly 
 from the pen of Henri Estienne. 
 
 1 " Quotquot videmus hodie Lucianicos homines, qui totam 
 Christi religionem subsannant ! . . Alii (ut Rabelaesus, Deperius, 
 et Goveanus) gustato Evangelic, eadem ccecitate sunt percussi. 
 Cur istud ? nisi quia illud sacrum vitae seternse pignus, sacrilega 
 ludendi ant ridendi audacia ante profanaraiit ? De Scandalis.
 
 WITHOUT THE MARTYR-SPIRIT 175 
 
 le monde, seront dentour moy exterminez." But 
 in time this feeling changed. The intellectual 
 tyranny of Geneva became more distasteful to his 
 mind than the cautious liberty of Rome. He 
 found, and with him a crowd of Frenchmen whose 
 latent leanings towards Protestantism were similarly 
 checked, that the Huguenot leader was not the 
 apostle of liberty, but that Calvin was more 
 rapacious in his attacks on human freedom than 
 the great Pope-hawk himself. The narrowness of 
 the Protestant dogmas repelled him, and although 
 up to a certain point he had fought by the side 
 of the Reformers, the alliance was gradually 
 exchanged for hostility. Calvin wrote against 
 him as the preacher of a creedless, soulless 
 Epicureanism ; Henri Estienne complained that 
 " il jette sou vent des pierres dans notre jardin " ; 
 Ramus denounced him as an atheist ; Robert 
 Estienne reproached the men from whom he had 
 himself fled for his own life because they had not 
 burned the author of " Pantagruel." Rabelais was 
 not backward in his reprisals. He had attacked 
 the fasts of the Catholics, but he did not find that 
 the meat diet of the Calvinists made them more 
 tolerant or less suspicious ; both were equally 
 enemies of that science which was his mistress. 
 His humanitarian fervour was diametrically opposed 
 to the Huguenot doctrine of original sin, and he 
 pours forth his ridicule upon the " yea verily " of 
 Calvin's catechism. The religious ideal which he 
 puts forward in Theleme is neither Calvinist
 
 176 RABELAIS 
 
 nor Roman. He excludes from his abbey all who 
 foment religious discord ; he foresees the extinction 
 of art and letters which will inevitably result from 
 the impending struggle between Protestant and 
 Catholic, and he throws in his lot with neither 
 the one nor the other. 
 
 Rabelais held aloof from the conflict because he 
 saw too clearly the faults of both the combatants. 
 His physical temperament also tended to make 
 him a spectator rather than an actor. More eager 
 to attain liberty of thought than doctrinal truth, 
 Rabelais was totally without the martyr-spirit. 
 He shudders at the execution of Jean Caturce at 
 Toulouse in 1532 ; but while Dolet openly protests 
 against it, Rabelais' policy, like that of Pantagruel, 
 was rather to avoid similar dangers. Pantagruel 
 and his attendants visit Toulouse, " mais ils n'y 
 demeurent gueres quand ils virent qu'ils faisaient 
 bruler leurs regents touts vifs comme harengs 
 saurets." And the times were full of peril. Jean 
 Leclerc, the wool-carder of Meaux, was tortured 
 and burned at Metz in 1525. Louis de Berquin, the 
 friend of the Marguerite des Marguerites, was the 
 first victim of a Commission of Enquiry, which 
 resembled Alva's Tribunal of Blood. Bonaventure 
 Despe"riers broke out into open infidelity in his 
 " Cymbalum Mundi," and committed suicide to 
 avoid the inevitable result. Clement Marot was 
 imprisoned for eating bacon on Friday : 
 
 " Par le morbleu ! voila Clement 
 Prenez-le ; il a mange le lard ! " :
 
 THE SCIENTIFIC IMPULSE 177 
 
 and finally died in exile. Anne Dubourg was 
 disgraced and at last put to death for his religious 
 opinions. For the same reason Etienne Dolet was 
 tortured, hanged, and burned on the Place Maubert 
 in Paris. Three of these men were Rabelais' most 
 intimate friends, and he himself was more than 
 once obliged to flee for his life. He well knew 
 that the king, in his paroxysms of piety, was, to 
 use the phrase of Brantome, "un peu rigoureux 
 a faire brusler vifs les he'retiques de son temps." 
 He was ready to go, as he said himself, " jusqu'au 
 bucher exclusivement" in matters of opinion. But, 
 like Marot, he feared the flames. 
 
 "L'oisivete des pretres et cagots 
 Je la dirois, mais gare les fagots; 
 Et des abus dont 1'Eglise est fourree, 
 J'en parlerois, mais gare la bourree." 
 
 It is not, therefore, surprising that Rabelais, in 
 doctrinal, if not in disciplinary, reforms, imitated 
 the cautious silence of Jean du Bellay and other 
 free-thinking prelates among his contemporaries. 
 But meanwhile the writings of the great vernacular 
 satirist leavened the masses with something of his 
 own discontent at the development of the struggle 
 between the dominant religion and its Protestant 
 rival. Rabelais represents the scientific impulse 
 of the French Renaissance, its passion for liberty 
 of thought, its humanitarian fervour, its hopes of 
 the Reforming movement and its disappointment 
 in the Genevan tyranny, its eternal acquiescence 
 in the established faith, and its growing scepticism 
 
 12
 
 178 RABELAIS 
 
 and gradual negation of all creeds. And the stern 
 restraint of the feelings which the Renaissance 
 engendered, and which Rabelais cast into a popular 
 form, gives additional importance and significance 
 to his writings. Checked by the Church and by 
 the selfish monarchy which succeeded the break- 
 up of the feudal aristocracy, the ideas expressed 
 in " Pantagruel " assumed more formidable and 
 more menacing symptoms. It is worthy of note 
 that, at the Revolution, Rabelais was recognised 
 for the first time since the sixteenth century, as 
 one of the master minds of the world. 
 
 During all periods that have witnessed great 
 changes men are known only in reference to some 
 particular point where their existence touches the 
 broad stream of history. Stirring centuries like 
 the sixteenth are too absorbed in the interests of 
 masses to follow those of individuals ; consequently, 
 the materials for the life of Rabelais are scanty. 
 The " Lues Boswelliana," which chronicles with 
 infinite particularity the everyday doings of private 
 persons, belongs to modern tastes and tamer times 
 to compensate. In the case of Rabelais, for the lack 
 of authentic memorials, a popular biography has 
 been created, resembling that which surrounds the 
 name of Shakespeare. But three centuries after 
 the death of the satirist we may be pardoned if we 
 lay little stress on the elaborate discussions which 
 have centred round episodes in his career, and 
 chronicle the commonly accepted facts of his life 
 without entering into a criticism of disputed points.
 
 EARLY LIFE 179 
 
 The father of Rabelais was the landlord of the 
 " Lamproie " at Chinon, and was also the pro- 
 prietor or the tenant of a vineyard in the 
 neighbouring village of Seuilly, which lies on 
 the left-hand side of the road from Chinon to 
 Saumur. At Chinon, or at Seuilly, Francois 
 Rabelais was born in 1483. Probably Rabelais 
 never knew the meaning of maternal affection. 
 The only domestic relationship on which he dwells 
 with any tenderness is that of father and son 
 the love of Gargantua for Grandgousier, of Panta- 
 gruel for Gargantua. It is possible that a passage 
 in the fifth book of " Pantagruel " may be coloured 
 by the bitterness of personal feeling. On the 
 Ringing Island Pantagruel asks ^Edituus how the 
 clerk-hawks are bred, if the Pope-hawk is bred 
 from the cardin-hawks, and the cardin-hawks from 
 the bis-hawks, and the bis-hawks from the clerk- 
 hawks. When he hears the answer, he is surprised 
 that women, who bear their sons nine months in 
 their womb, cannot endure them nine years or 
 even seven, in their house ; but clap a shirt over 
 the urchin's clothes, lop a few hairs from his 
 crown, and by some Pythagorean metempsychosis 
 transform the boy into a clerk-hawk. Rabelais 
 may be here recalling his own experience. Be 
 this as it may, he was at an early age set apart 
 for the priesthood. Near the Clos de la Deviniere 
 at Seuilly stood the Abbey of St. Sepulchre, and 
 there the boy began his education. From Seuilly 
 he passed to the Convent of La Basmette, near
 
 180 RABELAIS 
 
 Angers, and possibly to the University of Angers. 
 It was at this period of his life that he made the 
 acquaintance of the famous family of Du Bellay, 
 as well as of Geoffroi d'Estissac, afterwards Bishop 
 of Maillezais. 
 
 In 1511 Rabelais was admitted into priest's 
 orders as a Franciscan friar in the fraternity estab- 
 lished at Fontenay-le-Comte, in Lower Poitou. 
 Like Erasmus, he disgusted the friars by his 
 secular leaning. He had not taken the vow of 
 ignorance, and he was probably more galled by 
 the restraints upon intellectual pleasures than by 
 those upon licentious indulgences. Science was 
 even now his austere mistress, and, in spite of 
 his writings, his life, like that of Balzac, may 
 have been free from sensual vices. Relying upon 
 the Vulgate, the Church steadily set her face 
 against the study of Greek and Hebrew. But 
 Rabelais and his friend Amy taught themselves 
 both languages, and corresponded with Budseus and 
 other scholars. From scholarship to Lutheranism 
 seemed to the Franciscans a natural step. Rabelais' 
 orthodoxy was doubted, and the suspicion was con- 
 firmed by his purchase of books printed in Germany. 
 He was suspected by his brethren, and his studious 
 habits and satirical tongue made him still more 
 unpopular. Numerous stories are told of his esca- 
 pades, immoralities, and profanities, and if any of 
 these are true they may have contributed to his 
 leaving the Franciscan Order. Popular tradition 
 relates that he was condemned by the chapter to
 
 MONASTIC EXPERIENCE 181 
 
 the terrible punishment of imprisonment in pace 
 to be walled up in his cell and fed only on bread 
 and water during the term of his natural life 
 that the sentence was executed, and that he was 
 only rescued by the armed intervention of Andre 
 Tiraqueau, the governor of the district of Fontenay, 
 and himself a native of the town. Where truth 
 begins and legend ends is uncertain ; but two 
 facts stand out beyond dispute. He received some 
 notable kindness from the famous jurisconsult, of 
 whom he speaks as " le bon, le docte, le sage, le tant 
 humain et tant equitable Tiraqueau " ; and in 1524 
 he had left the Franciscans with a papal indulgence 
 obtained for him by D'Estissac, enabling him to 
 enter the Abbey of Maillezais, belonging to the 
 scholarly and learned Order of the Benedictines. 
 But he was not long contented with his new 
 situation. It is even doubtful whether he ever 
 entered the abbey ; at any rate he speedily assumed 
 the secular garb, and once more became a citizen 
 of the world. But his monastic experiences had 
 left upon his mind an ineffaceable impression. He 
 never spares the monks or forgets his hatred of 
 the class. Throughout his crowd of actors he 
 attributes no good characteristic to the priest- 
 hood. 
 
 The next five years of Rabelais' life are difficult 
 to follow. Part of the period was spent at 
 Maillezais or at Liguge under the protection of 
 D'Estissac, an easy-going, semi-pagan prelate, who 
 winked at the ecclesiastical offence of his old
 
 182 RABELAIS 
 
 school-fellow and made him his secretary. Like 
 Rousseau at Les Charmettes, Rabelais dabbled in 
 poetry and devoted himself to botany. It was 
 along the banks of the river Clain that he acquired 
 that knowledge of herbs and plants which appears 
 in " Pantagruel," and which he applied to the 
 practice of medicine. Other friends of his youth 
 had been the brothers Du Bellay, and Rabelais 
 next appears as secretary to Guillaume du Bellay, 
 Sieur de Langey, who, according to Brantome, 
 was a skilful soldier, a loyal servant, but no 
 courtier ; " il ne sait ni quand le roy se leve, 
 ni quand le roy se couche, mais il S9ait bien ou 
 sont les ennemis." It was at the Chateau of 
 Glatigny, near Langey, that Rabelais revised and 
 corrected Guillaume du Bellay's Latin treatise on 
 the stratagems of war, as well as the Latin poems 
 and discourses of his brother Jean du Bellay, Bishop 
 of Paris, cardinal and diplomatist. Part of the 
 house which belonged to Rabelais in the village 
 of Langey was standing at the end of the 
 eighteenth century, and at Sonday, a neighbouring 
 hamlet, the tradition is preserved that he was 
 cure' of the parish. 
 
 In September 1530 the name of Rabelais was 
 entered as a student on the register of the Univer- 
 sity of Montpellier, where Louis XII had recently 
 founded four chairs to promote the study of 
 medicine. There he passed through the prescribed 
 course with distinction, if any credence is to be 
 attached to popular legends. A doctor's gown,
 
 LEARNED SOCIETY AT LYONS 183 
 
 which was believed to be his, was for many years 
 carefully preserved, and every medical pupil was 
 invested with it after passing his fifth examination. 
 The ceremony was said to commemorate the re- 
 covery by Rabelais of certain privileges, of which 
 the University was deprived by Chancellor Duprat. 
 But it seems at least probable that the gown, 
 embroidered with the letters F.R.C., was not the 
 gown of Franciscus Rabelsesus Chinonensis, but 
 that of Francois Ranchin, the great reforming 
 Chancellor who governed the University between 
 1610 and 1620. 
 
 In 1532, after the delivery of the public lectures 
 necessary for a bachelor's degree in medicine, 
 Rabelais left Montpellier for Lyons, which, after 
 Paris, was now the chief literary centre of France. 
 The sixteenth century was the most splendid epoch 
 in its civilisation. As the commercial link between 
 France and Italy, Lyons had been the first city 
 to profit by the arts and refinements of the Italian 
 Renaissance. Sebastien Gryphe made the printing 
 presses of Lyons famous throughout Europe ; Jean 
 Grollier, the Maecenas of the age, was an inhabitant 
 of the town, and round him gathered a knot of dis- 
 tinguished friends. Though the Societe Angelique, 
 in which antiquarians have seen one of the earliest 
 of literary societies, had no organised existence, 
 many intellectual interests were represented among 
 the citizens of Lyons, or among the strangers who, 
 like Rabelais, Marot, Dolet, and Desperiers, were 
 attracted within its walls. Among the inhabitants
 
 184 RABELAIS 
 
 were Pagnini, the Orientalist and Hebrew lexico- 
 grapher ; Pierre Tolet, one of the most skilled 
 physicians of the day ; Guillaume du Choul, the anti- 
 quarian and archaeologist ; Symphorien Champier, 
 the founder of many public institutions, whose 
 munificence is not only celebrated in "Pantagruel" 
 but commemorated in the street nomenclature of 
 Lyons : Michel Seve, poet, and, as Joachim du 
 Bellay calls him, " docte aux doctes esclaircy " ; 
 Barthelemy Aneau, principal of the College de 
 Lyon, poet, translator, and parent of the French 
 opera. Nor was Lyons without its literary ladies. 
 Though Louise Labd, " la belle cordiere," was only 
 seven years old in 1532, yet women like Pernette 
 du Guillet and the sisters Claudine and Sibylle 
 Seve were poetesses whose reputation has not yet 
 wholly disappeared. 
 
 To Lyons Rabelais was mainly attracted by the 
 fame of its printing presses. There he published 
 two medical treatises, and two Latin pieces which 
 he erroneously supposed to be " ex reliquis vene- 
 randae antiquitatis." l He also assisted in the cor- 
 rection of the learned works which issued from 
 the press of Gryphe. With literature he united 
 the practice of medicine, for he had been appointed 
 
 1 (1) Hippocratis ac Galeni libri aliquot. Ex recognitione 
 Fr. Rabelaesi. Lugduni apud Grypbium, 1532. (2) Johannis 
 Mainardi Ferrariensis Epistolarum medicinalium tomus secundus. 
 Lugduni apud Gryphium, 1532. (3) Ex reliquis venerandse 
 Antiquitatis Lucii Cuspidi Testamentum; item Contractus ven- 
 ditionis antiquis Romanorum temporibus initus. Lugduni : 
 Grypbius. 1532.
 
 GARGANTUA 185 
 
 physician to the Hotel- Dieu of the town. It is 
 to be hoped that he succeeded better as a doctor 
 than he had hitherto prospered as a man of letters. 
 Piqued by the failure of his previous works, he 
 revenged himself upon the taste of the day by a 
 parody on the popular tales of chivalry. " The 
 Great and Inestimable Chronicle of the Great and 
 Enormous Giant Gargantua " was composed, as 
 the author tells us, in the intervals allotted to 
 eating and drinking. It was published in 1532. 
 
 The success of the Chronicle was as gigantic 
 as its hero. It is founded on the popular legends 
 of Touraine. Gargantua was one of the Celtic 
 deities of Brittany ; but south of the Loire he 
 was transformed into an ogre. According to 
 tradition he travels through the country in search 
 of adventures, bearing his servants in his pocket, 
 and followed by a goblin loaded with provisions. 
 When their master pleases they halt and dine. 
 The servants cook the food and lay the table, and 
 when the giant feeds cast into his mouth the salt 
 and mustard with shovels, while the goblin pours 
 down his throat a dozen barrels of wine. Then 
 he sleeps thirty hours at a stretch, guarded by 
 his attendants. Traces of the legend are scattered 
 all over the country ; Gargantua 's quoits, foot- 
 prints, pulpits and ninepins are almost universal. 
 This popular hero Rabelais made the central figure 
 of his romance, linking him on to the legends of 
 Arthur and of Merlin. The Chronicle is a mere 
 farrago of nonsense, a burlesque on the giants and
 
 186 RABELAIS 
 
 enchantments of romance, intended for sale by the 
 travelling bisuars at country fairs and markets in 
 the company of " Jehan de Paris," " Robert le 
 Diable," or "Richard Sans Peur." Yet there 
 were sold, says Rabelais, more copies in two 
 months than will be sold of the Bible in nine 
 years. 
 
 Encouraged by his success, Rabelais in the same 
 year brought out a sequel to the Chronicle in 
 " Pantagruel." The work is no longer a mere 
 extravagance, or a boisterous caricature of romantic 
 literature. The fiction has assumed a serious 
 character ; it has a design and a purpose. King 
 Arthur, Merlin, Gog and Magog, and other 
 legendary heroes have been disbanded, and Panta- 
 gruel, though a giant, stands in the streets of Paris. 
 Don Quixote, the burlesque hero of popular fiction, 
 became the model of ideal chivalry ; so Pantagruel 
 assumes human characteristics and changes into 
 the noblest and wisest of mortals. With all the 
 freshness of twenty, yet with the ripe experience 
 of fifty, Rabelais thus began his laugh at the 
 world. Moliere wooed with persistency the Queen 
 of Tragedy before he discovered that he reigned 
 supreme in the heart of the Comic Muse. So it 
 was with Rabelais. It is not the least singular 
 feature in his strange career that half a century 
 elapsed before he recognised the natural bent of 
 his genius and knew himself to be a born satirist. 
 Into this new direction he pours all the treasures 
 of his varied experience, all the materials which
 
 BROAD HUMOUR 187 
 
 he had gathered as a Franciscan friar, a Benedictine 
 monk, a secular priest, a medical student and a 
 doctor, the secretary of a bishop and a great 
 captain, the companion of wits, scholars, soldiers, 
 and statesmen. The rich vein of broad and jovial 
 humour upon which Rabelais had struck in 
 " Pantagruel " could not have been a new dis- 
 covery. Its flashes must have often set the 
 bishop's table in a roar, if it had never convulsed 
 the fray ter at Fontenay-le-Comte. What Rabelais 
 had discovered was not the existence of a gift of 
 which he was previously unaware, but the faculty 
 of talking to the world with the same uncon- 
 strained ease with which he conversed among his 
 most familiar associates. 
 
 When he, had once tested his powers he exer- 
 cised them without apparent fatigue. Besides the 
 " Gargantuan Chronicle " and " Pantagruel," which 
 were written within a few months of each other, 
 he issued an " Almanach " in 1532, 1 which was 
 afterwards annually continued up to 1550, and 
 the " Pantagruelian Prognostication," 2 in which he 
 attacked the so-called science of astrology. In 
 1534 Jean du Bellay, passing through Lyons on 
 a diplomatic mission to Rome, invited Rabelais 
 to accompany him. The proposal was accepted. 
 
 1 Almanach pour MDXXXII calcule sur le meridian de la 
 noble cite de Lyon et sur le climat du royaume de France. 
 
 2 Pantagrueline prognostication Certaine veritable et Ifallible 
 pour la mil DXXXIII nouuellemet composee au profit et 
 aduisemet des ges estourdis et musars de nature par maistre 
 Alcofribas Architriclin dudict Pantagruel.
 
 188 RABELAIS 
 
 During the whole of his stay in Italy Rabelais 
 studied with all a scholar's enthusiasm the anti- 
 quities of Rome, superintended excavations, made 
 voluminous notes, and prepared to write a book 
 on Roman archaeology. He found himself, how- 
 ever, forestalled by a Milanese named Marliani, 
 whose work he subsequently published at Lyons, 
 with additions and corrections. His prolonged 
 absence of many months cost him his post at 
 the Hotel -Dieu of Lyons. But he by no means 
 neglected his medical studies. It was now that he 
 delivered his anatomical lecture, illustrated by a 
 public dissection of the body of a criminal who 
 had been hanged in the city. This anatomical 
 illustration was probably the first ever witnessed 
 in France, and the excitement which it created 
 is evidenced by the verses of Dolet. His freedom 
 from professional ties gave him greater leisure for 
 literature. In 1534 he published his edition of 
 Marliani's " Topographia," * with a dedication to 
 Cardinal du Bellay. In the following year he pro- 
 duced his "Vie inestimable du grand Gargantua," 
 which definitely superseded the original Chronicle 
 and now forms the first book of " Pantagruel." 
 It is still full of absurdities and extravagances, 
 but the form and the matter are recast, so that 
 the work may be an appropriate prelude to its 
 successor. In tone and spirit it is entirely changed. 
 Like Luther, Rabelais had seen the corruption of 
 
 1 Joannis-Bartolomaei Marliani mediolensis topographia anti- 
 quae Romae. Lyon : Seb. Gryph. 1534.
 
 AUDACIOUS SATIRE 189 
 
 the Papacy at its very centre ; he had visited 
 Rome in the train of a cardinal who was a pagan 
 philosopher rather than an ecclesiastic. " Gar- 
 gantua " was written at the time when he hoped 
 most from, and was most inclined to, the Reformed 
 doctrines. In " Pantagruel " he had satirised the 
 affected gibberish of pedantic scholars, the ab- 
 surdities of the technical jargon of lawyers, the 
 trivialities of the scholastic theology ; but in 
 " Gargantua " he pours forth all his satire upon 
 the monks, and the glaring contrast which was 
 afforded by the capabilities and the actualities of 
 the monastic system assails the superstitious ex- 
 travagances of the day and those who encouraged 
 them for their own profit, and sketches a wild 
 poetic scheme which contains many practical 
 suggestions for an ideal ecclesiastical socialism. 
 
 " Gargantua " is full of audacious satire against 
 the ecclesiastical system, and there were many 
 passages in the original edition which would have 
 brought Rabelais within the reach of the heresy- 
 hunters. He had touched the shield of the Church 
 with the point of his spear, and, in view of the 
 hostility which he had aroused, it is not strange 
 to find him once more at Rome in 1536. The 
 pantheism of Leo X had made strictness in 
 dogmatic faith for the time impossible. The 
 Papal city was the safest sanctuary for all whose 
 orthodoxy was doubtful. To this second period 
 of Rabelais' sojourn at Rome belong his letters 
 to the Bishop of Maillezais, which give a minute
 
 190 RABELAIS 
 
 account of the disposal of his time, the confidence 
 which Cardinal du Bellay reposed in him, his 
 studies of archaeology, botany, and languages, and 
 his interest in contemporary politics. His prime 
 object was, doubtless, to put himself en regie 
 with the Church ; he received the Papal per- 
 mission to re-enter a Benedictine monastery and 
 to practise medicine, with the restriction, universal 
 in the case of the clergy, of not using fire or 
 the knife in any surgical operation. The com- 
 mencement of the following year found him at 
 Paris and present at a banquet to Dolet ; at 
 its close he was at Montpellier, where he took 
 his doctor's degree in medicine and lectured for 
 two years. 
 
 In 1540 he came to Paris, to enter the collegiate 
 church of St. Maur des Fosses, where du Bellay 
 had procured him a canonry. Here he might have 
 led a life of ease in a spot which he described as 
 " un paradis de salubrite, amenite, serenite, com- 
 modite, delices de tous honnetes plaisirs d'agri- 
 culture et vie rustique." But he had obtained 
 leave to practise medicine wherever he wished ; 
 and his enthusiasm for the art, together with his 
 roving disposition, made him a wanderer in many 
 parts of France. During this period he composed 
 the third book of " Pantagruel." It appeared in 
 1546 with his name attached, instead of the 
 anagram Alcofribas Nasier, which he had hitherto 
 adopted. By the first two books Rabelais had 
 not only provoked the hostility of all the monas-
 
 WITHOUT A PROTECTOR 191 
 
 teries in the land, but aroused the enmity of the 
 Parliament of Paris and of the Sorbonne, the 
 most jealous guardian of orthodoxy. The great 
 protectress of men of letters, Marguerite of 
 Navarre, was living remote from the world, 
 wrapped in mystic contemplation ; Dolet, Des- 
 periers, and Marot had been burned at the stake, 
 driven to suicide, or forced into exile for smaller 
 offences than his own. He required all his caution 
 to escape their fate. The third book was read by 
 Francis I before its publication, and appeared 
 " avec privilege du roi " in 1546. 
 
 The death of Francis I in the next year, followed 
 as it was by the disgrace of du Bellay, left Rabelais 
 without a protector. His enemies seized their 
 opportunity to attack him. He fled precipitately 
 to Metz, where he with difficulty supported himself 
 as a doctor, and afterwards made his way to Rome. 
 The birth of the second son of Henry II in 1549 
 was the signal for great rejoicings at the Papal 
 Court, and Rabelais assisted in preparing the 
 different spectacles with which the occasion was 
 celebrated. He sent an account in several letters 
 addressed to the Cardinal of Lorraine, who had 
 succeeded Jean du Bellay in the favour of the 
 Court. " La Sciomachie et festins faits a Rome " l 
 procured for Rabelais his restoration to France, 
 as well as the favour of the Cardinal, who made 
 
 1 La Sciomachie et festins faicts k Rome au palays du R. Cardinal 
 du Bellay, pour 1'heureuse naissance de M. le due d'Orleaus. 
 Lyon : Seb. Gryph. 1549.
 
 192 RABELAIS 
 
 him cure* of Meudon. During his wanderings 
 Rabelais had completed a fourth book ; but he 
 felt that even the powerful protection of the 
 Guises was not sufficiently strong to save him 
 from the Sorbonne. He therefore obtained the 
 leave of Henry II to publish the book, and dedi- 
 cated it to the Cardinal Odet de Chatillon, who, 
 as the elder brother of Admiral Coligny, led the 
 opposition to the Guises. Thus secured on all 
 sides, the fourth book of " Pantagruel " was pub- 
 lished in 1552. But, though it appeared "avec 
 privilege du roi," the Parliament of Paris forbade 
 its sale and summoned its author before their bar. 
 Ultimately the sale was permitted, but at the cost 
 of Rabelais' surrender of his ecclesiastical benefices. 
 In February 1552 he resigned his preferments, and 
 a year later died in Paris in the Rue des Jardins, 
 and was buried in the cemetery of the parish 
 of St. Paul. But all traces of the place of his 
 interment have been lost for upwards of two 
 centuries. 
 
 The peaceful picture of the close of the life of 
 the cure of Meudon is probably apocryphal. It 
 is said that the last days of Rabelais as a parish 
 priest were exemplary. His house was the resort 
 of the learned, but its doors were never closed 
 to the poor. He had no infirmities, except his 
 enormous size. He had formed an excellent 
 library of rare and curious books, and retained 
 his love of study to the last. No day passed of 
 which he did not spend some portion in teaching
 
 CURE OF MEUDON 193 
 
 the children to read and sing. People flocked 
 from Paris to hear him preach or celebrate mass, 
 or to enjoy his genial hospitality. Thus at Meudon 
 his life passed tranquilly away, and there he died 
 at peace with the Church and in the odour of 
 sanctity. So runs the pleasant legend of the 
 venerable cure. But the facts of history are in- 
 exorable. It is at least doubtful whether Rabelais 
 ever exercised the functions of parish priest at 
 Meudon ; it is certain that he did not hold the 
 cure more than two years, that he had resigned 
 it before his death, and that he died in Paris. On 
 the other hand, his death-bed is surrounded with 
 legends which are less edifying and perhaps equally 
 fabulous. As in his lifetime numbers of books 
 were attributed to him which he indignantly 
 repudiated, so after his death his enemies vied 
 with his indiscreet friends in associating prepos- 
 terous stories with his name. Broad jests and 
 floating witticisms current among the vulgar were 
 fathered upon Rabelais, on the principle that such 
 traditions gain in reality by association with a well- 
 known figure. Every stage in his death is accom- 
 panied with some farcical impropriety, and it is 
 now too late to sever truth from falsehood. Even 
 his mule did not escape from slander. Imitating the 
 irreverence of her master, she entered a church and 
 drank the holy water. Rabelais' will is said to have 
 been made in the words, " I have nothing ; I owe 
 much ; the rest I leave to the poor." But twenty- 
 six years before the death of the supposed testator 
 
 13
 
 194 RABELAIS 
 
 the same disposition of worldly goods is quoted 
 by Erasmus in a letter to Budaeus. Tradition 
 relates that, after he had received extreme unction, 
 he told a friend " qu'on lui avait graissd ses bottes 
 pour le grand voyage " ; that he called for his 
 Benedictine domino, in order to receive the blessing 
 of those " qui in Domino moriuntur " ; that he 
 greeted the page of Cardinal de Chatillon, who 
 had been sent to ask him how he was, with, " Je 
 vais querir un grand Peut-etre. Monseigneur est 
 au nid de la pie ; dis-lui qu'il s'y tienne. Pour toi, 
 tu ne seras jamais qu'un fou "; that he saluted 
 the priest who brought him the Sacrament with 
 the words, " Je crois voir mon Dieu tel qu'il entra 
 a Jerusalem triomphant et porte sur un ane " ; 
 and, finally, that his last utterance was, "Tirez 
 le rideau ; la farce est joue'e." The drop of the 
 curtain is as old as Augustus. "Ex uno disce 
 omnia." 
 
 No Life of Rabelais was written till a century 
 after his death. In the meantime his true features 
 were forgotten and distorted. The character of 
 his writings invited misrepresentation. On the 
 serious side of " Pantagruel " the clergy, the 
 monks, the Protestants, were interested in blacken- 
 ing his character, in order to minimise the effect 
 of his satires. On its lighter side the enormous 
 indecencies exposed him to the charge of personal 
 immorality, while the gigantic buffooneries gave 
 colour to his identification with countless popular 
 stories which presented him in the light of a
 
 ATTACKED BY SATIRISTS 195 
 
 drunken jester without reverence for things human 
 or divine. Both directly and indirectly he had 
 offended the lawyers. He laughs at their inter- 
 minable processes, at the ignorant idleness of 
 judges like Bridoye, at the hair-splitting chicanery 
 of the law-courts. He ridicules their treatises, 
 which, like " Tariboles de Droict," buried the 
 broad principles of Roman jurisprudence under a 
 mass of subtle distinctions and profitless comment- 
 ary. So long as he had treated of their civil 
 processes he had only mocked ; but when he 
 touches upon their administration of criminal 
 justice he brands the profession with indelible 
 disgrace. The Furred Law Cats and the Gripe- 
 menalls were not likely to be tender to the 
 memory of Rabelais. His caricatures of polite 
 euphuism, his ridicule of elegant affectations of 
 style, his contempt for the pedantic use of hybrid 
 Latinisms, ran counter to the literary creed of 
 the day. He did not, like the members of the 
 Pleiade, 1 disdain the old French romances as fit 
 only for the floral games of Toulouse, but founded 
 his satirical work on a cycle of myths deeply 
 rooted in the popular imagination. He was, 
 moreover, personally disliked by two of the leaders 
 of the poetical clique which zealously supported 
 the Parliament and the Sorbonne. Ronsard was 
 his neighbour at Meudon, and saw in Rabelais his 
 successful rival in the favour not only of France, 
 
 1 Ronsard, Joachim du Bellay, Remi Bellau, Jean Dorat, 
 Jean-Antoine Bai'f, Ponthus de Tisard, Etienne Jodelle.
 
 196 RABELAIS 
 
 but of their common patron, the Cardinal of 
 Lorraine. Joachim du Bellay, a spare, vinegar- 
 faced, melancholy dreamer, had been his companion 
 at Rome in the household of the Cardinal du 
 Bellay, and no two men could have been more 
 antipathetic in their views of life. While Rabelais 
 lived the Pleiade kept silence. No sooner was he 
 dead than they assailed his memory. The satirical 
 verses of Ronsard and du Bellay gave the per- 
 manence of literary form to the hostile estimate 
 of his character. Du Bellay wrote two Latin 
 epitaphs upon him, in one of which he nicknames 
 him Pamphagus, in the other CEnophilus. Ron- 
 sard's satire is more bitter. In his " Epitaphe d'un 
 Biberon " he speaks of Rabelais as the 
 
 "... bon biberon qui beuvoit 
 Toujours cependant qu'il vivoit," 
 
 and as the boon companion who 
 
 "... parmi des escuelles grasses 
 Sans nulle honte se tonillant 1 
 Alloit dans le vin barbouillant 
 Comme une grenouille en la fange." 
 
 Those who reflect upon the known facts of 
 Rabelais' life, the uncompromising boldness of his 
 satires, the persecutions which he voluntarily risked 
 by his zeal for reform ; those who consider his 
 passionate pursuit of science, his enthusiasm for 
 his multifarious studies, his encyclopaedic know- 
 ledge, and the extraordinary width of his learned 
 
 1 Se touill&r is a local word, \ised at the present day in the 
 districts of Perche and Maine, = " to dirty oneself."
 
 WHICH IS THE REAL MAN? 197 
 
 interests ; those, finally, who remember the reputa- 
 tion and the position of the men with whom he 
 habitually associated on terms of intimate friend- 
 ship, will find it difficult to accept the hostile 
 estimate of Rabelais' character. If we turn from 
 the facts of his life to the general tone of his 
 writings, the difficulty of reconciling the two 
 portraits and of discriminating between truth and 
 falsehood confronts the student under a different 
 form. Here too the question arises, Which is 
 the genuine man, the eager reformer or the jovial 
 boon companion, the audacious satirist or the 
 vinous buffoon ? But it is worth noticing that 
 only old men like Grandgousier, or ignorant 
 animals such as Friar John, drink to excess ; that 
 it is only Panurge, the coward, the knave, the 
 cynic, who wallows in debauchery; that the true 
 hero, Pantagruel, indulges in no undue gratifica- 
 tion of sensual appetites ; and that in the ideal 
 Abbey of Theleme there is no banqueting-hall, 
 no cellar, no kitchen, and no mention of the 
 pleasures of the table or the senses. Further, it 
 is unfair to test the character of writers by the 
 tone of their writings. Moliere was a silent 
 observer, Beranger serious and melancholy, Balzac 
 absorbed in the pursuit of letters. Lastly, the 
 negative evidence does not stand alone. Numerous 
 passages in " Pantagruel " prove that Rabelais had 
 his high thoughts, his pure ideals, his serious 
 moments, his deep religious susceptibilities ; 
 that his soul was burdened by hours of mystic
 
 198 RABELAIS 
 
 melancholy, was subject to unutterable specu- 
 lative longings, and capable of grand poetic 
 flashes. 
 
 The framework on which the five parts of 
 " Pantagruel " are hung may be thus briefly 
 sketched : The first book, which was printed in 
 1535, and is, therefore, in order of publication, the 
 second, relates the miraculous birth of Gargantua, 
 his education, his exploits, and his friendship for 
 Friar John of the Chopping Knives. The second 
 book, printed in 1532, appears to be in its early 
 portions an inferior repetition of the first. It de- 
 scribes the birth of Pantagruel, the gigantic son of 
 Gargantua, who is sent to be educated in Paris, 
 where he meets Panurge and engages him as a 
 companion. The first two, books were published 
 under the signature of Alcofribas Nasier. The 
 third, printed in 1546, was the first to which 
 Rabelais appended his name. The fourth book 
 appeared in 1552, and the fifth in 1564, eleven 
 years after the death of Rabelais. In the last 
 three parts Panurge is the chief figure. They tell 
 us how he fared as the ruler of Salmigondin ; how 
 he desired to take a wife, but fears that his 
 marriage may prove unhappy ; how, after con- 
 sulting every one in vain, it was agreed that 
 Pantagruel, Friar John, and himself should inquire 
 of the Oracle of the Holy Bottle ; and how they 
 visited strange countries in the course of their 
 voyage. 
 
 Upon this absurd basis is piled mountain-high
 
 DISPELLED ILLUSIONS 199 
 
 a mass of miscellaneous matter. The book is 
 absolutely unique in the literature of the world. 
 Here, raked together, are anecdotes, disserta- 
 tions, quaint scraps of obscure learning, dialogues, 
 sarcasm, wit, humour, proverbs, allegory, and 
 astounding obscenity. Written with long intervals 
 between the several parts, " Pantagruel" represents 
 all the changes which the opinions of Rabelais 
 underwent between fifty and seventy. It passes 
 from the extravagant caricature of the Gargantuan 
 chronicle, in which it originated, to a blending of 
 sarcasm and burlesque, and finally to satire, open, 
 undisguised, audacious. The tone is changed. In 
 the first two books Rabelais writes as a reformer 
 of the school of Erasmus ; in the last three he 
 becomes more and more sceptical, less hopeful of 
 the fulfilment of his ideal. The illusions of his 
 comparative youth are dispelled ; universal liberty 
 seems as distant as when he was condemned to 
 the punishment in pace ; his laughter grows harsh 
 and bitter. Thus " Pantagruel " affords a concrete 
 illustration of the passage which France underwent 
 from the gay freedom of the Renaissance to the 
 gloomy distrust which was bred of the fanatical 
 intolerance of both Catholics and Protestants. 
 The theory that the whole work is allegorical, and 
 that the actors are real historical characters, may 
 be dismissed as trivial. The construction of keys 
 is wasted labour, and, if shades can laugh, the 
 " gros rire tourangeau " must shake the nether 
 world at a search as profitless as that for the
 
 200 RABELAIS 
 
 philosopher's stone. Like all great writers, 
 Rabelais does not paint pictures of his contem- 
 poraries ; he puts together many different features 
 that have struck him, but portraiture is not his 
 object. He might say with Moliere, " Je prends 
 mon bien ou je le trouve." He makes the same 
 casual references to men of the time which Swift 
 makes to Whig and Tory leaders in Blefuscu and 
 Liliput. " Pantagruel " satirises the social fabric 
 of the sixteenth century ; but it is unnecessary to 
 reduce its gigantic proportions to the dwarfish 
 stature of a libel upon a particular Court. Rabelais 
 is a universal moralist, not a satirist of individuals, 
 and his work is a general criticism of the world, 
 a Titanic outburst of laughter against shams, a 
 sweeping protest against every form of intellectual 
 restraint, a comprehensive indictment of all ob- 
 structions to mental liberty. 
 
 " Pantagruel " is for students of costume a book 
 of fashions, enumerating the stuffs, the colours, 
 the dresses, the jewels, the furs in which mediaeval 
 society was adorned. For historians of games it 
 
 u i f ff^ ,btJchflr .%*fgh 
 
 is a book 01 sport, 01 falconry and venery, ot mamy 
 exercises and diversions. Of games at cards alone 
 Rabelais enumerates more than two hundred 
 different combinations. It gives a plan of domestic 
 architecture, an inventory of household furniture, 
 a menu of mediaeval banquets as well as of rustic 
 fare. It is a treatise on the art of medicine, a 
 manual of anatomical science, a handbook of 
 botany, a compendium of the processes and pro-
 
 MEDIAEVAL EDUCATION 201 
 
 cedure of mediae val law. It gives a catalogue of 
 the contents of monastic libraries, and from it 
 may be compiled a diary of the daily life of a 
 Franciscan friar. It affords a specimen of the 
 dialectics of logicians and the philosophical exercises 
 of the doctors of the Sorbonne. It is a valuable 
 monograph on mediaeval education, a treatise on 
 the arts of war and navigation. It enumerates all 
 the known pieces of ordnance from the culverin 
 to the falcon ; it is a museum of the mail, an 
 armoury of the weapons, of the Middle Ages. It 
 is a repertory which contains the superstitious 
 practices of the day, astrological science, Virgilian 
 lotteries, and all the current modes of presaging 
 the future. It is a " Bibliotheque bleue " of 
 rustic romances, a collection of anecdotes and 
 proverbs, a magazine of scraps of popular songs, a 
 glossary of local idioms, a dictionary of dialects, an 
 inexhaustible vocabulary of picturesque provinci- 
 alisms. In a word, it is an enormous scrap-bag of 
 miscellaneous articles. 
 
 No adequate impression could be conveyed, 
 within reasonable limits, of the multifarious con- 
 tents of such a work. Three points may, however, 
 be selected mainly from the first book to illus- 
 trate the method in which the various subjects 
 are treated education, ecclesiastical abuses, and 
 Rabelais' Utopian ideal. 
 
 The first serious topic which is touched upon in 
 " Pantagruel " is education ; for this, in Rabelais' 
 conception of Renaissance movement, was the all-
 
 202 RABELAIS 
 
 important factor. Grandgousier, who belongs to 
 the rude, easy-going age that was passing away, 
 gives his son Gargantua the ordinary education of 
 a youth of noble birth in the Middle Ages. He is 
 brought up like a page among the women in the 
 licentious atmosphere of a court. He is taught to 
 read by a tutor who consumes five years and three 
 months in the task. At the end of that time he 
 can say his alphabet as well backwards as forwards. 
 Next he is exercised in logical and grammatical 
 gymnastics, which destroy thought in order to 
 preserve its forms. He learns by heart, and word 
 for word, antiquated treatises and obsolete text- 
 books of the twelfth century. In this way he 
 spends thirty-five years and two months. His 
 body is as neglected as his mind. He is told that 
 it is waste of time for him to wash or clean him- 
 self ; consequently he only smooths his hair with 
 the German comb that is, with his fingers and 
 thumb. After gorging himself at breakfast he 
 hears from twenty-six to thirty masses, mumbles 
 the Hours and his litanies, and, with a Paternoster 
 from St. Claude, says more prayers than sixteen 
 hermits could have offered. Then, with his heart 
 in the kitchen, he studies for half an hour. At his 
 dinner he eats to excess, and sleeps for three hours 
 " without thinking or speaking any harm." He 
 wakes to drink, read a little, gabble more prayers, 
 visit the kitchen in order to see what meat is on 
 the spit, sups, goes to bed, and sleeps till eight the 
 next morning. Gargantua learns his lessons per-
 
 THE NEW LEARNING 203 
 
 fectly, studies hard, and satisfies his tutors and 
 examiners ; yet every day he becomes " more 
 foolish, doited, and blockish." 
 
 Seeing that Gargantua thus went from bad to 
 worse, Grandgousier consults a friend about his 
 son. The friend advises that the new learning 
 should be tried, and offers to illustrate its efficacy 
 in the person of his page, Eudemon, a lad barely 
 twelve years old. In the presence of the whole 
 Court, Eudemon, with his cap in his hand, his hair 
 smoothly brushed, a clear and open countenance, 
 beautiful and ruddy lips, his eyes steady, standing 
 up straight on his feet, and yet full of youthful 
 modesty, asks Gargantua's leave to become one of 
 his household in the style and manner of Cicero. 
 Gargantua, though four times his age, cannot 
 say a word in reply, but " hides his face in his 
 cap and blubbers like a cow." Grandgousier dis- 
 charges the old teacher, and engages Ponocrates, 
 who is the representative of the Renaissance. 
 The method of Bossuet is exchanged for that of 
 Fenelon. 
 
 The sketch which follows is a remarkable proof 
 of Rabelais' enlightened views on education. The 
 old mediaeval " trivium " and " quadrivium " is 
 abandoned for the Greek mousike and gymnastike. 
 The mind and the body are to be developed by 
 intellectual and physical exercises ; instruction is 
 to be combined with amusement ; the pupil is to 
 be taught to observe and note things for himself. 
 Gargantua now rises at four. He takes a bath,
 
 204 RABELAIS 
 
 and while he is being rubbed some pages of the 
 New Testament are read to him, and then he says 
 his prayers. He breaks his fast with the lightest 
 possible food, and after he has dressed himself he 
 receives a variety of lessons, followed by three con- 
 secutive hours of reading. Then he plays at ball, 
 and, after changing his shirt, goes for a walk and 
 returns to dinner. During the repast he hears 
 some pleasant history of warlike achievements, and 
 talks with his tutor on the nature of the vegetables, 
 fruit, fish, and meat which are served at table. 
 Dinner ended, he washes his eyes and hands in 
 fresh water, and gives thanks to God in praise of 
 His bounty and goodness. The hour for digestion 
 is devoted to music, or to cards, which were made 
 the instruments of arithmetical instruction. An- 
 other three hours are then devoted to study. 
 Next follow various bodily exercises. He rides, 
 practises with the lance, hunts, leaps, swims, and 
 enjoys various forms of sport. Once more he 
 takes a bath, rubs himself carefully down, changes 
 his clothes, and returns at a foot's pace through 
 the woods and fields to his house. On the way he 
 and his tutor botanise and collect specimens of 
 different plants. Or he visits the workshops of the 
 different trades, asks the artisans to explain their 
 industries, and never fails to reward them hand- 
 somely. Supper follows. It is the fullest meal 
 of the day, and is accompanied by learned con- 
 versations and closed by grace. After supper he 
 plays at dice or cards, or on musical instruments,
 
 A RENEGADE'S BITTERNESS 205 
 
 or visits men of learning, and, above all, distinguished 
 travellers. The day ends with a study of the 
 heavens and a recapitulation of all that has been 
 read, seen, learned, or heard during the day. 
 Finally, when the hour came for repose, the pupil 
 and his master " prayed to God the Creator of 
 all things, falling down before Him, strengthening 
 their faith in Him, glorifying Him for His bound- 
 less munificence, giving thanks to Him for the 
 past, and commending themselves to His clemency 
 for the future." And so to bed. Once in each 
 month they made an excursion to some neigh- 
 bouring village, and spent their time " in the 
 greatest cheer imaginable, sporting, making merry, 
 drinking healths, playing, singing, dancing, 
 tumbling in some fair meadow, unnestling of 
 sparrows, taking of quails, and fishing for frogs 
 and crayfish." 
 
 In the contrast which Rabelais draws between 
 these two systems of education he satirises the 
 daily life of the Franciscans. He shows how its 
 fruit is gluttony, dirt, and ignorance. As has been 
 said, he never spares the monks, but attacks them 
 with some of the concentrated bitterness of a 
 renegade. In comparing Friar John's conduct 
 with that of his brethren at the assault upon the 
 vineyard of Seuilly, he illustrates the apathy of 
 the monastic bodies, their want of practical energy, 
 their incapacity to cope with events when action 
 is required. When Picrochole's army pours into 
 the vineyard, the monks knew not which saint
 
 206 RABELAIS 
 
 they should invoke. The bell was rung to summon 
 the chapter, and it was decided to hold pro- 
 cessional services, chanting the contra hostium 
 insidias and repeating the responses pro 
 pace. 
 
 " Now there was in the monastery a cloister 
 monk named Friar John of the Chopping Knives, 1 
 young, gallant, nimble, lusty, handy with his 
 weapons, bold, resolute, adventurous, tall, spare, 
 wide-mouthed, long-nosed, quick to rattle off 
 Hours, gabble masses, despatch vigils ; in a word, 
 a true monk, if ever there was one since the 
 monking world monked a monkery ; and for the 
 rest, a learned clerk within the covers of his 
 breviary. This monk, so soon as he heard the 
 noise that the enemy made in the vineyard, came 
 out to know what it meant. And when he saw 
 that they were gathering the grapes which were 
 to serve for next year's wine, back he comes into 
 the choir of the church, where were gathered all 
 the rest of the monks, stark silly with bewilder- 
 ment, like so many bell-founders, chanting in plain 
 song impetum inimicorum. Whereat he cried 
 out, * Well sung ! well sung ! In God's name, 
 why don't ye sing " Baskets, good-bye ; the vintage 
 is o'er " ? Devil take me if there be not rascals 
 in our vineyard cutting the grapes and vines in 
 such fashion that there will not be a single berry 
 for years to come. By the belly of St. James, 
 what shall we poor wretches have to drink in the 
 meantime ? ' Then said the Lord Prior, ' What 
 does this drunken beast here ? Away with him 
 
 1 Frere Jean des Entommeures, in modern French des entamures. 
 Urquhart calls him Friar John of the Funnels, as though the 
 word was entonnoirs. The passage which follows is a condensed 
 and free version of the original.
 
 FRIAR JOHN'S ONSET 207 
 
 to prison for troubling our divine service.' ' Nay,' 
 said Friar John, ' let us think of our vine service, 
 that that be not troubled ; for you, my Lord Prior, 
 love good wine, as does every honest man. Never 
 yet did man of worth dislike good wine ; that is 
 a monastic apophthegm. But these responses that 
 you sing here, by God, men, they are not in 
 season. Wherefore is it that our Hours are short 
 at vintage, and in winter long ? Brother Mace 
 Pelosse, of blessed memory, true and zealous 
 servant of religion devil take me if I lie told 
 me, and I well remember it, that the reason was 
 that we might in this season well press the juice 
 and make the wine, and in the winter swallow 
 it up. Hark ye, my masters : all ye that love 
 good wine, follow me ! St. Anthony burn me 
 if the coward shall wet his lips with a drop who 
 will not fight to save the vines ! ' So saying he 
 threw off his habit, seized the staff of the cross, 
 which was made of the heart of a sorb-apple tree, 
 long as a lance and thick as a man could grasp, 
 and fell upon the enemy, who, without order, 
 ensigns, drums, or trumpets, were gathering the 
 grapes. The standard-bearers had laid their en- 
 signs against the walls ; the drummers had knocked 
 out the heads of their drums to fill them with 
 grapes ; the trumpets were choked with clusters : 
 all were in disarray. So sudden and furious was 
 his onset that he turned them over like swine ; 
 they went down before him like grass before a 
 mower ; never was corn so threshed by a plough- 
 man's flail as were they hammered by his merciless 
 staff. There was no escape. One cried to St. 
 James, another to St. George ; some died without 
 speaking, others spoke without dying ; some died 
 speaking, others spoke dying. Thus by the single- 
 handed prowess and valour of Friar John was 
 destroyed all that army which had entered the
 
 208 RABELAIS 
 
 vineyard to the number of thirteen thousand six 
 hundred and twenty-two, besides the women and 
 little children, which are always understood." 
 
 Had the monks been deficient in practical energy 
 because of their excess of piety or of study, they 
 might have been pardoned ; but Rabelais will not 
 allow them this excuse. Their bad Latinity is a 
 frequent mark for his satire. " En notre abbaye," 
 says Friar John, " nous n'etudions jamais, de peur 
 des auripe'aulx " (ear-ache). " Notre feu abbe disait 
 que c'est chose monstrueuse de voir un frere savant. 
 Magis magnos clericos non sunt magis magnos 
 sapientes. Pour ma part, corps Dieu, je n'etudie 
 jamais." They do nothing to earn their wealth. 
 Why, asks Rabelais, is a monk shunned by all 
 the world ? He answers the question in the words 
 of Gargantua : 
 
 " For the same reason that a monkey in a family 
 is always teased and provoked. The monkey does 
 not guard the house like the dog,, or draw the 
 plough like the ox ; he yields neither milk nor 
 wool as the sheep ; he carries no burden like the 
 horse. It is the same with the monk. He does 
 not till the soil like the husbandman, defend the 
 country like the soldier, cure the sick like the 
 physician, preach like an evangelical doctor, teach 
 like the schoolmaster, provide necessaries for the 
 commonwealth like the merchant. ' But at least,' 
 says the kindly Grandgousier, ' they pray to God 
 for us.' * Not a bit of it,' returns Gargantua ; 
 ' all that they do is to torment the neighbourhood 
 with the ting-tang jangle of their eternal bells.' 
 * Right,' cried Friar John, ' a mass, a matin, a
 
 THE SACRED BIRDS 209 
 
 vesper well rung are half said.' * They mumble 
 out legends,' continues Gargantua, ' and psalms of 
 which they understand nothing ; they string together 
 Paternosters and Ave Marias without apprehending 
 the meaning of what they say. I call it mocking 
 God and not praying to Him. If they pray for us, 
 Heaven help us ! it is because they fear to lose 
 their victuals and fat messes of pottage." 
 
 Nor is his attack confined to the gluttony, 
 ignorance, apathy, dirt, and idleness of the monks. 
 He arraigns the whole ecclesiastical fabric from 
 the Pope downwards. In the nether world the 
 magnificence of the Papacy is gauged at its true 
 worth. Julius II cries hot pudding pies ; Boni- 
 face VIII is a scummer of pots, Nicholas III a 
 paper-maker ; Alexander VI, with a sly allusion 
 to the skill of the Borgias in poisons, is a rat- 
 killer. In the fifth book he laughs at the adora- 
 tion of the Popes, their assumption of the title of 
 God upon earth, the wars which they wage in the 
 name of religion, the decretals upon which their 
 power is based. On the Ringing Island Panta- 
 gruel and his companions obtain access with great 
 difficulty to the cage of the Pope-hawk. Panurge 
 looks at him curiously for a while, and then 
 exclaims, " Maudite soit la bete ! elle a 1'air d'une 
 huppe." On the same island they see an old 
 green-headed bis-hawk snoring in his cage. 
 Panurge takes up a stone to wake him, but 
 ^Edituus stays his hand with 
 
 " Hold, hold, honest friend ! Strike, wound, 
 poison, kill, and murder all the kings and princes 
 
 14
 
 210 RABELAIS 
 
 in the world, by treachery or how thou wilt, and 
 as soon as thou likest imnestle the angels from 
 their cock-loft. Pope-hawk will pardon all 
 this. But never be so mad as to meddle with 
 these sacred birds, as thou lovest the profit, 
 welfare, and life not only of thyself but of thy 
 friends and relations, alive or dead, or to be 
 born for a thousand generations to come. 
 For so long wouldest thou entail misery upon 
 them." 
 
 Nor is it only the abuses of the monastic system 
 or the flaws in the ecclesiastical fabric that Rabelais 
 attacks. He does not spare the religious practices. 
 For instance, he strongly condemns pilgrimages. 
 In the war between Picrochole and Grandgousier 
 six poor pilgrims are caught between the hostile 
 armies, and are brought before Grandgousier. 
 They have visited the shrine of St. Sebastian, near 
 Nantes, to pray him to save them from the plague. 
 
 " ' Ah, poor men ! ' said Grandgousier, ' do you 
 indeed think that St. Sebastian verily sends the 
 plague ? ' * Yes, surely,' answered one, ' for so 
 our preachers tell us.' ' And can it be so ? ' cried 
 Grandgousier. ' Do the false prophets teach you 
 such abuses ? Do they so blaspheme the saints 
 and holy men of God as to liken them unto the 
 devils, who work nothing but evil unto mankind ? 
 Truly I greatly marvel that your king should 
 suffer such scandalous doctrines to be preached. 
 But go your ways, poor men, in the name of God 
 the Creator, to whom I pray for you, that He 
 will guide you perpetually, that ye be not hence- 
 forward so ready to undertake these idle and 
 profitless journeys. Look to your families ; labour
 
 ABBEY OF THELEME 211 
 
 every man diligently in his vocation ; instruct your 
 children ; live as the good apostle St. Paul directs 
 you. In so doing God, His angels, and His saints 
 will guard and shield you, so that no plague or 
 evil can at any time come nigh you.' ' 
 
 Rabelais has endeavoured to show what wretched 
 dens of ignorance and inactivity monasteries 
 sometimes were. He proceeds to frame his own 
 ideal institution, in which men and women may 
 pursue religion, virtue, truth, and science. The 
 Abbey of Theleme deserves special notice, because 
 the gross parodies of Crazy Hall and Medmenham 
 Abbey have defamed the memory of the in- 
 stitution and its founder. 
 
 Friar John's services in the war against 
 Picrochole required to be rewarded. He is offered 
 the Abbey of Seuilly ; he might have been Abbot 
 of Bourgueil or St. Florent, or both. But he 
 refuses all. " How," he asks, " shall I govern 
 others, that cannot govern myself ? " So he is 
 allowed to create his own " As you like it," to 
 institute an order " a son devis," to found his own 
 Abbey of Theleme. By the side of the Loire he 
 rears a stately abbey, a thousand times more 
 splendid than Bonnivet or Chambord. Yet no 
 walls enclose it in ; no chapel localises its worship. 
 Bells were the monastic conscience ; they regulated 
 the life of the monk, and proclaimed his death. 
 But here no clocks or dials or bells tell the passage 
 of time. The day, like the thoughts or the money 
 of the inmates, was their own. Like Fontevrault,
 
 212 RABELAIS 
 
 Theleme was a dupkx monasterium. Half the 
 building was allotted to the men, half to the 
 women. Only fair high-born ladies of sweet 
 disposition, only gay, comely youths of gentle 
 condition were permitted to dwell therein. Idlers, 
 flatterers, bigots, hypocrites, law practitioners, 
 usurers, fomenters of dissension were shut out. The 
 age at which the inmates entered is fixed, but no 
 period is laid down for leaving. Youths entered 
 the abbey between twelve and eighteen, maidens 
 from ten to fifteen. They might spend their lives 
 within Theleme ; but if they wished to leave they 
 were permitted to depart, taking with them their 
 money and the lady of their choice. They took 
 no perpetual vows of chastity, obedience, or 
 poverty, but were free, wealthy, and at liberty to 
 marry. 
 
 To each of the inmates is assigned a private 
 oratory. There is no church for an official worship ; 
 there are no churches for different creeds. Religion 
 is what each person chooses to make it ; times of 
 prayer are not prescribed. Harmoniously dressed 
 in rich, bright- coloured liveries of damasks, satins, 
 or velvets, which are changed from day to day 
 at the will of the ladies, men and women study 
 in the great libraries Hebrew and Greek, Latin, 
 Spanish, and Italian ; in their hours of recreation 
 they paint, sing, play, compose verses, and act 
 comedies, or sit in the fair pleasure-gardens with 
 their mazes and flowering fruit-trees which fringe 
 the river Loire, or join, each gallant under the
 
 FINAL TRIUMPH OF TRUTH 213 
 
 eyes of the lady whose knight he is, in the games 
 and sports of the tennis-court, the lists, the race- 
 course, and the chase. Their lives are controlled 
 by no laws, statutes or regulations ; they eat and 
 drink, sleep and work, according to their own good 
 pleasure. Yet no hour of the day is wasted ; all 
 are occupied in training the body and the mind, 
 in developing all the faculties, physical as well 
 as mental. The rule of the order is summed 
 up in " Fay ce que vouldras." There is no need 
 of any other, for honour prompts to virtue and 
 forbids vice. Man is at heart naturally inclined 
 not to evil, but to good ; it is only restraint which 
 creates his desire for what is forbidden. The 
 description closes with a prophecy discovered when 
 the foundations of the abbey were dug. It is a 
 cry of hope, a sursum corda, 
 
 " Pauvres humains qui bon heur attendez, 
 Levez vos cueurs et mes dits entendez." 
 
 And then, in obscure and cautiously veiled 
 language, Rabelais foretells the final triumph of 
 divine truth, science, and philosophy, which shall 
 emerge from the bloody conflict of Catholics and 
 Protestants. 
 
 The audacity of Rabelais' satire upon the 
 Church is the more remarkable because he was 
 at no pains to secure an ally by playing upon 
 the superstitions or flattering the follies of kings. 
 At a time when rulers obeyed the predictions of 
 a Ruggieri or a Nostradamus, he ridiculed the
 
 214 RABELAIS 
 
 false science of astrology, and claimed that the 
 stars were no respecters of persons. At a time 
 when a Francis I sate on the throne, he did not 
 hesitate to administer bold and honest rebukes 
 to the warlike follies of kings. " Ces diables de 
 rois ne sont que veaux et ne savent ni ne valent 
 rien sinon a faire des maux es pauvres sujets 
 et a troubler tout le monde par guerre pour leur 
 inique et detestable plaisir." He denounces the 
 inhumanity of mediaeval war. " Vae victis " is 
 not upon his lips ; his ideal ruler does not seize 
 the kingdom of his rival, or detain his son as a 
 hostage, or harry his dominions. He dislikes every 
 kind of warlike conquest. Yet if a country is to 
 be annexed, it must be humoured like a child, 
 tended as a sick person, fostered like newly-planted 
 trees. Such conduct is the duty of kings, and 
 the only course which is truly royal is to do good 
 and to eschew evil. These sentiments were not 
 then the commonplaces they now are. During 
 the sixteenth century, in the heat of the rivalry 
 between Francis I and Charles V, their utterance 
 was bold. Rabelais' picture of Picrochole's 
 council of war and that ruler's hot-headed dreams 
 of universal conquest has coupled his imaginary 
 monarch with Pyrrhus and La Laitiere in La 
 Fontaine's immortal verse. In a future life war- 
 like heroes will receive their deserts. In Hades 
 Hector serves as a scullion ; Xerxes sells mustard ; 
 Alexander the Great is a patcher of old breeches 
 and boots ; Hannibal mends kettles ; Camillus
 
 215 
 
 makes wooden shoes. Meanwhile an Epictetus 
 sits attired in the French fashion, under a pleasant 
 arbour, with a bright company of merry maidens. 
 Rabelais' horror of war nerves him to contrast 
 weak-minded sovereigns, puffed up by the flattery 
 of greedy courtiers and infatuated by lust of 
 conquest, with peaceful God-fearing monarchs who 
 have before them the good of their subjects, whose 
 creatures they acknowledge themselves to be. 
 He does not bow with the courtly adulation of 
 an official preacher, with the phrase upon his lips, 
 " Sire, we are almost all mortal ! " But at a time 
 when France was bleeding to death from the 
 devastating campaigns of Francis I, he honestly 
 exposes the follies of dreams of conquest, paints 
 the horrors which wars entail upon the poor, 
 and opposes to the vainglorious fury of a Picrochole 
 the Homeric grandeur of a Grandgousier, who 
 knows that the best crown of a king is the love of 
 his subjects. 
 
 As a satirist Rabelais is, in fact, the lineal 
 descendant of the Gaul who plucked the beard of 
 the Roman senator as he sat on his curule chair. 
 He is totally without veneration. Yet whatever 
 is really great and good he passes by as unfit for 
 his purpose, and he is very far from being a destruc- 
 tive sceptic like Lucian. All that is bombastic, false 
 cowardly, or mischievous he detects, under what- 
 ever disguises it may be concealed, strips off its 
 tinsel decoration, and holds it up for ridicule in his 
 picturesque and vigorous prose. As a humorist
 
 216 RABELAIS 
 
 his method is unlike that of his countrymen. He 
 does not deal in hints or allusions ; his banter is 
 rather rustic than courtly ; it is plain-spoken and 
 detailed, not light or delicate. One feature of his 
 humour is now more common than when the 
 exactitude of his calculations and the particularity 
 of his descriptions first produced their effect ; his 
 meanest messengers have names, parents, and 
 habitations. Nor does Rabelais more closely re- 
 semble the humorists of other countries. He 
 does not champion the past like Aristophanes, and 
 he has not a trace of the Greek dramatist's clear- 
 cut grace and precision ; he is without Cervantes ' 
 melancholy or Swift's contempt for fellow-men ; 
 he is not a psychologist like Sterne. His humour 
 is not more closely akin to the dry exaggeration of 
 the American or the " pawky " shrewdness of the 
 Scotchman, than it is to the sly innuendo of his own 
 fellow-countryman. But its charm lies in its com- 
 plete abandonment, the headlong outpouring of 
 everything that enters his mind, the vigour of his 
 assimilating power, the resistless play of his ex- 
 uberant fancy. Although his touch is heavy and 
 his fun is worked out with a detail which is often 
 excessive in its elaboration, yet his faculties seem 
 to run their own course, and his discursiveness owes 
 its humorous efficacy to the complexity of the 
 associations and suggestions which his gift of com- 
 bination enables him to string upon a single thread. 
 The process of connection is never, in appearance 
 at least, laborious ; his mind seems to work in-
 
 STUDENT AND CRITIC 217 
 
 stinctively, impelled by an unfailing buoyant 
 gaiety. His humour is the Pythic fervour of the 
 poet working in the field of extravagant drollery. 
 He pours out his absurdities with a lordly dis- 
 regard of decorum and with the mock solemnity 
 of intoxication ; and he holds himself at perfect 
 liberty to skip, dilate, digress, halt, or hurry when 
 and where his caprice pleases. Side by side with 
 his unbridled zanyism are piled up, like Pelion 
 upon Ossa, in most ridiculous contrast, prodigious 
 masses of learning. Rabelais has hardly a literary 
 predecessor whom he does not parody or imitate. 
 Greek and Roman poets and historians, monastic 
 chroniclers, theologians, civilians, all are rifled, and 
 their possessions thrown into the seething cauldron 
 of his wit. Thence they emerge not in |an un- 
 digested mass, but classified, arranged, and mar- 
 shalled for each particular purpose. Nor does 
 Rabelais accept with the omnivorous appetite of a 
 mere devourer of books all the crude theories 
 promulgated by the ancients, but he applies the 
 processes of the critic to the narratives. The 
 abundance of illustration would be pedantic if it 
 were not for the ease with which the learning is 
 borne and for the ludicrous incongruity of the 
 associations. Scraps of varied knowledge, particles 
 of monastic lore, fragments of science, shreds of 
 legal learning, morsels of history, sacred or profane, 
 are poured forth and swept along on the broad 
 brimming tide of his humour, jumbled up with 
 quaint conceits, rude horseplay, popular proverbs,
 
 218 RABELAIS 
 
 contemporary allusions, and local idioms. The 
 result is a kaleidoscopic compound of the most 
 recondite knowledge with the broadest buffoonery, 
 grand ideas with puerile plays upon words, vinous 
 drivel with profound allegory, stupendous gross- 
 ness with high purpose both religious and moral. 
 
 Rabelais' power of exciting a laugh is strong 
 and masculine. He does not extort a smile by 
 sly malice or neatly turned innuendo, but raises a 
 hearty laugh by a broad humour which is often 
 regarded as his distinctive gift. His narrative 
 power and dramatic genius are equally striking. 
 Space does not allow 7 any illustrations of the 
 former. Of the latter it may be truly said 
 that nothing can exceed the vivid force and 
 distinctness with w r hich Rabelais makes his readers 
 picture the characters of his fiction. Many of 
 the minor portraits are hit off with bold, telling 
 strokes ; in perfect keeping are the conduct and 
 language of the scholastic orator, the decretalist, 
 or the Pyrrhonist philosopher. Sometimes indeed, 
 as in the case of Grandgousier or Gargantua, the 
 human traits are lost in the gigantic proportions 
 which lift the actors out of the world of mortals 
 into the fantastic regions of mediaeval romance. 
 But Rabelais' dramatic and creative faculties find 
 their fullest scope in the characters of Pantagruel, 
 Panurge, and Friar John ; it is in their figures 
 that he most conspicuously displays his keenness 
 of observation and profound knowledge of human 
 nature.
 
 THREE CHIEF CHARACTERS 219 
 
 Pantagruel is " 1'idee et 1'exemplaire de toute 
 joyeuse perfection." To the calm, wise figure of 
 his ideal king Rabelais opposes the pedantry of 
 scholars, the ignorance of monks, the charlatanism 
 of sophists, alchemists and astrologers, the chicanery 
 of lawyers, the hairsplittings of theologians, the 
 profitless dialectics of logicians, the worldly ambition 
 of ecclesiastics. In greater detail he contrasts the 
 poetry of his character with the prose of his 
 companions, with the gross animalism of Friar 
 John or the soulless learning of a shifty adventurer 
 like Panurge. Possessed of a rare combination of 
 learning, common-sense, and energy, a worthy 
 pupil of Eusthenes and Epistemon, wise, good, 
 modest, dreamy, and speculating on the mysteries 
 of life with something of a Hamlet's melancholy, 
 Pantagruel stands aloof from his two companions 
 like a spectator. Considerate to their weaknesses, 
 he seems to descend among their adventures like a 
 superior being from another sphere. 
 
 Between Friar John and Panurge the contrast 
 is sharp and many-sided. Friar John personifies 
 the animal good, Panurge the natural evil, that 
 are inherent in humanity. The former is the 
 embodiment of rude health and physical enjoy- 
 ment. He is a lusty, fearless, jovial comrade, 
 transparently honest, and with all his coarseness 
 often surprising us with an unexpected delicacy 
 of feeling, always ready with his knife for a joint 
 or his hanger for a foe ; a fighting, swearing Friar 
 Tuck, the deepest drinker in any company, a
 
 220 RABELAIS 
 
 second Samson in demolishing his enemies single- 
 handed. Ramping through the world like a bull, 
 he is devoid of religious sentiment, and though he 
 lards his speech with imperfect sentences from his 
 breviary he is the most ignorant of monks. He 
 is a man of vigorous, energetic temperament, by 
 nature destined for a soldier, by profession forced 
 to lead an uncongenial life of contemplation. 
 
 Panurge is a more complicated character. He 
 is more philosophical than Falstaff, though his 
 connection with Pantagruel suggests a comparison 
 with the witty companion of Prince Hal. Nor, 
 again, does he resemble the shrewd peasant Sancho 
 Panza, though at first sight the similarity of the 
 relationship between the ideal Don Quixote and 
 his realistic servant is close. Panurge combines 
 the mischievous ingenuity of a Paris gamin with 
 the wrinkled experience of a man of fifty ; but he 
 is rather a Puck than a Mephistopheles, and it may 
 be doubted whether the latter personage could be 
 conceived by a Frenchman. His reckless gaiety 
 and his keen wit cover a multitude of sins. 
 Furtive, witty, unprincipled, a spendthrift, a rake, 
 and a coward, he has abandoned passion for 
 cynicism, and exchanged love for libertinism. 
 Ready and resourceful, without conscience, shame, 
 or virtue, he is a railer at God and the Church, 
 yet intensely superstitious in moments of peril, a 
 strenuous upholder of orthodoxy, a bitter foe to 
 the heresy of Raminagrobis. A Villon in his 
 Bohemian licence, an Amyot in his wealth of
 
 THE ORACLE OF THE BOTTLE 221 
 
 learning, a Figaro in his gaiety, a Gil Bias in his 
 knowledge of the world, a Due de Richelieu in 
 his dissolute effrontery, despising ideals or elevated 
 sentiment, he is a type of those witty, adroit, un- 
 principled, self-seeking, pleasure-loving reprobates 
 of whom French history and French fiction afford 
 numerous examples. 
 
 Round these central figures, together with those 
 of Grandgousier and Gargantua, Rabelais has 
 painted his strange panorama of sixteenth-century 
 life. The elaboration of the three principal 
 characters would alone show that there was far 
 more than mere burlesque in "Pantagruel." What, 
 then, is the relation which the Homere bouffon 
 bears to the intellectual movements of the sixteenth 
 century, a period which in the antagonism of faith 
 and culture so closely resembles the present age ? 
 The magic w r ord which sums up the Rabelaisian 
 philosophy is " Drink." How are we to interpret 
 the sibylline oracle of the Holy Bottle ? 
 
 Rabelais' character and opinions as they are 
 revealed in his writings forbid us to suppose that 
 he means only to teach the old lesson, " Let us 
 eat and drink, for to-morrow we die," though it 
 is characteristic of his manner that that interpreta- 
 tion is left open to the reader. He is not a 
 scoffing, creedless preacher of sensualism. Possibly 
 he may have drifted far from the moorings of the 
 ancient creed ; but even of this there is no evidence. 
 He nowhere speaks with irreverence of Christianity, 
 and there is nothing to show that he had left its
 
 222 RABELAIS 
 
 pale or rejected any of its principles. He assails 
 the discipline rather than the doctrines of the 
 Roman Church ; he attacks the ignorance and 
 idleness of the monastic orders, the false miracles 
 and relics, the purchase of absolution, the sale 
 of indulgences, the power and ambition of the 
 Papacy ; but he is no advocate for doctrinal 
 revolution. When Pantagruel weeps for the death 
 of the great God Pan, whom he understands to 
 be the "great Saviour of the faithful, who was 
 put to death at Jerusalem," we seem to see the 
 spirit of the Renaissance shedding a regretful tear 
 over the beauty of universal faith. Rabelais is 
 a believer in the immortality of the soul, though 
 the form in which he casts his creed is rather that 
 of Goethe than of the Church. " ' Je crois,' dit 
 Pantagruel, ' que toutes ames intellectives sont 
 exemptes des ciseaux d'Atropos." Numerous 
 passages illustrate his faith in the existence of a 
 God, and his definition was borrowed by Pascal. 
 " May that intellectual sphere," says the priestess 
 of the Bottle, " whose centre is everywhere and 
 whose circumference is nowhere, which we call 
 God, keep you in His almighty protection ! " It 
 is in this connection remarkable that Rabelais does 
 not, like the majority of the humanists, throw in 
 his lot unreservedly with the Platonists, but 
 continues a disciple of the Aristotelian philo- 
 sophy. On this side he inclined rather to mediaeval 
 scholasticism than to the thought of the Renais- 
 sance.
 
 223 
 
 Culture was Rabelais' passion, ignorance his 
 detestation. But he does not sever the develop- 
 ment of the intellect from interest in practical 
 life or from the growth of religion. Drink deep 
 at the fount of learning ; drain to the dregs, if 
 you can, the Holy Bottle of science ; strive, body 
 and spirit together, to hold intercourse with all 
 that is divine. Scholastic disputations, dogmatic 
 definitions, legal pedantries, false sciences are only 
 masks assumed by ignorance and fetters imposed 
 upon the human mind by fashion. Life, in its 
 fullest and widest sense, consists neither in monastic 
 seclusion from the world, nor in the extravagant 
 mortifications of Catholics, nor in the intolerant 
 austerities of Protestants ; it is not the easy-going 
 apathy of a Grandgousier nor the simple, instinctive 
 greatness of a noble but imperfectly educated 
 savage like Gargantua ; it is not the natural 
 animalism of a healthy Philistine like Friar John ; 
 still less is it the cynical, unsympathetic, unspiritual 
 culture of a Panurge. Churchmen had starved 
 the intellect or mortified the body, that so they 
 might increase the ecstasy of the spirit ; they had 
 anticipated the grave by a voluntary death in life 
 and a complete renunciation of the world. The 
 men of the Renaissance fed the animal soul with 
 the newly discovered wonders of the mind, or 
 with the beauties of artistic culture ; but they 
 destroyed the spiritual soul, because they left the 
 body plunged in refined debauchery. Both had 
 greatly erred. Neither the extinction nor the
 
 224 RABELAIS 
 
 idealisation of the body satisfies the highest con- 
 ceptions of humanity. 
 
 Drink deeply, says the oracle of the Holy 
 Bottle, at the spring of science and of learning, 
 for all the abuses of society are the monstrous 
 brood of ignorance ; seize not on one or the other 
 side of man's dual being, but cultivate the whole 
 of humanity, and not this or that part. Let spirit 
 and body pursue the same end in unison ; exercise 
 all the faculties at once, spiritual as well as animal, 
 immaterial as well as sensual ; labour to attain 
 the true wisdom, but disdain not to pluck the 
 flowers of enjoyment that bloom by the way. 
 Accept life cheerfully, not sadly. Draw from the 
 senses whatever of pleasure they have to offer ; 
 kindle the mind with all that the heart possesses 
 of passion and of enthusiasm ; but permit not the 
 spirit to be overwhelmed by that which is its 
 vehicle ; suffer not the soul to be degraded by the 
 mere gratification of sensual appetites, or chilled 
 by the exclusive culture of the intellect, or stunted 
 by withdrawal from the practical affairs of men. 
 Refuse not the wisdom of antiquity, but pay it 
 no extravagant reverence, lest the learning of the 
 ancients become a burden rather than an aid. 
 Use it as the foundation on which to build, each 
 one for himself raising his own edifice, indepen- 
 dently and unhampered by his predecessors. 
 Culture alone will quicken the mental vision, so 
 that men may see by what mists of ignorance they 
 are blinded. Till culture is spread abroad univer-
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF RABELAIS 225 
 
 sally, the leisured, refined ataraocia of the Abbey 
 of Theleme must necessarily remain a vain, im- 
 possible dream. And, meanwhile, what is the 
 true Pantagruelian philosophy ? Acquiesce in the 
 present, says Rabelais, so far as it is unalterable ; 
 pay no heed to the contest between the bigots 
 of Rome and Geneva, for their strife is as meaning- 
 less as the bells of the Ringing Island, as void 
 of living warmth as the frozen words that fell on 
 the deck of Pantagruel's ship. Drink ever at 
 the fount of science ; strive to the utmost to help 
 forward the cause of progress by spreading abroad 
 learning and culture ; and preserve " une certaine 
 gaiete d'esprit confite en mespris des choses 
 fortuites," for the true Pantagruelian philosopher 
 ever maintains " a spirit of jollity pickled in scorn 
 of fortune." 
 
 Rabelais will always retain the fresh interest 
 which he derives from his intellectual connection, 
 through the Renaissance and the Reformation, 
 with the French Revolution. Of that momentous 
 movement he is the earliest harbinger. His 
 doctrine of human liberty was not far removed 
 from the theory of return to Nature, seeing that 
 both were based on enthusiasm for the natural 
 goodness of humanity. But Rabelais not only 
 supplied his countrymen with great dynamic ideas ; 
 he also gave them the forms in which they might 
 be expressed. His services to the French ver- 
 nacular tongue are so incalculably great that they 
 cannot here be wholly ignored. When he began 
 
 15
 
 226 RABELAIS 
 
 to write, the grammar of his native tongue was 
 in complete confusion ; verbs were conjugated 
 differently according to the custom of each 
 province ; words were disguised beyond detection 
 by the fashion of the day, the caprice of individual 
 writers, or the lawlessness of dialects ; spelling and 
 pronunciation were entirely divorced. Before the 
 powers and proper use of the letters or the original 
 roots of the language could be ascertained, it was 
 necessary to study the patois. It was in this 
 respect especially that Rabelais was the predecessor 
 of the great French grammarians, a pioneer of 
 discovery in fields where Ramus and the Estiennes 
 subsequently laboured. But it was not in grammar 
 that Rabelais did his most useful work. When 
 he began to write, French prose was in construc- 
 tion ungrammatical, in style involved, slow-moving 
 and heavy, in command of words meagre and 
 poverty-stricken. Bringing to bear upon his style 
 a mind trained in the niceties of the classics, he 
 gave his prose epigrammatic neatness and supple 
 flexibility, secured simple and logical forms for 
 his constructions, studied the balance of his phrases, 
 added point and energy to his sentences. 
 
 Above all, Rabelais enriched the language and 
 increased its amplitude of resource. Collectively, 
 French dialects were wealthy, individually they were 
 poor. There was no vernacular official language, 
 for Latin was the language of the Church and the 
 law-courts. Each group within the langue d'o'il 
 and the langue (foe was infinitely divided, so that
 
 SERVICES TO THE LANGUAGE 227 
 
 speech varied as you passed from province to 
 province, village to village, and even from one 
 part of a city to another. Travelling, as Rabelais 
 did, from one end of France to the other, every- 
 where registering the sayings of the fields, the 
 streets, the markets and the taverns, he was 
 peculiarly qualified to effect the requisite work of 
 accumulation. Not only did he seek new creations 
 in coinages from Greek, Latin and Italian, but 
 he gathered together ah 1 the original resources of 
 the different dialects. He saw that the best mode 
 of reviving the strength of the language was to 
 bring back into use the picturesque phrases and 
 lively idioms of the provinces, to restore the almost 
 obsolete words on which the popular imagination 
 had stamped its energetic impress. Here is an 
 oath from Lorraine, here an affirmation from 
 Champagne, here a salute from the shores of 
 the Mediterranean, here an interrogative from 
 Provence, here a descriptive epithet from Normandy. 
 But naturally he is peculiarly rich in the patois of 
 the centre, and especially of Touraine, Anjou, 
 and Poitou. If space permitted, a curious collec- 
 tion of words might be compiled from "Panta- 
 gruel " which may still be heard in the " Garden 
 of France." Nothing escaped his far-reaching net. 
 Every word that was coined in the esprit gaulois 
 to discriminate nice shades of character, to satirise, 
 ridicule, or banter, Rabelais has saved from loss 
 and preserved for future use. It is not the least 
 of his claims to the gratitude of his countrymen
 
 228 RABELAIS 
 
 and it is one which will be most universally con- 
 ceded that he so enriched and amplified the 
 literary resources of his native tongue that the 
 civilised world is content to be the debtor of 
 France.
 
 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 1VTO public building in France appeals to the 
 l*^( historical imagination more eloquently 
 than the Palace of Fontainebleau. None awakens 
 so rich and varied a group of striking associations ; 
 none is so thickly haunted with memories of the 
 past ; none is tenanted by the ghosts of so brilliant 
 a crowd of famous men and women. It is a docu- 
 ment to which twenty kings have set their sign- 
 manuals, a chronicle in stone of the history of 
 France, a dumb yet eloquent preacher of the 
 mutability of human greatness. 
 
 Successive sovereigns from 1137 to 1870 from 
 Louis le Gros to Napoleon III have enriched it 
 with memorials of their rule. Within its precincts, 
 by ancient custom, the royal wives of monarchs 
 have brought into the world the heirs to the 
 throne. Upon its buildings the uncrowned queens 
 of France from Diane de Poitiers to Madame de 
 Pompadour have lavished their luxury, their 
 caprice, and their extravagance. The ermine of 
 Anne of Bretagne, the porcupine of Louis XII, 
 the pierced swan of Claude of Lorraine, which are 
 so conspicuous on the walls and ceilings of Blois, 
 are absent from Fontainebleau. But, beginning 
 
 229
 
 230 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 with the salamander of Francis I, there is scarcely 
 a king, a queen, or a mistress whose memory is 
 not preserved in the buildings of the palace. Here 
 is the monogram of Henry II, so constructed that 
 it may be read as that of himself and Catherine de 
 Medicis or Diane de Poitiers ; here are Diane's 
 crescent moons, her stags, her leverets, her bows 
 and arrows ; here is the S and arrow, which com- 
 memorates la belle Gabrielle with a pun upon 
 her surname of Estrees, and by its side is the 
 monogram of her royal lover, Henry IV, and his 
 wife, Marie de Medicis. Here, again and again 
 repeated, are the lilies of France, the balls of the 
 Medicis, the famous " girony of eight " of Navarre. 
 Here, also, are the monograms of Louis XIII 
 and Anne of Austria, of Louis XIV and Maria 
 Theresa, of Louis XV, and of Marie Antoinette. 
 Here, finally, is the imperial bee of Napoleon I. 
 
 In the course of centuries the rude hunting- lodge 
 of early kings, the donjon-keep which stood in 
 the centre of the chers deserts of St. Louis, was 
 transformed into an enchanted palace, surpassing 
 in its beauty the fabled abode of Morgana, which 
 became in turn the Chez Soy of Francis I, the 
 belle et delideuse residence of Anne of Austria, 
 the demeure des siecles of Napoleon I. During 
 the passage of years it has been the favourite home 
 of kings and queens, the birthplace of princes, the 
 refuge of exiled sovereigns, the prison of a Pope 
 and a king of Spain, the bower of royal lovers, the 
 scene of the triumphs and defeats which constitute
 
 the glory and the pathos of French history, the 
 stage on which the actors in its brilliant comedies 
 or ghastly tragedies have played their striking 
 parts. 
 
 Nor is Fontainebleau content to record only the 
 rise and fall of dynasties. Its interest is not ex- 
 clusively historical. It is artistic also. Seven 
 centuries of changing taste have left their mark 
 upon its walls. It is a mosaic of stone and 
 colours, into which are dovetailed the various 
 stages in the history and progress of French art. 
 Upon its walls some of the greatest of French 
 architects, sculptors, and painters have inscribed 
 their genius. From Fontainebleau emanated the 
 first great artistic movement in France. It would 
 be unjust to ignore the early efforts of Louis XII 
 and his minister, Cardinal Georges d'Amboise, or 
 to depreciate the native genius displayed in the 
 Chateau of Blois. But the impulse given to art 
 by the brilliant group of Italian artists which 
 Francis I gathered round him at Fontainebleau 
 by Rosso, Primaticcio, Niccolo dell' Abbate, and 
 many others was as great as it was indisputably 
 general. From the Ecole de Fontainebleau Claude 
 Lorraine derived his magical light, and Poussin 
 drew his tragic note. And from the sixteenth 
 century onwards, each successive step in the glory 
 or the decadence of French painting, architecture, 
 or sculpture, is chronicled in the buildings or the 
 decoration of the palace. Their records carry us 
 from the Italian Renaissance of Francis I, in
 
 232 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 which, in the first flush of their inspiration, the 
 newly imported classic elements conquered the 
 Gothic forms of native growth, to the pure classi- 
 cism of Henry II ; from the bastard Renaissance 
 of Henry IV to the flowing lines and wealth of 
 colour by which the artists of Louis XIII departed 
 from the antique model ; from the pompous 
 emphasis of Louis XIV to the charming but 
 capricious grace of Louis XV ; from the classic 
 art of the Empire to the Gothic Revival of 
 the Restoration. 
 
 Historically and artistically, Fontainebleau is the 
 jewel of French palaces. And the brilliance of the 
 gem is enhanced by the unrivalled beauty of the 
 setting. The frame is worthy of the picture. In 
 its diversity the forest stands alone among the 
 forests of France. Every variety of tree poplars 
 and chestnuts, maple and birch, oaks and junipers 
 flourishes in abundance. The wild and savage 
 scenery of Salvator Rosa alternates with the calm 
 and peaceful landscape of Claude Lorraine. Stone- 
 henges and Karnacs of moss-covered rock, rich- 
 coloured platieres, or ridges of sandstone, bare, 
 naked, boldly outlined hills, present abrupt con- 
 trasts with tree-clad slopes, tranquil plains, quiet 
 pools, like the Mare aux fees, or the Mare aux 
 serpents, and turfy sweeps, such as that near the 
 woods of Bas Breaux, where Pan himself might be 
 content to shepherd his flocks. Here are masses 
 of curiously scaled grey stone, resembling primeval 
 lizard-like monsters, petrified as they approached
 
 THE BARBIZON SCHOOL 233 
 
 their prey ; while, above and around them, twisting, 
 writhing, and contorting into fantastic shapes, rises 
 a forest growth of junipers, which look like the 
 wild figures of a corybantic dance. Here, too, are 
 " secular " oaks " green-robed senators of the 
 woods " whose forms may well have sheltered 
 Charlemagne, as popular tradition asserts, or con- 
 cealed the dark spectral form of the " Grand 
 Veneur," or shaded the velvet cheek of Diane de 
 Poitiers. And, dotted here and there among the 
 trees, gleam the white tents of the soldiers, who 
 make of the forest a camp of exercise, and whose 
 blue and red uniforms, cooking fires, and picketed 
 horses give life and colour to its sombre depths. 
 
 As the first great movement of French art eman- 
 ated from the palace, so the last great movement has 
 found its source in the forest, which has inspired 
 the genius of Millet, Rousseau, Diaz, Corot, and 
 the modern Barbizon School of French painters. 
 The simple poetry of natural life is the discovery 
 and the revelation of its founders. It was not the 
 shy grace of a Dryad, nor the spiritual ecstasy of a 
 Madonna, nor the smile of a Bacchante, which was 
 their inspiration, but the mystery of the woods, 
 the savage gloom of a forest, the rude pathos of 
 humble toil. It was in the forest that Corot 
 brought to perfection his art of arresting the 
 momentary changes of nature, and of blending the 
 green of leaves and grass with the grey of his 
 fleecy clouds ; here, too, Rousseau acquired his 
 emotional apprehension of landscape, and Diaz
 
 234 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 bestowed on the glades of sylvan scenery the glow 
 of colour in which his Spanish instinct delighted. 
 And, above all, it was on the outskirts of the forest 
 that the Homer of rural life but a Homer in 
 patois caught, and fixed upon his canvas, the 
 cadenced, rhythmic movement of the sower and 
 the painful, laboured effort of the overladen wood- 
 cutter, or translated into form and colours the 
 terrible page in which La Bruyere describes the 
 hopeless uneventful toil of the French peasant, or 
 revived the pious sensations of his own Norman 
 childhood, when, at declining day, the peasants 
 raise themselves erect from their toil to repeat the 
 Angelus Domini nuntiavit Marias. 
 
 Fontainebleau sums up in itself the history of 
 the French nation and of French art. It will 
 be possible in the following pages to indicate only 
 a few of the associations which the forest and the 
 palace suggest. The palace owes its existence to 
 the forest. Official exigencies of State dictated 
 the selection of the Louvre, St. Cloud, Versailles, 
 the Tuileries, Vincennes, or St. Germains, as 
 residences of French sovereigns. Chinon, the 
 Windsor of Touraine, which crowns the line of 
 cliffs that rise above the Vienne, was a stronghold 
 that defied the English invader. Bourges afforded 
 a refuge to the roitelet from his powerful rival, 
 the king of England. Blois and Amboise and 
 Angers were strongholds that commanded the 
 passages of the Loire. But Fontainebleau was 
 emphatically a hunting lodge.
 
 ORIGIN OF THE NAME 235 
 
 The ancient province of the Gatinais (Pagus 
 Wastinensis) on the left bank of the Seine was 
 united to the French crown by Philip I in 1068. 
 Within its limits was situated the ancient forest 
 of Bieria, 1 which had become proverbial in the 
 Middle Ages for the size and beauty of its trees. 
 In the " Roman de la Rose " a hero bears a lance, 
 the handle of which, cut in the forest of Thuerie, 
 was so strong that 
 
 " II n'en croit nulle telle en Biere." 
 
 The whole country took the name of Biere, 
 and the word still survives in official documents 
 and in the local nomenclature of the Department 
 of Seine-et-Marne. But the name of the more 
 modern palace was gradually extended to the 
 forest, and entirely superseded its ancient title. 
 
 Before the year 1068 it would be vain to seek 
 for any mention of the palace of Fontainebleau. 
 Between that date and 1137 the first royal resi- 
 dence was built. In the latter year occurs the 
 first record of the palace, though that record hi 
 itself affords a proof of its anterior existence. A 
 charter of Louis VII is extant which closes with 
 this protocol in Latin : " Given at Fontaine-Bleaud, 
 in public, in the year 1137, the first of our reign, 
 there being present in our palace those whose 
 names and signatures are subscribed below." The 
 charter, which confirms the foundation of the 
 
 1 In Low Latin, Bieria, or JSierria, means a plain ; hence the 
 Bierice Sylva means the forest of the plain.
 
 236 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 Abbey of Val-Sainte-Marie in Auvergne, is said 
 to be actum apud Jontem Bleaudi. The fons 
 Bleaudi became Fontainebleau. But the origin 
 of the term is lost in the mists of antiquity. 
 Ancient antiquaries, delighting in that guess-work 
 which threw discredit on their learning, exercised 
 their ingenuity in explanations. Some invented 
 an eponymous hero ; others argued that the word 
 commemorated the sagacity of the dog " Blaut " 
 which discovered the spring ; others traced the 
 name to the clearness of the water, which made 
 a French Callirrhoe of the " Fontaine-belle-eau." 
 All that can be said with certainty is that the 
 etymology of the word is the Fontem Blialdi, 
 and its meaning " the spring of the mantle " ; 
 but the attempt to trace the derivation of the title 
 must be abandoned to the imagination. 1 
 
 There existed, then, at Fontainebleau, in the 
 first year of the reign of Louis VII, a royal 
 palace, which was capable of holding the king 
 and all the great officers of his court, and which 
 was, with certainty, built at least as early as the 
 time of his predecessor, Louis VI, called " the Fat." 
 Nothing more unlike the modern palace can be 
 imagined than this mediaeval donjon. Those who 
 are familiar with the house of Jacques Cceur at 
 
 1 The word " Blialdus," " Blaudus," " Bliaudus," and other 
 analogous forms, is frequently met with in Low Latin docu- 
 ments. Du Cange gives its meaning as vestis species, and 
 illustrates its use in Old French from the mediaeval romances 
 e.g. " De mult riche bliaut fut la dame paree," " bliaut de samis," 
 " bliaut de fourrure."
 
 FORTRESS AND PALACE 237 
 
 Bourges know how, three centuries later, defensive 
 strength was still at least as much the aim of 
 builders as comfort or splendour ; on the inner 
 side a palace, it is on the outer side a fortification. 
 Fontainebleau in the days of Louis VII was a 
 fortified castle, a gloomy keep occupying the site 
 of the present " Cour Ovale," flanked by towers, 
 protected by lofty walls, strengthened by a moat, 
 and approached by a drawbridge. Few traces 
 remain of the early fortress, but the existing 
 buildings were erected on its foundations, and its 
 form is preserved in the irregular shape of the 
 courtyard. Within the baily of the fortress stood 
 the chapel of St. Saturnin, bishop and martyr of 
 Toulouse, finished, as the inscription in the sub- 
 terranean crypt states, by Louis VII in 1169. 
 Thus the feudal stronghold of the Cour Ovale 
 formed the nucleus round which gathered, at 
 different epochs, the present magnificent and 
 heterogeneous structure. Any one who passes from 
 part to part of the great building, and asks him- 
 self " What happened here ? " " What king built 
 this or that portion of the palace ? " " What effect 
 did his life or death produce upon France ? " will 
 gain a truer and more vivid knowledge of the 
 history of the country than can be derived from 
 the reading of many books. 
 
 It was to Fontainebleau that Philip Augustus 
 came from the Crusades ; here he spent the intervals 
 of the war which he waged against Richard Cceur- 
 de-Lion. Here, in 1191, he celebrated Christmas in
 
 238 FONTA INEBLE AU 
 
 the company of a brilliant throng of nobles with 
 splendid festivities, before he offered thanks for 
 his return at the shrine of the bienheureux St. 
 Denis. Here, six years later, he signed a charter 
 which conveyed the hermitage of Franchard to 
 the monastery of St. Euverte of Orleans. The 
 site of the lonely cave, hollowed in the rock, its 
 floor worn by the knees of the hermits, who lived 
 a life of prayer, surrounded by fierce beasts of prey 
 or still more savage human beings, is now a cafe 
 thronged with pleasure-seekers. The contrast 
 between a feudal donjon of Louis VII and the 
 palace of Fontainebleau as it exists to-day sums 
 up the history of France. The advice of Adolphe 
 Joanne to the modern tourist, compared with the 
 counsel of Abbot Stephen to the solitary recluse of 
 Franchard, epitomises, as it were, another aspect 
 of the passage of time from the twelfth to the 
 twentieth century. Listen to the words which 
 the abbot of St. Genevieve of Paris addressed to 
 William de Bierria, who had left the religious 
 house of St. Euverte of Orleans to occupy the 
 newly founded cell in the forest of Biere or 
 Fontainebleau. 
 
 " Weep for thyself ; weep for thy neighbour ; 
 weep also for the Lord. Weep for thyself, re- 
 viewing thy past years in bitterness of spirit. Weep 
 for thy neighbour, that is for all who live or are 
 dead in the faith of Christ. Weep also for the 
 Lord, being weary of this present life, and desiring 
 that which is eternal. Let thy first tear be shed, 
 that God may remember no more against thee
 
 THE HERMIT OF FRANCHARD 239 
 
 the wilful, or unwitting, sins of thy youth ; thy 
 second, that the living may eschew evil and 
 persevere in good works, and that the dead may 
 rest in peace ; thy third, that thou mayest shortly 
 be rid of the body of this death, and be with 
 Christ, crying, 'Alas, that my sojourn here is so 
 long ! ' Let thy first tear, my brother, be a tear 
 of penitence and contrition ; thy second a tear of 
 compassion and pity ; thy third a tear of faith and 
 thanksgiving. 
 
 " From prayer turn then to reading, and from 
 reading to meditation, that so thou mayest mark, 
 learn, and inwardly digest what thou hast read, 
 and store it in the garner of thy memory. But 
 take heed lest, by overmuch reading, thine eyes 
 be dimmed, or thy brain be made to reel. Be 
 moderate in thy reading, and afterwards neglect 
 not to walk to and fro in thy cell, or to go forth 
 into thy garden and rest thy failing eyes by the 
 sight of the green herbs that grow therein few 
 and scanty though they be or by the contempla- 
 tion of thy beehives, that so the bees may be to 
 thee for an ensample and a consolation. Among 
 such diversities of occupation, thou shalt regard 
 the roughness of the desert as the foretaste of the 
 joys of heaven." 
 
 As the centuries advance, Fontainebleau is 
 brought more and more closely into direct contact 
 with the general stream of French history. 
 Especially is it associated with the glories 
 of St. Louis, of Francis I, of Henry IV, and 
 Xapoleon I. Four of the greatest of French 
 monarchs made Fontainebleau their favourite 
 residence, and lavished their treasures upon its 
 walls
 
 240 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 Fontainebleau was the centre of the chers 
 deserts of St. Louis, endeared to him not only 
 by the pleasures of the chase, but by the memory 
 of his mother, Blanche of Castille, who passed 
 much of her time in the neighbourhood. On the 
 banks of the Loing, by the road to Nemours, are 
 still to be seen the vast ruins of her favourite 
 Castle of Grez. Her son shared his mother's love 
 for the forest. St. Louis was the first great 
 builder at Fontainebleau. Under the shadow of 
 the donjon keep, he built the pavilion which still 
 stands, and is still called by his name. Hunting 
 was his favourite pastime. It was probably no 
 accident that the first didactic work on venery 
 was composed in his reign the " Book of King 
 Modus and Queen Racio." He was not always 
 so absorbed in crusading enterprises, or in dreams 
 of heavenly beauty, as to neglect the delights of 
 the chase. Among the treasures which he brought 
 back from the East were the grey dogs of Tartar 
 race that he introduced into the forest. A more 
 lasting monument of his passion for hunting still 
 survives. Near the village of Bois-le-Roi rises a 
 little hill, the summit of which is crowned by 
 the ruins of the hermitage of St. Louis. The 
 king was separated from his attendants in the 
 ardour of his pursuit of a stag, when he was 
 suddenly attacked by robbers. He blew his horn 
 for assistance, but none came. He was at his 
 last gasp, when his courtiers rode up. In gratitude 
 for his escape he founded a hermitage, and dedi-
 
 ST. LOUIS AT FONTAINEBLEAU 241 
 
 cated it to St. Vincent, on whose day (January 22) 
 he was thus rescued from danger. 
 
 Many scenes in the life of St. Louis are associated 
 with Fontainebleau. It was here that, in 1228, he 
 confirmed the privileges of the University of Paris. 
 Here, too, in 1259, believing himself to be at the 
 point of death, he called his son to his bedside, 
 and delivered to him one of those exhortations 
 which Bossuet calls the sacred heirlooms of the 
 children of St. Louis. " Son," said he, " I pray 
 thee to make thyself beloved by the people of 
 thy realm. For, verily, I had rather that a Scot 
 should come out of Scotland, and rule the kingdom 
 well and loyally, than that thou shouldest rule it 
 ill and to evil report." The king was restored 
 to health, and, in gratitude for his recovery, 
 founded a hospital by the side of the castle, and 
 within its walls, for the sick of the neighbouring 
 country. He entrusted it to the care of the 
 brethren of the Order of the Holy Trinity, 
 commonly called Mathurins. For a time he gave 
 to the brethren the existing chapel of St. 
 Saturnin, 1 but afterwards built for their special 
 use the chapel of the Holy Trinity, on the 
 site of which the present chapel is founded. 
 Thus, side by side, Church and State existed 
 
 1 On the ruins of this subterranean chapel Francis T built the 
 present Chapel of St. Saturnin, which is raised to the level of the 
 ground. The older edifice, part of which belongs to the twelfth 
 century, and is said to have been consecrated by Archbishop 
 Becket, remains as a crypt. 
 
 16
 
 242 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 within the same walls. In architecture, as well 
 as in politics, the union has produced strange 
 irregularities, which are exemplified, not only in 
 the Cour Ovale at Fontainebleau, but in the 
 Escurial of Spain, the Mafra of Portugal, the 
 Superga of Sardinia. 
 
 Joinville records the words of St. Louis to his 
 son. The same chronicler relates a trick which 
 the king played upon his courtiers at Fontaine- 
 bleau. On Christinas Eve a procession of courtiers 
 entered the brilliantly - lighted chapel of St. 
 Saturnin. The king's custom on that anniversary 
 was to present the officers of the household with 
 fur cloaks, and all wore the royal gift. But Louis 
 had secretly caused a cross to be embroidered 
 in dark silk on the backs of the cloaks, so that, 
 as they passed into the chapel, each man saw the 
 crusading symbol on his neighbour's back. Per- 
 plexed and bewildered, they knew not how to 
 interpret the king's purpose. But when St. Louis 
 came forward, himself wearing the cross upon 
 his shoulders, and asked whether they had the 
 heart to tear off the badge and send him to the 
 Holy Land alone, they cried with one voice, 
 " We will follow thee ! We will bear the cross 1 " 
 
 At Fontainebleau in 1268 Philip the Fair was 
 born. His reign formed a marked era in the 
 history of France. Now was inaugurated the 
 foreign policy of Henry IV and Richelieu. The 
 strength of feudalism was weakened, the govern- 
 ment concentrated, justice established, an army
 
 PHILIP THE FAIR 243 
 
 organised, the religious and secular power separated, 
 and, to crown the whole, the nation was for the 
 first time summoned to a States-General. The 
 changes bore the trace of the vigorous personality 
 of the active, resolute, persevering king. Like 
 his grandfather, Philip added many buildings to 
 the palace ; like him, he delighted in the pleasures 
 of the chase ; and it was in the Forest of Fontaine- 
 bleau, in 1341, when in pursuit of a wild boar, 
 grand et merveilleux, that he met his death 
 by a fall from his horse. Thus the king, within 
 the appointed time, obeyed the summons of the 
 illustrious victim of his policy, Jacques de Molay, 
 Grand Master of the Templars, who, at the stake, 
 had bidden Philip to meet him " four months 
 hence at the judgment seat of God." It was 
 long believed that the heart of Philip the Fair 
 was buried at Avon, the mother parish of Fontaine- 
 bleau. The accuracy of modern historians has dis- 
 covered that it is his cook, and not his heart, that 
 reposes there. 
 
 It was in the castle of Fontainebleau that 
 Charles V, surnamed the Wise, founded his famous 
 library, and here, as tradition asserts, by paintings 
 on its walls Charles VII commemorated his 
 victories over the English. But from the death 
 of Philip the Fair till the accession of Francis I 
 the stream of history flowed in other channels. 
 Fontainebleau is associated with none of the 
 great episodes in the struggle betw r een the Bur- 
 gundians and the Armagnacs, or between the
 
 244 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 French and the English. The exigencies of State 
 policy led sovereign after sovereign to prefer the 
 castles of Touraine. It was, for example, at 
 Chinon, or at Loches, that Charles VII passed 
 his life, though, faithful to Agnes Sorel in death, 
 it was at Jumieges that he desired to be buried 
 by her side. It was at Plessis-les-Tours, in the 
 turret chamber behind the existing guard-room of 
 the Scottish archers, that Louis XI immured 
 himself; it was in the iron cage or dungeons of 
 Loches that his victims languished ; and it was 
 at Cle'ry, near Orleans, that the " perjured prince " 
 adored his "leaden saint." At Amboise Charles 
 VIII founded his Italian colony, and in its pre- 
 cincts still exists the low-arched doorway which 
 proved fatal to the king. At Blois Louis XII 
 was born, and he preferred his birthplace to all 
 his other castles, and it was to Blois that he invited 
 the great artist whom his secretary calls Leonard 
 Davince. 
 
 The modern Fontainebleau dates from the 
 gallant knight-errant, Francis I. A giant among 
 his courtiers, a graceful horseman, an expert 
 wrestler, a dexterous swordsman, Francis was 
 hailed as the glass of fashion and the mirror of 
 chivalry. Succeeding to the throne at the moment 
 when the young nobility of France were wearied of 
 the economies of "le bon roi Louis Douze," he 
 enjoyed the means as well as the opportunity of 
 indulging his love of lavish display. Deeply read 
 in chivalric romances, he had framed to himself
 
 FRANCIS I 245 
 
 an ideal of a knightly king, and, in the opinion 
 of his flatterers, he united the love of glory and 
 highbred courtesy of Roland with the virtues of 
 the most constant of lovers, Amadis de Gaule. 
 It was Francis and the brilliant Pleiad of artists 
 whom he gathered round him who were the true 
 creators of the modern Fontainebleau. Every- 
 where his salamander appears upon the walls, 
 ceilings, and woodwork, commemorating the 
 victories of the king to whom had yielded the 
 bear of the Swiss, the eagles of the Germans, 
 the viper of Milan. 
 
 " Ursus atrox, aquilaeque leves, et tortilis anguis 
 Cesserunt flammse jam, Salamandra, tuse." 
 
 It was Francis I who reconstructed the ancient 
 buildings and added tenfold to their extent and 
 decorative splendour. Vast sums of money were 
 expended on the palace, which he called " man 
 Fontainebleau," his beloved Chez Moi, and 
 which was now transformed from a feudal castle 
 into la vraie maison des rois, to quote the 
 words of Napoleon I la demeure des sieclcs. 
 All the forces which had revolutionised society 
 were reflected in the changes effected at Fontaine- 
 bleau. Italian influences, grace, and refinement of 
 manners, reverence for classical antiquity every- 
 thing, in short, that inspired the Renaissance 
 movement are imprinted on the style and the 
 form of the architecture and the decoration. At 
 one bound, as it were, we pass from the feudal
 
 246 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 world to modern requirements from defensive 
 strength to tasteful elegance. The distinguished 
 colony of Italian artists whom Francis employed 
 upon the work powerfully affected the direction 
 of the art of the French Renaissance. To the 
 grave companions of St. Louis, or the rude warriors 
 of the Middle Ages, succeeded the architects, 
 painters, sculptors, metal-workers, and scholars of 
 Italy. In the centre of the chers deserts, to 
 which a saintly king came to dream of heavenly 
 glory, rose a palace of Armida, the fitting scene 
 for the ideal pageants of artists, or the gorgeous 
 festivities of an Arabian Caliph. Fontainebleau 
 became a French Vatican, in which Francis played 
 the part of Leo the Magnificent, and made of his 
 palace, in the words of Benvenuto Cellini, a 
 second Rome. 
 
 At the summons of this magnificent patron of 
 the arts, the Maecenas of France, as he delighted 
 to be called, Leonardo da Vinci came to Fontaine- 
 bleau to be received with all the honours of his 
 right divine of genius, to be petted and honoured 
 by the king in his soured and querulous old age. 
 Though Leonardo painted nothing in France, he 
 brought with him into the country the famous 
 " Mona Lisa," which is still one of the chief glories 
 of the Louvre. In France he died, at the Chateau 
 de Clous, in 1529, not, as tradition relates, in the 
 arms of the king, but with his friend Malzi at 
 his bedside. To Fontainebleau came also Andrea 
 del Sarto, and here he laboured fitfully till he
 
 ITALIAN ARTISTS 247 
 
 left his art for the soulless beauty of his wife, 
 to whom he sacrificed his splendid gifts. But 
 neither Leonardo nor Andrea del Sarto is the 
 creator of Fontainebleau. The plan of the new 
 buildings was designed by the architect Serlio, 
 and they were partly executed under the super- 
 intendence of Rosso, and subsequently of Prima- 
 ticcio. Before the plans could be carried out, the 
 space had to be enlarged. It is a significant 
 commentary on the tendency of the time, that 
 the religious order of the Mathurins, established 
 by St. Louis, were bought out, and the buildings 
 which they had occupied handed over to Italians 
 inspired by the revived paganism of the Renais- 
 sance. It was now that the Cour Ovale, the site 
 of the donjon of St. Louis, received something 
 like its present shape. The great courtyard, by 
 which the palace is entered from the side of Paris, 
 was also laid out in its existing form. Year after 
 year, and reign after reign, vast treasures of money 
 and of genius were lavished on the walls within 
 and without, and the work of construction, 
 destruction and decoration may be said to have 
 continued to the days of Napoleon III. 
 
 Under Francis I, Battista di Jacopo, called by 
 the French Maitre Roux, and by the Italians Rosso, 
 from the colour of his hair and complexion, was 
 appointed " chief and superintendent over all 
 the buildings, paintings, and other decoration of 
 the palace." He enjoyed a princely salary, a 
 house in Paris, apartments at Fontainebleau, a
 
 248 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 canonry as abbe, and a train of attendants befitting 
 his wealth and position. For some years he 
 reigned alone, until his supremacy was disputed 
 by Primaticcio, whose rising genius attracted the 
 notice of Francis I. In the palace are still pre- 
 served traces of the jealousy of the two great 
 artists, each sustained by the rivalry of a royal 
 mistress. When Rosso poisoned himself in 1541, 
 Primaticcio succeeded to his rival's place as chief 
 and superintendent, and, supported by the Duchesse 
 d'Etampes, was enabled to rid himself of so formid- 
 able a competitor as Benvenuto Cellini. Round the 
 quarrels of these great artists are interwoven the 
 rivalries of the two royal mistresses. In the figure 
 of Danae visited by Jupiter in the shape of golden 
 rain is recorded the beauty of Anne de Pisseleu, 
 the girl who was trained by Louise of Savoy for 
 the part of royal mistress, and who, for twenty 
 years, and till the death of Francis I, was maitresse 
 en titre. The patroness of poets and painters, the 
 protectress of the reformed religion, the wittiest of 
 learned ladies, the most beautiful of bluestockings, 
 she held her own against her rival Diane de 
 Poitiers. But at the accession of Henry II came 
 Diane's hour of triumph. Even during the life- 
 time of Francis the heart of Henry was held 
 captive by his father's mistress, whose wonderful 
 retention of her beauty, and her supremacy over 
 two successive sovereigns, were attributed to 
 sorcery. Her portrait, with the bow and arrows 
 and hound of the chaste goddess Diana, her cres-
 
 TREASURES OF THE PALACE 249 
 
 cent moons, her monograms, her emblems, every- 
 where attest her absolute rule over Henry II, who, 
 on all public occasions, wore her colours of black 
 slashed with white. 
 
 Nor was it only in depicting the rivalries ot 
 royal mistresses that the genius of artists was 
 employed. Here, during the sixteenth century, 
 laboured on buildings, frescoes, ceilings, panelling, 
 paintings, sculptures, Lucca Penni, Naldini, 
 Bellini, Pellegrini, Niccolo dell' Abbate, and a 
 host of native artists, such as Jean Cousin, Pierre 
 Bontemps, Jean Goujon, Germain Pilon, Jean 
 Lescot, and Philibert Delorme. The agents of 
 the king scoured Europe to collect arms, and 
 jewels, and works of art. At Rome Primaticcio 
 purchased for his royal master specimens of ancient 
 statuary, and Vasari counts 125 famous master- 
 pieces which thus passed into possession of the 
 French. At Rome, also, were working a director 
 and staff of skilled workmen, who copied and 
 modelled the sculptures and bas-reliefs which 
 Francis was unable to purchase or transport to 
 France. Nowhere were the chefs (Toeuvre of Italian 
 cookery served on a greater profusion of gold and 
 silver plate ; nowhere was the table adorned 
 with such splendid specimens of the glass manu- 
 factories of Venice and the rival establishments 
 in France. Matteo was summoned from Verona 
 to superintend the metal-workers. Tapestries 
 were brought from Arras and Brussels, and a 
 manufactory was set up in Fontainebleau, where
 
 250 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 workmen executed the designs of Primaticcio. 
 Manuscripts were gathered from Europe and from 
 Asia to enrich the royal library, already enlarged 
 by the collections brought from Blois and by the 
 confiscated treasures of the Constable of Bourbon. 
 Among the custodians of the royal library were 
 Bude, Duchatel, Amyot, and J. A. de Thou. 
 Priceless frescoes and pictures, statues of inestim- 
 able worth, rare manuscripts, treasures of golden 
 and silver plate, of gems, jewellery, and arms, made 
 the Fontainebleau of Francis I and Henry II the 
 admiration and envy of Europe. It was now that 
 in the chapel raised upon the subterranean crypt 
 of St. Saturnin, the crescent of Diane de Poitiers 
 appeared above the altar, epitomising, as it were, 
 the transition from the mediaeval piety of St. 
 Louis to the cultivated taste and elegant licence of 
 the Renaissance. 
 
 In this magnificent palace Francis I received 
 the Emperor Charles V. For once, and for once 
 only, Rosso and Primaticcio laid aside their pro- 
 fessional jealousies and personal rivalries, and 
 united in the effort to celebrate the advent of such 
 a guest with becoming magnificence. The ancient 
 enemy of the French monarchy was met in the 
 forest by troops of gods and goddesses, by fauns, 
 satyrs, and woodland nymphs. Balls, masquerades, 
 banquets, hunting parties, tournaments, illumina- 
 tions, were organised in his honour. On the first 
 night of his arrival the Duchesse d'Etampes herself 
 brought the water to wash his hands, and the
 
 CATHERINE DE MEDICIS 251 
 
 astute emperor so runs the incredible legend 
 seized the opportunity of conciliating the powerful 
 mistress. He dropped into the ewer a magnificent 
 diamond, which the duchess returned to him. 
 He entreated her to keep it, and so, it is said, won 
 her over to his political schemes. 
 
 The works of Francis I were carried on by his 
 successors. Catherine de Medicis had inherited 
 from her family, and brought from Italy, the love 
 of the fine arts, and in this taste, at least, was in 
 sympathy with her husband. In 1533 Catherine, 
 then an orphan, and " a short thickset girl of 
 thirteen, with a large head, flat face, and restless 
 eyes," had been married to Henry of Orleans, a 
 well-grown, handsome youth of fifteen. Even 
 when just in her teens she was described as " very 
 subtle-minded, reserved, full of ambition and arti- 
 fice." The marriage with the daughter of the 
 Florentine banker, which was the price paid by 
 Francis for the support of Pope Clement VII in 
 his claims to the imperial crown, was regarded by 
 the French aristocracy as a mesalliance. Over her 
 husband Catherine had little influence. He was 
 already captive in the chains of Diane de Poitiers. 
 But she was prepared to observe, to watch and 
 wait ; for the stars had foretold her destined rule 
 over the King of France. Like her father-in-law, 
 and like her husband, she was an enthusiastic 
 builder. Her special superstitions are strongly 
 marked in the palaces she inhabited. At Chau- 
 mont, for instance, is the little turret by which she
 
 252 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 could ascend the roof to study the constellations. 
 At Blois, again, the tower of her astrologer stands 
 close to the chateau. 
 
 It was an age of building. At Chambord, 
 Anet, Chenonceaux, the Louvre, Blois, great 
 works were in progress. At Fontainebleau, under 
 Henry II, the building and the decoration of the 
 palace continued uninterruptedly, broken only by 
 the occasional removal of some master-builder sus- 
 pected of the new opinions. Here, at Fontainebleau, 
 were born two of his sons, afterwards Francis II and 
 Charles IX. The great work which commemor- 
 ates the name of Henry II is the gallery, called 
 after his name, on which Primaticcio and Niccolo 
 dell' Abbate squandered their artistic talents. On 
 the ceiling, and on the walls, are to be seen his 
 monogram, which was capable of being read as 
 H. C. or H. D., according to the sympathies of the 
 supporters of Catherine de Medicis or of Diane de 
 Poitiers. But in other decorations less ambiguity 
 was possible ; everywhere predominate the emblems 
 of la vieilk ridee, as her enemies called her, who 
 caught and held for twenty years the heart of 
 Henry II. It was from the study of this gallery, 
 constructed and decorated in the purest style of 
 the Renaissance, that the great French artists, who 
 were destined to be the leaders of the French 
 movement, and to give to the exaggerated imita- 
 tion of Italian traditions the simplicity and purity 
 of a native school, drew their inspiration. 
 
 In the tiltyard at the Palace of Des Tourelles,
 
 CATHOLICS AND HUGUENOTS 253 
 
 which then stood at the end of the Rue St. 
 Antoine, and was still the royal residence at Paris, 
 Henry met his death from the lance of Montgomery. 
 But it was at Fontainebleau that his son and suc- 
 cessor, Francis II, terrified by the conspiracy of 
 Amboise, convened an extraordinary assembly to 
 consider the affairs of the nation. The council 
 met in August 1560, and, with the exception of 
 the King of Navarre and Conde, it was attended 
 by all the great leaders in the coming struggle 
 between the Huguenots and the Catholics. The 
 Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine 
 were present on the one side ; on the other, 
 Coligny and his brother Chatillon. Moderate 
 counsels found their spokesman in the Chancellor 
 L'Hopital. The deliberations lasted four days. 
 It was then that Coligny delivered a fiery speech, 
 in which he demanded toleration for the Calvinists, 
 and, in words that must have sounded to his 
 hearers like a threat, declared that 50,000 men 
 would support his request. There, also, Jean de 
 Montluc, Bishop of Valence, exposed the vices of 
 the higher ranks of the clergy. The result of the 
 conference was the convocation of the States- 
 General at Orleans. Trusting to the king's safe 
 conduct, Conde attended its deliberations. But 
 he was arrested, condemned to the scaffold, and 
 only escaped with his life through the sudden 
 death of the king in December 1560. 
 
 Fontainebleau was the birthplace of Charles IX. 
 Its forests were to him the enchanted Broceliande,
 
 254 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 in which he and his brothers had played the parts 
 of the heroes of mediaeval romance. The half-mad 
 boy excelled his predecessors in lavish expenditure 
 on the festivities with which he sought to distract 
 his mind. Here the courtiers ruined themselves 
 and squandered their estates in the extravagance 
 of their attire. Fashions changed from hour to 
 hour. To-day the brim of the hat extended be- 
 yond the shoulders ; to-morrow the cap scarcely 
 covered the head. Now the mantle reached to 
 the ankles, now to the loins. One day shoes were 
 worn " in the Greek fashion, as high as the 
 middle of the leg ; another day they were in the 
 fashion of Savoy, so short and narrow that 
 they resembled tubes." A score of dresses, all 
 richly embroidered with stores of laces, feathers, 
 and ruffles, were required by any one who wished 
 to make a decent appearance at court. At 
 Fontainebleau lists for tournaments were erected, 
 closed with barriers and commanded by bowers 
 in which sat the courtly beauties. At one end 
 stood an enchanted castle held by six adventurous 
 knights, and guarded by a monstrous giant and a 
 diminutive dwarf, Here the princes and nobles 
 of the court disported themselves ; now dividing 
 into Greeks and Trojans ; now, as wandering 
 knights, rescuing fair ladies from the enchanted 
 castle ; now dividing into companies and fighting 
 against each other under chosen leaders. It was 
 from Fontainebleau that Charles and his mother 
 set out on their lengthy progress through the
 
 HENRY OF NAVARRE 255 
 
 south of France, that fatal journey in which, 
 as Protestant historians assert, the queen and the 
 Duke of Alva plotted to exterminate the Hugue- 
 nots. Tournaments and banquets and masquerades 
 were redoubled after the massacre of St. Bartholo- 
 mew. By a perpetual Arabian Nights' Enter- 
 tainment Catherine vainly strove to lay the ghost 
 of remorse, which her action had roused in the 
 unhappy, lean, demented, red-haired youth to 
 whom life had become a grievous burden. 
 
 None of the French sovereigns showed a deeper 
 love for Fontainebleau than Henry IV, and with 
 no place are more events of his reign associated. 
 His monogram, as well as his shield, quartering 
 the lilies of France with the girony of eight which 
 belongs to Navarre, are seen in every part of the 
 palace. Sometimes his " H " is linked with the 
 " M " of his wife, Marie de Medicis. Here and 
 there the " S," traversed by an arrow, which was 
 the punning device of Gabrielle d'Estrees, com- 
 memorates, like the crescents of Diane de Poitiers, 
 the ascendency of an uncrowned queen. The 
 chapel of the Holy Trinity, close to the great 
 entrance of the palace, was his work. Upon it 
 a number of French artists, among whom were 
 Germain Pilon l and Jean Dubois, have employed 
 their genius under the direction of Freminet. The 
 origin of the chapel dates from 1608, when the 
 
 1 Pilon is said to have executed some of the work at the 
 chapel ; but, if the date now most commonly assigned for his 
 death (1590) is correct, this is impossible.
 
 256 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 Spanish ambassador visited Fontainebleau. Ob- 
 serving the mean appearance of the existing chapel, 
 Don Pedro remarked that " God was more poorly 
 lodged than the king." Henry was ready with 
 his retort. " It is because," he replied, " the 
 French do not enshrine their God, as do the 
 Spaniards, only within four walls. They lodge Him 
 also in their hearts." But the taunt produced its 
 effect, and the chapel was its result. Its construc- 
 tion is, as it were, a translation into stone of the 
 strong reaction against Protestantism which the 
 seventeenth century witnessed in France. In 
 the chapel have been celebrated innumerable royal 
 marriages and royal baptisms ; but more interesting 
 than these were the masses of St. Hubert, which 
 were celebrated on the day dedicated to the patron 
 saint of the chase in the presence, and for the 
 safety, of 
 
 " Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, 
 Hound or spaniel, brach or lym, 
 Or bobtail tyke or trundle tail." 
 
 There every year, from the reign of Henry IV 
 to that of Napoleon III, masses were said " en 
 presence des levriers, braques, bassets, chiens 
 courants, batteurs, babillants, et toute la populace 
 des chiens," for whose preservation from danger 
 prayer was made to Heaven. 
 
 One of the favourite legends of the forest 
 commemorates Henry's passion for the chase. In 
 the early spring of 1599, the king was hunting
 
 THE GRAND VENEUR 257 
 
 in the part of the forest which lies on the road 
 to Moret, and near him were riding the princes 
 and great nobles of his court. Suddenly the whole 
 company heard the clang of horns, the cries of 
 huntsmen, and the yapping of hounds, coming, 
 as it seemed to them, from a spot at least half 
 a league distant. The next moment the noises 
 which had seemed so remote sounded in their 
 very ears. The king sent the Comte de Soissons 
 and other persons with him to discover what the 
 sounds meant. Yet, though they heard the noises 
 all around them, they could not see whence they 
 proceeded. But in the densest part of the thicket 
 they saw a tall black figure of very hideous 
 countenance, who raised his head above the bushes, 
 and said, M'entendez-vvus ? or Qu'attendez-v&us ? 
 or, as some maintained, for they were too 
 startled to be certain of the words, Amendez-vous. 
 And the next moment the spectre vanished. 
 
 The courtiers returned and told the king what 
 they had witnessed. Then he sent for the char- 
 coal-burners, the wood-cutters, the shepherds, and 
 other persons, who are at all times and seasons 
 in the forest, and inquired of them whether they 
 had ever seen any such spectre, or heard similar 
 sounds of huntsmen, horns, and hounds. And 
 they replied that very often a tall dark man, 
 accoutred as a huntsman, appeared to them, and 
 that they called him the " Grand Veneur." It 
 is added that Sully, while sitting in his cabinet, 
 heard, almost at his windows, the noise of a 
 
 17
 
 258 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 hunting party. Believing that it was the king 
 returning, he hastened to meet him. But he 
 found no one there, and afterwards he learned 
 that the king was at that moment three leagues 
 away. 
 
 " I know," adds Dan, " that many authors tell 
 stories of the chase of St. Hubert, which they say 
 that they hear in various places. Nor am I ignorant 
 of what is told of the * whipper,' who appeared to 
 Charles IX in the Forest of Lyons, and w r ho left 
 the marks of the lashes of his whip upon a number 
 of persons. Nor do I doubt that there may be 
 demons who wander through the forest as well as 
 through the air. But I also know very well that 
 as to this ' Grand Veneur,' nothing can be said for 
 certain." 
 
 Was it in consequence of this warning apparition 
 that, as Easter 1599 approached, Henry IV 
 followed the counsel of his confessor, and dismissed 
 Gabrielle d'Estre'es for a fortnight from the court ? 
 Was it poison which, during this same temporary 
 absence, cut short her career at the table of the 
 financier, Zamet ? A mystery hangs over the fate 
 of Henry's fascinating mistress, who, as even 
 Protestant historians relate, lived in the court 
 without making a single enemy. 
 
 Henry was not only an enthusiastic sportsman, 
 but, like Francis I, a great decorator and builder. 
 He laid out the gardens and the park, forming the 
 " Mail Henri Quatre," and adorning the centre of 
 the lake with its island temple. Many of the 
 structures erected in his reign have been altered
 
 259 
 
 by his successors, and especially by Louis XV ; 
 others still remain intact. The Galerie des Cerfs, 
 as well as the Galerie de Diane, were his works. 
 In the former Monaldeschi was murdered ; in the 
 latter, built at the request of Gabrielle d'Estrees, 
 the library is now arranged. Henry's private 
 cabinet still remains, at the door of which Biron 
 was arrested. The " Salle de Conseil " is now the 
 Musee Chinois ; but it is more interesting as the 
 room in which was held the famous conference 
 between Du Plessis Mornay and the Cardinal Du 
 Perron. The detached pavilion on the east of the 
 palace was built by the king for Sully, and, in 
 order to be convenient of access, it communicated 
 with the main building by arcades. The open 
 dome, under which passes the entrance to the Cour 
 Ovale, was erected by him for the open-air baptism 
 of his son, afterwards Louis XIII. 
 
 In the Salle de Conseil at Fontainebleau on 
 Tuesday, May 4, 1599, was held the famous con- 
 ference, in which the Pope of the Protestants, Du 
 Plessis Mornay, was confronted with the Bishop 
 of Evreux, afterwards Cardinal Du Perron. In 
 his book on the Eucharist l Du Plessis Mornay 
 made a variety of quotations which the bishop 
 alleged to be false. The conference was summoned 
 not to decide points of doctrine, but to determine 
 the authenticity of the Protestant quotations. In 
 the centre of the Salle de Conseil, which ran along 
 one side of the Cour Ovale, was placed a porphyry 
 1 " De 1'Institution . . . du Sainct Sacrecaent de I'Eucharistie."
 
 260 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 table. There, at one o'clock, the members of the 
 Council took their places. The king sat at one 
 end, having on his right the Roman Catholic 
 champion, on his left the Protestant leader. At 
 the opposite end of the table sat the secretaries. 
 Behind, and on either side of the king, were 
 princes, great officers of State, archbishops, bishops, 
 and nobles. Among the commissioners appointed 
 to assist the king from the two hostile communions 
 was Casaubon. 
 
 The assembly took their places. A copy of Du 
 Plessis Mornay's work, printed in quarto form at 
 Rochelle by Haultin, was placed before the king. 
 By the side of the incriminated book was set a 
 list of sixty passages selected from the 500 im- 
 pugned by Du Perron. The inquiry began with a 
 further choice of nineteen passages from the shorter 
 list, and on the authenticity of these the question 
 turned. Nine passages only had been examined, 
 and in the case of all, so say the Roman Catholic 
 historians, had the meaning of the quotations been 
 falsified, when the Protestant leader fell ill. His 
 sickness, said his enemies, was feigned. Be this as 
 it may, he did not return to the conference, which 
 therefore was broken up. The defeat of their 
 champion was a severe blow to the Huguenot 
 cause, and many persons at once abjured Calvinism. 
 Thus, rejoices Dan, " As it had pleased God to 
 create the Hydra of heresy, so also it pleased Him 
 to create the Hercules for its destruction." 
 
 At Fontainebleau also was enacted the first scene
 
 BIRON'S EXECUTION 261 
 
 in the tragic fate of the Marshal de Biron. Biron, 
 who was governor of Burgundy, was suspected by 
 the king of intriguing with Spain and Savoy. His 
 designs were betrayed by his secretary, Lafin, who 
 placed in Henry's hands evidence which proved the 
 guilt of the Marshal de Biron. He was therefore 
 summoned by Henry to Fontainebleau. Biron 
 arrived on Wednesday, June 13, 1602. He reached 
 the palace at six in the morning, and found the 
 king just entering the garden. Henry received 
 him graciously, and embraced him with much 
 kindness. Then, taking him by the hand, he 
 walked with him through the gardens, pointing out 
 the buildings and other works which he was 
 carrying out. He then pressed him closely to tell 
 him the truth, promising him his pardon. But 
 Biron, believing in the fidelity of Lafin, who had 
 in fact betrayed him, replied that he had nothing 
 to confess, and he refused a favour of which he 
 had no need. 
 
 After a long conversation, they parted for dinner. 
 The meal ended, they walked in the Salle de la 
 Belle Cheminee, and, as they looked at the 
 equestrian statue of the king in full armour, which 
 forms its central ornament, Henry asked the 
 marshal, perhaps with the purpose of sounding 
 him, " What, think you, would the King of Spain 
 say if he saw me like that ? " Biron, in his usual 
 brusque manner, and without casting about for 
 graceful compliments, replied, " Sire, he would 
 have no fear of you at all," The king was piqued
 
 262 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 by the answer, and shortly afterwards retired to 
 his cabinet. Presently Biron was summoned to 
 his presence, and again urged to make a full con- 
 fession. Again he refused, asserting that he had 
 nothing to confess. " I want," said the king to 
 Sully, " to pardon this unfortunate man ; but I am 
 afraid if I do so, he on his side will neither forgive 
 me, nor my son, nor the State." Sully then en- 
 deavoured to induce the marshal to make a full 
 confession. But he met with no better success. 
 " I have nothing to tell the king or you," was 
 Biron's answer. 
 
 In the afternoon the king played at tennis, with 
 the Comte de Soissons for his partner, against the 
 Due d'Epernon and Biron. The marshal made a 
 brilliant stroke, which elicited from the king the 
 remark, " You are a fine player, marshal, but you 
 are never on good terms with your partner." And 
 the onlookers, interpreting the words by subsequent 
 events, found in them a sinister meaning. 
 
 After the set was finished the king went to 
 supper. Once more, through the Comte de Soissons, 
 he endeavoured to induce Biron to confess, but the 
 latter strongly maintained his innocence. The next 
 morning the king summoned him to the garden 
 and asked him, " Well, Monsieur de Biron, is there 
 no possible means by which we may learn some- 
 thing from you ? " Then Biron lost his temper, 
 breaking out into vehement invectives against all 
 who had slandered him to the king. Henry at 
 once took his measures. The marshal's friends
 
 A PRINCE'S BAPTISM 263 
 
 advised him to escape. The Comtesse de Roussi 
 sent him a note, saying, " If you are not off at once, 
 in two hours you will be arrested." While playing 
 at cards with the queen, the Comte d'Auvergne 
 whispered in his ear, " It is not well for us to be 
 here." Still, however, Biron lingered. At midnight, 
 as he was leaving the king's apartment, he was 
 arrested and confined in the Pavilion des Armes 
 close to the tennis court. The next evening he 
 was taken by boat to Paris to be imprisoned in the 
 Bastille. There, a few weeks later, he was led by 
 torchlight into the courtyard of the prison and 
 beheaded. The one favour which Henry granted 
 to his former friend w r as to spare him a public 
 execution in the Place de Greve. 
 
 Four years later Fontainebleau was the scene of 
 a magnificent spectacle. The Dauphin of France, 
 afterwards Louis XIII, and his two sisters were 
 baptized in the baptistery erected for the purpose in 
 the gateway entering the Cour Ovale. The whole 
 of the courtyard was covered over with an awning. 
 All the grandees of the realm were present, and 
 Pope Paul V was represented by his legate as one 
 of the godfathers. The ceremony, which began at 
 four, ended at six. It was followed by illumina- 
 tions, and banquetings continued into the next day. 
 Never was such magnificence seen before. The 
 hilt of the sword of the Due d'Epernon was set 
 with 1,800 diamonds ; the dress of the Marshal de 
 Bassompierre, which cost 600 crowns, was of violet 
 cloth of gold, and in the embroidery there was
 
 264 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 employed 50 Ib. weight of pearls. The baptism 
 was accompanied also by strange portents in the 
 sky. The heavens were lit up by a bright light 
 which passed from west to east ; armies of men, 
 some on fiery cars, some on foot, some on horse- 
 back, fought battles in mid-air ; the contest was 
 furious, and multitudes seemed to be slain. The 
 strange spectacle was interpreted by astrologers to 
 mean that the young dauphin would receive the 
 crown of Germany, reconquer Europe from the 
 Turks, and overthrow the Ottoman Empire. 
 
 Throughout the reign of Louis XIII the work 
 of building and decoration continued without in- 
 terruption. The monogram of the king and his 
 wife, Anne of Austria, as well as inscriptions com- 
 memorating the victories of the modern Hercules 
 over the Protestant heresies, attests the hand of 
 the royal builder. He completed the chapel of the 
 Holy Trinity ; he built the external staircase by 
 which the palace is entered on the western side, 
 and in nearly all the rooms and galleries some 
 traces of the decorative art of his reign may be 
 seen. It is rather the art than the history of the 
 time which is illustrated in the palace. 
 
 Few events of the reign are connected with 
 Fontainebleau. But it was here that the peace 
 with England was signed in 1629. Hither, also, 
 came more than once, borne in his huge crimson 
 litter, Richelieu, whose clear-cut Dantesque features 
 tell their tale of imperial purpose and high resolve, 
 and from whose pitiless lips so often issued the
 
 CHRISTINE OF SWEDEN 265 
 
 words Pas de grace, which were fatal to hundreds 
 besides Marion Delorme. Nor, if tradition be true, 
 was Fontainebleau wholly unconnected with the 
 birth of Louis XIV. In the neighbourhood of the 
 palace is a village named Fericy, renowned for the 
 blessed waters of St. Osmane, which were celebrated 
 for their efficacy among childless women. In 1637 
 water from this fountain was conveyed to the 
 Louvre, and, nine months later, the queen, who had 
 hitherto proved barren, bore a son and heir to the 
 throne. 
 
 On May 4, 1643, Louis XIV succeeded his 
 father. During his childish years few personal 
 associations connect him with Fontainebleau. The 
 historical interest of the palace centres round two 
 foreign queens, one of whom was an exile and the 
 other had voluntarily abdicated her throne. In 
 1647 the palace offered an asylum to Queen 
 Henrietta of England, and, nine years later, 
 received Queen Christine of Sweden. With the 
 latter guest is associated the tragedy of the death 
 of Monaldeschi, whose sword and coat of mail are 
 still preserved in the palace. The story of his 
 murder which has been most generally followed is 
 that told in the " Memoirs " of Madame de Motte- 
 ville. From her pen the story has received many 
 embellishments. But among the Harleian MSS. 
 is the official declaration of the only known eye- 
 witness of the scene, and it is from his statement 
 that the following account is mainly taken : 
 
 In 1656 Christine, Queen of Sweden, had ab-
 
 266 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 dicated her throne, and passed through Paris on her 
 way to Italy. She made her entry on horseback, 
 accompanied by the Due de Guise, who represented 
 the king, and was received at the Louvre with 
 every sign of royal friendship. But in course of 
 time her eccentricities, her manners, her language, 
 her oaths so disgusted her hosts, that, in the 
 following year, when she announced her intention 
 of revisiting Paris, she was asked to halt at 
 Fontainebleau. There, in October 1657, the king 
 paid her a state visit, returning to the capital the 
 next day. 
 
 A few days later, on November 10, was enacted 
 that ghastly tragedy which sent a thrill of horror 
 throughout civilised Europe. On November 6 
 the queen summoned to her presence the superior 
 of the convent of the Mathurins, Father Lebel. 
 She received him alone, bound him over to secrecy, 
 and consigned to his care a sealed packet of papers. 
 The following Saturday, on November 10, Lebel 
 was again sent for. On entering the Galerie des 
 Cerfs, the door was closely shut behind him. 
 Halfway down the gallery stood the queen, one of 
 the gentlemen of her train, and three other persons 
 with drawn swords. Christine asked for the 
 packet of letters, broke the seals, showed some of 
 the documents to her equerry, and asked if they 
 were his. The equerry, who proved to be the 
 Marquis de Monaldeschi, in trembling accents, 
 denied that he had written them. They were, in 
 fact, copies made by herself Christine then showed
 
 MONALDESCHI 267 
 
 him the originals, called him a traitor, and bade 
 him acknowledge his hand. Monaldeschi then con- 
 fessed the authorship of the letters, and, throwing 
 himself upon his knees, implored pardon, casting 
 the blame upon others, and making various excuses 
 for his conduct. 
 
 Then Monaldeschi rose, and retired with the 
 queen, first into one corner, then into another, of 
 the gallery, praying her to hear his explanations. 
 She listened with a totally unmoved countenance, 
 sometimes asking a question, but never betraying 
 the slightest sign of anger, and resting upon a 
 round-handled stick of black ebony. At last, 
 turning to Lebel, she said, " Father, be my witness 
 that I am doing nothing in haste, and that I allow 
 this perfidious traitor all the time, and more than 
 all the time, he could have expected, to justify his 
 conduct." And, in the hearing of Lebel, the 
 marquis continued his pleadings. At the end of 
 two hours, about three in the afternoon, she again 
 turned to the priest, and said in a raised, but calm 
 and serious, voice : " Father, I am about to with- 
 draw. I leave this man to you. Prepare him for 
 death, and take care of his soul." At these words, 
 both Lebel and the marquis threw themselves at 
 her feet, and pleaded for mercy. But Christine, 
 addressing Lebel, told him that she could not 
 grant him the favour which he asked. She had 
 confided to Monaldeschi all her secrets, even all 
 her thoughts, in the full belief that he was a 
 faithful subject ; she had heaped upon him
 
 268 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 benefits, as if he were her own and dearly loved 
 brother ; she had condemned many a man to the 
 wheel for less offences than this traitor had com- 
 mitted, and she, therefore, adhered to her deter- 
 mination. So saying, she left the room. 
 
 The three men with their swords drawn then 
 came close to the marquis and urged him to 
 confess, while Lebel, with tears in his eyes, ex- 
 horted him to ask pardon of God. Monaldeschi 
 threw himself at the knees of the priest, and 
 implored him to intercede with the queen. So 
 piteous and moving were his entreaties, that 
 Sentinelli, the leader of the three executioners, 
 sought the presence of Christine, and begged her 
 to spare him. He returned in a few minutes, and 
 said, "Marquis, turn your thoughts to your soul 
 and to God. You must die ! " Then Lebel en- 
 deavoured himself to divert the queen from her 
 purpose. He found the blue-eyed, hawk-nosed 
 woman as calm and collected as if she had given 
 the simplest and most ordinary order. All his 
 entreaties were utterly useless. He returned into 
 the gallery, embraced the marquis, and exhorted 
 him, in the most moving language at his command, 
 to trust in God's mercy and prepare for death. 
 At these words Monaldeschi uttered two or three 
 piercing screams, and then, throwing himself on his 
 knees before the priest, began to confess. In his 
 agitation the confession was a jumble of Latin, 
 French, and Italian. 
 
 Before the confession was completed, the royal
 
 MURDER OF MONALDESCHI 269 
 
 almoner looked into the gallery. Seeing him, 
 Monaldeschi sprang to his feet, and, without 
 waiting for the absolution, implored his inter- 
 cession. Seizing his hands, he pleaded so earnestly 
 that the almoner left the room, taking with him 
 the chief executioner. In a few minutes the latter 
 returned alone, and, with the w r ords " Marquis, 
 ask God's pardon ! without further waste of time 
 you must die," drove him back against the wall at 
 the end of the gallery. With his sword, he struck 
 the victim in the stomach. Monaldeschi grasped 
 the sword with his hand, and the other, drawing it 
 from him, cut off two of his fingers. But the 
 sword was bent, showing that Monaldeschi wore, 
 as proved to be the case, a coat of mail. Then one 
 or other of the armed men struck him a blow in 
 the face, and the marquis, crying " Father ! father ! " 
 sank on his knees. Lebel drew near ; the execu- 
 tioners stood back ; and Monaldeschi, having com- 
 pleted his confession, received absolution. The 
 moment that the words were said he received a 
 violent blow over the head, and lay on the floor, 
 making signs to the executioners to cut his throat. 
 They struck him several times on the neck, but 
 the coat of mail intercepted the blows. He was 
 still living, when again the door opened, and the 
 almoner entered. Crawling along the floor, the 
 wounded wretch dragged himself to the feet of the 
 almoner, and from him again received absolution. 
 This given, Sentinelli drove his sword through the 
 throat of Christine's victim. The marquis never
 
 270 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 spoke again. He lingered a quarter of an hour 
 longer, while Lebel hung over him, crying " Je"sus 
 Maria " and other words of devotion. For many 
 years the spot in the gallery where he breathed his 
 last was marked with the word " Dieu," his last 
 articulate utterance. At a quarter to four he was 
 dead ; at a quarter to six his corpse had been 
 removed to the church at Avon, where a tablet, 
 bearing the inscription " CY GIST MONALDELXI," 
 still marks the place of his interment. On the 
 Sunday following Christine sent a sum of money 
 to Lebel to provide masses for the soul of her late 
 servant. 
 
 The murder of Monaldeschi is the most striking 
 scene which connects the reign of Louis XIV 
 with Fontainebleau. Though the Grand Monarque 
 paid frequent visits to the palace, and though it was 
 here that, in 1661, he proclaimed, with festivities 
 of extraordinary splendour, the birth of his son, 
 yet Versailles and Marly were his favourite resi- 
 dences, and it was there that he celebrated the 
 victories of Conde, Turenne, Vauban, and Luxem- 
 bourg. The structural and decorative changes at 
 Fontainebleau which were his handiwork betray 
 the character of the king and of his age. The 
 canons of pure taste, the laws of strict harmony, 
 were forced to obey the will of the absolute despot. 
 A profusion of heavy gilding marks the pomp and 
 emphasis of the Augustan age of the Grand 
 Monarque. In ingenious mythological fictions are 
 celebrated the splendours of its Caesar, who enters
 
 MADAME DE MAINTENON 271 
 
 Dunkirk wearing the casque, breastplate, and 
 cloak of a Roman, surmounted by the wig of 
 the Court of Versailles. As at Versailles, so at 
 Fontainebleau, the king delighted in fountains, and 
 the groups of statues in marble or bronze which 
 adorn les cascades were the work of the sculptors 
 of the period. 
 
 It was at Fontainebleau that Louis XIV was 
 first smitten with love for Louise de la Valliere. 
 Here, in 1661, the year of his son's birth, the 
 twenty-four violons du roi struck up the overture 
 to the first representation of one of Moliere's 
 comedies, in which the author himself played a 
 part. Here, in 1690, James II of England found 
 a refuge in the palace which had sheltered his 
 mother. Here, from time to time, were celebrated 
 the brilliant festivities which marked the early 
 portion of the king's reign, and here, in gloom and 
 darkness, the sun of France slowly set. Here, 
 under the rule of Madame de Maintenon, piety 
 became the fashion ; here, in her pavilion, she 
 shivered with the cold, while she consulted 
 Mouthier on new dishes to tickle the jaded palate 
 of Louis. And it was at Fontainebleau that two 
 of the most momentous events of the king's reign 
 took place. Within the walls of the palace he 
 signed the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 
 1685, and in 1700 decided to accept the will of 
 Charles II, which left the throne of Spain to his 
 grandson, the Duke of Anjou, afterwards Philip V. 
 The council at which this last important step was
 
 272 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 taken was held in the room of Madame de Main- 
 tenon. In all his doubts and difficulties the king 
 had long been accustomed to consult the woman 
 whom he nicknamed La Solidite or La Raison. 
 Such deference to the judgment of a woman, 
 even if she had been, as was supposed, the 
 legal wife of the sovereign, was extraordinary. 
 " It was not without surprise," says St. Simon, 
 " that France saw her assume a public part in 
 the deliberation of affairs, and the astonishment 
 was extreme when two councils met in her 
 apartments to discuss the greatest and most im- 
 portant question that had ever been raised 
 throughout the whole length of the reign." It 
 was on the instigation of Madame de Maintenon 
 that Louis took the momentous step which 
 upset the balance of power and plunged Europe 
 into war. 
 
 In September 1715 Louis lay dying. For 
 months past his health had been impaired, though 
 he resented the suggestion of Madame de Maintenon 
 that he should eat more sparingly of strawberries 
 and peas, and abstain from highly seasoned dishes. 
 His death was received by a depressed, despairing 
 people with every demonstration of delight. He 
 left behind him a kingdom drained of its resources, 
 an empty treasury, a heavy burden of debt, and 
 commerce and manufactures, which were once 
 flourishing, almost extinguished. Nor among the 
 enervated aristocracy who thronged to an idle, 
 vicious, hypocritical court, was there a single
 
 THE DANCE OF DEATH 273 
 
 statesman who was capable of taking the helm 
 of government. In the crowd that gathered in 
 the faubourg to curse the conqueror, as his coffin 
 was carried by bye-paths and unfrequented roads 
 to St. Denis, might be seen the progenitors of 
 that maddened mob who, eighty years later, 
 violated his tomb, and scattered his ashes to the 
 wind. 
 
 Louis XV has left behind him innumerable 
 traces, both constructive and destructive, of his reign 
 at Fontainebleau. There, as elsewhere, the court 
 danced its giddy dance of death in the years which 
 preceded the Revolution. Throughout the whole 
 period which elapsed between the death of the 
 Grand Monarch and the convention of the States- 
 General the popular indignation was steadily 
 increasing. During the dissipations of the Regency, 
 the dull decorum of the early period of the reign 
 of Louis XV, the unbridled debauchery of his 
 later years, the movement gathered irresistible 
 strength. With fatal skill the king carried on 
 the work of destroying the grandeur of the French 
 monarchy, and the part which he played at 
 Fontainebleau was that of the destroyer of its 
 buildings. His hand pulled down the famous 
 Galerie d'U lysse, in which Primaticcio and Mccolo 
 dell'Abbate had painted the adventures of the 
 king of Ithaca. His hand, again, demolished the 
 Salle de la Belle Cheminee to make room for 
 the theatre, which Madame de Pompadour raised 
 in its place, and which was burned in 1856. Many 
 
 18
 
 274 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 existing portions of the palace date from his reign ; 
 but their external appearance is mean and in- 
 effective. Their internal decoration, on the other 
 hand, is often exquisitely graceful. The royal 
 apartments, for instance, are beautiful examples 
 of the style of Louis XV, the ceilings adorned by 
 Boucher, the panels by Charles Vanloo. Here, too, 
 the artistic and the political histories of the time 
 go hand in hand. The strength and vigour of 
 the ancien regime were sapped and weakened, 
 while the one redeeming feature of a degenerate 
 society was the ease and elegance of its manners. 
 And even these were as artificial as were Boucher's 
 affected grace, superficial charm of colouring, 
 and figures drawn not from nature but from 
 imagination. 
 
 It was at Rambouillet or at Choisy that Louis 
 worked his tapestry, or delved, or turned, or 
 cooked, with his own hands, the most delicate 
 dishes of his petits soupers. But at Fontainebleau, 
 each in their turn, the four sisters of the house 
 of Nesle reigned as mattresses en titre ; here, also, 
 Madame de Pompadour, and afterwards Madame 
 du Barry, had their apartments. The Queen, 
 Maria Leczinska, seven years older than her boy 
 bridegroom, was a plain, unintellectual, narrow- 
 minded woman of exemplary piety. She was the 
 mother of many of the king's children ; but she 
 was incapable of retaining, if she ever possessed, 
 his affections. Her time was spent at her toilet, 
 or at her prie-dieu, or at the lansquenet table.
 
 MADAME DE POMPADOUR 275 
 
 Play ran high, and, if Voltaire is to be trusted, 
 cheating prevailed in the royal boudoir, as later it is 
 said to have prevailed in that of Marie Antoinette. 
 Whilst J.-J. Rousseau fled from the court, Voltaire 
 solicited its favours. One evening when he was 
 in waiting as a gentleman-in-ordinary of the royal 
 chamber, the Marquise de Chatelet lost 84,000 
 francs at lansquenet in the queen's salon. Voltaire 
 said to her in English, " You are playing with 
 cheats." His remark was overheard, and he judged 
 it prudent to take refuge at Sceaux, where he 
 remained for several months in hiding. 
 
 The true queen of France, and not only queen, 
 but regent and prime minister, was Madame de 
 Pompadour. A brilliant horsewoman, Jeanne- 
 Antoinette Poisson had first attracted the notice 
 of the king by her equestrian skill and her velvet 
 habit of the bright blue known as I ceil du roi. 
 Once installed as mistress, she completely domi- 
 nated the king. Her fertile fancy and ready wit 
 suggested amusements for his jaded appetite ; she 
 carefully consulted his gastronomic tastes in 
 company with her famous chef, Mouthier, who 
 inherited the genius of his father, and boasted of 
 his descent from a line of cooks. Her indefatigable 
 industry relieved his shoulders from all the burden 
 of State business. Her supremacy was undisputed. 
 Her artistic taste, aided by the graceful fancy of 
 Boucher, is associated with every detail of the 
 style Louis XV. It was at her request that the 
 manufactories of Gobelin tapestry and Sevres
 
 276 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 china were placed under royal patronage. The 
 choice library which she gathered in her hotel, 
 afterwards the Elysee Bourbon, the plates which 
 she engraved, the pieces which she modelled in 
 Sevres, the rare medals and masterpieces of 
 furniture which she collected, prove that, low- 
 born though she was, she was not unfitted to 
 direct the fashion of art and of dress. 
 
 It was in her theatre at Fontainebleau that, in 
 1752, was acted " Le Devin du Village," a new 
 opera in one act, of which, says the " Gazette " of 
 October 21, the " Sieur Rousseau de Geneve " is 
 the author. Vast sums were expended on Madame 
 de Pompadour's theatre, and, to make room for it, 
 a masterpiece of sixteenth-century art was, as has 
 been already said, destroyed by the king's orders. 
 The people, dying of hunger, miserable and 
 desperate, bitterly complained, according to the 
 " Journal d'Argenson," of the reckless expenditure. 
 The representation of " Le Devin du Village " thus 
 groups in effective proximity the principal elements 
 of the impending Revolution the growing resent- 
 ment of a starving people, the reckless prodigality 
 of the court, the charm of its high-bred society, 
 the contempt for the glories of the past, and the 
 man who, beyond all others, translated into an 
 eloquent theory the callous offences of an aristo- 
 cratic clique and the muttered execrations of an 
 unprivileged majority. 
 
 In Rousseau's " Confessions " will be found an 
 amusing description of the scene. With all his
 
 JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 277 
 
 affectation of the ton Romain, Jean-Jacques was 
 as shamefaced and self-conscious as an awkward 
 schoolboy in the presence of the fashionable world. 
 With untidy dress, unkempt beard, and ill-combed 
 perruque, he found himself placed in a prominent 
 position in the centre of a gorgeously dressed 
 crowd, and immediately opposite the box in which 
 were seated the king and Madame de Pompadour. 
 Many of the men were clad in coats of that shade 
 of blue which had come to be known, not as 
 loeil du roi, but as bleu Pompadour, and which 
 Voltaire himself did not disdain to wear. The 
 ladies wore the fichus and coiffures a la Marquise ; 
 the sword-knots of the soldiers were tied in the 
 rosette a la Pompadour. [As soon as the great 
 lights were lit, Rousseau found himself among the 
 crowd of court beauties the only man in that part 
 of the theatre. He expected to be treated with 
 haughty coldness. On the contrary, he found 
 every one civil and attentive. Ill at ease, he made 
 speeches to himself. As to his beard, it was the 
 work of nature. His dress was simple, but not 
 dirty. If he was thought to be ridiculous or 
 impertinent, he cared nothing for undeserved 
 blame. Thus soliloquising, he encouraged himself 
 to bear with intrepidity the curiosity with which 
 he was regarded. 
 
 His opera proved a complete success. The 
 ladies all around him wept, and Rousseau also wept, 
 delighted to give pleasure to so many women, who 
 were " beautiful as angels." As to the king, the
 
 278 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 music was, for the next twenty-four hours, always 
 in his mouth. He never ceased singing, in a voice 
 which was more out of tune than any other in 
 the kingdom, "J'ai perdu mon serviteur." The 
 triumph which his opera obtained put Rousseau 
 at his ease. But during the night all his fears 
 returned. He was to be presented to the king, 
 and there was a talk of a pension. He wished, 
 he says, so far as was compatible with the tone 
 and air of severity that he had adopted, to show 
 himself sensible of the honour paid him by the 
 king. But his unreadiness of speech and his 
 constitutional timidity convinced him that he 
 would be entirely at a loss for words. Almost 
 before daybreak he pleaded ill-health, and fled 
 from Fontainebleau. 
 
 The Trianons at Versailles are more closely 
 associated with Marie Antoinette than the boudoirs 
 of Fontainebleau. It was at Versailles, among her 
 milkmaids and shepherdesses, that she struck the 
 first blow in the cause of " Liberty, Equality, and 
 Fraternity " by abolishing the tabouret, a privilege 
 of being seated in the presence of the king and 
 queen. It was there also that she developed her 
 passion for gambling, for lavishing extravagant 
 gifts on her favourites, for introducing outrageous 
 fashions and head-dresses, like the " Ques-a-cos," l 
 
 1 " Ques-a-co ? " is the Prover^al for " Qu'est-ce que cela ? " 
 The word was used satirically by Beaumarchais in his Memoires 
 contre les sieurs de Goezman. It was seized upon by the Parisian 
 wig-makers, and applied to a head-dress introduced by Marie 
 Antoinette.
 
 THE PRISON OF A POPE 279 
 
 or mythological edifices. But, as a skilful horse- 
 woman, she delighted in the Forest of Fontaine- 
 bleau, and at the palace in the graceful refinement 
 of her boudoir the artistic skill of the age is well 
 displayed. Upon its decoration the talent of 
 Rousseau and Berthelemy was employed. In the 
 centre of the parquet floor appear, from the midst 
 of a sun, the letters " M.A.," which formed the 
 monogram of the ill-fated queen. Tradition 
 attributes the ironwork of one of the windows 
 of the bedroom to the blacksmith's skill of 
 Louis XVI. In the adjoining bedroom her bed 
 is preserved, hung with tapestry, designed by a 
 pupil of Boucher. The hangings were ordered at 
 Lyons, and they were still unfinished when the 
 Revolution broke out. More than twenty years 
 later they were presented by the city of Lyons 
 to Marie Louise on her marriage with the Emperor 
 Napoleon I. 
 
 None of the French palaces exercised so peculiar 
 a fascination for Napoleon as the " demeure des 
 siecles" of Fontainebleau. The palace was re- 
 furnished and redecorated, till it was said that the 
 wonders of Marly would have paled beside the 
 magnificence of the imperial residence. It was 
 here also that he lodged his royal prisoners, 
 Charles IV of Spain in 1808, and Pope Pius VII 
 in 1812. The pope had already visited Fontaine- 
 bleau as an honoured guest. In September 1804 
 Napoleon had invited the pope to give by his 
 presence the highest religious sanction to the
 
 280 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 consecration and coronation of the first Emperor 
 of the French. The sovereign pontiff was met 
 at the Croix de St. He'rem, in the heart of the 
 forest, by Napoleon on horseback, and in hunting 
 dress. Seated on the right of the consul, escorted 
 by a troop of Mamelukes, the representative of 
 Catholic Christendom entered the palace, through 
 lines of troops, and amid salvos of artillery. 
 The pope's second visit was made under very 
 different circumstances. 
 
 Angry discussions and disputes subsequently 
 broke out between the emperor and the pope, 
 which ended in Napoleon's determination to confis- 
 cate the Roman States. The Castle of St. Angelo 
 was occupied by the French troops in 1809, and 
 the pope was removed from Rome to Savona. 
 There he remained till June 1812. Suddenly the 
 emperor, then on the eve of starting for the 
 expedition against Russia, determined to remove 
 him to Fontainebleau. So rapidly was the removal 
 accomplished, that the pope arrived before the 
 orders for his reception. Refused admittance at 
 the gates of the palace, he was lodged till the 
 evening in a house opposite the Cour des Adieux, 
 now the famous H6tel de France. The house was 
 then occupied by a dentist. Had it been the hotel, 
 presided over by a worthy predecessor of the late 
 Monsieur Dumaine or his widow, Pius VII would 
 probably have preferred to remain there during the 
 whole time of his captivity. In the palace of 
 Fontainebleau, in the apartments still known by
 
 COMMEDIANTETRAGEDIANTE 281 
 
 his name, the pope lived for nearly eighteen months. 
 When Napoleon returned from Russia, he charged 
 the Bishop of Nantes to reopen negotiations with 
 the pope on the subject of the Concordat. In 
 January 1813 the emperor himself arrived un- 
 expectedly in the apartments of the pope. Em- 
 bracing his captive with effusive affection, he 
 protested his filial devotion. The pope, so runs the 
 legend, replied with the single word, " Commedi- 
 ante." Beside himself with fury, Napoleon stormed 
 and threatened. In the midst of the outburst, 
 the laconic pope murmured another single word, 
 " Tragediante." A second interview proved more 
 successful. At Fontainebleau, in the presence 
 of the emperor, Marie Louise, and the whole 
 court, the pope signed the famous Concordat on 
 January 25, 1813. 
 
 But another year elapsed before the pope's 
 release. His signature of the Concordat did, 
 indeed, make a change in his position. He was 
 allowed the attendance of his suite, and twenty- 
 seven cardinals were lodged in the palace or the 
 town, each with their train of attendants, and each 
 dressed, according as they had upheld or annulled 
 the marriage with Josephine, in black or red. 
 Their memory yet lingers in the culinary art of 
 preparing " les haricots du Cardinal." It was not 
 till January 1814 that the pope was released from 
 his captivity at Fontainebleau. 
 
 It was at Fontainebleau that Napoleon, riding 
 with a single attendant day after day for hours
 
 282 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 together through the forest, had brooded over and 
 planned the divorce of Josephine. Fontainebleau 
 had been the scene of the culmination of his 
 audacity and pride ; it was the spot on which he 
 had meditated his most callous act of cruelty and 
 ingratitude. By a fitting retribution, it was destined 
 to be also the stage on which was enacted his 
 downfall. 
 
 Among the suite of apartments built by Louis 
 XV, on the site of a gallery constructed in the 
 reigns of Francis I and Henry II, is the room 
 in which Napoleon signed his abdication on April 5, 
 1814. " The AUied Powers having proclaimed 
 that the Emperor Napoleon was the sole obstacle 
 to the re-establishment of the peace of Europe, the 
 emperor, faithful to his oath, declares that he 
 abandons for himself and for his heirs all claims 
 upon the thrones of France and Italy, and that 
 there is no personal sacrifice, including even that of 
 his life, which he is not prepared to make in the 
 interest of France." The writing-table on which 
 the abdication was signed, the pen with which he 
 wrote his name, are preserved in the room. Adjoin- 
 ing it is the bedroom where, on the night of 
 April 12, as Baron Fain 1 relates, Napoleon at- 
 tempted to commit suicide. During the retreat 
 from Moscow Napoleon carried about with him 
 a quantity of opium, which he had determined to 
 
 1 Manuscrit de 1813, contenant le precis des evenements de 
 cette annee, pour servir a 1'histoire de I'empereur Napoleon. 
 Paris, 1824-5. 2 vols. 8vo.
 
 NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL 283 
 
 take sooner than fall alive into the hands of the 
 enemy. On this night of April 12 his valet heard 
 him get up and, looking through the half-open 
 door, saw him mix something in a glass of water, 
 drink it, and then go back to bed. Shortly after- 
 wards he was seized with the most violent pains. 
 Dr. Yvan, from whom he had procured the poison, 
 lost his head with terror, rushed out into the court- 
 yard, leaped on a horse which he found tethered at 
 the gate, and dashed into the forest. Meanwhile, 
 the emperor gradually revived ; the dose was either 
 insufficient, or the drug had lost its strength. The 
 next morning he had reconciled himself to life, and 
 surrendered himself to whatever destiny his star 
 might have in store for him. 
 
 On April 20, 1814, the emperor left Fontaine- 
 bleau as a banished man. At 12 o'clock it had 
 always been his practice to hold a review of the 
 troops quartered at Fontainebleau. At the usual 
 hour on this April 20 he left his room dressed 
 in his uniform as a colonel of Chasseurs. With 
 rapid step he descended the staircase of the great 
 courtyard, and on the last flight paused to look 
 quickly round him. General Petit came to the 
 foot of the staircase to receive his orders, and a 
 circle of officers was formed, in the centre of which 
 stood the emperor. He raised his hand. It was 
 the sign that he was about to speak. Every man 
 was silent, and in the deepest stillness he began 
 the words : " Officers, non-commissioned officers, 
 and soldiers of the Old Guard, I come to bid you
 
 284 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 farewell." Then, having finished his speech, he 
 embraced General Petit, and, covering the eagle 
 with kisses, he seated himself in a carriage, and 
 drove rapidly away. 
 
 With the farewell of Napoleon I the historical 
 charms of Fontainebleau came to an end. There 
 is no element of poetry in the flight of Charles X, 
 still less in that of Louis Philippe. The downfall 
 of Napoleon III is too recent to be invested with 
 the glamour of romance. But let the imagination 
 wander back over the centuries of French history, 
 and what a wealth of associations it conjures up, 
 what dramatic scenes it re-enacts, what brilliant 
 throngs of famous men and women it recalls 
 to life ! 
 
 As the shades of evening fall over the Cour 
 des Adieux, and the wind sighs through the arch- 
 ways, the whole space is crowded with the shadowy 
 figures of the heroes of a hundred fights, while they 
 strain their ears to catch the hurried broken fare- 
 well of their dethroned and exiled emperor. Here 
 is the site of the theatre where Jean-Jacques sat 
 abashed by the presence of the brilliant society 
 to which his eloquent theories proved so deadly 
 a foe. In this salon Marshal Saxe, slumbering 
 heavily on the prie-dieu, wins the heart of Maria 
 Leczinska by the exemplary length of his prayers 
 and confession ; in that, a gay crowd meets at the 
 table where Madame de Pompadour dispenses her 
 wit, her wine, and her smiles, and among them 
 is Voltaire, clad in the blue livery of the reigning
 
 GHOSTS OF THE PAST 285 
 
 favourite. Here is the room in which Madame de 
 Maintenon shivered, and knitted, and read her 
 books of devotion, and here is the council chamber 
 where her answer to the " Qu'en pense votre 
 Solidite ? " of Louis XIV plunged Europe into 
 twelve years of war. At the end of this long 
 gallery, the wretched Monaldeschi implores for 
 mercy, grovelling at the feet of the pitiless Christine 
 of Sweden. Through this courtyard, borne by 
 twenty liveried bearers, moves the huge red litter 
 of Cardinal Richelieu. Here is the garden, in 
 which Henry IV walks with his hand on the 
 shoulder of Biron ; here is the gallery, with its 
 equestrian statue of the king, where the marshal 
 lost by a clumsy answer his best hope of pardon ; 
 here the doorway at which he was arrested, here 
 the pavilion to which he was hurried, and which 
 he only left for the Bastille and the block. Through 
 this chamber rings the voice of Coligny as he 
 demands toleration for the Protestants. Here the 
 stout, muddy-complexioned Catherine de Medicis 
 walks at nightfall, asking of the stars the time 
 when vengeance and power shall be hers. Here is 
 the doorway through which escapes the Duchesse 
 d'Etampes, fleeing from the revenge of her rival, 
 Diane de Poitiers. Here is the chapel in which 
 the fur-cloaked courtiers of St. Louis find them- 
 selves unwillingly pledged to leave France and join 
 in the Crusades. 
 
 And on all these scenes the architecture of the 
 palace is an eloquent commentary. It is like the
 
 286 FONTAINEBLEAU 
 
 music which accompanies and explains the words. 
 Each change in style and taste illustrates the close 
 connection between the art and the mental or the 
 moral character of the age. The religious awe 
 of the middle ages, the need of defence, the anarchy 
 of feudalism, are preserved in the crypt of St. 
 Saturnin, and the shape of the Cour Oyale. The 
 graceful paganism of Francis I, twining round 
 Gothic forms, which have not wholly lost their 
 meaning or their strength, marks the transition 
 from the feudal to the modern world, from the 
 ages of faith to the classicism of the Renaissance, 
 and, by its exaggeration, often betrays the sudden 
 passage from simple ignorance to excessive refine- 
 ment. In the reign of Henry IV the harmony 
 between painting, sculpture, and architecture, 
 which reached their perfection under Henry II, 
 had lost its freshness, its spontaneity, its simplicity, 
 its ease. The object of artists is novelty ; the 
 decorations have lost their lightness, the details 
 are vicious, the general impression is laboured, 
 the instinctive perfection of taste is exchanged for 
 imitation. Art, like every other department of 
 national life, had lost its spirit in religious and civil 
 discord. In the reign of Louis XIII it had 
 travelled yet farther from its classic inspiration. 
 Still more marked was its decadence under the 
 Grand Monarque. Size, profusion, pomp, emphasis, 
 display, characterise the gilding and the stucco, 
 in which the achievements are celebrated of an 
 all-powerful monarch, who -makes the laws of
 
 ART AND HISTORY 287 
 
 harmony bow to his despotic will, and whose best 
 artistic representative is Boulle. Destruction was 
 one keynote of the changes made by Louis XV ; 
 where his hand is the hand of the builder or the 
 decorator, the work is wanting in strength, and 
 is scarcely more conspicuous for its grace and 
 elegance than for its affectation, its whimsical 
 caprice, its unprincipled irregularity. With the 
 Empire stricter canons of taste and beauty were 
 restored, the juster principles of classic art were 
 revived, but at the sacrifice of the traditions of 
 the past, and with the loss of its national inspiration. 
 And, lastly, the revival of a love of antiquity, the 
 reaction against the violence of revolution, the 
 return of older habits of thought are displayed 
 in the careful restorations of the Gothic revival 
 which was inaugurated at the Restoration and 
 was inspired by the Romantic movement of the 
 nineteenth century.
 
 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 "1 TOW many of the countless Englishmen and 
 -* *- Englishwomen who read French novels ever 
 read French poetry ? The true answer probably 
 would be scarcely any ; yet it is in verse that 
 the finer spirit of French literature and of French 
 national life is enshrined. 
 
 To most of us the classic school of French verse 
 seems cold and colourless. As the ^Eneid is an 
 echo of the Iliad, as Virgil in a sense copied 
 Homer, so Racine and Corneille, borrowing form 
 and atmosphere from the Augustan age of Roman 
 literature, appear to be still more remote from 
 their original, and to fail by yet another stage in 
 producing a national school of poetry. Yet the 
 impression is certainly mistaken. The popularity, 
 both contemporaneous and posthumous, of the 
 classic poets of France proves that their work 
 exactly caught the spirit of the generations which 
 received their verse with such rapturous applause. 
 Some part of the secret of their fresh vitality 
 doubtless lies in the perfection of the execution, 
 and in the sonorous music of the language. It 
 lies still more in their representative character. 
 They express with infinite art the genius of the 
 
 288
 
 CRESSET'S VERT-VERT 289 
 
 nation, its pride of empire, its self-sacrificing 
 patriotism, its thirst for glory, its unfaltering con- 
 fidence in the favour of the silent, invisible power 
 which controlled its destiny. They gather up into 
 verse, not only the spirit and character of the 
 nation, but the political tendencies, the social 
 ideals, and the religious feelings of their age and 
 race. The great galleries of Versailles stand un- 
 tenanted and silent ; the roar of its court-yards 
 is hushed ; but the ocean roll of the seventeenth- 
 century rhythm sounds for ever of the magnanimity 
 and imperial majesty of France in the days of the 
 great Monarch. 
 
 In the reign of Louis XIV the imperial and 
 poetic glories of France had culminated ; under his 
 successor both rapidly declined. To the epic grandeur 
 of the 17th century succeeded a mock-heroic age, 
 of which Vert- Vert is the literary masterpiece. 
 
 Born at Amiens in 1709, Jean Baptiste Cresset 
 was in 1734 preparing to enter the Jesuit Order. 
 But he had written a poem called Vert-Vert, ou 
 les Voyages du Perroquet de Nevers. Through 
 an indiscreet friend, a copy reached the press, 
 and the poem was published. It took by storm 
 a Parisian society which deified la brillante 
 bagatelle. It also procured Cresset's temporary 
 banishment from Paris to La Fleche. Those 
 who have sat on an autumn day in the gardens 
 of what is now the Prytanee, where the noise 
 of the chestnuts breaking their husks and falling 
 to the ground only makes the stillness more 
 
 19
 
 290 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 emphatic, will sympathise with the novice in his 
 exile. He had promised to write no more verse ; 
 but he could not refrain. The Jesuits decided 
 that he would not adorn their Society, and Gresset 
 left the college for the world. 
 
 Vert- Vert is written in the mock-heroic vein ; 
 like The Rape of the Lock, it is a Cupid pouting 
 behind the shield of Achilles. The parrot was the 
 pet of the Convent of the Visitandines at Nevers. 
 He fed in the refectory, slept in the dormitory, 
 and lightened the toil of the nuns with his pretty 
 ways. He deserved the love of the Convent, 1 
 
 For he a parrot was of strict devotion ; 
 
 Of wickedness he\l not the smallest notion ; 
 
 A lovely soul, in holy things well taught, 
 
 He never harboured one immodest thought ; 
 
 But in their stead the Canticles he knew, 
 
 Oremuses, and prayers, and collects not a few ; 
 
 He could recite his Benedicite, 
 
 Run through "Our Mother " and "Your Charity," 
 
 Had even mastered some soliloquies 
 
 And Marie Alacocque's soft reveries. 
 
 Far and wide spread the fame of Vert- Vert's piety. 
 It reached the nuns of the Visitation at Nantes, 
 who implored that the parrot might be sent to 
 pay them a visit. On the passage-boat, which 
 plied between Nevers and Nantes, Vert-Vert made 
 his first plunge into the world. The strange talk, 
 the blasphemy, and the oaths of his fellow- 
 
 1 It seems almost certain that Gresset wrote Vair-Vert. The 
 few extracts from Vert-Vert are quoted from a version by my 
 mother. To her also I am indebted for those translations from 
 Sully- Prudhomme and Coppee which are marked with an 
 asterisk in the following pages.
 
 THE PARROT OF NEVERS 291 
 
 passengers at first bewildered him. Then, cursing 
 in his heart the Sisters who had concealed from 
 him the nervous strength of the French language, 
 he bent all the powers of his mind to the study 
 of the new learning : 
 
 Like any trooper soon he cursed and swore, 
 Mastered the mysfries of Satanic lore, 
 And quickly gave the ancient saw the lie 
 That perfect villains grow up gradually ; 
 No Terms he kept, skipped evYy low Degree, 
 And rose a Doctor of Iniquity. 
 
 Arrived at Nantes, the parrot was received with 
 all the honours of his reputed sanctity. But the 
 Nuns were quickly undeceived. He disconcerted 
 the stately Abbess, insulted one Sister, imitated 
 the nasal twang of another, and with his appalling 
 oaths put the whole Convent to flight. Struck 
 dumb with horror, they fled, crossing themselves 
 as they ran, and, thinking the Last Day was come, 
 took refuge in the cellars. Vert-Vert is sent back 
 to Nevers in disgrace. At a solemn chapter he is 
 condemned for nine months to solitary confine- 
 ment, abstinence, and silence. His exemplary 
 conduct shortened his sentence and secured his 
 release. But his restoration to liberty and sweet- 
 meats was too sudden : he died of joy and excess. 
 His remains were buried in a funeral urn, which 
 bore the following inscription : 
 
 Ye Novice Nuns ! who to this Grove repair, 
 
 To elder Sisters 1 Eyes unknown, 
 One moment, if ye can, your Tongues forbear, 
 
 And make our Woes your own.
 
 292 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 Is Silence painful for a Space so brief? 
 Then speak ! but speak of our undying Grief ; 
 One Word our tender Sorrow's Cause imparts, 
 Here Vert- Vert lies ; and here lie all our Hearts. 
 
 The poem is the frolic of a light-hearted boy. 
 It is also the Iliad of the early years of Louis XV. 
 In the sparkle of the banter, in the lightness of 
 the satire it marks the first stages of the decadence 
 of the French monarchy and French society under 
 the ancien regime. It represents the early years 
 of decay, when beliefs were passing though habits 
 retained their power, when the world was losing 
 faith in old traditions, yet rather increased the 
 external pomp of respect than flaunted its in- 
 credulity. It embodies the period of gay infidelity, 
 of sprightly scepticism, of religious, moral, and 
 social insouciance which preceded bitter and avowed 
 hostility to the ancient ways. Society, in the days 
 of Vert-Vert, consumed its energies in a bataille 
 de fleurs, in which youth and beauty pelted each 
 other with roses that were still fresh with the 
 morning dew. Thirty years later, the combatants 
 were painted sirens and wrinkled satyrs whose 
 missiles were artificial flowers, and the silvery 
 laughter of light-heartedness had assumed the 
 harsh and mordant note of sneering indifference. 
 
 During the closing years of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, poetry suffered the same changes which 
 destroyed the political and social institutions of 
 France. The classic school ceased to be in close 
 touch with national ideals. Still less was it vivified
 
 CLASSIC CONVENTIONS 293 
 
 by the creative force of national genius. Its forms 
 shrank into rigid conventions from which the spirit 
 had departed. But the French Revolution pro- 
 duced no literary changes that at all corresponded 
 to those which overthrew the foundations of social 
 and political life. No republic of letters was built 
 up on the ruins of the classic despotism ; the 
 aristocracy of art was not dragged to the lamp- 
 post ; the Versailles of language was not invaded 
 by the vocabulary of the Fish-Market ; the nine 
 Muses were never forced to don the cap of liberty, 
 or dance the Carmagnole. On the contrary, both 
 the Convention and the Consulate affected the 
 air and tone of Republican Rome. Nor did the 
 Empire weaken the reign of the classic school. 
 Its literary forms were rather cherished as distinc- 
 tive of the French nationality ; foreign models 
 were proscribed ; Napoleon himself aspired to see 
 in attendance at his Court a second race of Racines 
 and Corneilles. But even Emperors cannot raise 
 poets by conscription. 
 
 The enforced calm was treacherous. The great 
 upheaval of thought which accompanied the French 
 Revolution was not fully realised until the exuber- 
 ance of destructive fanaticism had subsided, and 
 the iron despotism of the Empire had fallen. Men 
 thought earnestly and felt intensely. They studied 
 individuals and local differences, not general truths 
 and universal types. The new spirit revolted 
 against classic traditions, and claimed to represent 
 the progress of its own epoch. Enthusiasm sup-
 
 294 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 planted appeals to reason. To proclaim the ideal 
 became the only philosophy. The Hebrew spirit, 
 so to speak, overpowered that of the Greek. But 
 during the first twenty-five years of the nineteenth 
 century this seething mass of new ideas was con- 
 fined within the classic barriers. When once the 
 romantic movement had swept away the ancient 
 banks, the smooth canal-like waters of classic 
 literature were invaded by a swirling torrent of 
 action, narrative, passion, incident. French his- 
 torical writing, drama, and romance were re- 
 modelled ; painting, sculpture, music obeyed the 
 new impulse ; poetry sprang into fresh life as it 
 touched again its mother-earth in nature and 
 religion. 
 
 Of this literary Revolution, Victor Hugo was 
 the child, and for a time the leader. To many 
 foreigners the vast volcanic range of his genius 
 dominates the plain of French literature, even to 
 the exclusion of Lamartine, whom many of his 
 fellow-countrymen regard as a great amateur 
 lyrist rather than as a great lyrical poet. But 
 the lesser heights are there, each with its distinctive 
 charm. Hugo's manifesto of the romantic prin- 
 ciples of dramatic art seemed to his followers like 
 the delivery of the Tables of the Law from Mount 
 Sinai. The pale swarm of Electras and Iphigenias 
 fled before the bearded barbarians who responded 
 to the blast of Hernani's horn. Similarly, in the 
 successive prefaces to the " Odes et Ballades " 
 (1818-28), Hugo planted the flag of romantic
 
 VICTOR HUGO 295 
 
 poetry ; and his " Pas d'Armes du Roi Jean " 
 might well have been sung as the Marseillaise of 
 the movement. 
 
 Never was a great writer, consciously or uncon- 
 sciously, more completely the corridor through 
 which passed the wind. Every phase in the 
 changes that were transforming France is repre- 
 sented in his verse, as he passes from the ardent 
 Catholic and zealous Loyalist, through the stage 
 of the bitter satirist of Napoleon III, into the 
 revolutionary poet and democratic prophet of 
 Humanity. The many-sided youthful lyrist, whose 
 impressions take their colour like iridescent bubbles 
 from every passing object, and to whose lure love 
 and nature came loyally as birds, did his best work 
 in the four little volumes published during the 
 transition period of 1 830-40. l The Revolution of 
 1830 was the storm which scattered his autumn 
 leaves to the wind. Sitting, as it were, under the 
 bare boughs stripped of old associations, he seems 
 to ask himself how much remained of the senti- 
 ments which inspired his youth. His religious and 
 political faith was changed, but nature and home 
 were about him still. The shadows deepened into 
 the twilight of the second volume ; the noontide 
 heat had parched the morning dew ; what moisture 
 still clung to flowers had fallen from human tears. 
 Equally representative of contemporary feeling 
 
 1 "Les Feuilles d'Automne (1831);" "Les Chants du Crepus- 
 cule (1835) ; " " Les Voix Interieures (1837) ; " " Les Rayons et 
 les Ombres (1840)."
 
 296 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 were the two next volumes. The wider outlook 
 had brought disillusionment ; a faint flush did 
 indeed tinge the horizon, but men knew not 
 whether it heralded the dawn of a new day, or 
 proclaimed the evening sunset. It was an age of 
 transition, experiment, uncertainty, which cul- 
 minated in the second Empire. 
 
 Victor Hugo represents the Gothic side of the 
 romantic movement ; with him French poetry 
 recovered, out of the neglected regions of mediaeval 
 life, her youth, her directness, her vigour, her 
 picturesque richness. But there was also, as part 
 of the same movement, a classic revival a protest 
 against the second-hand imitations of pseudo- 
 classicism. With Andre Chenier poetry had drunk 
 once more direct from the original sources of her 
 inspiration the pure fountains of Greek beauty. 
 So now, with Theophile Gautier, she studied at 
 first-hand the clear vision, exact representation, 
 severe restraint, and statuesque simplicity of Greek 
 art. One section of the Romanticists thus went 
 back to the Greeks themselves ; another to the 
 " Chansons de Gestes " of the Middle Ages ; 
 another to nature, whether it is to be found in the 
 rural life of Brittany or in the garrets of great 
 cities. 
 
 Out of this union of the Revolution and the 
 romantic movement was bred the strange phase 
 of literary society which Henry Murger revealed 
 to Paris in his " Scenes de la Vie de Boheme." 
 Born in 1822, Murger was too youthful to belong
 
 HENRY MURGER 297 
 
 to the generation of young France and the period 
 of 1826-30. Before ten years had passed, the force 
 of the original movement was to some extent spent 
 or perverted. The century was no longer vocal 
 with great ideas and noble enthusiasms. The same 
 feeling of disenchantment which Victor Hugo 
 expresses in lyric verse characterises Murger's 
 work. But Murger felt only the disillusionment 
 without ever having experienced the illusion. He 
 had never warmed himself in the broad splashes 
 of sunlight that preceded the grey mists of 
 twilight. In his " Scenes de la Vie de Boheme " 
 critics have found the charm of youth, its gaiety 
 and irresponsibility. But, as it seems to me, its 
 bursts of laughter are nervous, not hearty. It 
 is a picture of youth which has grown old before 
 its time, frittered away a great inheritance, and 
 lost enthusiasm without gaining experience; ayouth 
 which masks its wounded vanity under a cynical 
 contempt for great causes. If any one supposes 
 that there is genuine gaiety in the book, let him 
 read the verse dedication which is prefixed to 
 "la Vie de Boheme." 
 
 It would have been strange if Murger had been 
 gay. Against cold and hunger, failing health, 
 love betrayed and hope deferred he made a gallant 
 struggle, though his courage is that of passive 
 resistance rather than of action. Too proud to 
 show how deeply he had felt and suffered, he 
 checked his feelings by an irony which is often 
 bitter. He had neither the temperament nor the
 
 298 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 learning to see the classic gods and goddesses, or 
 even Titania and her Court, dancing under the 
 gaslight of the Paris streets. He could not 
 combine Balzac with Perrault. A curious inquirer 
 rather than a profound observer, excluded by 
 want of education from the classic or romantic 
 past, he painted only himself, his friends, and his 
 surroundings, as they really were, with just that 
 touch of idealism which was needed to give them 
 stature and picturesqueness. 
 
 Though necessity compelled Murger to write 
 prose for bread, poetic fame was his earliest 
 ambition. Verse absorbed his youthful energies, 
 and death came to him as he was preparing for the 
 press a volume of verse called " Nuits d'Hiver." 
 It is in poetry that some of his best and truest 
 work was done. It was here that he found 
 consolation and hope ; here he reveals not only 
 his brain but his heart ; here he writes not so 
 much for the public as for himself. In their 
 simplicity and sincerity the best poems belong 
 to the new era, because they express the man 
 himself, without ornament, device, or convention- 
 ality. As in his prose, so in such verse as " Le 
 Testament," irony is often the styptic which he 
 applies to his wounds. Sometimes, as in " La 
 Ballade du Desespere," he sounds the very depths 
 of discouragement, of desertion, of receding hope. 
 More often the tone of the poems is tenderly 
 elegiac. Charged with a wistful regret for the 
 past, his verse is, so to speak, a reliquary in
 
 APOLOGY FOR TRANSLATIONS 299 
 
 which he lays the ashes of his loves, real or ideal, 
 and the memories of his departed dreams. In 
 the two poems which follow, the mournful note 
 is struck. Both belong to our early- Victorian 
 age in sentiment, and suggest a parallel with the 
 manner of Tennyson's youthful verse. In " Ma 
 Mie Annette " he expresses the pain of the con- 
 trast between the hopes and the cruelties of life. 
 In " Etrennes " he affects to hide the sense of 
 failure under the transparent veil of raillery. 
 
 Some apology is needed for translations. When 
 all the world reads French, is not the attempt 
 to render French into English almost an im- 
 pertinence ? Such a question must be present 
 to the mind of every translator who recognises 
 the difficulty of the task and the failure in 
 the performance. But thousands who read 
 French prose with ease do not read French 
 verse with that facility which is essential to 
 enjoyment. Apart from this, the prejudice 
 against French poetry is widespread. It is too 
 often supposed to be either frigid, or unwholesome, 
 or absorbed in the dexterous practice of the art. 
 The truth is that the poetry of our neighbours 
 is full of passion, of tender purity, and the deter- 
 mination to draw its inspiration from human 
 life. How can this truth be brought home 
 to English readers ? Only, as it seems to 
 me, by English renderings. It is in the hope 
 that some may be tempted to seek the charm, 
 finish, and grace of French poetry in its
 
 own language that these imperfect versions are 
 offered. 
 
 MY LOVE ANNETTE 
 
 Awake ! my love Annette, I pray ! 
 Be sure your smartest gown to wear ; 
 They keep our own Saint's Feast to-day, 
 And all the countryside is there. 
 
 Our Jacqueline her peal has rung 
 From the old tower at break of day ; 
 " The Patron's mass will soon be sung, 
 Come all, come quick," it seems to say. 
 The priest is waiting, quick ! away ! 
 Let's hasten on, Annette my dear; 
 If we're away when mass they say, 
 There's One above will drop a tear. 
 
 Awake ! my love Annette, I pray ! 
 Be sure your smartest gown to wear ; 
 They keep our own Saint's Feast to-day, 
 And all the countryside is there. 
 
 Each house its banner gaily flings 
 Upon the street, with nosegays bright 
 Festooned ; from ev'ry window rings 
 The merry shout of laughter light : 
 They're sitting there, the grandsires old, 
 They pass the cup and eager chat 
 Of days when youth and love were bold, 
 And him who wore the small cocked-hat. 
 
 MA MIE ANNETTE Re'veillez-vous, ma mie Annette, 
 
 , ... Et mettez vos plus beaux habits ; 
 
 Reveillez-vous, ma rme Annette, C ' est aujourd'hui grand jour de 
 Lt mettez vos plus beaux habits; fete 
 
 C'est aujourd'hui grand jour de Le j our ^ e fe te du pays . 
 fete, 
 
 Le jour de fete du pays. 
 
 Chaque maison est pavoisee 
 
 La Jacqueline matinale, De drapeaux flottants et de flours, 
 
 En branle dans le vieux clocher, Et Ton entend par la croisee 
 
 Sonne la messe patronale Sortir de joyeuses clameurs : 
 
 Et nous dit de nous depecher. Ce sont les anciens du village 
 
 Allons, ma mie, allons plus vite, Qui devisent, autour d'un pot, 
 
 Monsieur le cure nous attend. Des vieux amours de leur jeune 
 Sans nous si la messe etait dite, age 
 
 Le bon Dieu serait mecoutent, Et de l'homme au petit chapeau.
 
 MY LOVE ANNETTE 301 
 
 Awake ! my love Annette, I pray ! 
 Be sure your smartest gown to wear ; 
 They keep our own Saint's Feast to-day, 
 And all the countryside is there. 
 
 When Evensong is duly said, 
 Together arm in ann well go, 
 Together we'll the meadows tread, 
 And where the woodlands thickly grow ; 
 We'll loiter back by the Venelle, 
 Where elder flowers, like flakes of snow, 
 Their wild sharp fragrance blend so well 
 With grass the scythe has just laid low. 
 
 Awake! my love Annette, I pray! 
 Be sure your smartest gown to wear ; 
 They keep our own Saint's Feast to-day, 
 And all the countryside is there. 
 
 The grey-haired piper there you'll see, 
 Swelling his cheeks his pipes to play; 
 He'll make us by the chestnut tree 
 Dance all the Feast's last hours away; 
 And ev'ry lass, or dark or fair, 
 Pretty or plain, will have her chance; 
 Some sweetheart, old or young, will dare 
 This night to claim her for the dance. 
 
 Awake ! my love Annette, I pray ! 
 Be sure your smartest gown to wear ; 
 They keep our own Saint's Feast to-day, 
 And all the countryside is there. 
 
 Reveillez-vous, ma mie Annette, C'estaujourd'huigrand jour de fete, 
 
 Et mettez vos plus beaux habits ; Le jour de fete du pays. 
 
 C'est aujourd'hui grand jour de Comme une outre enflant sa 
 
 . rete, musette, 
 
 Le jour de fete du pays. Q, so{r> le vieux me - ne 'trier 
 
 Fera, pour termiiier la fete, 
 
 Apres les vepres et complies, Danser sous le grand marronnier. 
 
 Bras dessus dessous, nous irons Et, laide ou belle, blonde ou brune, 
 
 Nous promener dans les prairies Qu'il soit laid ou beau, jeune ou 
 Et dans les bois des environs ; vieux, 
 
 Nous reviendrons par la Venelle, Pour la faire danser chacune 
 
 Ou neige la fleur des sureaux, Saura trouver un amoureux. 
 
 flont la sauvage odeur se mele Reveillez-vous, ma mie Annette, 
 
 Avec 1 odeur des foms nouveaux. t mettfi? yog plus beaux ^f. 
 
 C'est aujourd'hui grand jour de 
 Reveillez-vous, ma mie Annette, fete, 
 
 Et mettez vos plus beaux habits ; Le jour de fete du pays.
 
 302 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 Annette ! Annette ! I call in vain ! 
 Last year, the yellow sheaves among, 
 Ah God ! how memory turns to pain ! 
 I heard her sing her last sweet song, 
 And the last time I saw my love 
 Pass from the threshold of her door, 
 A white sheet lay her face above 
 And to her home she came no more. 
 
 My little love ! how hard and cold 
 That pillow where her head she's lain ! 
 What shrouded sleep her eyelids hold ! 
 Annette will never wake again. 
 
 Helas ! mon Dieu, je me rappelle Elle etait d'un drap blanc vetue 
 
 Que 1'an dernier, a la moisson, Et ne devait pas revenir ; 
 
 Celle qu'en vain ma voix appelle Car ma re tite ami 
 
 Chanta sa dermere chanson. Sur un froid et dur ore ill er 
 
 De sa maison quand je 1 ai vue Depuis i on gtemps est endormie 
 
 Pour la dermere fois sortir, Et ne ^ ut pag se re ' ve ill e r 
 
 NEW YEAR'S GIFfS 
 
 Past is the time for us and far away 
 When life seemed full of all things fair and fine ; 
 But I remember our glad childhood's day, 
 Have you forgotten, Angele, cousin mine ? 
 
 How long ago it was ! and one by one 
 The passing years have touched us with their spell ; 
 The fairhaired gladness and the laughter's sun 
 Alas ! have fled, Oh cousin mine, Angele ! 
 
 A MA COUSINE ANGELE Us sont bien loin ces jours, et deja 
 
 ETRENNES bien des fois 
 
 Nous avons tous les deux laisse' Les ans nous out touche's en passant 
 
 derriere nous , , ., . 
 
 tine epoque ou la vie est bien bonne 
 
 et bien belle ; Et uotre gaite' blonde aux grands 
 Je m'en souviens encor, vous en eclats de voix 
 
 souvenez-vous 
 
 De notre enfance heureuse ?-6 ma Helas ! s est envolee,_o ma cousme 
 
 cousine Angele ' Angele '
 
 NEW YEAR'S GIFTS 
 
 303 
 
 Wild scholars we, when, tedious school-hours flown, 
 We danced to that old tune, with whirling feet, 
 "To the woods well go no longer, the laurels are 
 
 cut down." 
 We go no longer to the woods, Angele, my cousin 
 
 sweet ! 
 
 Happier than I, it was not yours to part 
 
 From home; still doth your Mother's voice enshrine 
 
 Whatever is holiest within your heart ; 
 
 IVe lost that treasure, Angele, cousin mine ! 
 
 Your daily labour proves a constant friend ; 
 At night pure angels their white wings incline 
 To shield from harm, and blessed dreams descend 
 From heaven upon you, Angele, cousin mine ! 
 
 Your voice is like your name, so soft in sound ; 
 The soul of goodness do your eyes declare ; 
 Your sixteen years a fragrance breathe around 
 Of flowering youth Oh ! Angele, cousin fair ! 
 
 In olden days how joyously I flew, 
 At earliest morning of the glad New Year, 
 I squeezed my purse to find a gift for you ! 
 Poor trifle was it, Angele, cousin dear ! 
 
 Ecoliers turbulents de la classe 
 
 echappes, 
 Pour danser en chantant 1'antique 
 
 ritournelle : 
 " Nous n'irons plus aux bois, les 
 
 lauriers sout coupes," 
 Nous u'irons plus aux bois, 6 ma 
 
 cousine Angele ! 
 
 Plus heureuse que moi, vous n'avez 
 
 pas quitte 
 Le foyer de famille, et la voix 
 
 maternelle 
 Conserve a votre coeur la sainte 
 
 piete 
 Qui u'est plus dans le mien, 6 ma 
 
 cousine Angele ! 
 
 Vous avez le travail pour com- 
 
 pagnon le jour, 
 La nuit un ange blaiic vous couvre 
 
 de son aile, 
 
 Et des songes benis descendant 
 
 tour a tour 
 Du ciel a votre lit, 6 ma cousine 
 
 Angele ! 
 
 Votre parole est douce ainsi que 
 
 votre nom ; 
 L' esprit de la bonte dans vos year 
 
 se revele, 
 Et vos seize ans fleuris embaument 
 
 la maison 
 D'un parfum de jeunesse, 6 ma 
 
 cousine Angele ! 
 
 Autrefois, quaud venait le jour de 
 
 1'au nouveau, 
 Selon le contenu de ma pauvre 
 
 escarcelle 
 J'arrivais tout joyeux vous offrir 
 
 mon cadeau, 
 Qui ne coutait pas cher, 6 ma 
 
 cousine Angele !
 
 304 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 But since those days the devil, as men say, 
 Dwells in my purse, and Plutus will not hear ; 
 He's deaf as well as blind, and when I pray 
 He answers not Angele, my cousin dear ! 
 
 I bring no gift to celebrate the day 
 
 No brilliant keepsake where rich gems entwine, 
 
 No casket chased in great Cellini's way, 
 
 No sugared bonbons, Angele, cousin mine ! 
 
 I press your hand, a gift you may receive 
 I kiss your brow, a brother's love to tell 
 And these poor verses long before the eve, 
 They'll be forgotten, cousin mine Angele ! 
 
 Mais depuis ce temps-la le diable, Ni bijou cisele par quelque Cellini, 
 
 comme on dit, Et iii bonbons sucres, 6 ma 
 
 S'est loge dans ma bourse, et cousine Augele ! 
 
 vainement j'appelle 
 Plutus. 1'aveugle dieu, que ie crois 
 
 sourd aussi * ous n aurez rien de mo1 q u un 
 
 Car il ne m'entend pas, 6 ma serrement de main, 
 
 cousine Angele ! ^ u 1 U un kaiser au front, etrenne 
 
 fraternelle, 
 
 Done, vous n'aurez de moi nul Et puis ces pauvres vers que, ce 
 
 present aujourd'hui, soir ou demain, 
 
 Ni keepsake eclatant, ui ricbe Vous oublirez sans doute, 6 ma 
 
 bagatelle, cousine Angele ! 
 
 Murger, as we have seen, faithfully represented 
 the disenchantment of his generation ; yet he 
 never yielded to some of its chief literary faults. 
 Always a conscientious artist, he allowed no work 
 to pass his hands unfinished. Few of his con- 
 temporaries had exercised the same restraint. Not 
 only were freedom and directness discredited by 
 the exaggeration of imitators, but a gush of 
 elegiac sentimentality had watered emotion down 
 to weakness and turned the gaiety of France into 
 spurious mourning. All the world wept, without 
 genuine feeling, without respect for art, and with- 
 out regard to form. Phoebus Apollo had lost
 
 THEODORE DE BANVILLE 305 
 
 his wings, and as he shuffled in slippers down 
 the Champs Elysees, he snivelled like an ordinary 
 citizen. It had become almost a canon of the 
 so-called school of common sense that strong feeling 
 could only be expressed in weak rhymes or real 
 emotion in bad grammar ; that there could be 
 neither genius without false syntax, nor passion 
 without imperfect prosody. It was against the 
 maudlin tenderness and slatternly appearance of 
 French poetry that in 1841 Theodore de Banville 
 raised a protest. 
 
 In the spring of that year a lad of eighteen 
 rang at the house of Alfred de Vigny, and, 
 blushing like a girl, thrust a book into the hands 
 of the servant ; then vanished down the street 
 as fast as his legs could carry him, overwhelmed 
 with shame at his own audacity. Now running, 
 now walking, only stopping to light the cigarettes 
 which he smoked with feverish vehemence, he 
 made for the open country as if pursued by the 
 naked swords of avenging deities. At night, 
 slipping through the streets like a thief, he returned 
 home, to find Alfred de Vigny 's card, covered 
 with pencilled congratulations. The lad was 
 Theodore de Banville ; the book was " Les 
 Cariatides," the volume of poems which first made 
 him famous. 
 
 Banville takes his inspiration from the Re- 
 naissance. He is its Primaticcio in verse, and his 
 work reveals the skill of an artist in delicately 
 tinted bas-reliefs or arabesques. He is the reviver 
 
 20
 
 of forgotten metres, and disused rhythms, the 
 poet, not only of classic measures, but of the 
 rondels, triolets, sonnets, and ballades which were 
 the natural growth of French soil. In the form 
 and manner of poetry, he is a great artist. Among 
 a number of words expressing the same order of 
 idea he distinguishes, with unerring insight, the 
 one which most definitely conveys his exact shade 
 of meaning. He chooses the rhyme which makes 
 most perfect symphony in sound with the desired 
 impression. He feels, and conveys to others, a 
 sensuous pleasure from the collocation of words, 
 loves them for their own sake, the charm of their 
 syllables, the enchantment of their colour, or 
 their grace of movement, and he groups them so 
 as to produce the richest possible effect. In his 
 skilful hands the metre adapts itself to the sense, 
 not as though it were a slave bound to obey 
 thought, but as if it was a divine master, at whose 
 bidding words and ideas moulded themselves into 
 harmonious order. He can make his verse an 
 Amazon in a corselet of steel, a nymph babbling 
 softly by a brook, even a dancer balancing on the 
 tight-rope. One thing only he was determined 
 she should not become, a citizen's wife plastered 
 with jewellery. 
 
 If Banville's matter had been equal to his 
 manner, he would unquestionably have been a 
 great poet ; but his substance is so inferior to his 
 form that he cannot take this rank. Human 
 sympathy is wanting ; his enthusiasms are verbal,
 
 BANVILLE'S BIRTH-PLACE 307 
 
 his passions artistic, his emotions aesthetic. He 
 is lavish of romantic allusions, because of the 
 colour and richness which they lend to his verse, 
 and not because he values the high ideals of feudal 
 honour that underlie the coarseness of feudal 
 manners. Even the classic past is to him poetic 
 furniture, and it is as literary stock-in-trade that 
 he prizes the gods and goddesses of Olympus. 
 His poetry represents the divinities of Greece 
 and Rome dwelling in the marble halls of the 
 Italian Renaissance, their golden tresses decked 
 with roses, clothed in purple and crimson, 
 gleaming with topaz and amethyst. Not con- 
 tent with tinting his Venuses, he presents them 
 in polychrome. 
 
 It may not be altogether fanciful to trace 
 Banville's peculiar temperament to the charac- 
 teristics of the town and province to which both 
 his parents belonged, and in which his own 
 childhood was passed. The natural wealth of the 
 Bourbonnais, with its fat meadows, cattle, vine- 
 yards, and fruit gardens, contributes something 
 distinctive to his artistic equipment. The pride 
 of Moulins is the famous tomb of the Constable 
 of Montmorency, which, by its mixture of Christian 
 aspirations with pagan mythology and by the 
 perfection of its sculptured figures, is an epitome 
 in stone of the exquisite finish and Renaissance 
 incongruities of Banville's verse. The temperament 
 of the inhabitants apparently indifferent, loving 
 fairs and holidays, eschewing definite statements,
 
 308 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 avoiding decisive answers, translating grief and 
 regret into their characteristic provincial equivalent 
 of mautemps resembles in much the optimistic 
 temperament of Banville. He thinks and feels 
 and sees lyrically. To the day of his death he 
 unconsciously shuts his ears to the sound of misery, 
 and hears again the sonorous strokes of Jacquemart 
 and his wife, the famous bells which regulated 
 from the Tour d'Horloge the easy lives of the 
 citizens of Moulins. With no conscious effort of 
 will he closes his eyes to contemporary realities, 
 and sees once more Font-Georges, with its white 
 vine-clad house and moss-covered spring, where 
 the songs and bats of washerwomen made cheerful 
 music, while he played with his sister Zelie and 
 her dog Calliste. 
 
 A poet who depends so much on his mastery 
 of the technicalities of his art, and whose form 
 and workmanship excel the material, does not 
 easily lend himself to translation. To foreigners, 
 who are quicker to appreciate excellence of matter 
 than excellence of manner, those poems which are 
 inspired by some simple natural feeling are most 
 attractive. But this is the smaller side of his 
 work, and not, perhaps, that which most appealed 
 to his own fellow-countrymen. 
 
 As examples of the most human and the least 
 artificial sides of his poetry, the three following 
 poems may be taken. The first is suggested by 
 the old nursery ballad, the refrain of which haunted 
 Murger and fascinated George Sand : ' Nous
 
 POEMS OF NATURAL FEELING 309 
 
 n'irons plus au bois, les lauriers sont coupes." 
 The second is inspired by the deepest feeling 
 of his life love for his mother, to whom, twice 
 a year, on her birthday and her saint 's-day, 
 he wrote a poem ; the lines which follow were 
 written after her death and on the anniversary of 
 her birthday. The third rings less true : if the 
 grief is real, it is turned to literary account. 
 
 TO THE WOODS, ETC. 
 
 To the woods well go no longer ; the laurels are laid 
 
 low. 
 The Cupids by their founts of stone, the Naiads in a 
 
 row, 
 Watch the waters in the sunshine, each wave with 
 
 diamonds hemmed, 
 Which once in silent streamlets from their urns were 
 
 wont to flow. 
 The laurels are cut down ; at bay the stag in covert low 
 
 Hears the hunter's horn and trembles ; to the woods we 
 
 may not go, 
 Where of old the merry children went running to and 
 
 fro, 
 None watching save the lilies, each with heaven's own 
 
 tears begemmed ; 
 They have left the laurels lying, the waving grass they 
 
 mow, 
 To the woods we'll go no longer ; the laurels are laid 
 
 low. 
 
 Nous n'irons plus au bois, les Tressaille au son du cor ; nous 
 
 lauriers sout coupes. n'irons plus au bois, 
 
 Les Amours des bassins, les Ou des enfants charmants riait la 
 
 Naiades en groupe folle troupe 
 
 Voient reluire au soleil en cristaux Sous les regards des lys aux pleurs 
 
 decoupes du ciel trempes, 
 
 Les flots silencieux qui coulaient Voici 1'herbe qu on fauche et les 
 
 de leur coupe. lauriers qu'on coupe. 
 
 Les lauriers sont coupe's, et le cerf Nous n'irons plus au bois, les 
 
 aux abois lauriers sont coupe's.
 
 310 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 TO HIS MOTHER 
 
 Once more I turn these leaves 'twas thy wish spoke ; 
 As one too roughly roused, I, trembling, woke : 
 All our dear memories, with their gentle strain, 
 Revive my saddened faith, my lengthened pain, 
 And, conflict-shattered, yet with victor's tread, 
 I bring these fragments where my heart has bled. 
 
 Then pray ! No bar can stand our hearts between ; 
 Prayer re-unites us as we once have been, 
 Prayer wings its flight o'er countless heavenly plains ; 
 The blood of Jesus flows and nought disdains. 
 Oh ! tell me, where on high blest spirits soar, 
 Tis thou wilt clasp me in thy arms once more : 
 Tis thou, when all our woes are lost in bliss, 
 Wilt press again upon my brow thy kiss ; 
 And then sweet hope our bitter anguish past, 
 My angel-mother ! we shall live at last. 
 
 A CELLE QUI ME VOIT Qui franchit mille cieux d'un vol 
 
 ae'rien. 
 Tu le voulais, helas ! j ai relu ces Le de j^ CQule et n(J 
 
 feuillets. . . 
 
 Comme si tout a coup, tremblant, ,_, , 
 
 je m'eveillais, Oh ! dis ' le ' ^ ue P armi Ies ethers 
 Tous nos chers souvenirs dont la emplis d'ailes 
 
 douceur m'attire C'est toi qui me prendras entre tes 
 Out ravive ma foi triste, mon long bras fideles, 
 
 martyre, Qu'alors nous sentirons tous nos 
 Et comme un combattant dechire, maux s'apaiser 
 
 mais vainqueur, Qu'heureuse, tu mettras sur mon 
 J apporte ces lambeaux tout saig- b 
 
 nants de mon cceur. , ', 
 
 Prions! comme entre nous il Et <l u enfin delivres de toute 
 
 n'est pas de barriere, angoisse amere, 
 
 Nous sommes reunis deja par la Nous vivrons, 6 mon Ange, 6 mon 
 
 Priere espoir, ma mere ! 
 
 THE BELOVED 
 
 They are saying, O my dove! 
 That in death thou dreamest still ; 
 Underneath the graveyard stone 
 Thou canst wake thyself at will, 
 Live again once more to be 
 Full of thought and love for me. 
 
 L'ENAMOUREE Sous la pierre d'une tombe : 
 
 Mais pour 1'ame qui t'adore, 
 
 Us se disent, ma colombe, Tu t'eveilles ranimee, 
 
 Que tu reves, morte encore, O pensive bien-aimee !
 
 THE PARNASSIANS 311 
 
 When the star-lit night grows pale, 
 And the wind goes murmuring by, 
 Then I kiss thy long white veil, 
 And thy soft hair floating nigh, 
 While thy shadowy half-closed wing 
 CTer the rose is hovering. 
 
 I breathe once more Oh ! blessedness ! 
 The fragrance of each golden tress, 
 While thy pure voice, in lyric song, 
 Above the wavelets sweeps along; 
 The wavelets answer to that tone, 
 Which swanlike makes its plaintive moan. 
 
 Par les blanches nuits d'etoiles, O delices ! je respire 
 
 Dans la brise qui murmure, Tes divines tresses blondes ! 
 
 Je caresse tes longs voiles, Ta voix pure, cette lyre, 
 
 Ta mouvante chevelure, Suit la vague sur les ondes, 
 
 Et tes ailes demi-closes Et, suave, les effleure, 
 
 Qui voltigent sur les roses ! Comme un cygne qui se pleure ! 
 
 It is as a master of his craft that Banville takes 
 his place by the side of Vector Hugo and Theophile 
 Gautier, as one of the great influences on modern 
 French poetry. The newer school of poets were 
 called by various names, but were best known as 
 Parnassians. They accepted the precepts of his 
 " Petit Traite de la Poesie," and insisted on 
 scrupulous obedience to the rules of prosody, on 
 precision, clearness of outline, exactitude of detail, 
 variety of rhythmical movement. Virtuosos of 
 all that was rare and exquisite in style, sybarites 
 who could not endure a crumpled rose-leaf in the 
 couch of the Muse, they adored their art with 
 the passion of a lover for his mistress. A word 
 robbed Baudelaire, the Brummel of literary 
 dandyism, of sleep for a night ; a phrase for a 
 week ; a page for a month : a volume deprived
 
 him of reason and life. But who can say that, 
 even in this excess of worship of form, they were 
 entirely wrong ? The clear-cut effigy on some 
 disinterred coin reveals the features of a ruler whose 
 existence history has forgotten ; the sculptured 
 marble outlives the city whose palaces it once 
 adorned. Yet even these are impaired by age. 
 The clear-cut sculptured phrase alone survives 
 time and defies decay. 
 
 No single current has of recent years swept 
 French poetry towards any definite goal. The 
 directions in which it has been carried by the tide 
 are many ; yet it has never failed to keep in close 
 touch with human nature over an ever-widening 
 range. No French poets have imitated the 
 example of Walt Whitman, whose "barbaric 
 yawp " spurns the artistic progress of the ages. 
 On the contrary, they have steadily laboured to 
 perfect the instrument, to adapt it to the progress 
 of the century, and have relied on the accumulated 
 resources of inherited and expanded art to give 
 expression to modern ideas. 
 
 Among a crowd of versifiers it is difficult to 
 make a selection, but perhaps the finest repre- 
 sentative of the Gothic and classic sides of the 
 romantic movement, as they are controlled by 
 realism and disciplined by art, is Leconte de 
 Lisle. He stood in a place apart from his con- 
 temporaries. He dwelt remote from everyday 
 life, for his subjects were chiefly taken from the 
 distant past ; but in his nervous, vigorous verse
 
 LECONTE DE LISLE 313 
 
 he caught the very spirit of bygone ages. His 
 pictures are firmly drawn with the fewest possible 
 strokes, all concentrated with singular restraint 
 upon the effect which he wishes to produce. The 
 first two of the following poems are taken from 
 his " Poemes Barbares " ; the last two from his 
 " Poemes Antiques." 
 
 THE HEART OF HIALMAR 
 
 Clear is the night and cold ; blood-red the snow ; 
 Unburied there a thousand heroes lie, 
 Wild-eyed, with sword fast gripped ; none stirs below, 
 But high overhead the circling ravens cry. 
 
 The distant moon looks down with cold pale glance; 
 Hialmar rises midst the bleeding dead, 
 Leans with both hands upon his shivered lance, 
 While his torn sides the crimson war-tide shed. 
 
 Hola ! is no one left with breath or voice ? 
 Where are the stalwart youths, so gay of mien, 
 Whose shout and laugh this morn bade all rejoice, 
 Like blackbirds' 1 song in spring when leaves are green ? 
 
 They all are silent ; shattered is my helm ; 
 
 My armour cleft where crashed the axe's blow ; 
 
 My eyes weep blood. Strange sounds my ears overwhelm, 
 
 Is't ocean's roar or wolves who scent their foe ? 
 
 LE CGEUR DE HIALMAR Hola ! Quelqu'un a-t-il encore 
 Une nuit claire, un vent glace'. La un P 611 d'haleine, 
 
 neige est rouge. Parmi tent de joyeux et robustes 
 Mille braves sont la qui dorment . R ar 9 on ? 
 
 sans tombeaux Q U1 > ce matin, naient etcnantaient 
 
 L'epe'e au poing, les yeux hagards. a vo | x P^ 11 
 
 Pas un ne bouge. Comme des merles dans 1 epaisseur 
 
 Au-dessus tourne et crie un vol de " es DUlssons 
 
 noirs corbeaux. 
 
 La lune froide verse au loin sa Tous sont muets. Mon casque est 
 
 pale flamme. rompu, mon armure 
 
 Hialmar se souleve entre les morts Est trouee, et la hache a fait sauter 
 
 sanglants, ses clous. 
 
 Appuye des deux mains au troncon Mes yeux saignent. J'eutends un 
 
 de sa lame. immense murmure 
 
 La pourpre du combat ruisselle de Pareil aux hurlements de la mer ou 
 
 ses flancs. des loups.
 
 314 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 Friend raven come ! who mak'st of men thy prey, 
 My breast with iron beak tear wide apart, 
 Thoult find its here to-morrow as to-day, 
 To Ylmer's daughter bear my still warm heart. 
 
 To Upsal, where the Jarls quaff foaming mead, 
 And sing and clash gold goblets in their pride, 
 Fly ! wandVer of the heath with arrowy speed, 
 And bear my heart to my affianced bride. 
 
 On that tall tower, round which the jackdaws wing, 
 Thoult see her standing, pale with long black hair, 
 Each slender ear clipped with a silver ring, 
 And eyes more bright than stars when heaven is bare. 
 
 Tell her, dark messenger, how well I loved ; 
 Lay at her feet my heart, that she may see 
 How red and firm, not pale and weak, it proved ; 
 Then, raven, Ylmer's child will smile on thee. 
 
 Through twenty wounds my spirit flits. I die. 
 Fve lived my time. Haste, wolves, your thirst to slake ! 
 Young, brave, unscarred, and free, in the Sun's eye 
 My seat among the Gods I rise to take. 
 
 Viens par ici, Corbeau, mon brave Deux anneaux d'argent fin lui 
 
 mangeur d'hommes ! pendent aux oreilles, 
 
 Ouvre-moi la poitrine avec ton bee Et ses yeux sont plus clairs quo 
 
 de fer. 1'astre des beaux soirs. 
 Tu nous retrouveras demain tels 
 
 que nous sommes. Va, sombre messager, dis-lui bien 
 
 Porte mon coeur tout chaud a la q ue 4 e l' ami e 
 
 fille d'Ylmer. E t ue vo j c i mon coeur. Elle 
 
 reconnaitra 
 
 Dans Upsal, ou les Jarls boivent la Qu'il est rouge et solide et non 
 
 bonne biere, tremblant et bleme ; 
 
 Et chantent, en heurtant les Et la fille d'Ylmer, Corbeau, te 
 
 cruches d'or, en choeur, sourira ! 
 
 A tire d'aile vole, 6 rodeur de 
 
 bruyere ! Moi, je meurs. Mon esprit coule 
 Cherche ma fiancee et porte-lui p ar v ingt blessures. 
 
 mon coeur. j' a i f a ^ mon temps. Buvez, 6 
 
 loups, mon sang vermeil. 
 
 Au sommet de la tour que hantent Jeune, brave, riant, libre et sans 
 
 les corneilles fletrissures, 
 
 Tu la verras debout, blanche, .aux Je vais m'asseoir parmi les Dieux, 
 
 longs cheveux noirs. dans le soleil !
 
 POEMES BARBARES 315 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE SUN 
 
 The autumn wind, like moan of distant seas, 
 Full of sad partings and of griefs unknown, 
 Sways mournfully through avenues of trees ; 
 Red on their trunks thy blood, oh Sun ! is thrown. 
 
 In clouds dead leaves are whirling through the air; 
 Towards the stream, where rosy wavelets creep, 
 Great nests bend down, as evening woos to sleep, 
 All crimson-stained among the branches bare. 
 
 Fall, glorious Star ! of day the source and beam ! 
 From thy heart's wound the golden fountains flow, 
 As from some glorious breast pours love supreme. 
 
 Die ! thou wilt live again, we surely know ; 
 But who will life and fire and voice restore 
 To broken hearts, that break for evermore? 
 
 LA MORT DU SOLEIL De grands nids teints de pourpre 
 
 , ,, i_ii au bout des branches nues. 
 
 Le vent d automne, aux bruits 
 
 lointains des mers pareil, Tombe, Astre glorieux, source et 
 Plem dadieux solennels, de flambeau du jour ! 
 
 plamtes mconnues, Ta loire en nappes d > or cou i e de 
 Balance tnstement le long des ta blessure 
 
 avenues Comme d'un sein puissant tombe 
 Les lourds massifs rougis de ton un supreme amour . 
 
 sang, o soleil ! 
 
 La feuille en tourbillons s'envole Meurs done, tu renaitras ! L'es- 
 
 par les nues ; perance en est sure. 
 
 Et Ton voit osciller, dans un fleuve Mais qui rendra la vie et la flamme 
 
 vermeil, et la voix 
 
 Aux approches du soir inclines au Au coeur qui s'est brise pour la 
 
 sommeil, derniere fois ? 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 Upon the mountain's slope the breezes rest, 
 Wooing to sleep the gently waving trees ; 
 The hushed bird slumbers on her dewy nest ; 
 Stars turn to gold the foam of azure seas. 
 
 NOX L'oiseau silencieux s'endort dans 
 
 Sur la pente des monts les brises j es 
 
 Inclmen ?u sommeil les arbres E * 1>e ' toil * a 1>e ' curae des flot 
 onduleux ; bleus.
 
 316 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 Along the deep ravines, and round each height, 
 Soft clinging vapours ev'ry track efface ; 
 Sadly on foliage dark the moonbeams light ; 
 No sound of human life the ear can trace. 
 
 The godlike sea sings on the sands afar; 
 And the great voices of the forest groan ; 
 To starlit skies, borne on the tuneful air, 
 Rise the sea's music and the forest's moan. 
 
 Ye holy sounds, ye sacred words, uprise ! 
 
 Oh ! converse calm and pure 'twixt earth and heav'n 
 
 Ascend ! and ask the stars with radiant eyes 
 
 If to attain their height some path be giv'n. 
 
 Oh! seas, oh! dreamy woods! Earth's tones of prayer! 
 You answered me, when evil days were long ; 
 Your magic wiled me from my black despair, 
 And in my heart for ever rings your song. 
 
 Au contour des ravins, sur les Montez, saintes rumeurs, paroles 
 
 hauteurs sauvages, surhumaines, 
 
 Une molle vapeur efface les Eutretien lent et doux de la terre 
 
 chemins ; et du ciel ! 
 
 La lune tristement baigne les noirs Montez, et demandez aux etoiles 
 
 feuillages ; sereines 
 
 L'oreille n'entend plus les mur- S'il est pour les atteindre un 
 
 mures humains. chemin e'ternel. 
 
 Mais sur le sable au loin chante la O mers, 6 bois songeurs, voix 
 
 mer divine, pieuses du monde, 
 
 Et des hautes forets gemit la Vous m'avez repondu durant mes 
 
 grande voix, jours mauvais, 
 
 Et 1'air sonore, aux cieux que la Vous avez apaise ma tristesse 
 
 nuit illumine, infeconde, 
 
 Porte le chant des mers et le Et dans mon coeur aussi vous 
 
 soupir des bois. chantez a jamais ! 
 
 LYDIA 
 
 Youth leaves us, and each lingering grace departs, 
 And Love's sweet longings also pass away, 
 And easy sleep. Why need we vex our hearts 
 For some Eternal Day ? 
 
 LYDIE. 
 
 La jeunesse nous quitte, et les Et le sommeil facile. A quoi 
 Graces aussi. bon le souci 
 
 Les de'sires amoureux s'envolent Des Esperaiices e'ternelles ! 
 avec elles,
 
 POEMES ANTIQUES 317 
 
 Old Saturn bears our best years on his wing, 
 And flowers the wind has wooed all fade at eve. 
 Come, taste beneath the pine grove's shadowing 
 What Love and Life may leave. 
 
 Let us our snowy locks with roses crown, 
 Drink ! we have time, yet dare we not delay ; 
 All cares, oh Bacchus ! in thy cup to drown 
 Is still the wisest way ! 
 
 Boy ! cool the wines in yonder bubbling spring, 
 Make Lydia come with her enchanting smile, 
 Her silver lyre, and ringlets clustering 
 Tied in Laconian style. 
 
 L'aile du vieux Satunie emporte Ta liqueur, 6 Bacchus, des tris- 
 
 nos beaux jours, tesses moroses 
 
 Et la fleur inclinee au vent du Est le remede le plus doux. 
 soir se fane ; 
 
 Viens a I'ombre des pins ou sous Enfant tremp e l es vins dans la 
 
 1 epais platane source pr r ochaine , 
 
 Gouter les tardives amours. Et fais venir Lydie aux rires 
 
 Ceignons iios cheveux blancs de enjoues, 
 
 couronnes de roses ; Avec sa blanche lyre et ses 
 
 Buvons, il en est temps encore, cheveux noues 
 
 hatons-nous ! A la mode Laconienne. 
 
 After the death of Leconte de Lisle, Sully- 
 Prudhomme, who was born in 1839, and died in 
 September of last year, was recognised as the 
 first of French poets. Compelled in early life 
 by a severe attack of ophthalmia to give up the 
 engineering profession, he eventually decided to 
 adopt literature as his pursuit. An ardent student 
 of science and philosophy, a disciple and translator 
 of Lucretius, he seems never to have forgotten the 
 workshops of Le Creusot. He has two different 
 styles, which are distinct, yet perpetually touch each 
 other; the style of youth (1855-78); the other 
 that of maturer life. Even in his youthful verse 
 he shows that microscopic insight into the depths
 
 318 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 of human consciousness which compensates for 
 much that is repulsive in the pathological school 
 of poetry. The secrets which he finds are the 
 secrets of all the world, and they are expressed 
 with an accuracy and a lightness of touch which 
 heal the wounds that they re-open. Few poets 
 have been able to finger those tender chords 
 without breaking them ; but Sully 's touch is so 
 true and tender that, as it were, he caresses them 
 into music. 
 
 His own life is in his verse, and it is the 
 knowledge that other lives besides his own are 
 there expressed which enables him to strike the 
 hidden chords of the heart with unerring truth. 
 He achieves the task that he sets himself in the 
 description which he gives of his verse in the lines 
 " To Unknown Friends " (Auoc Amis inconnus). 
 
 * One line may, like a friend who knows us well, 
 Re-ope the wound whose smart is not forgot ; 
 The word that doth another's sufferings tell 
 May drop, like tears, on our own anguished spot, 
 Where hearts misjudged await their soothing spell. 
 
 My verse, perchance, may reach you and restore, 
 With lightning flash, the sleeping grief of old, 
 Or by that one true word long waited for 
 The sudden name of all you feel unfold, 
 Nor tell the eyes from whom I learnt my lore. 
 
 Parfois un vers, complice intime, Peut-etre un de mes vers est-il 
 
 vient rouvrir venu vous rendre 
 
 Quelque plaie ou le feu desire Daus un eclair bnilaut vos cha- 
 
 qu'on rattise ; grins tout entiers, 
 
 Parfois un mot, le nom de ce qui Ou, par le seul vrai mot qui se 
 
 fait souffrir, faisait attendre, 
 
 Tombe comme uue larme a la Vous ai-je dit le nom de ce que 
 
 place precise vous sentiez, 
 
 Ou le cceur meconuu 1'attendait Sans vous nommer les yeux ou 
 
 pour guerir. j 'avals du 1'apprendre.
 
 SULLY-PRUDHOMME'S AIM 319 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 * These flowers I gathered by the highway side, 
 
 Where fate, for good and ill, has cast my days, 
 I dare not give them wild and loosely tied ; 
 
 111 twine them in a wreath to earn more praise. 
 
 Still fresh, a rose is weeping tear on tear ; 
 
 A pansy lifts her eyes of purple hue ; 
 Then the calm lilies, dreamers of the mere, 
 
 And budding corn and there my life lies too. 
 
 And thine too, reader is't not even so ? 
 
 One fate is always ours in joy or woe 
 To weep Love's tears and think, but never know 
 How we have lost in dreaming spring's best day, 
 Then comes the hour when we would rise from play, 
 And plant some seed before we pass away. 
 
 AU LECTEUR Puis les plantes des lacs, de 
 
 reveurs nenuphars, 
 J'avais cueilli ces fleurs sur le Puis des epis naissants : ma vie 
 
 bord de la route 7 sera toute. 
 
 Ou m'out jete les bons et les La tienne aussi, lecteur, car les 
 
 mauvais hasards, hommes entre eux 
 
 Mais je ii'osais livrer des souvenirs Sont en cela pareils, qu'heureux 
 
 e P ars 5 ou malheureux, 
 
 J en fais une guirlande, Us plairont n s ont p l eu re' d'amour et pense' 
 mieux sans doute. sans connaitre, 
 
 Qu'ils ont au moins perdu vingt 
 
 printemps a rever, 
 Fraiche encore, une rose y pleure Et qu'enfin tous un jour ont 
 
 goutte a goutte ; voulu se lever 
 
 J'y mets une pensee aux tene- Et semer quelque chose avant de 
 breux regards, disparaitre. 
 
 His tone even in youth is uniformly autumnal, 
 rarely vernal ; his songs are full of sighs ; deep 
 springs of wistful regret well up through the 
 mournful lines, which express memories rather than 
 hopes. No French poet has depicted more sadly 
 or more simply the melancholy and dissatisfaction 
 to which all thoughtful minds are subject. Quiet 
 in manner, reserved, fastidious, scrupulously sincere,
 
 320 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 delicate and even dainty in his refinement, he is 
 in many ways a French Matthew Arnold. But 
 his poetry is founded on a wide and true sympathy, 
 which makes him the most companionable of 
 French poets. 
 
 Almost from the first the work showed a 
 tendency towards the more austere manner of his 
 later life. Ambitious to seek the poetic impulse 
 at higher levels of thought than those which 
 satisfied his contemporaries, he felt that poetry 
 could not, without loss of its robustness and its 
 manhood, stand aside from philosophy and science, 
 and from the revolutions of thought which they 
 have effected. It was his dream to be a nineteenth- 
 century Lucretius, a Schopenhauer or a Darwin 
 of poetry ; yet, even when pre-occupied with these 
 ambitions, he does not forget two great lessons 
 of the Parnassian School. He has the accusing 
 conscience of the genuine artist, who spares no 
 pains and neglects no resources to express his 
 conceptions with the utmost perfection of language 
 and harmony of versification. He treats his 
 scientific or philosophical subjects, not with the 
 lofty vagueness of Victor Hugo, but with the 
 mathematical precision and exactitude of the Ecole 
 Polytechnique. Yet the philosophical poetry of his 
 later life, fine though it is in its intention and 
 severity, is too fluent to require the labour of 
 translation. He is at his best in the verse of his 
 youthful period. It is mainly from this part of his 
 work that the following poems are selected.
 
 LE PRISME 321 
 
 EVENING 
 
 * We wandered down, at break of day, 
 
 A narrow path heart close to heart; 
 At noon, upon the world's highway, 
 I walk to right, you left apart. 
 
 No more we share one sky together. 
 
 How bright is yours ! How black is mine ! 
 Your choice is still the sunniest weather, 
 
 I keep the side where nought will shine. 
 
 Where'er you walk, gleams round you play 
 The very sand has diamond beads ; 
 
 No beams e'er light with gladdening ray 
 The cold grey soil my footstep treads. 
 
 Bird-songs and whispers full of sweets, 
 Caressing, woo your heart and ear ; 
 
 Your hair the breeze, adoring, greets; 
 Your lip the bee, entranced, draws near. 
 
 And I I can but sing and sigh ; 
 
 My heart's deep wound is ill at ease ; 
 From leaf-hid nests the fondling cry 
 
 Disturbs me more than it can please. 
 
 But, love ! a sky for ever bright 
 
 May make too keen our mortal joy ; 
 
 The air's embrace has too much might ; 
 The incense e'en of flowers may cloy. 
 
 LE SOIR Le jour pour moi n'enrichit pas 
 
 Le sol gris que mon pied tour- 
 A 1'aube, la main dans la main, mente. 
 
 Nous suivions une allee etroite ; ^ chants d > oiseaux et les aveux 
 A imdi, sur le grand chemm, Voug charment le coeur et roreille 
 
 Je marche a gauche, vous a ^ brise flatte vos chev eux, 
 
 Et vos levres tentent 1'abeille. 
 
 Nous n'avons plus un ciel pareil, Et moi P 31 " de vaineg chansons 
 
 Le votre est brillant. le mien J'attise dans mon co?ur la plaie, 
 
 sombre Le cri das nids dans les buissons 
 
 Vous avez'choisi le soleil, M'attriste plus qu'il ne m' e'gaie. 
 
 J'ai garde le cote de 1'ombre. Mais, 6 mon amie, un ciel clair 
 
 Est de trop d'ivresse prodigue ; 
 
 Le jour vous rit, et sur vos pas La caresse e'parse de 1'air, 
 
 Le sable fin se diamante ; L'encens meme des fleurs fatigue 
 
 21
 
 322 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 Then yearns the soul for that calm rest 
 That laps us round at close of day, 
 
 With half-shut eye, on some fond breast, 
 To watch life's fever ebb away. 
 
 Will you not come and take your seat 
 By that high-way at evening fall ? 
 
 I'll wait you there. We two shall meet 
 Where one deep shadow wraps it all. 
 
 On sent dans 1'ame un cher repos Ne viendrez vous pas vous asseoir 
 
 Descendre avec le jour qui baiesse, Sur le bord obscur de la route, 
 
 On cherche un appui, 1'oeil mi-clos, Ou je vous attendrai le soir, 
 
 La voile des desirs s'affaisse. Quand 1'ombre la couvrira toute ? 
 
 BLUE EYES OR BLACK 
 
 Blue eyes or black all loved and all so bright, 
 A thousand eyes that saw the kindling dawn ! 
 Sleeping, they hide within the grave their light ; 
 But still the sun uprising greets each morn. 
 
 Oh ! nights, that e'en than days were sweeter far, 
 A thousand eyes ye once could make more bright ; 
 In heav'n is shining, still undimmed, each star, 
 But on those eyes there broods unfathomed night. 
 
 Ah ! has their glance for ever lost its beam ? 
 Nay, dream not such a change can truly be. 
 On other worlds they have but turned their gleam 
 Those worlds that are invisible to thee; 
 
 For as at times we miss the starry light, 
 Yet know it shines beyond our ken on high, 
 So those dear eyes sleep on in earthly night, 
 Yet are in truth not dead and cannot die. 
 
 LES YEUX Oh! qu'ils aient perdu le re- 
 
 Bleus ou noirs, tous aimes, tous XouQn, cela u'est pas pos- 
 
 beaux > sible ! 
 
 Des yeux ^ sans nombre out vu n s se S ont tournes quelque part 
 
 TI j urore [ Vers ce qu'on nomme 1'invisible : 
 11s dorment au fond des tombeaux 
 
 Et le soleil se leve encore. Et comme 'i es astres penchants 
 
 Les nuits, plus doucesque les jours, Nous quittent, mais au ciel 
 Out enchante des yeux sans demeurent, 
 
 nombre ; Les prunelles out leurs couchants, 
 
 Les e'toiles brillent toujours Mais il ii'est pas vrai qu'ils 
 Et les yeux se sontremplisd'ombre. meurent.
 
 LES SOLITUDES 323 
 
 Blue eyes or black all loved and all so dear 
 Opened to meet some dawn of glorious rays, 
 On worlds that lie beyond the grave's chill blight 
 Those eyes we closed still bend their deathless gaze. 
 
 Bleus ou noirs, tous aimes, tous De 1'autre cote des tombeaux 
 
 beaux, Les yeux qu'on ferme voient 
 
 Ouverts a quelque immense aurore, encore. 
 
 THE DEATH-AGONY 
 
 Ye who will watch me when my end draws near, 
 
 Speak not, I pray ! 
 ""Twill help me most some music faint to hear, 
 
 Then pass away. 
 
 For song can loosen, link by link, each care 
 From Life's hard chain. 
 
 So gently rock my griefs ; but, oh ! beware ! 
 To speak were pain. 
 
 I'm weary of all words ; their wisest speech 
 
 Can nought reveal ; 
 Give me the spirit-sounds minds cannot reach, 
 
 But hearts can feel : 
 
 Some melody which all my soul shall steep, 
 
 As tranced I lie, 
 Passing from visions wild to dreamy sleep, 
 
 And, sleeping, die. 
 
 L'AGONIE J'aime mieux les sons qu'au lieu 
 
 , T , ., de comprendre 
 
 Vous qm maiderez dans mon J e n'ai qua sentir : 
 agome, 
 
 Ne me dites rien ; 
 
 Faites que j'entende un peu d'har- Une melodie ou Tame se plonge 
 
 monie, Et qui, sans effort, 
 
 Et je mourrai bien. Me fera passer du de'lire au 
 
 La musique apaise, enchante et songe, 
 
 Du songe a la mort. 
 
 Des choses d'en bas : 
 
 Bercez ma douleur ; je vous en Vous m ' aiderez ^^ morl 
 
 supply agonie, 
 
 ise lui parlez pas. & Ne me diteg riej ^ 
 
 Je suis las des mots, je suis las Pour allegement un peu d'har - 
 
 d'enteiidre monie 
 
 Ce qui peut mentir ; Me fera grand bien.
 
 324 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 Ye who will watch me when my end draws near, 
 
 Speak not, I pray ! 
 Some sounds of music murmuring in my ear 
 
 Will soothe my way. 
 
 My nurse, poor shepherdess ! I'd bid you seek ; 
 
 Tell her my whim ; 
 I want her near me, when I'm faint and weak 
 
 On the grave's brim. 
 
 I want to hear her sing ere I depart, 
 
 Just once again, 
 In one low simple note to touch the heart 
 
 That old-world strain. 
 
 You'll find her still ; the rustic hovel gives 
 Calm hopes and fears ; 
 
 But in this world of mine one rarely lives 
 Thrice twenty years. 
 
 Be sure you leave us with our hearts alone, 
 
 Only us two ! 
 She'll sing to me in her old trembling tone, 
 
 Stroking my brow. 
 
 She only to the end will love through all 
 
 My good and ill ; 
 So will the air of those old songs recall 
 
 My first years still. 
 
 Vous irez chercher ma pauvre Et je suis d'nn monde ou Ton ne 
 uourrice, vit gueres 
 
 Qui mene un troupeau, Plusieurs fois vingt ans. 
 
 Et vous lui direz que c'est uu 
 
 caprice, Vous nous laisserez tous les deux 
 Au bord du tombeau, ensemble : 
 
 Nos eoeurs s'uniront ; 
 D'entendre chanter, tout bas, de EHe chantera d - uu acceilt qui 
 
 sa bouche, tremble 
 
 Uu air d'autrefois, ^ main sur m(m front> 
 Simple et monotone, un doux air 
 qui touche 
 
 Avec peu de voix. Lors elle sera peut-etre la seule 
 
 Qui m'aime toujours, 
 
 Vous la trouverez : les gens des Et je inVn irai dans son chant 
 
 chaumieres d'a'ietile 
 
 Vivent tres lougtemps ; Vers mes premiers jours,
 
 LES RAINES TENDRESSES 325 
 
 And, dreaming thus, I shall not feel at last 
 My heart-strings torn, 
 
 But, all unknowing, the great barriers past, 
 Die, as we're born. 
 
 Ye who will watch me when my end draws near, 
 
 Speak not, I pray ! 
 Twill help me most some music faint to hear, 
 
 Then pass away. 
 
 Pour ne pas sentir, a ma derniere Vous qui m'aiderez dans moil 
 
 heure, agonie, 
 
 Que mon coeur se fend. Ne me dites rien ; 
 
 Pour ne plus penser, pour que Faites que j'entende un peu 
 
 1'homme meure d'liarmonie, 
 
 Comme est ne 1'enfant. Et je mourrai bien. 
 
 CHILDS-PLAY 
 
 My lady ! you were little then : 
 
 Twelve years were mine ; 
 Soon forgotten were your lovers, 
 
 All left to pine. 
 
 When we played among the others, 
 
 You still I sought; 
 When small hands were intertwining 
 
 "Twas yours I caught. 
 
 As in gold and purple glory, 
 
 Poised o'er the rose, 
 Tells the butterfly his story, 
 
 All his heart glows; 
 
 Leaf by leaf, still nearer drawing, 
 
 Is yet too shy 
 All the honey-dew to gather 
 
 She holds so nigh. 
 
 ENFANTILLAGE Comme a la premiere visite 
 
 Madame, vous etiez petite, Faite au rosier, 
 
 J 'avals douze ans ; Le papillon sans appuyer 
 Vous oubliez vos courtisans Palpite, 
 
 Bien vite ! 
 
 Je ne voyais que vous au jeu p d f m f m 
 
 Parmi les autres ; ', 
 
 Mes doigts frolaient parfois les S approche, et n ose 
 
 votres Monter droit au miel que la rose 
 
 Un peu. . . Lui tend,
 
 So my heart was yearning wildly 
 
 Your lips to press ; 
 'Twas your slender fingers only 
 
 I dared caress. 
 
 Through me thrilled a sudden rapture, 
 
 Ah ! was it woe ; 
 What made joy and pain foregather ? 
 
 Love long ago. 
 
 Twelve years only and a lover ! 
 
 'Tis not common. 
 You too, lady, were you feeling 
 
 Like a woman ? 
 
 Did there come some thought bewildering 
 
 As, half afraid, 
 With your frock and with your dolly 
 
 You stood and played ? 
 
 If I praised too soon a poet 
 
 Your tiny feet, 
 Too soon fair, you leant and touched me 
 
 With magic sweet. 
 
 I at least have ne^er forgotten 
 
 That eventide, 
 When we set up house together, 
 
 Bridegroom and bride. 
 
 Gems you dreamed of, I dreamed over 
 
 My vow to you ! 
 Both were older than our years were, 
 
 Both different too ! 
 
 Tremblant de ses premieres fievres, De rotre robe, une poupe'e 
 
 Mon coeur n'osait Au bras. 
 
 Voler droit des doigts qu'il baisait ,..,, . .. 
 
 Aux levres Sl J adorais ; tr P tot P oete > 
 
 Vos petits pieds, 
 
 Je sentais en moi tour a tour Trop tot belle, vous me courbiez 
 
 Plaisir et peine, La tete. 
 
 Un melange d'aise et de gene : 
 
 JL' amour. Nous menames si bien, un soir, 
 L'amour a douze ans ! Oui, Le badinage, 
 
 madame ^ ue nous nous mimes en menage 
 
 Et vous aussi, Pour voir ' 
 
 N'aviez-vous pas quelque souci Voug parliez des bi j oux de 
 De femme ? Moi du 
 
 Vous faisiez beaucoup d'embarras Car nous etions differemment 
 Tres occupee Precoces.
 
 LES VAINES TENDRESSES 327 
 
 We played at the dance and dinner, 
 
 You wished it so, 
 Said that proper weddings must have 
 
 Some pomp and show. 
 
 You enjoyed it as a pastime, 
 
 I thought it true, 
 Told my love aloud, and whispered 
 
 "Dearest" to you. 
 
 On your cheek I ventured, dreaming, 
 
 One kiss to leave. 
 Play for me has all been over 
 
 Since that spring eve. 
 
 On fit la dinette, on dansa ; J'osai vous appeler tout haut : 
 
 Vous pretendites Cherie, 
 
 Ou'il n'est noces proprement dites 
 
 Sans ca. -kt J e vous ai ( car J e revais ) 
 
 Baise la joue ; 
 
 Vous goutiez la plaisanterie Depuis ce soir-la je ne joue 
 Taut que bieutot Jamais. 
 
 PILGRIMAGES 
 
 * Still remembering, wandering on, 
 
 Vanished days of love I crave, 
 Sweetest dreams my heart has known, 
 I can only find your grave. 
 
 Though each year we fade and falter, 
 Our young loves no ageing know, 
 
 As that child's face cannot alter 
 Which we wept o'er long ago. 
 
 Let us lift the lids close-pressing 
 On our dear ones 1 languid eyes. 
 
 Ah ! their glance has no caressing ; 
 Stern they lie in stony guise. 
 
 PELERIXAGES Jeunes de la fixe jeunesse 
 
 Des enfants qu'on pleure long- 
 En souvenir je m'aventure, temps. 
 Yers les jours passes ou j'aimais, 
 
 Pour visiter la sepulture -f 6 souleve un peu les paupieres 
 
 Des reves que mon coeur a faits. De ces chers et douloureux 
 
 morts ; 
 
 Cependant qu'on vieillit sans cesse, Leurs yeux sont froids comme 
 Les amours out toujours vingt des pierres 
 
 ans, Avec des regards toujours forts.
 
 328 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 They attract me, yet repel ; 
 
 Through these years of parting sore 
 Faith to them I've guarded well ; 
 
 Ah ! they know me now no more. 
 
 Fin changed in brow, Fm changed in heart ; 
 
 And they dread the farewell sneer, 
 Wherewith the aged bid depart 
 
 Their youthful visions, once so dear. 
 
 I stand, with love and pity rife, 
 
 Yet dare not bend me o'er their tomb ; 
 
 My kiss might warm them back to life, 
 And theirs has been so full of gloom. 
 
 Leur grace m'attire et m'oppresse, Que font les hommes de mon age 
 En depit des ans revolus, Aux premiers reves de leur coeur, 
 
 Je leurai garde ma tendresse ; 
 
 Ils ne me reconnaitraient plus : ** moi > P lei , n de P ltie > J hesite > 
 
 J ai peur qu en se posant sur eux 
 
 J'ai change d'ame et de visage ; Mon baiser ne les ressuscite : 
 Ils redouteut 1'adieu moqueur Ils out etc trop malheureux. 
 
 BY THE WATER'S EDGE 
 
 To sit and watch the wavelets as they flow, 
 
 Two, side by side ; 
 To see the gliding clouds that come and go, 
 
 And mark them glide ; 
 
 If from low roofs the smoke is wreathing pale, 
 
 To watch it wreathe ; 
 If flowers around breathe perfume on the gale, 
 
 To feel them breathe ; 
 
 If the bee sips the honeyed fruit that glistens, 
 
 To sip the dew ; 
 If the bird warbles while the forest listens, 
 
 To listen too ; 
 
 AU BORD DE L'EAU Aux alentours si quelque fleur 
 
 S'asseoir tous deux au bord d'un embaume, 
 
 flot qui passe, S'en embaumer ; 
 
 Le voir passer ; Si quelque fruit, ou les abeille* 
 Tous deux, s'il glisse un nuage en ffoutent 
 
 1>es Pf e ' . Tente,ygouter; 
 
 Le roir glisser ; _. . , 
 
 A 1'horizon, s'il fume un toit de Sl quelque oiseau, dans les bois qui 
 chaume, 1'e'coutent, 
 
 Le voir fumer ; Chante, ecouter.
 
 LES RAINES TENDEESSES 320 
 
 Beneath the willow where the brook is singing 
 
 To hear its song, 
 Nor feel, while round us that sweet dream is clinging,. 
 
 The hours too long ; 
 
 To know one only deep overmastering passion, 
 
 The love we share; 
 To let the world go worrying in its fashion 
 
 Without one care ; 
 
 We only, while around all weary grow, 
 
 Unwearied stand, 
 And, midst the fickle changes others know, 
 
 Love hand in hand. 
 
 Entendre au pied du saule ou Feau Sans nul souci des querelles du 
 murmure monde, 
 
 L'eau murmurer ; Les ignorer ; 
 
 Ne pas sentir, tant que ce reve Et seuls, heureux devant tout ce 
 dure, qui lasse, 
 
 Le temps durer ; Sans se lasser, 
 
 Mais ii'apportant de passion pro- Sentir 1'amour, devant tout ce qui 
 fonde passe, 
 
 Qu'a s'adorer, Xe point passer ! 
 
 THE ONE THING THAT LASTS. 
 
 How cold and wan the present lowers 
 O my true love ! around us twain ; 
 
 How little of the past is ours ! 
 
 How changed the friends who yet remain ! 
 
 We cannot without envying view 
 The eyes with twenty summers gay, 
 
 For eyes, 'neath which our childhood grew, 
 Have long since passed from earth away. 
 
 Each hour still steals our youth ; alas ! 
 
 No hour will e'er the theft restore ; 
 One thing there is that will not pass, 
 
 The heart I loved thee with of yore. 
 
 CE QUI DI T RE Et combien sont deja sans vie 
 
 Le present se fait vide et triste, Des ?*"* ,1 ui nous ont vu 
 O mon amie, autour de nous ; graiuhr . 
 
 Combien peu du passe subsiste ! g ue de j eunesse emporte I'heure, 
 
 <A ceux qui restent changent tous. g ui n ' eu rap p Or te jamais rien ! ' 
 
 Nous ne voyons plus sans envie Pourtant quelque chose demeure : 
 
 Ixs yeux de vingt ans resplendir, Je t'aime avec mon coeur ancien >
 
 330 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 That heart which plays in life its part, 
 
 With love elate, with loss forlorn, 
 Is still through all the child's pure heart 
 
 My mother gave when I was born. 
 
 That heart, where nothing new can light, 
 
 Where old thoughts draw their cherished breath, 
 
 It loves thee, dear, with all the might 
 That life can wield in strife with death. 
 
 If it of death the conqueror be, 
 
 If there's in man some nobler part 
 That wins him immortality, 
 
 Then, love ! thou hast that deathless heart. 
 
 Mon vrai coeur, celui qui s' attache Je t'aime avec ce que mon etre 
 Et souffre depuis qu'il est ne, A de plus fort centre la mort ; 
 
 Mon coeur d'eufant, le coeur sans 
 
 Et, s il peut braver la mort 
 
 Que ma mere m'avait donne ; meme, 
 
 Si le meilleur de 1 homme est tel 
 
 Ce coeur ou plus rien ne penetre, Que rien n'en perisse, je t'aime 
 D'ou plus rien de'sormais ne sort ; Avec ce que j'ai d'immortel. 
 
 A PRAYER 
 
 If you but knew the tears that fall 
 For life unloved and fireside drear, 
 
 Perchance before my lonely hall 
 You would pass near. 
 
 If you but knew your power to thrill 
 My drooping soul by one pure glance, 
 
 You'd look towards my window-sill 
 At times by chance. 
 
 If you but knew what soothing balm 
 One heart can on another pour, 
 
 Would you not sit a sister calm 
 Beside my door ? 
 
 PRIERE Vous regarderiez ma fenetre 
 Ah ! si vous saviez comme on pleure Comme au hasard. 
 
 De vivre seul et sans foyers, 
 
 'Quelquefois devant ma demeure Si vous saviez quel baume apport 
 
 Vous passenez, ^ u coeur j a presence d'un coeur, 
 
 Si vous saviez ce que fait naitre Vous vous assoiriez sous ma porte 
 Dans 1'ame triste un pur regard, Comme une soeur.
 
 A CONTRAST WITH COPPEE 331 
 
 And if you knew I loved you well, 
 And loved you too with all my heart, 
 
 You'd come perchance with me to dwell, 
 And ne'er depart. 
 
 Si rous saviez que je vous aime, Vous entreriez peut-etre meme 
 
 Surtout si vous saviez comment, Tout simpleinent. 
 
 In the best of his work Sully is engaged in 
 analysing and recording his own experiences and 
 sensations. He is essentially a subjective poet ; 
 the mirror which reflects the fugitive lights and 
 shades that flicker over the human heart. In 
 Fra^ois Coppee, on the other hand, the narrative 
 and dramatic elements predominate. He passes 
 out of himself, as it were, to observe the external 
 world, to narrate stories of action, to paint scenes 
 in the drama of real life. While he has remained 
 true to the vital traditions of the Parnassian group, 
 he has yet created a manner for himself. He has 
 the rashness as well as the courage of the innovator. 
 In the frank realism of his pictures of everyday 
 life among the Parisian shopkeepers, clerks, and 
 artisans, he sometimes, like Wordsworth, oversteps 
 the border-line between poetry and prose. But 
 each thought is expressed in easy rhythm and in 
 clear, direct, natural language ; each detail of the 
 scene is honestly observed, correctly drawn, care- 
 fully finished. 
 
 The distinctive features of Coppee's verse were 
 moulded by the circumstances of his childhood 
 .and early life. Born in Paris in 1842, Coppee, 
 alone among the poets already mentioned, is still 
 alive. Of his father, a poorly paid War Office
 
 332 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 clerk, whose whole soul was bowed to duty, he 
 has painted a portrait in his autobiographical poem 
 of " Olivier." To his mother's life of constraint 
 and self-sacrifice he pays a thinly-veiled tribute 
 in his " Sainte " (Le Reliquaire). Fra^ois was 
 their youngest child. A delicate boy, he had 
 neither health nor inclination for sustained study 
 at the Lycee St. Louis. He came to school with 
 a sprig of lilac pressed into his grammar, and 
 a ringing stanza of Alfred de Musset confounded 
 with his Greek declensions. His training was 
 acquired not in the class-room, but in real life. 
 The discipline came early enough. Before he w r as 
 twenty-one, his father's death left his mother and 
 unmarried sister dependent on his earnings as a 
 clerk. It was his dream to be a poet. Poor in 
 pocket, rich in hope, he kept the end steadily in 
 view, practising his art, continuing his studies, and 
 eking out his meagre salary witli copying or 
 journalistic work. Between 1864 and 1869 he had 
 published four slender volumes of verse. In 
 January of the latter year his play, " Le Passant," 
 was produced at the Odeon. It made him famous. 
 The blase taste of the decrepit Empire was fasci- 
 nated by the virgin freshness of the little one-act 
 dialogue : newspapers published every detail of the 
 author's life ; cravats a la Coppee became the 
 fashion. The Franco- Prussian war checked his 
 success. The greatness of the national disaster 
 drove Sully inwards ; it forced Coppee outwards. 
 It strengthened Sully's tendency to strenuous
 
 A POET OF PARIS 333 
 
 seriousness ; it encouraged Coppee's inclination 
 towards narrative and dramatic verse. Told off 
 to do sentry-duty on the ramparts of Paris, shut 
 up within its walls during the siege, an eye-witness 
 to the horrors of the Commune, and, after peace 
 was restored, struggling hard to gain his livelihood, 
 he gives a vivid transcript of what he sees and 
 feels at his own door. He learnt that, if the 
 sympathy is genuine, and the feeling truthfully 
 expressed, there is poetry in the grocer's shop. 
 To describe, in Parisian French, life as homely and 
 familiar as that which Jasmin describes in the 
 patois of Agen, is Coppee's gift. 
 
 Born in Paris of Parisian parents, Coppee is a 
 " Parisien Parisiennant," a Parisian of Parisians. 
 Paris is his native place, his home, his mistress. 
 Her streets were the stage of his humble tragedies ; 
 each stone in her pavements was an acquaintance ; 
 at every corner an association greeted him ; out 
 of every alley flitted some phantom of his youth ; 
 her plane-trees sheltered alike his first rhymes 
 and his first loves. Paris was to him a personal 
 living being. He loved to seek her outskirts, and 
 thence to distinguish the various sounds which 
 unite in the hum of her busy life ; to catch her 
 tired sigh of relief as twilight creeps across the 
 sky ; to watch her lights burst out, one by one, 
 through the gathering darkness. He did not cele- 
 brate the glories of her great streets and palaces ; 
 but he dedicated his genius to sing of the weak 
 and forlorn, the pariahs of gay society, the obscure
 
 334 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 heroes and unknown heroines whom his pity 
 detected among the newsvendors, nurses, grocers f 
 and motherless child-mothers. None had treated 
 Parisian life in Coppee's distinctive vein. Literary 
 Frenchmen, for the most part, were soldiers of 
 fortune from the provinces, who sought Paris as 
 the stage for the pursuit of fame ; they studied 
 her Bohemianism as material for copy, and despised 
 her respectability. To Coppee, on the other hand, 
 Paris was home. He was the poet of its solid, 
 unostentatious virtues ; the singer of the great, 
 industrious, frugal, domestic city, which underlies 
 the brilliant Paris of society, of novelists, and of 
 politicians. 
 
 Coppee has written in many moods. There is 
 his love poetry ; there are the poems inspired by 
 the scenes of the great war ; there are the genre- 
 pictures of domestic life, painted, for the most part, 
 on too large a canvas for illustrative purposes ; there 
 are, finally, the poems which show his directness 
 and graphic force of narrative. Of these various 
 moods, the following verses are examples : 
 
 TO A GIRL ENGAGED 
 
 * She like you had golden hair, 
 She, whose eyes so soft and fair 
 Left my heart all desolate ; 
 Yet Fin glad, in my despair, 
 For your wooing's happier fate. 
 
 POUR UNE FIANCEE Me laisserent 1'ame blessee. 
 
 A MLLE. ALICE G. Pourtant mon cceur n'est pas 
 
 Elle etait blonde comme vous, jaloux 
 
 Celle dent les yeux fins et doux De vos bonheurs de fiancee.
 
 CONTES EN VEES 335- 
 
 Why should grief our spirits sour ? 
 All she gave was but one flower ; 
 Yet when lovers twain pass by, 
 I can pray, " God on them shower 
 Joy for all my misery."" 
 
 Though he's severed now from you, 
 Yet your lover knows you true, 
 And he sorrows when you weep. 
 Did they weep, I never knew, 
 Those sweet eyes of violet deep ? 
 
 Let me make one humble vow ; 
 As I loved, may he love now ! 
 Take the secret I confide. 
 Grief my soul must ever bow ; 
 Lifelong joy be at your side ! 
 
 Houte a ceux qu'aigrit la douleur ! II est triste comme vous 1'etes. 
 
 Je n'ai rien d'elle qu'une fleur ; Moi, j'ignore s'ils ont pleure, 
 
 Mais quand un couple d'amants Les charmants yeux de violettes. 
 
 passe, . ., . . 
 
 Je dis au bon Dieu : "Rendez-leur Q u ou vous aime comme j aimais, 
 
 Eii fe'licite ma disgrace." C>est le voeu <l ue J e me permets, 
 
 Le secret que je vous confie. 
 
 Bien qu'il soit de vous separe, J'ai de la peine pour jamais ; 
 
 Votre ami se sent desire ; Soyez heureuse pour la vie ! 
 
 THE BURNT COTTAGE 
 
 * With swift and devastating stroke, 
 The battle swept along this way, 
 And the old house in ashes lay ; 
 Look close ! you still can see the smoke. 
 
 Some prints from Epinal hung there, 
 A gun swung from the chimney hook ; 
 The cabin wore defiant look, 
 As though the foes of France to dare. 
 
 LA CHAUMIERE INCENDIEE Et la vieille maison brula ; 
 
 Regardez, cela fume encore. 
 
 Pour tasuvre du Sou det . ,,{, . , 
 
 chaumitres. Quelques images d Epinal, 
 
 Un fusil sur la cheminee ; 
 
 Fle'au rapide et qui devore, C'etait la chaumiere obstinee, 
 
 La bataille a passe par la, Le vieux logis national.
 
 336 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 You stumbled on the threshold rough ; 
 So low the door, you had to stoop ; 
 But on the fire there smoked the soup, 
 Upon the shelf was bread enough. 
 
 Twos dark and small, by time defaced ; 
 The roof of oaten-thatch was made ; 
 Yet, nestling in the alcove's shade, 
 By the big bed a cot was placed. 
 
 The spider with her lace of grey 
 Across the ceiling used to sprawl ; 
 But in the chinks of that old wall 
 The twittVing swallows loved to play 
 
 Outside the door, at summer tide, 
 In winter, by the fireside glow, 
 The dwellers in that cottage low 
 Knew yesterday both joy and pride. 
 
 Against the storm a shield it made ; 
 The children grew and flourished there ; 
 The grandsire, when the noon was fair, 
 Could bask beneath the trellis shade. 
 
 They talked, in worldly ways unlearned, 
 On which good girl they would decide 
 To be the conscript-brother's bride, 
 When he from soldiers' camp returned. 
 
 Now, past that home has swept the war ; 
 Since those accursed Germans came. 
 These ruins, black with smoke and flame, 
 Stand where the cabin stood before. 
 
 Au seuil rugueux ou Ton trebuche, Les habitants de la chaumiere 
 
 II fallait se baisser un peu ; Etaient encore heureux hier. 
 Mais la soupe etait sur le feu 
 
 Et le pain etait dans la huche. ^ eta , vt l ab " contre . ] rage ; 
 
 La, les enfants avaient grand) ; 
 
 C'e'tait bien sombre et bien petit, L' a i e ul se chauffait a midi 
 
 Avec un toit de paille chauve, Sur le bane nu'unetreille embrace. 
 Mais abritant sous 1 humble alcove 
 
 Un berceau tout pres d'un grand Et Ton parlait naivement 
 
 lit. De choisir une brave nlle 
 
 L'araignee aux grises dentelles , P ur le fr^ 6 / 6 H l . famille 
 
 Habitait le plafond obscur ; Q U1 revenait du regmient. 
 
 Mais les trous nombreux du vieux _ Ma intenant, c'est apres la 
 
 Etaieut connus des hirondelles. Aprifow^Uemwida damnes ; 
 L'ete, sur la porte, et rhiver, Et ces pans de murs calcine's 
 
 Pres du foyer plein de lumiere, Furent cette maison naguere.
 
 LE CAHIER ROUGE 337 
 
 The grandsire asks for alms to-day ; 
 He who, though only rich in heart, 
 Cut always of his loaf a part 
 For beggars tramping by the way. 
 
 The son's by toil for wages bent ; 
 Yet his young wife and children twain, 
 Crouched in one squalid room, complain 
 That they must starve to pay the rent. 
 
 The brother, still to fame unknown, 
 They sent him to the war again, 
 Not to return : on sunless plain, 
 And German soil, he died alone. 
 
 But since our noble France will keep 
 For ever, as she kept of old, 
 Her pence, her silver coin, her gold, 
 To dry the tears of those that weep, 
 
 Oh, then, by that sad past we've known, 
 Give now, give all, with open hand, 
 Give for those homes that wasted stand, 
 Give for those cradles overthrown. 
 
 L'a'ieul aujourd'hui tend la main, Du fond de la froide Allemagne 
 Lui qui, n'etant pourtant pas N'est, helas ! jamais revenu. 
 
 Coupait largement dans la miche Mais, puisque dans la noble 
 Pour tous les pauvres du chemin. r ranee 
 
 II fut toujours, il reste encor, 
 
 L'homme travaille dans les fermes, Sou, piece blanche ou louis d'or, 
 Et sa femme et ses deux petits Une obole pour la souffrance, 
 Pleurent dans un affreux taudis 
 Dont il ne peut payer les termes. Au nom du douloureux passe, 
 
 Donnez tous, donnez tout de suite, 
 
 Le frere, soldat inconnu Dounez pour la maison detruite 
 
 Qu'on a repris pour la campagne, Et pour le berceau renverse ! 
 
 THE NOVICE 
 
 * When from her heart regret's wild pang had died, 
 And sunk for her Hope's last deceiving ray, 
 She sought within the convent's shade to hide 
 And through its calm to learn the heavenward way. 
 
 LA SCEUR NOVICE 
 
 Lorsque tout douloureux regret fut Resignee, elle alia chercher dans 
 
 mort en elle un couvent 
 
 Et qu'elle cut bien perdu tout Le calme qui prepare a la vie 
 
 espoir decevant, eteruelle. 
 
 22
 
 338 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 Her beads were dancing on her rough serge dress, 
 As, thin and pale, she trod the garden walk : 
 There gleam no flowers; but there no winds distress. 
 Some kale grew there, a vine with trellised stalk. 
 One day she plucked, within that garden drear, 
 A flower, with memories worldly, yet too dear, 
 Still linked ; it bloomed where saintly law forbade. 
 She breathed it long, and then, at eventide, 
 Calmly her soul in holy peace arrayed 
 As heavenward dies the incense, so she died. 
 
 Le chapelet battaut la jupe de Une fleur exhalant uu souvenir 
 
 flanelle, moudain, 
 
 Et pale, elle veuait se promener Qui poussait la malgre la sainte 
 
 souvent obedience ; 
 
 Dans le jardin sans fleurs, bien 
 
 abrite du vent, Elle la respira longtemps, puis, 
 
 Avec ses plants de choux et sa vers ^ e soir * 
 
 vigne en tonnelle. Samtement, ayant mis en paix sa 
 
 conscience, 
 Pourtant elle cueillit un jour, dans Mourut, comme s'eteint 1'ame d'un 
 
 ce jardin, encensoir. 
 
 The scene of " The Blessing" is a Convent 
 Church during the capture of Saragossa by the 
 French in 1812. The monks who defended the 
 convent have been shot down ; the soldiers pour 
 into the courtyard. One of the victorious party 
 describes the scene ; 
 
 Behind, the Church its sombre depths displayed ; 
 Like golden stars the tapers lit the shade ; 
 In perfumed wreaths the languid incense burned ; 
 And in the choir, towards the altar turned, 
 As though no sound of battle reached him there, 
 A priest, erect and tall, with snow-white hair. 
 In peaceful, rev'rent calm was saying mass. 
 
 LA BENEDICTION Et, tout au fond, tourne vers 
 
 1'autel, dans le chreur, 
 
 Et, derriere, s'ouvrait 1'eglise, im- Comme s'il n'avait pas entendu la 
 
 mense et sombre. bataille, 
 
 Les cierges etoilaient de points Un pretre en cheveux blancs et de 
 
 d'or toute 1'ombre ; tres haute taille 
 
 L'encens y re'pandait son parfum Termiuait son office avec tran- 
 
 de langueur ; quillite'
 
 POEMES MODERNES 339 
 
 That scene still haunts me; it can never pass 
 From mem'ry ; as I speak, I see it all, 
 The convent church, with Moorish western wall, 
 Monks 1 brown-robed corpses, and the sun's bright gleam 
 That made their red blood on the pavement steam ; 
 Through the low door, set as in picture frame, 
 Priest, lighted altar its high shrine all flame, 
 Ourselves. Nailed to the spot, we did not dare 
 Advance ; no comrade in the ranks could swear 
 More godless oaths than I ; in one attack, 
 When orders came for us some church to sack, 
 The story runs, to prove my ribald wit, 
 From burning altar lights my pipe I lit ; 
 I knew all tricks of old campaigner's trade ; 
 My moustached lip by downward curl betrayed 
 True outward sign of cold blaspheming sneer. 
 Yet that white-haired old man thrilled me with fear. 
 " Fire," cried an officer. 
 
 None moved. The priest 
 
 (He must have heard, yet never blenched the least) 
 Holding the sacrament, turned round his face 
 (For in the mass he just had reached the place, 
 Where priests pronounce the blessing on the rite) ; 
 With outstretched arms, like angel's pinions white, 
 
 Ce mauvais souvenir si present Allumer une pipe aux cierges de 
 
 m'est reste 1'autel. 
 
 Qu'en vous le racontant je crois Deja j'etais un vieux traineur de 
 
 tout revoir presque : sabretache ; 
 
 Le vieux couvent avec sa facade Et le pli que donnait ma levre a 
 
 moresque, ma moustache 
 
 Les grands cadavres hruns des Anno^ait un blaspheme et n' etait 
 
 moines, le soleil pas trompeur. 
 
 Faisant sur les paves fumer le sang Mais ce vieil homme etait si 
 
 vermeil, blanc qu'il me fit peur. 
 
 Et, dans 1'encadrement noir de la " Feu ! " dit un officier. 
 
 porte basse, Nul ne bou gea. Le pretre 
 
 Ce pretre et cet autel bnllant Entenditj a coup sur, mais n'en fit 
 
 comme une chasse, rien paraitr ^ 
 
 Et nous autres cloues au sol, Et nous fit face avec gon d 
 
 presque poltrons. ^^ sacreme nt, 
 
 Car sa messe en etait arrivee au 
 
 Certes, j'e'tais alors un vrai sac a moment 
 
 jurons, Ou le pretre se tourne et benit les 
 
 Un impie ; et plus d'un encore se fideles. 
 
 rappelle Ses bras leves avaieut une en- 
 
 Qu'on me vit une fois, au sac d'une vergure d'ailes. 
 
 chapelle, Et chacuu recula, lorsqu'avec 
 
 Pour faire le geutil et le spirituel, 1'ostensoir
 
 340 SOME MODERN FRENCH POETS 
 
 He waved the monstrance ; backward each man drew ; 
 He traced the cross in air, and well we knew 
 He feared no more than if we worshipped there ; 
 In firm rich voice he chaunted forth the prayer. 
 As priests are wont to sing their Oremus, 
 Said, 
 
 " Benedicat vos omnipotens Deiis." 
 
 " Fire,"" cried the voice again, " or I'll report 
 You all.' 1 A soldier, but of coward sort, 
 Took aim and fired ; the old man's face grew pale, 
 But his undaunted bearing did not quail, 
 Rather it grew more lofty, stern yet glad, 
 "Pater et Fillus" 
 
 Was the wretch mad ? 
 
 Or did some rush of blood to brutal brain 
 Bid ring from out our ranks that shot again ? 
 I know not ; anyhow the shot was sent. 
 The monk one hand upon the altar leant 
 And tried to bless ; as for support he clung, 
 His left the heavy golden monstrance swung; 
 A third time traced in air the cross to tell 
 Of pardon ; then in voice that faintly fell 
 Yet clear, for even breath was hushed in us, 
 Said, with closed eyes, 
 
 " Et Spiritiis Sanctus^ 
 
 II decrivit la croix dans 1'air et Quelle rage 
 
 qu'on put voir Ou quel voile de sang affolant un 
 
 Qu'il ne tremblait pas plus que cerveau 
 
 devant les devotes. Fit partir de nos rangs un coup de 
 
 Et quaud sa belle voix, psalmodiant feu nouveau ? 
 
 les notes, Je ne sais ; mais pourtant cette 
 
 Comme font les cure's dans tous action fut faite. 
 
 leurs Oremus, Le moine, d'une main s'appuyant 
 
 Dit : sur le faite 
 
 Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, De 1'autel et tachant de nous benir 
 
 "Feu!" repe'ta la voix feroce, _ enc r, 
 
 " ou je me facbe. " De 1 a V tre , souleva le lourd osten - 
 
 Alors un d'entre nous, un soldat, _ soir ' ? r .\ 
 
 mais un lache, *"" h tro 1S ieme fins il traca dans 
 
 Abaissa son fusil et fit feu. Le . * es P^ ce ,, 
 
 vieillard signe du pardon, et d une voix 
 
 Devint tres pale. mais. sans baisser ,, . tr ^ s , basse ^ 
 
 son regard ^ ais 1 U on enten< i lt bien ^ car tous 
 Etincelant d'un sombre et farouche .. bruits s'etaient tus, 
 
 courage : J1 dlt ^ les veux fermes : 
 Pater et Filius, reprit-il. Et Spiritus sanctus
 
 LA BENEDICTION 341 
 
 And dropped down dead, ending his life with prayer. 
 Three times the monstrance on the altar stair 
 Bounded. Rough troopers stood, by pity thrilled, 
 With grounded arms, and hearts with horror filled, 
 Their souls before this murdered martyr bowed. 
 " Amen ! " a drummer said, and laughed aloud ! 
 
 Puis tomba mort, ayant acheve sa Sombres, 1'horreur vivante au 
 priere. cceur et Farme aux pieds, 
 
 L'ostensoir rebondit par trois fois Devant ce meurtre infame et 
 sur la pierre, devant ce martyre : 
 
 Et ; comme nous restions, meme les Amen I dit un tambour en eclataiit 
 vieux troupiers, de rire.
 
 INDEX 
 
 Absentee landlords, 36 
 
 A Celle qui me voit (Th. de 
 
 Banville), translated, 310 
 African sheep, 39 
 Agde, Bishop of, 39 
 Agen, 333 
 Z'Jl<7onte(Sully-Prudhomme),trans- 
 
 lated, 323 
 
 Agrarian crime, 93, 110, 113 
 Agriculture, progress of, 30, 31 ; 
 
 a department of State, 38, 52 ; 
 
 Minister of, 53, 55, 56 
 Agricultural districts, 53 ; schools, 
 
 53 ; shows, 55 ; societies, 56, 
 
 62 
 
 Agromanie, 38 
 Aisne sheep, 26 
 " Alcofribas Nasier," anagram of 
 
 Francois Rabelais, 190, 198 
 Alexander the Great, in Hades, 
 
 214 
 
 Alexander VI (Pope), 209 
 Alfort, veterinary school at, 39, 
 
 55 
 
 Algiers, 56 
 
 Allies couvertes, 130, 132, 136 
 Almanach pour MDXXXII. ed. 
 
 Rabelais, 187 
 
 Alsatian provinces, the, 27 
 Althen, Jean, 40, 45 
 Alva, Duke of, his Tribunal of 
 
 Blood, 176 ; plots with Cathe- 
 rine de Medicis, 255 
 Amadis de Gaule, 245 
 Amboise, castle at, 234, 244 ; 
 
 conspiracy at, 253 
 d' Amboise, Cardinal Georges, 231 
 Ami des Homines, of Mirabeau, 
 
 39 
 Amiens, 27 ; statue of Peter the 
 
 Hermit at, 104 ; provincial 
 
 assembly at, in 1787, 111, 118 ; 
 
 St. Firmin at, 153 ; 289 
 Amy, Pierre, friend of Rabelais, 
 
 180 
 Amyot, Jacques, 250 
 
 VAncien regime, 116, 119, 274, 
 
 292 
 
 Andelle, the, 81 
 
 Aneau, Barthelemy, at Lyons, 184 
 Anet, 252 
 Angers, flowers, 28, 83 ; slate 
 
 quarries, 82 ; Rabelais at, 180 ; 
 
 234 
 Angles, 153 ; Martin, abbot of 
 
 154 ; maidens of, 154 
 Anjou, King Ren6 of, 23 ; cloaertes 
 
 of, 29 ; Duke of, see Philip V 
 Annales de Roville, 46 
 Anne of Austria, 230, 264 
 Anne of Bretagne, 229 
 Annel-les-Bertinval, 39 
 Antrain, 135 
 Apple-trees, 27 
 Arc, the, 57 
 Architecture, 5, 30 ; domestic, 
 
 in Pantagruel, 200 
 Ardennes, architecture in the, 30 ; 
 
 monasteries in, 32 ; tenant- 
 right in, 103 
 Argenteuil, 27 
 
 VArgile douce, of Santerre, 95 
 Ariegeoiae, la race (cattle), 26 
 Aries, 45 
 Armida, 246 
 Arminie, 140 
 Armorica, 137 
 Arnold, Matthew, his " Youth of 
 
 Nature," quoted, 129; "Iseult 
 
 of Brittany," quoted, 156 ; Sully- 
 
 Prudhomme compared to, 320 
 Arnon, ford of the, 155 
 Arras tapestries, at Fontainebleau, 
 
 249 
 
 Art at Fontainebleau, 231 aeq. 
 Arthur, King, 130, 144, 185, 186 
 Asparagus, 27 
 Astrology, ridiculed by Rabelais, 
 
 214 
 
 Ataraxia, the, of Theleme, 225 
 Atout (trumps), 12 
 St. Aubin du Cormier, 131 
 
 343
 
 344 
 
 INDEX 
 
 d'Aubign6, Agrippa, and Rabelais, 
 
 160 
 Au bord de Feau (Sully-Prud- 
 
 homme), translated, 328 
 Au lecteur (Sully-Prudhomme), 
 
 translated, 319 
 Autunois, the, 68 
 Auvergne, cattle, 26 ; lava houses 
 
 in, 30 ; risings in, 36 ; 69 
 d' Auvergne, Comte, and Biron, 
 
 263 
 
 Aux Amis inconnus (Sully-Prud- 
 homme), translated, 318 
 Aveyron sheep, 26 
 Avon, mother parish of Fontaine- 
 
 bleau, 243 ; Monaldeschi's grave 
 
 at, 270 
 
 Bagatelle, la brillante, 289 
 Baif, Jean Antoine, 195n. 
 Bail authentique, 119 
 Bains, near Bed on, 127n. 
 Bakewell, Robert, of Dishley, 48 ; 
 
 his sheep, 41 
 Ballade du Desespere, la (Henry 
 
 Murger), 298 
 de Balzac, Honore, and Rabelais, 
 
 160; 197, 298 
 
 de Banville, Theodore, 305 seq. 
 Barbarine, la race (sheep), 39 
 Barbier, Louis, 161 
 Barbizon school of painting, 233 
 Barcelonette mules, 26 
 Barley, 47 
 Barren women, 132 
 du Barry, Madame, 274 
 Bas-Breaux, 232 
 Bas-Languedoc mutton, 48 
 Bas-Poitou, 136, 137 
 Basquaise, la race (cattle), 26 
 Bas-Rhin, the, 59 
 de Bassompierre, Marshal, 263 
 Bastille, Biron in the, 263 
 Bataille de fleurs, 292 
 Battista di Jacopo, see Rosso. 
 Baudelaire, Charles, 311 
 Baug6, 67, 85 
 Beauce, la, 68, 85 
 Beaumarchais, and Rabelais, 159 ; 
 
 and the Propes Goezman, 278 n. 
 Becket, Archbishop, 241 n. 
 Beef, 48, 49 
 Beetroot, 27, 34, 47 
 Bella, Auguste, 54 
 Bellau, Remi, 195 n. 
 du Bellay, Jean, Cardinal, Bishop 
 
 of Paris, 177 ; his mission to 
 
 Rome, 187 ; 188 ; his confi- 
 
 dence in Rabelais, 190 ; his fall, 
 
 191 
 du Bellay, Guillaume, Sieur de 
 
 Langey, 182 
 du Bollay, Joachim, on Michel 
 
 Seve, 184 ; one of the Pleiade, 
 
 195 n, 196 ; verses on Rabelais, 
 
 196 
 
 du Bellay, family of, 180 
 Bellini, Giovanni, 229 
 Belloy, 94 
 Bells, the monastic conscience, 
 
 211 
 Benediction, la (Francois Coppee), 
 
 translated, 338 
 
 de B6ranger, Pierre Jean, 197 
 Berger, le Livre de, 33 
 de Bergerac, Cyrano, and Rabe- 
 lais, 160 
 Bernard, 141 
 
 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 27 
 du Berquin, Louis, 176 
 Berri, 28, 32, 37, 64, 131, 132, 136, 
 
 140, 149 ; Grand' Bete of, 155 ; 
 
 dolmens in, 155 
 Berrichon sheep, 26 
 Berrichonne, la Campagne, 144 
 Berthelemy, Jean-Jacques, 279 
 Bertin, Henri Leonard Jean Bap- 
 
 tiste, 39 
 
 Beslebet, city of, 150 seq. 
 Bethune-Charost, Due de, 40 
 Bidoches, 146, 147 
 Biere, 235 
 
 Bieria Silva, the, 235 n ; Guil- 
 laume de Bieria, 238 
 Bignon, Intendant of Picardy in 
 
 1707, 108 
 
 Bigourdane, la race (horses), 25 
 Birette, la, 148 
 de Biron, Marshal, 259, 261 seq., 
 
 285 
 Biscay, the Bay of, legends of, 
 
 150 
 
 Blanche of Castile, 240 
 Blaut (dog), 236 
 Bleu Pompadour, 277 ; Fceil du 
 
 Roi, 275, 277 
 Blialdus, 236 n. 
 
 Blois, 229, 231, 234, 244, 250, 252 
 Boards of Agriculture, 50 
 Bochin, M., 62 
 Bohemo, Scenes de la Vie de (Henry 
 
 Murger), 296 seq. 
 Boileau, and Rabelais, 159 
 Boischaud, the, 68 
 Boisguilbert, Pierre, 36 
 Bois-le-Roi, 240
 
 INDEX 
 
 345 
 
 Boniface VIII, 209 
 
 Bonnivet, 211 
 
 Bontemps, Pierre, 249 
 
 Bordeaux, the archbishop of, 39 
 
 Bordiers, 89 
 
 Borgias, the, 209 
 
 Bossuet, 203, 241 
 
 " Boswellism," 178 
 
 Boucher, Fran?ois, 274, 275, 279 
 
 Bouches du Rhone, the, 64 
 
 Bouchet, castle of, 140 
 
 Bouchoire, 94 
 
 Boudet, Antoine, 39 
 
 Bougeneuf, Bay of, 58 
 
 Bouin, 58 
 
 Boulanger, the, at Versailles, 43 
 
 Boulle, Andre Charles, 287 
 
 Boulonnais horses, 25 
 
 Bourbiac, 134 
 
 Bourbon, the constable of, 250 
 Bourbonnaise, La Belle, 1 
 Bourgelat, Charles, 39 
 Bourges, 31 ; arms of, 64 ; 131, 
 
 234, 237 
 Bourgueil, 211 
 
 Bourrat, the, 90 
 Boussac, castle of, 141 
 Bouvincourt, 98, 113 
 Boycotting, 93, 101, 109, 110, 
 
 115, 118 
 
 Braillards, of Noirmoutier, 150 
 Brandes, of Bern, 28 ; of Cher, 64 
 Brantome, Pierre de Bourdeille, 
 Abb6 de, on Rabelais, 158 ; 177 
 Bras d'or, the, 27 
 Bray, 95, 113 
 
 Bremontier, Nicolas Th., 42 
 Brenne, la, villages of, 29 ; monas- 
 teries, 32 ; 64, 68, 139 
 Bridges, in rural towns, 22 seq. ; 
 
 and roads, 57 
 Bridoye, Judge, 195 
 Brie, 68, 98 
 Britain, growth of population in, 
 
 49 
 Brittany, 29 ; granite houses in, 
 
 30; folk-lore in, 133 seq. 
 Brunehild, 105 
 Brussels tapestry at Fontaine- 
 
 bleau, 249 
 
 Bucherons (woodmen), 22 
 Bucy, 143 
 
 Bude, Guillaume, 180, 194, 250 
 Buffon, 38 
 Bullock carts, 24 
 Buried cities, 152 
 Burton, Robert, compared with 
 Rabelais, 170 
 
 Cabane du Loup, la, 132 
 
 Cadouer-au-Diol, 135 
 
 Caen, horsebreaking school at, 55 
 
 Cafes, in rural towns, 10 
 
 Cairns, 130, 132 
 
 " Calliste " (Th. de Banville's 
 
 sister's dog), 308 
 Calvin, 173 n ; on Rabelais, 174 ; 
 
 his " De Scandalis" quoted, 
 174n ; Rabelais and, 175 
 Camargue, the, 64 
 Cambrai, 94 
 Camillus, in Hades, 214 
 Cards, games at, in Pantagruel, 
 
 200 ; at Fontainebleau, 275 
 Cariatides, les (Th. de Banville), 
 
 305 
 
 Carmagnole, la, 293 
 Carpentier, Pierre, his derivation 
 
 of depointeur 109 n. 
 Casaubon, Isaac, 260 
 Casse a la Reine, la, 147 
 Casse-noisettes, 132 
 Castles, dismantled, 13 
 Cattle, 25, 26, 47, 48 
 Cattle-plague, the, 36, 41, 56 
 Caturce, Jean, executed at Tou- 
 louse, 176 
 Caudebec, 37 
 
 Cave dwellings, on the Loire, 30 
 Cellini, Benvenuto, 246, 248 
 Ce qui dure (Sully-Prudhomme), 
 
 translated, 329 
 Cervantes, 216 
 Chair e de Gargantua, la, 130 
 Chaise-Giraud, 131 
 Chalonne, 71 
 Chambord, 211, 252 
 Champ Dolent, 135 
 Champagne, veal of, 26 ; chalk 
 
 hills of, 28, 70 ; shepherds of, 
 
 29; villages of, 29; 68, 70, 
 
 74 
 
 Champagne (wine) invented, 35 
 Champier, Symphorien, at Lyons, 
 
 184 
 
 Chansons de Gestes, les, 296 
 Chanteloube, the Forest of, 149 
 Chanteloup, le Comte de, 45 
 Chants du Crepuscule, les (Victor 
 
 Hugo), 295 
 Chapeau, the, 97 
 Charlemagne, 233 
 Charles the Bold, of Burgundy, 
 
 105 
 Charles I, of England, Sir Thomas 
 
 Urquhart at the court of, 165 n. 
 Charles II, of England, 165n. 
 
 23
 
 846 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Charles II, of Spain, his will, 271 
 Charles IV, of Spain, at Fontaine- 
 
 bleau, 279 
 Charles V, Emperor, 214; at 
 
 Fontainebleau, 250 
 Charles V, of France, 33 ; his 
 
 library at Fontainebleau, 243 
 Charles VII, of France, the 
 
 Roitelet of Bourges, 31, 234 ; 
 
 at Fontainebleau, 243 ; 244 
 Charles VIII, of France, 244 
 Charles IX, of France, 252 ; at 
 
 Fontainebleau, 253 aeq. ; 258 
 Charles X, of France, 54, 284 
 Charollais-Nivernais cattle, 25 
 Chosse-briquet, la, 145 
 Chasse-galerie, la, 145 
 Chasse-du-roi Herod, la, 145 
 Chasse St. Hubert, la, 145 
 Chasse-volante, la, 144 
 Chasselas grapes, 28 
 de Chatillon, Cardinal Odet, 192, 
 
 194, 253 
 de Chatelet, la Marquise, cheated 
 
 at lansquenet, 275 
 Chaulnes, 94 
 Chaumiere incendiee, la (Francois 
 
 Coppee), translated, 335 
 Chaumont, 251 
 Chemins, 57 
 Chenier, Andre, 296 
 Chenonceaux, 252 
 Cheptel, l -87, 88 
 Cher, the, 63, 64 
 " Cher s Deserts, les," of St. Louis, 
 
 230, 240, 246 
 Chestnuts, 59, 72, 73 
 Cheval-malet, the, 148 
 " Chez Soy," the, of Francis I, 230, 
 
 245 
 
 Chinon, 179, 234, 244 
 Chipilly, agrarian crime at, 113 
 Choiseul, Due de, 38 
 Cholet, 26, 82 
 du Choul, Guillaume, at Lyons, 
 
 184 
 Christine, Queen, of Sweden, at 
 
 Fontainebleau, 265 seq. ; 285 
 Church, the, and agriculture, 32, 
 
 51 
 
 Churches, in rural towns, 8 
 Cider, 27 
 Clain, the, 182 
 
 Claude of Lorraine, 229, 231, 232 
 Cleder, menhir at, 134 
 Clement VII, 251 
 Clery, 244 
 Clion, 131 
 
 Clos de la Deviniere, the, 179 
 
 du Clous, Chateau, 246 
 
 Clover, 40 ; placed on Druidic 
 stones, 148 
 
 Clun forest sheep, 26 
 
 Cocotiers, 78 
 
 Code Civil, the, 119, 124, 125 
 
 Code Rural, the, of 1810, 112 
 
 Cceur, Jacques, his house at 
 Bourges, 236 
 
 Cceur de Hialmar, le (Leconte de 
 Lisle), translated, 313 
 
 Coiffures a la Marquise (de Pom- 
 padour), 277 
 
 Coke, of Holkham, 50 
 
 Coleridge, on Rabelais, 160, 162 
 
 Coligny, Admiral, 192, 253, 285 
 
 Colonus, the, 104 
 
 Colza, 40 
 
 Combles, 96 
 
 Committee of Agricultural In- 
 quiry, the, 42 
 
 Commons, 45, 48, 69 
 
 Commune, the (Paris, 1871), 333 
 
 Compiegne, 39 
 
 Conches, pin-factories at, 37 ; 
 iron-workers at, 81 
 
 Concordat, the, of 1813, 281 
 
 Concours regionaux, 56 
 
 Conde, Louis I, Prince de, 253 ; 
 death of, 253 
 
 Conde Louis II, Prince de, 270 
 
 Conference (Du Plessis Mornay 
 and du Perron) at Fontaine- 
 bleau, 259 aeq. 
 
 Constant, Benjamin, 79 
 
 Convention, the, 45 
 
 Coppee, Franois, 290 n, 331 seq. 
 
 Corbie, 94, 104, 113 
 
 Corblot, M., his Picard dictionary, 
 109 n 
 
 Corneille, 288, 293 
 
 Corn laws, 41 
 
 Cornu, 95 
 
 Corot, Jean Baptiste Camille, 233 
 
 Corsica, 59 
 
 Corvees, 117 
 
 Cosse de Neu, la, 149 
 
 Cotentin, cattle of the, 26 
 
 Cotes foncieres, 60 
 
 Cour des Adieux, at Fontaine- 
 bleau, 280, 283, 284 
 
 Cour Ovale, at Fontainebleau, 
 237, 242, 247, 259, 263, 286 
 
 Courtois, chef of Frederick the 
 Great, 133 
 
 Cousin, Jean, 249 
 
 Coutances, cloth-works at, 37
 
 INDEX 
 
 347 
 
 Craonnais pigs, 27 
 
 Crau, la, 64 
 
 Crazy Hall, 211 
 
 Credit Foncier, the, 57 
 
 Crepe poitevine, la, 150 
 
 Crescentius of Bologna, 33 
 
 Creuse, the, 32, 69, 85 
 
 Le Creuzot, 317 
 
 Crinon, Hector, the haricotier, 120 
 
 Croix de St. Herein, la, at Fon- 
 
 tainebleau, 279 
 Cromlechs, 130 
 Croquants, les, 36 
 Cros de la Voige, le, 132 
 Crusaders from Picardy, 105 
 Cuspidius, Lucius, his will, ed. 
 
 Rabelais, 184 n. 
 " Cymbalum Mundi," the, of Des- 
 
 periers, 176 
 
 Dairy produce, 27, 47 
 
 Dame, de Comptoir, 11 
 
 Dan, Pierre, 258, 260 
 
 Dangest, a depointeaux, 112 
 
 Darwin, 320 
 
 Daubenton, Louis Jean Marie, 40 
 
 D'Aubrac cattle, 26 
 
 " Davince, Leonard," 244 
 
 du Deffand, Madame, letter of 
 
 Voltaire to, 159 
 Delorme, Marion, 264 
 Delorme, Philibert, 249 
 Denmark, horses imported from, 
 
 41 ; growth of population in, 49 
 Departmental Professors, 55 
 
 Depointeurs} 91 ' * 09 *?&/ der j' 
 Depointeux} vation of the word, 
 
 Desperiers, Bona venture, 174n, 
 
 176, 183, 191 
 Deverite, his Essai sur 1'Histoire 
 
 de Picardie, 102 
 Devil's chair, the, 136 
 Devin du Village, le, 276 
 Diane de Poitiers, 229, 230, 233, 
 
 248 ; her crescent at St. Sa- 
 
 turnin, 250 ; 251, 252, 255, 285 
 Diaz, Narcisse Virgilio, 233 
 "Dime Royale," 37 
 Dinan, 135 
 Dishley sheep, 41 
 Distribution of land ownership, 
 
 61,62 
 Dol, 135 
 Dolet, Etienne, 176, 177, 183 ; his 
 
 verses on Rabelais' anatomical j 
 
 lecture, 188 ; banquet to him, 
 
 190, 191 
 
 Dolmens, 131, 132, 135, 149 
 
 Domaine cong cable, 74, 91 
 
 Domaniera a congement, 29, 61 
 
 Dombasle, Matthieu, 46 
 
 Dombes, the, 58 
 
 Domfront, 53 
 
 Dompierre, outrage at, 111 
 
 Doniol^his Histoire des Classes 
 Rurales, 44 
 
 Dorat, Jean, 195n. 
 
 Dormez, 146 
 
 Douai, 91 ; committee at, 112, 
 118 
 
 Doubs, 73, 74 
 
 Drainage, 55, 58 
 
 Drink, the Rabelaisian philosophy, 
 221 
 
 Droit d'alnesse, 101, 124 
 
 Droit de marche, 29, 91, 93 seq. ; 
 defined, 96 ; 100 ; 102, 103 ; 
 five theories as to, 103 seq. ; 
 official references to, 106 ; legis- 
 lation against, 106, 107, I14tseq.; 
 its diminished importance, 122 
 
 Dropping Stone, the, 142 
 
 Druidical remains, 126 seq., '137 
 
 Dubois, Jean, 255 
 
 Dubourg, Anne, 177 
 
 Du Cange, derivation of depoin- 
 teur, 109 n. 
 
 Duch/itel, Pierre, 250 
 
 Duclair, 130 
 
 Duhamel de Monceau, 39 
 
 Dumaine, M., of the Hotel de 
 France, 280 
 
 Dunes, 146, 147 
 
 Dunkirk, 271 
 
 Dupont de Nemours, 42 
 
 Duprat, Cardinal Anthony, Chan- 
 cellor of France, 183 
 
 Durance, the, 57 
 
 Ecclesiastical abuses, treated of 
 f by Rabelais, 205 seq. 
 
 Ecoles nationales, 53 ; normales, 
 52 ; pratiques or regionales, 53 
 
 fEcole Polytechnique, 320 
 
 VEcorcheur des Veaux (Rabelais), 
 168 
 
 Edicts, of 1679, 106, 107, 114; 
 of 1707, 115; of 1714, 115; of 
 1724, 106, 116; of 1732 and 
 1747, 117; of 1764, 118; of 
 Nantes, 271 
 
 Education, Minister of, 52, 55 ; 
 agricultural, 53 ; of peasant 
 proprietors, 73 seq. ; treated 
 of by Rabelais, 201 seq.
 
 348 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Elboeuf weavers, the, 81 
 Elysee Bourbon, the, 276 
 Embrun, 77 
 
 Emiettement of the land, 71, 75, 79 
 Emptori fundi necesse non est 
 
 stare colonum, 119 
 VEnamouree (Th. de Banville), 
 
 translated, 310 
 Encyclopaedists, the, 38 
 Enjantillage (Sully - Prudhomme), 
 
 translated, 325 
 Entommeures, Frere Jean des, 
 
 206 n. 
 
 l\Epaule du Diable, 135 
 Epernay, 35 
 J<5pernon, le Due d', 262 ; his 
 
 sword, 263 
 
 Epictetus, in Hades, 215 
 Erasmus, 180, 194, 199 
 Escurial, the, 242 
 Espleche, Droit d\ 14 
 F Esprit gaulois, 153, 161, 227 
 Estienne, Charles, his Praedium 
 
 Rusticum, 33 
 Estienne, Henri, and Rabelais, 
 
 174 n, 175 
 Estienne, Robert, and Rabelais, 
 
 175 
 d'Estissac, Goffroi, Bishop of 
 
 Maillezais, 180, 181 ; Rabelais' 
 
 letters to, 189 
 Estivandiers, 83 
 
 d'Estrees, Gabrielle, 230 ; her de- 
 vice, 255 ; 258, 259 
 Estrees-en-Chaussee, 98 
 I^tampes, Michel de FHopital at, 
 
 33 
 d'Etampes, la Duchesse, 248, 250, 
 
 285 
 Etrennes (Henry Murger), 299 ; 
 
 translated, 302 
 Eudemon, 203 
 Eugene, Prince, 105 
 Experimental farms, 42, 45 
 Exsors, land, 107 
 
 Faience de Luneville, 6 
 
 Fain, Le Baron Agathon Jean 
 
 Francois, 282 
 Fairies, 139 
 
 Faix du Diable, le, 135, 143 
 Fallow, system abandoned, 46 
 de Falloux, le Comte, 26 
 Falstaff, 220 
 Famine, government measures 
 
 against, 37 
 Farineux, 59 
 Farming in France, 25-92 
 
 Farms, size of, 29 
 
 Fashions, under Charles IX, 254 
 
 Femeline, la race (cattle), 26 
 
 Fenelon, 203 
 
 Fericy, and birth of Louis XIV, 
 265 
 
 Fermes-ecoles, 53 
 
 Fern leaves, bread made of, 36 
 
 Feuilles d'Automne, les (Victor 
 Hugo), 295 
 
 Feux-follets, 136 
 
 Fichus a la Marquise (de Pompa- 
 dour), 277 
 
 Field husbandry, 31 
 
 Finistere, 67 
 
 Fiscal imposts, 41, 43 
 
 Fishing in France, 18 
 
 Fitzherbert, Sir Anthony, 33 ; 
 his treatise on surveying, 34 
 
 Flax, 27 
 
 Flowers, 38 
 
 Folk-lore, 126 seq. 
 
 Fontainebleau, 144 ; 229 seq. ; 
 art at, 231 seq. ; forest of, 232 ; 
 origin of the name, 235, 236 ; 
 in 1068, 235 ; hospital at, 241 ; 
 St. Satumin, 237, 241 ; modern, 
 244 seq. ; "a second Rome," 
 246 ; tapestry factory at, 249 ; 
 library at, 243, 250, 259 ; 
 assembly at, 253 ; under 
 Louis VII, 235 seq. ; Philip 
 Augustus, 237 ; St. Louis, 
 240 seq. ; Philip IV, 242, 243 ; 
 Charles V, 243 ; Charles VII, 
 243 ; Louis XI, 244 ; Charles 
 VIII, 244; Louis XII, 244; 
 Francis I, 244 seq. ; Henry II, 
 251 seq. ; Francis II, 253 ; 
 Charles IX, 253 seq. ; Henry IV, 
 255 seq. ; Louis XIII, 264 ; 
 Louis XIV, 265 seq. ; Louis XV, 
 273 seq. ; Napoleon I, 279 seq. 
 
 Fontaines, Abbot of, 154 
 
 Fontenay-le-Comte, 180, 181, 187 
 
 Fontevrault, 211 
 
 Font-Gorges, 308 
 
 Forbonnais, Francois Veron, 44 
 
 Forest laws, 41 
 
 Fosse a Dormez, la, 147 
 
 Fosse des Diables, la, 149 
 
 Fougeau de St. Jean, le, 149 
 
 Fougeres, 131, 140 
 
 de Foville, M., 62 
 
 Fradets, 140, 141 
 
 France, rural, 3-24 
 
 Franchard, 238 
 
 Franche-Comtd, cattle of, 26 ; 69
 
 INDEX 
 
 349 
 
 Francis I, 34, 162, 177, 191, 214, 
 
 215 ; at Fontainebleau, 230, 
 
 231, 239, 241 n, 243, 244 aeq. ; 
 
 Maecenas of France, 246 ; 258 ; 
 
 282, 286 
 Francis II, 252 ; convenes the 
 
 assembly at Fontainebleau, 253 ; 
 
 his death, 253 
 Franciscans, the, satirised by 
 
 Rabelais, 205 
 Frankfort, Treaty of, 59 
 Fredegunde, 105 
 Frederick the Great, 133 
 Free Trade, demand for, 41 
 Frenchmen, English estimation 
 
 of, 2 ; typical, 16-18 
 Fronde, the, 37 
 Fruits, 28 
 Furniture, in rural towns, 6 
 
 Galen, ed. Rabelais, 184 n. 
 
 Galerie des Cerfs, 259, 266 
 
 Galerie de Diane, 259 
 
 Galerie d'Ulysse, at Fontaine- 
 bleau, 273 
 
 Galgals, 132 
 
 Gallery, and his hounds, 144, 145 
 
 Garaches, 146 
 
 Gard, mulberry trees at, 27 
 
 Gargantua, 130, 132, 148, 157 ; 
 Chronicle published in 1532, 
 185 ; account of, 185 ; Vie de, 
 published in 1535, 188 ; 189 ; 
 his education, 202 
 
 Gaaconne, la race (cattle), 26 
 
 Gascony, the landes of, 28 
 
 de Gasparin, Auguste, 46 
 
 Gatinais, the (Pagus Wastinen- 
 sis), 235 
 
 Gauthiers, peasants, 36 
 
 Gautier, Theophile, 296, 311 
 
 " German comb, the," 202 
 
 George III, 50 
 
 Gilbert, Francois Hilaire, 40, 45 
 
 Givors, 65 
 
 Glatigny, Chateau de, 182 
 
 Gobelin tapestry, 275 
 
 Goezman, Le Proces, 278 n. 
 
 Gog and Magog, 186 
 
 Googe, Barnabe, his translation of 
 Heresbach, 33 
 
 Goujon, Jean, 249 
 
 Goujons, la peche aux, 18-22 
 
 Gournay pastures, 27 
 
 Goveanus, 174n. 
 
 Government returns, 41 ; Inquiry, 
 42 
 
 Grand 1 Bete, of Berri, 155 
 
 Grandgousier, 130, 156, 197, 202 
 Grand Jouan (ecole nationale), 54 
 Grand Siecle, the, 107 
 Grand Veneur, the, 144, 233, 257, 
 
 258 
 
 Grasse perfumes, 28 
 Gresset, Jean Baptiste, 289 aeq. 
 Grez, chateau of, 240 
 Grignon (ecole nationale), 54 
 Grollier, Jean, at Lyons, 183 
 Gros rire tourangeau, le, 164, 199 
 Grottes aux Fees, 132 
 Gryphe, Sebastien, the Lyons 
 
 printer, 183 ; prints for Ra- 
 belais, 184 
 
 Guettard, Jean Etienne, 39 
 Guienne, 36 
 Guilla-neu, the (New Year), 148 ; 
 
 pasture, 149 
 
 du Guillet, Pernette, at Lyons, 184 
 Guingamp, 136 
 de Guintonia, H., his portrait at 
 
 Montpellier, 168 
 Guise, Cardinal Charles de, see 
 
 Lorraine ; Due de, 253, 266 
 Guises, the, 192 
 Gulliver's Travels, and Rabelais, 
 
 160 
 Gwerchmen, 127n. 
 
 Hallam, on Rabelais, 160 
 
 Ham, 94 
 
 Hannibal, in Hades, 214 
 
 Haras, 35, 56 ; du Pin, 56 ; de 
 Pompadour, 56 
 
 Haricots du Cardinal, lee, 281 
 
 Harleian MSS., account of murder 
 of Monaldeschi, 265 seq. 
 
 Haultin, Hierosme, printer at La 
 Rochelle, 260 
 
 Hautes-Alpes, the, 63, 64 
 
 Hautes-Pyrenees, mules of, 26 
 
 Haut-Rhin, the, 59 
 
 Hautvilliers, Abbey of, 35 
 
 Hazel boughs, magic, 149 
 
 Hector, in Hades, 214 
 
 Henri II, 191, 192 ; at Fontaine- 
 bleau, 230, 232, 248, 250; his 
 marriage, 251 ; his monogram, 
 230, 252 ; his death, 253 ; 282, 
 286 
 
 Henri IV, 34 ; at Fontainebleau, 
 230, 232, 239, 242, 255 seq., 
 285, 286 
 
 Henrietta Maria, at Fontaine- 
 bleau, 265 
 
 H6rault, mulberry trees at, 27 
 
 Heresbach, Conrad, 33
 
 350 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Hernani's horn, 294 
 
 Herrera, Gabriel Alphonse, 33 
 
 Hingle, 135 
 
 Hippocrates, ed. Rabelais, 184 n 
 
 Histoire des Classes Rurales, by 
 
 Doniol, 44 
 
 History, The Muse of, 14 
 Hoarding, by peasant proprietors, 
 
 123 
 " Holy Bottle, the," 198, 221, 223, 
 
 224 
 
 Hops, 27, 34 
 Horses, 25, 34, 35, 41, 47, 56, 66 ; 
 
 ridden by Miaques, 147 
 Horse-races, 53 
 Hortillons, of Amiens, the, 27 
 Hotel de France, at Fontaine- 
 
 bleau, 280 
 
 Hotels, in rural towns, 4, 5 
 Hottes (linen baskets), 22 
 Houses, in rural towns, 5, 6 
 Huet, Pierre Daniel, Bishop of 
 
 Avranches, 158 
 Hugo, Victor, 294 seq., 297, 311, 
 
 320 
 
 He d'Yeu, 137 
 
 Imperaou, faire V, 82 
 
 Indigo, 83 
 
 Institut Agronomique, 53, 55 
 
 Intensive farming, 78 
 
 Intrudes, 96, 97, 103, 123 
 
 Ireland, France and, 93, 124 
 
 Irrigation, 57, 77 
 
 Isere, the, 57 
 
 Iseult of Brittany, 156 
 
 Isigny pastures, 27 
 
 Istria, Duke of, 54 
 
 Jacquemart, bell at Moulins, 308 
 
 Jacquerie, risings of the, 36 
 
 James II, 271 
 
 Jasmin, Jacques, 333 
 
 Jean de la Brie, dit " le bon 
 
 Berger," 33 
 Jehan de Paris, 186 
 Jericho, a Rose of, 1 
 Jesuits, the, Jean Baptiste Cresset 
 
 and, 290 
 
 Joanne, Adolphe, 238 
 Jodelle, Etienne, 195 n. 
 "John, Friar," 197, 198, 205, 
 
 206 seq. ; founds the Abbey of 
 
 Theleme, 211 ; 219 
 St. John, eve of, 149, 152 
 de Joinville, anecdote of St. 
 
 Louis, 242 
 Jonzac, 65 
 
 Josephine, Empress, 281 ; her 
 
 divorce, 282 
 Jouancoux, M., 109n. 
 Journal D'Argenson, the, 276 
 Journal Economique, the, 39 
 Julius II, 209 
 Jumieges, Charles VII buried at, 
 
 244 
 Jura, the, 74 
 
 Karnac, 134 
 Kist-vens, 127 
 
 La Basmette, the Convent of, 179 
 
 Labe, Louise, " la belle cordiere," 
 184 
 
 La Beauce, 85 
 
 Labour, relations of with land, 3 1 
 
 Labourers, farm, 29, 61, 72 
 
 La Bourne, 57 
 
 La Bruyere, 38, 234 
 
 La Crau, 64 
 
 Lafin, 261 
 
 La Fleche, 39, 289 
 
 La Fontaine, and Rabelais, 158, 
 159; 214 
 
 Lagoin, 57 
 
 Laigle, pin-factories at, 37 
 
 Laigue, the, 24 
 
 La Laitiere, 214 
 
 Lamartine, 294 
 
 Lamour, Jean, 6 
 
 " Lamproie," the, at Chinon, 179 
 
 Landea, of Gascony, 28, 58 
 
 Land tax, the, 79 
 
 Langey, 182 
 
 Lansquenet, at Fontainebleau, 
 274, 275 
 
 "La Raison" (Madame de Main- 
 tenon), 272 
 
 Large holdings, 51, 63 
 
 La Rochelle, 65, 260 
 
 Larzac ewes, 26 
 
 La Saulsaie, 54 
 
 " La Solidite " (Madame de Main- 
 tenon), 272, 285 
 
 Laval, 82 
 
 de Lavergne, M., 46, 61, 62 
 
 Laveuses de nuit, les, 149 
 
 Lavoisier, 42, 61 
 
 Law, John, 38 
 
 Lawyers in Bas-Poitou, 137 
 
 Leases, 98 ; before the Revolution, 
 99; 119 
 
 Lebel, Pere, 266 seq. 
 
 Leberous, 146 
 
 Lebceuf, Pierre, at Beslebet, 150 
 seq.
 
 INDEX 
 
 351 
 
 Leclerc, Jean, burned at Metz, 
 176 
 
 Leconte de Lisle (Charles Marie 
 Rene), 312 seq. 
 
 Leczinska, Maria, Queen of 
 Louis XV, 274, 284 
 
 Lefebre, l'Abb6, 42 
 
 Legislation, against the Droit de 
 Marche, 115, 116; and see 
 " Edicts " 
 
 Le Mans, 82 
 
 Le Notre, Andre, the " Capability 
 Brown " of the 17th century, 35 
 
 Leo X, 189 
 
 L6onais, the, 67 
 
 Leonardo da Vinci. See " Vinci " 
 
 Le Sage, and Rabelais, 160 
 
 Les Charmettes, 182 
 
 Lescot, Jean, 249 
 
 Lettres Persanes, the, of Montes- 
 quieu, 163 
 
 Lettres Philosophiques, the, of 
 Voltaire, 163 
 
 Lezardeau, school of drainage at, 
 55 
 
 L'Hopital, Chancellor, 253 
 
 Libraries, monastic, catalogues of, 
 in " Pantagruel," 201 
 
 Liege, committee at, 112, 118 
 
 Liguge, 181 
 
 Lihons, 94 ; abbey at, 104 
 
 Limousin, cattle, 26 ; Turgot, 
 intendant of, 42 
 
 Lit de St. Jean, le, 132, 134 
 
 Lit de St. Roman, le, 132, 134 
 
 Literature of French farming, 33 
 
 Littre's Dictionary, 109 
 
 Live stock, 47, 56 
 
 Loans to Government, 123 
 
 Loches, 244 
 
 Vce.il du roi (blue), 275, 277 
 
 Loeuilly, 121 
 
 Loing, the, 240 
 
 Loire, the, 15 ; cave-dwellings on, 
 30 ; Theleme Abbey, 211, 212 
 
 Lorraine, the Cardinal of, 191, 196 
 
 Lougnac, 135 
 
 Louis VI, 229, 236 
 
 Louis VII, at Fontainebleau, 235, 
 236, 237, 238 
 
 Louis IX, 230, 239 seq. ; his hermi- 
 tage at Bois-le-Roi, 240 ; 247, 
 250, 285 ; pledges his courtiers 
 to the Crusades, 242, 285 
 
 Louis XI, 105, 244 
 
 Louis XII, 182, 229, 231, 244 
 
 Louis XIII, 35, 131, 230, 232, 259 ; 
 baptism of, 263 ; 286 
 
 Louis XIV, 35, 36 ; his edict in 
 1679, 106, 114; and Rabelais, 
 158 ; 230, 232 ; at Fontainebleau, 
 265 seq. ; his death, 272 ; his 
 funeral, 273 ; 285, 286, 289 
 
 Louis XV, 38, 39, 40 ; his pro- 
 clamation of 1764, 118 ; 158, 230, 
 232, 259, 274 ; and Rousseau's 
 opera, 278 ; 282, 287, 292 
 
 Louis XVI, 40, 48, 50 ; his skill as 
 a blacksmith, 279 
 
 Louis XVIII, 42 
 
 Louis Philippe, 284 
 
 Louis, second son of Henri II, 
 birth of, 191 
 
 Louise of Savoy, 248 
 
 Loups-garous, 146, 156 
 
 Lourdes, buried city at, 152 
 
 Louvetiers, the, 34 
 | Louvigne-du-Desert, 135 
 
 Louvre, the, 234, 252 
 
 Lozere, 132 
 
 Lucerne, 40 
 
 Lucretius, Sully- Prudhomme and, 
 317, 320 
 
 Luneville, faience of, 6 
 
 Luther, and Rabelais, 188 
 
 Luxembourg, 270 
 
 Lyc6e St. Louis, the, 332 
 
 Lydie (Leconte de Lisle), trans- 
 lated, 316 
 
 Lyons, veterinary school at, 39, 
 55 ; in the 16th century, 183 ; 
 the forest of, 258 ; hangings for 
 Marie Antoinette, made at, 279 
 
 Macadamised roads, 129 
 
 Mackenzie of Pluscardine, Sir T. 
 Urquhart and, 165n. 
 
 Maconnais, the, 68 
 
 Madder, introduced by Althen, 40 
 
 Mafra, the, 242 
 
 Mail Henri Quatre, the, 258 
 
 Mainardus, Johannes, ed. Rabe- 
 lais, 184n. 
 
 de Maintenon, Madame, 271, 272, 
 285 
 
 Maison des Nains, 132 
 
 Maison des Siecles, la, of Napoleon, 
 230, 245, 279 
 
 Mattre Roux (Rosso), 247 
 
 Maitre valets, 29, 61, 86, 90 
 
 Malli, 130 
 
 Malthusian principles, 80 
 
 Malzi, friend of Leonardo da Vinci, 
 246 
 
 Ma Mie Annette (Henry Murger), 
 299 ; translated, 300
 
 352 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Mancelle cattle, 26 
 
 Manche, 65 
 
 Mangel-wurzel, 40 
 
 Manufactories, 30, 31 
 
 Manuscrit de 1813, le, of Baron 
 
 Fain, 282 n. 
 
 Marche, village communities of, 
 30, 31; architecture in, 30; 
 69 
 
 Mare aux fees, la, 232 
 Mare aux serpents, la, 232 
 Marguerite of Navarre, 176, 191 ; 
 la Marguerite des Marguerites, 
 176 
 
 Maria Theresa, 230 
 Marie Antoinette, her dairy, 40 ; 
 230, 275 ; at Versailles, 278 ; at 
 Fontainebleau, 279 ; her mono- 
 gram, 279 
 
 Marie Louise, 279, 281 
 Market-gardening, 70 
 Markham, Gervaise, his translation 
 of the " Prcedium Rusticum " 
 33; his "Improvement of the 
 Weald of Kent," 34 
 Marliani, Joannes Bartolomoeus, 
 forestalls Rabelais, 188; his 
 " Topographie " edited by 
 Rabelais, 188 
 Marly, 270, 279 
 Marot, Clement, 176, 177, 183 
 Marsac, Mallus at, 130 
 de Marsy, 1'Abbe, 159 
 Martes, les, 131, 149 
 Martin, Abbot of Angles, 151 
 St. Martin, legend of, 137 seq. 
 Maslin, 47 
 
 Mathurins, les, 241, 247, 266 
 Matteo, 249 
 Maubert, Place, 177 
 Mayenne, 67, 85 
 Meaux, 176 
 
 de Medicis, Catherine, 230, 251 ; 
 her superstitions, 251, 252 ; 
 massacre of St. Bartholomew, 
 255 ; 285 
 
 de Medicis, Marie, 230, 255 
 de Medicis, arms of, 230 
 Medmenham Abbey, 211 
 Megers, 89 
 M6nage, Gilles, 159 
 Men-ar-Rumpet, 135 
 Menhirs, 130 ; at Bourbiac, 134 
 Meobecq, 32 
 Mercury, 133 
 
 Merino sheep, 26, 40, 41, 45 
 Merlin, 185, 186 
 Mer Rouge, la, 139. 
 
 Mesnil-Bruntel, outrage at, ia 
 
 1780, 111 
 
 Metayers, 29, 61, 74, 84 seq. ; im 
 vine districts, 89 ; distinguished 
 from maUre valets, 90 
 Metteux de feu, 114 
 Metz, Rabelais at, 191 
 Meudon, 142 
 Meurgers, 133 
 Meurthe, 59 
 Miaques, 147 
 
 Michael, the Archangel, 135 
 Michel del'Hopital, at JiJtampes, 33 
 Middlemen, 87 
 Migration of peasants, 82 ; to the ; 
 
 towns, 83 
 
 Military duties modified, 41 
 Mill, on Metayage, 84, 86 
 Millet, Jean Francois, 233, 234 
 Minerals, 28 
 Minister of Agriculture, 53, 55, 56 ; 
 
 of Education, 52, 55 
 Mirabeau, Victor Riquetti, Mar- 
 quis de (pere), 39, 41 
 Mirabeau, Honor6 Gabriel Ri- 
 quetti, Marquis de (fils), 39 
 " Modus, King," The Book of, 240 
 Moelan, 134 
 Moislains, 95 
 de Molay, Jacques, and Philip the- 
 
 Fair, 243 
 Moliere, and Rabelais, 158, 159; 
 
 186; 197, 200, 271 
 Monaldeschi, Marquis de, 259, 265 
 seq. ; his tablet at Avon, 270 ;. 
 285 
 
 Mona Lisa, the, 246 
 Moneta forestiere, 82 
 Money-lender, the, 73 
 Monks, the pioneers of good farm- 
 ing, 32, 104 ; Rabelais' experi- 
 ence of, 180, 181, 208 
 Monograms at Fontainebleau, 230, 
 
 252, 255, 264, 279 
 Mons-en-Chaussee, 98 
 Montaigne, on Rabelais, 158 
 Montdidier, 94; tribunal of, 112'' 
 Montesquieu, his Lettres Persanes,. 
 
 163 
 
 Montgomery kills Henry II, 253 
 Montlevicq, 130 
 de Montluc, Jean, Bishop of 
 
 Valence, 253 
 Montmorency, Due de, his tomb 
 
 at Moulins, 307 
 
 Montpellier, 54 ; the portrait of 
 Rabelais at, 168 ; Rabelais goes 
 to, 182; 190
 
 INDEX 
 
 353 
 
 Montreuil peaches, 28 
 
 Mont St. Michel, 58, 130, 135 
 
 Moret, 257 
 
 Morgana, 230 
 
 Mornay. See Du Plessis Marly. 
 
 Mart du Soleil, la (Leconte de 
 
 Lisle), translated, 315 
 Mortgages, 72, 75 
 Mort romp tout louage, 119 
 Moscow, the retreat from, 282 
 Moselle, 59 
 
 Motteux, Peter, 165 n, 173 n. 
 de Motteville, Madame, 265 
 Moulins, Montmorency monument 
 
 at, 307 ; Tour d'Horloge at, 308 
 Mountain pastures, 60, 63 
 Mouthier, 271, 275 
 Mulberry plantations, 27 
 Mules, 26 
 Murgets, 133 
 
 Murger, Henry, 296 seq., 308 
 Musee Chinois, the, 259 
 de Musset, Alfred, 332 
 Mutton, 48, 49 
 
 Naldini, 249 
 
 Nancy, Mathieu Dombasle's statue 
 at, 46 
 
 Nantes, edict of, 37 ; revocation of, 
 271 ; shrine of St. Sebastien, 
 210 ; Bishop of, and Pius VII, 
 281 ; the Visitandines at, 290, 
 291 
 
 Napoleon I, 45, 54, 230, 239, 245, 
 279 ; his coronation, 280 ; and 
 the Papal States, 280 ; and Pius 
 VII, 281 ; his abdication in 
 1814, 282 ; attempts suicide, 283; 
 takes leave of the Old Guard, 
 283 ; his attitude to literature, 
 293 
 
 Napoleon III, 229, 247, 256, 284, 
 295 
 
 Napoleon- Vendee, 153 
 
 National assembly, the, 45 
 
 Navarre, device of, 230, 255 ; king 
 of, 253 
 
 Necker, Jacques, 43, 44 
 
 Nemours, 240 
 
 Nesle, 94, 96 ; house of, 274 
 
 Neufchateau, Francois de, 45 
 
 Neufchatel, hat factory at, 37 ; 67 
 
 Neuilly, 143 
 
 Nevers, 290, 291 
 
 Niais de Sologne, un, 58, 74 
 
 Niccolo dell' Abbate, 231, 249, 
 252, 273 
 
 Nice, 59 
 
 Nicholas III, 209 
 
 Nicot, Jean, 34 
 
 Nine Stones, the, at St. Pau, 152 
 
 Niort, 146 
 
 Noblesse de la cloche, 5 
 
 Noels en langage poictevin, 137 
 
 Noirmoutier, 137, 150 
 
 Nolhac, 53 
 
 Normandy, fields of, 29 
 
 Nostradamus, 213 
 
 N6tre-dame-de-Monts, 137 
 
 Nous n'irons plus au bois, leer 
 
 lauriers sont coupes, 303, 309 ; 
 
 translated, 309 
 Nox (Leconte de Lisle), translated, 
 
 315 
 
 Noyon, 109 n, 112 
 Nozay, 54 
 Nuits, 37 
 Nuitsd'Hiver (Henry Murger), 298 
 
 Obelisks, 128 
 
 Odeon, the, Le Passant produced 
 
 at, 332 
 Odes et Ballades (Victor Hugo),. 
 
 294 
 
 (Enophilus (Rabelais), 196 
 Oia, Island of, 138 
 Oil, 66 
 Olives, 27 
 
 Olivier (Francois Coppee), 332 
 Olivier de Serres, Seigneur du 
 
 Pradel, 34 
 
 Omnibuses, French, 4 
 Orleans, Louis, Due de, birth of, in. 
 
 1549, 191 
 Oranges, 133 
 Orres, 64 
 
 Pacte de Famine, 43 
 Pages, 82 
 
 Pagninus, Santes, at Lyons, 184 
 ' ' Pagus Wastinensis," 235 
 Palais de Gargantua, 132 
 Palets de Gargantua, 130 
 Palissy, Bernard, 33 
 Palm Sunday, 140, 141 
 " Pamphagus " (Rabelais), 196 
 "Pantagruel," editions of, 158; 161,. 
 166, 167, 189; published in 
 1532, 186 ; 3rd book published, 
 in 1546, 190 ; 4th book pub- 
 lished in 1552, 192 ; 5th book 
 published in 1564, 198 ; de- 
 scribed 198 seq. ; 219 
 Pantagrueline Prognostication,. 
 
 published, 187 
 Panurge, 197, 198, 219, 220
 
 354 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Papacy, the, arraigned by Rabe- 
 lais, 209 
 
 Paper-mills, 66 
 
 Paphos, statue of Venus at, 128 
 
 Parcelles, 60 
 
 Parcoura, 48 
 
 Parfait Mar6chal, le, 35 
 
 Paris, Agricultural Society at, 39 ; 
 market gardens, 65 ; the Parlia- 
 ment of and Rabelais, 191, 192, 
 195 ; University of and St. 
 Louis, 241; siege of,in 1871,333; 
 FranQois Coppee and, 333 
 
 Parisien Parisiennant, un (Fran- 
 cois Coppee), 333 
 
 Parmentier, Antoine Augustin, 40 
 
 Parnassians, the, 311, 320, 331 
 
 Portage force, 69, 71, 75, 78, 79, 81, 
 124 
 
 Pas d'Armes du Eoi Jean (Victor 
 Hugo), 295 
 
 Passant, le (Francois Coppee), 332 
 
 Passerat, Jean, 159 
 
 Pastures, 27 
 
 Patois in Rabelais, 226, 227 
 
 Paul V, 263 
 
 Pavilion des Armes, the, 263 
 
 Pays de Caux, the, 29 
 
 Peasant proprietors, 29, 32, 44, 
 47, 58 seq. ; housing of, 71 ; food 
 of, 72 ; education of, 73 seq. ; 122 
 
 Peasantry, misery of the, 36, 37, 
 43 
 
 Pedro, Don, at Fontainebleau, 256 
 
 Pelerinages (Sully-Prudhomme), 
 translated, 327 
 
 Pellegrini, Galeazzo, 249 
 
 Penni, Lucca, 249 
 
 Perau, 1'Abbe, 159 
 
 Percherons, 21, 25 
 
 Perfumes, 28 
 
 Perignon, Dom Pierre, inventor of 
 champagne, 35 
 
 Perigord, 36, 130, 133, 144 ; lebe- 
 rous in, 146 
 
 P6rigueux, 130 
 
 P6 Rocher, the, 141 
 
 Peronne, 94 ; in the war of 1814, 
 106 ; agrarian crime at, 1 1 1, 1 13, 
 114 ; Palais de Justice at, 113 
 
 Perrault, Charles, 298 
 
 du Perron, Cardinal, on Panta- 
 gruel, 158, 161 ; and Du Plessis 
 Mornay, 259 
 
 Personniers, 90 
 
 Peter the Hermit, 104 
 
 Petit, General, and Napoleon I, 
 283, 284 
 
 Petit Traite de la Poesie (Th. de 
 
 Banville), 311 
 Petronius Arbiter, vir sanctissi- 
 
 mus, 162 
 Peulvens, 130 
 Philip Augustus, 237 
 Philip I, 235 
 Philip IV, 242, 243 ; his cook, 
 
 243 
 
 Philip V, 271 
 Physiocrats, the, 38 
 Picard, the, his character, 108 
 Picardy, plains of, 28 ; villages of, 
 
 29 ; agrarian crime in, 93 seq. ; 
 
 1 10 ; tenant-right in, 94 seq. 
 Pico della Mirandola, 166 
 Pied de Bourgea, le, 131 
 Pierre du Btnitier, la, 127 
 Pierre Bise, la, 131 
 Pierre Degouttante, la, 142 
 Pierre a la Fade, la, 139 
 Pierre des Huguenots, la, 131 
 Pierre Longue, la, 135 
 Pierre de la Mignon, la, 131 
 Pierre a Nom, la, 140 
 Pierre Percee, la, 143 
 Pierre de St. Phillibert, la, 134 
 Pierre du Tresor, la, 140 
 Pierres de bornage, or hautes- 
 
 bornes, 130 
 Pierres branlantes, or tournantes, 
 
 132 
 
 Pierres du Diable, 131, 135 
 Pierres de Soubise, 131 
 Pigs, 27 
 
 Pilgrimages, condemned by Rabe- 
 lais, 210 
 
 Pilon, Germain, 249, 255 
 Piron, Alexis, and Rabelais, 159 
 Pisciculture, in la Brenne, 32 
 de Pisseleu, Anne, 248 ; and see 
 
 Duchesse d'l^tampes 
 Piteaux, 36 
 Pius VII at Fontainebleau, in 
 
 1804, 279 seq. ; in 1812, 280 seq. 
 Place, the, in rural towns, 8 
 Plattes, Gabriel, 45 
 "Pleiade," the (seven poets), 195; 
 
 and Rabelais, 196 
 Pleleuf, 135 
 Plessis-les-Tours, 244 
 du Plessis Marly, Philippe de 
 
 Mornay, 259, 260 
 Ploughs, 87 
 
 Plurality of owners, 75 
 Poetry, Frenc-h. 288 seq. ; J. B. 
 
 Gresset, 289 ; - ictor Hugo, 294 ; 
 
 Henry M'-r. >-. 296; Th. de
 
 INDEX 
 
 355 
 
 Banville, 305 ; of recent years, 
 312 aeq. ; Leconte de Lisle, 312 ; 
 Sully- Prudhomme, 317 ; Fran- 
 cois Coppee, 331 
 
 Poisson, Jeanne Antoinette. See 
 Madame de Pompadour. 
 
 Poitou, mules, 26 ; Christmas in, 
 149 
 
 Polders, 78 
 
 Pompadour, Madame de, 38, 229 ; 
 at Fontainebleau, 274, 275 seq. ; 
 her theatre, 273, 276 seq. ; 284 
 
 Pontoise, 130 
 
 Fonts et chaussees, 57 
 
 Pope on Rabelais, 161 
 
 Population, growth of, 49, 50, 51 ; 
 relative properties of, 61 
 
 Pork, 83 
 
 Potatoes, 27, 34, 40, 59, 73 
 
 Pots de vin, 96, 97, 120, 123 
 
 Poultry, 27, 47 
 
 Pour une Fiancee (Francis 
 Coppee), translated, 334 
 
 Poussin, 231 
 
 Pre-emption, right of, 100, 101 
 
 Priere (Sully-Prudhomme), trans- 
 lated, 330 
 
 Priests, 23 
 
 Primaticcio, 231, 247, 248, 249, 
 250, 252, 273, 305 
 
 Printing, at Lyons, 183 
 
 Private clearings, and tenant- 
 right, 107 
 
 Promptuary of Time, the (Sir T. 
 Urquhart), 165 n 
 
 Prytanee, the, 289 
 
 Pulpit, of Gargantua, the, 130 
 
 Pyrrhus, 214 
 
 " Quadrivium," the, 203 
 Queen of the North, the, 147 
 Ques-a-cos, the, 278 
 Quesnay, Frangois, 38 
 Quevedo, and Rabelais, 160 
 Quimperl6, 55, 134 
 Quintinie, Jean de la, kitchen- 
 gardener, 36 
 Qui terre a, guerre a, 76 
 Quixote, Don, 186 
 Quoits of Gargantua, 130 
 
 Rabelais, Francois, 158 seq. ; his 
 indecency, 162 ; like Aristo- 
 phanes, 163, 216; like Montes- 
 quieu, 163 ; his buffoonery, 163 
 seq. ; his merits, 165 ; compared 
 with Shakespeare, 166 ; the 
 Homer e bouffon, 167, 221 ; por- 
 
 traits of, 167 seq. ; his times, 
 169 ; his universality of know- 
 ledge, 170 ; on " woman," 171 ; 
 a child of the Renaissance, 171, 
 172, 177 ; onfreedomof thought, 
 172 ; his humanitarian enthu- 
 siasm, 173 ; on the Papacy, 174 ; 
 not a martyr, 176 ; and the 
 Revolution, 178, 225 ; his father, 
 179 ; his birth, 179 ; destined 
 for the priesthood, 179 ; a 
 Franciscan friar, 180 ; goes to 
 Maillezais, 181 ; and the du 
 Bellays, 182 ; goes to Mont- 
 pellier, 182 ; his doctor's gown, 
 182 ; lives at Lyons, 183 ; his 
 publications there, 184 ; ap- 
 pointed physician to the Hotel 
 Dieu at Lyons, 185 ; publishes 
 Gargantua, 185 ; Pantagruel, 
 186 ; his Almanach, 187 ; his 
 " Pantagruelian Prognostica- 
 tion," 187 ; goes to Rome, 188 ; 
 his anatomical lecture, 188 ; his 
 letters to the Bishop of Maille- 
 zais, 189 ; permission to practise 
 medicine, 190 ; goes to Paris, 
 
 190 ; made a canon, 190 ; goes 
 to Metz, 191 ; again to Rome, 
 
 191 ; publishes La Sciomachie, 
 191 ; Cur6 of Meudon, 192 ; his 
 death, 192 ; his last days, 192 
 seq. ; apocryphal legends of his 
 deathbed, 193, 194; his will, 
 193 ; his biography, 194 ; Rabe- 
 lais and the lawyers, 195 ; and 
 the P16iade, 196 ; on education, 
 201 seq. ; on ecclesiastical abuses, 
 205 seq. ; his Utopian ideal, 211 
 aeq. ; an Aristotelian and not a 
 Platonist, 222 ; and the French 
 language, 225, 226 
 
 Racine, and Rabelais, 159; 288, 
 
 293 
 " Racio, Queen," the book of 
 
 " King Modus and," 240 
 Rambouillet, merinos at, 40 ; sheep 
 
 farm at, 55 
 Ramus, Peter (Pierre de la Ramee), 
 
 175, 226 
 Ranchin, Francois, chancellor of 
 
 the University of Montpellier, 
 
 168, 183 
 
 " Rape of the Lock," the, 290 
 Rayons et les Ombrea, le (Victor 
 
 Hugo), 295 
 Reclamation, 57 
 Redon, 127 n, 131
 
 356 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Reform, efforts at, 43 
 
 Ren6 d'Anjou, King, 28 
 
 Rennes, agricultural society of, 39 ; 
 53 
 
 Rent of metayers, 89 ; under 
 tenant-right, 99 
 
 Rentiers, 84 
 
 Reservistes, 22 
 
 Restoration, the, 79 
 
 Reuchlin, and Ortuin, 174 
 
 Revolution, approach of the, 43, 
 276 ; its effects, 44 ; circum- 
 stances of, 50 ; and Rabelais, 
 178, 225 ; and Rousseau's opera, 
 276 ; of 1830, and Victor Hugo, 
 295 
 
 Richard I, 237 
 
 Richard sans Peur, 186 
 
 Richelieu, 242, 264, 285 
 
 " Ringing Island, The," 179 
 
 River, a rural, 15 
 
 Roads, 57 
 
 Robert le Diable, 186 
 
 Roche ecriante, la, 143 
 
 Rochefort, 65 
 
 Rochefoucauld- Liancourt, Due de, 
 40 
 
 la Rochelle, 65, 260 
 
 Rocking stones, 130, 132 
 
 Roissel, 96 
 
 Roitelet of Bourges, the, 31, 234 
 
 Roland, 245 
 
 Roman de la Rose, the, 235 
 
 Roman, roads, 129 ; origin of 
 tenant-right, 104 
 
 Rome, Rabelais at, 187 
 
 de Ronsard, Pierre, 195, 195 n ; 
 verses on Rabelais, 196 
 
 Roquefort cheese, 26 
 
 Roscoff, 27, 67 
 
 Rosettes, a la Pompadour, 277 
 
 Rosieres, 112 
 
 Rosso, 231, 247, 248, 250 
 
 Rotation of crops, introduced by 
 Gilbert, 40 
 
 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 38, 182, 
 
 275 ; his opera at Fontainebleau, 
 
 276 seq. ; his Confessions, 276 ; 
 284 
 
 Rousseau, Pierre Etienne Theo- 
 dore, 233 
 
 Roussi, Comtesae de, and Biron, 
 263 
 
 Rouvry, 94 
 
 Roye, 94 
 
 Rozier, 1'Abbe, 42 
 
 Ruggieri, 213 
 
 Rye, 47 
 
 Sables d'Olonne, les, 137, 150 
 
 Sabol an Dial, 127, 136 
 
 Sainfoin, 35, 40 
 
 Sainte, une (Francois Copp6e), 332 
 
 Saintes, 65 
 
 Saintonge, buildings at, 30 
 
 Salamander, the, of Francis I, 
 
 245 
 
 Salers, red (cattle), 26 
 Salle de Conseil, la, 259 
 Salle de la belle Cheminee, la, 26 l r 
 
 273, 285 
 
 Salmigondin, 198 
 Salons of the Democracy, 12 
 Salvator Rosa, 232 
 Sancho Panza, 220 
 Sancta terra, 105 
 Sand, Georges, 308 
 Sangterre, 106 
 Santerre, 94 seq. ; derivation of the 
 
 word, 103, 105 
 
 Saragossa, capture of, in 1812, 338 
 Sarrabat, Isaac, 167, 168 
 Sarta terra, 103 
 del Sarto, Andrea, 246, 247 
 Satires picardes, the, of Hector 
 
 Crinon, 120 
 Saumur, 67, 82 
 Saut du Rolland, le, 131 
 Savona, Pius VII sent to, 280 
 Savoy, 59 
 Saxe, Marshal, 284 
 Sceaux, 45 ; Voltaire at, 275 
 Schopenhauer, 320 
 Scott, Sir Walter, and Rabelais, 
 
 160 
 
 Seats in church, 101 
 Seaweed, 67 
 Segre, 67, 85 
 Seine-et-Marne, 29 
 Sentinelli, executioner of Monal- 
 
 deschi, 268, 269 
 Serlio, Sebastien, architect of 
 
 Fontainebleau, 247 
 de Serres, Olivier, 34 ; his statue, 
 
 35 
 
 Seuilly, 179, 205 ; Abbey of, 211 
 Seve, Michel, at Lyons, 184 ; 
 
 Claudine, 184; Sibylle, 184 
 de Sevigne, Madame, and Rabelais, 
 
 158 
 
 Sevres china, 38, 275, 276 
 Shakespeare and Rabelais, 160 
 Sheep, 26, 40, 41, 45, 47, 48, 64, 70 
 Silkworms, 34 
 
 St. Simon, on Madame de Main- 
 tenon, 272 
 Sinclair, Sir John, 50
 
 INDEX 
 
 357 
 
 Small holdings, 64, 65 
 
 Societe Angelique, la, 183 
 
 SoBur novice, la (Frar^ois Copp^e), 
 translated, 337 
 
 Soif du aillon, le, 43, 44, 73, 93 
 
 Soir, le (Sully-Prudhomme), trans- 
 lated, 321 
 
 de Soissons, le Comte, 257, 262 
 
 Soissons sheep, 26 
 
 Solatiera, 83 
 
 Soldiers, in rural towns, 12 
 
 Soleyssel, Jacques de, 35 
 
 Sologne, la, 37, 57, 58, 64, 74, 144 
 
 Solognot sheep, 26 
 
 Somme, 29 
 
 Sonday, 182 
 
 Sorbets, 11 
 
 Sorbonne, the, 163, 191, 192, 195, 
 201 
 
 Sorel, Agnes, 244 
 
 Soubise, Benjamin de Rohan, 
 Due de, 131 
 
 Southey, and Rabelais, 1 60 
 
 Spanish succession, war of the, 
 272, 285 
 
 Spirit stills, 66 
 
 Sportsmen, 23 
 
 St. Angelo, castle of, 280 
 
 St. Aubin du Cormier, 131 
 
 St. Austremoine, 8 
 
 St. Bartholomew, massacre of, 255 
 
 St. Cloud, 234 
 
 St. Comely, 134 
 
 St. Cyran, 32 
 
 St. Denis, 238, 273 
 
 St. Eloi, Abbey of, 112 
 
 St. Euverte of Orleans, monastery, 
 238 
 
 St. Firmin, 153 
 
 St. Florent, 211 
 
 St. Gauthier, 53 
 
 St. Genevieve of Paris, 238 
 
 St. Germains, 234 
 
 St. Hubert, masses of, 256 ; 258 
 
 St. Jean, 149 
 
 St. Jean d'Angely, 65 
 
 St. Jolivet, 136 
 
 St. Just, 94 
 
 St. Louis. See Louis IX 
 
 St. Martin, 137 
 
 St. Martory, 57 
 
 St. Maur des Foss6s, at Paris, 190 
 
 St. Michel, 53 
 
 St. Osmane, 265 
 
 St. Pau, 152 
 
 St. Paul at Paris, 192 
 
 St. Pol, at L6on, 134 ; . 
 
 St. Quentin, 100 
 
 St. Saturnin (Louis VII), 237 ; 
 
 (Francis I), 241 n ; 242, 250, 286 
 St. Sebastian, 210 
 St.;Sepulchre, Abbey at Seuilly, 179 
 St. Vincent, hermitage of, 240 
 State, the, and agriculture, 51 aeq. 
 States-general, the, 243 ; con- 
 vened at Orleans, in 1560, 253 ; 
 
 273 
 Statistics, misleading, 59 ; as to 
 
 holdings, etc., 61 aeq. 
 Stephen, Abbot, 238 
 Sterne, Laurence, 160, 216 
 Stocking-weaving, at Montdidier, 
 
 95 
 
 Stone-brash, of Oxfordshire, 95 
 Stones of the Druids, 135 
 Strawberries, and Louis XIV, 272 
 Streets, in rural towns, 5 
 Submersions, 57, 64 ; caused by 
 
 goats, 77 
 
 Sugar companies, 121 
 Sully, 34, 257, 259, 262 
 Sully-Prudhomme, Rene Francois 
 
 Armand Sully, 290 n, 317 aeq. 
 Superga, the, 242 
 Superstition, in Pantagruel, 201 
 Surrender of leases, 116 
 Survey, agricultural, of Napoleon, 
 
 45 
 Swift, Dean, 160, 200, 216 
 
 Tabouret, the, abolished by Marie 
 
 Antoinette, 278 
 Tacite reconduction, 88, 116 
 Tallemant des Reaux, 169 
 Talmond, Abbot of, 154 
 Tarare, muslin works at, 65 
 Tarbes (horses), 25 
 Tarello, Camille, 33 
 Tarentaiae, la race (cattle), 26 
 Tariboles de Droict, 195 
 Tartar dogs, of St. Louis, 240 
 Temoins, 127 
 Tenant-right (and see Droit de 
 
 Marche), 93 aeq. ; in 1836, 98 ; in 
 
 1867, 99 ; in 1790, 102 
 Tennyson, 299 
 Tergnier, 94 
 Terre volante, 76 
 Tessier, l'Abb6, 40 
 Testament, le (Henry Murger), 298 
 Theatre d'Agriculture of Olivier 
 
 de Serres, 34 
 Th61eme, Abbey of, 175, 197, 211 
 
 aeq. ; a duplex monoaterium, 
 
 212; 225 
 Thomery, grapes from, 28
 
 358 
 
 INDEX 
 
 de Thou, J. A., 250 
 
 Thouin, Andre, 45 
 
 Thuerie, forest of, 235 
 
 Tillet, Matthieu, 42 
 
 Tiraqueau, Andre, Governor of 
 
 Fontenay, 181 
 
 Tirard, M., his circular in 1881, 55 
 de Tisard, Ponthus, 195 n. 
 Tobacco, 34 
 de Toledo, Don Pedro, Spanish 
 
 ambassador to Henri IV, 256 
 Tolet, Pierre, at Lyons, 184 
 Ton Romain, the, 277 
 Toulouse, veterinary school at, 55; 
 
 St. Saturnin, bishop of, 237 
 des Tourelles, Palace of, 252 
 Tours, 82 
 Touve, the, 66 
 Townshend, Lord (2nd marquis), 
 
 39, 50 
 
 Transhumance, 64 
 Transportation, for agrarian crime, 
 
 116, 117 
 Trianons, the, at Versailles, Marie 
 
 Antoinette's dairy, 40, 278 
 Trinity, the Holy, Chapel of, at 
 
 Fontainebleau, 241, 255, 264 
 " Tristram Shandy," and Rabe- 
 lais, 160 
 
 " Trivium," the, 203 
 Troia Croix, 53 
 
 Troussepoil, beast of the, 153 seq. 
 Truffles, 133 
 Tudors, rural population under 
 
 the, 49 
 
 Tuileries, the, 234 
 Tull, Jethro, 45 
 Turbilly, Marquis de, 39, 45 
 Turenne, Henri de la Tour d'Au- 
 
 vergne, Vicomte de, 270 
 Turgot, Anne Robert Jacques, 41, 
 
 43 
 
 Turnips, 40 
 Tusser, Thomas, 33 
 
 Urquhart, Sir Thomas, 164, 165n, 
 
 206 n. 
 Utopian ideal, of Rabelais, 211 seq. 
 
 Vaine-pdture, 48 
 
 Vair-vert (Vert- Vert), 290 n; his 
 
 epitaph, 291 
 Valence, 57 
 
 Vallee d'Auge, the, 26, 27 
 Vallee des Dames, the, 148 
 la Valliere, Chateau, 148 
 la Valliere, Louise de, 271 
 Val-Sainte-Marie, abbey of, 236 
 
 Van Loo, Charles, 274 
 
 Variety, the essence of French 
 
 husbandry, 25, 28, 29, 30, 80 
 Vars, 64 
 Vasari, 249 
 do Vauban, Sebastien, his " Dime- 
 
 Royale," 37, 270 
 Vaucluse, melons, 28 ; madder, 
 
 etc., 40, 82, 83 
 Vaujour, menhir du, 148 
 Vegetables, 27 
 la Vendee, bocage, 29 ; 131, 136, 
 
 137, 144, 145, 146, 150 
 Venetian glass, at Fontainebleau, 
 
 249 
 
 Venus, statue of, at Paphos, 128 
 Verdon, 57 
 Vernacular tongue, Rabelais and 
 
 the, 225, 226 
 Verona, 249 
 Versailles, the Boulanger at, 43 ; 
 
 experimental farms at, 45, 53, 
 
 54 ; portrait of Rabelais at, 168, 
 234, 270, 271, 289 
 
 Vert- Vert, ou les Voyages du Perro- 
 
 quet de Nevers, 289 seq. 
 Vetches, 40 
 Veterinary schools ; at Lyons, 39, 
 
 55 ; at Alfort, 39, 55 ; at Tou- 
 louse, 55 
 
 Veterinary science, 56 
 
 des Veys, 58 
 
 Vieille ridee, la (Diane de Poitiers), 
 252 
 
 Vienne, the, obelisks on, 128 ; 234 
 
 Vigneronnage complet, 90 
 
 de Vigny, Alfred, and Th. de Ban- 
 ville, 305 
 
 Villac, 127 
 
 Village, a deserted, 1 5 
 
 Village communities, 30, 31, 32 
 
 Villeneuve de Berg, 35 
 
 Villers Guislain, outrage at, 111 
 
 Vincennes, 234 
 
 da Vinci, Leonardo, at Fontaine- 
 bleau, 244 ; 246, 247 ; his death, 
 246 
 
 Vion, M., and tenant-right, 121 
 
 Vire, paper-mills of, 37 
 
 Visitandines, Convent of the, at 
 Nevers, 290 
 
 Vivarais, the, 35 
 
 Voix Interieures, les (Victor Hugo), 
 295 
 
 Voltaire, 7, 38, 161 ; on Rabelais, 
 159, 162 ; his " Pauvre Diablo,'" 
 159 ; his " Lettres Philoso- 
 phiques," 163; 275, 277, 284
 
 INDEX 
 
 350 
 
 Vosges, the, 59 
 
 Voyer, agent (road-surveyor), 57 
 Vrely, near Rosieres, outrage at, 
 112 
 
 Walnuts, 27 ; magic walnut twigs, 
 
 149 
 War, in Picardy, 105 ; denounced 
 
 by Rabelais, 214, 215 
 Wars of religion, the, 37 ; of the 
 
 Spanish succession, 272, 285 
 Watson, Richard, Bishop of Llan- 
 
 daff , 50 
 Watteau, 38 
 Whitman, Walt, 312 
 William de Bierria, 238 
 Will-o'-the-wisp, 136 
 Window- tax, 71 
 Wolves, 34 
 Wool, 27 
 Worcester, battle of, Sir T. Urqu- 
 
 hart at, 165n. 
 
 I Wordsworth, Frangois Copp6e and 
 331 
 
 Xerxes in Hades, 214 
 
 " Yawp, the barbaric," of Walt 
 Whitman, 312 
 
 Yeu, He d', 137 
 
 Yeux, lea (Sully-Prudhomme), 
 translated, 322 
 
 Young, Arthur, visits Villeneuve de 
 Berg, 35 ; studies Turbilly, 39 ;. 
 at Liancourt, 40 ; on the Revo- 
 lution, 44 ; 45, 50, 70 ; on meta- 
 yage, 84, 86 
 
 Yvan, Dr., and Napoleon I, 283 
 
 Yvart, FranQois, 45 
 
 Yvetot, 67 
 
 Zaire, 7 
 
 Zamet, Sebastien, 258 
 
 Zelie, sister of Th. de Banville, 30& 
 
 Printed by Hazell, Watson <fc Viney, Ld., London and Ayltubury.
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 WAR 3 1 PI*. 
 
 
 
 APR 3 975 X 
 
 
 
 'JUN 15 J975 
 
 
 
 JUN 3 d 19 
 
 
 
 SFP 21 
 
 
 
 
 OCT 
 
 1975 
 
 
 
 JL 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CAYLORD 
 
 
 
 PRINTED IN US A.
 
 A 000 643 68.