Burgundy: The Splendid Duchy

animation; it is dotted with carts, which are discharging tent-poles, canvas, golden cars, and other paraphernalia of a country festival; and, surer sign still, through the door of an open shed, I

with a splendid hope half the dogs in the village, and awakened from torpor two a

asked the landlord, who was

, or domestic servants, and those who want places, come to-morrow morning and make bargains. And the Directeur

came to us in our bedroom, with the sunshine, an indescribable babel of sounds-babble of vo

y skinning hedgehogs with a knife; while his two small sons were unmethodically currey-combing the yellow pony, and dusting him down with his own tail, cut off and tied to a stick! The door of the caravan opened; there was a glimpse of a woman's arm, and a pailful of slops shot out, sparkling in the sun, to alight where fate might decree. Brown drops splashed up into the hollow eyes of Grandmother, dreaming on a chair by the steps. Meanwhile the peasants went on hiring and being

t of firs shot with spring greens, the purple mass of dark Beuvray lifting its crested summit into the cloudless sky,-mysterious Beuvray, whence of old, as darkness closed up

rongly above the silently twitching, brown ears of the "baudet." Here is a family in a donkey-drawn washing-basket, three generations of them, packed like sardines. After déjeuner, when the hiring is done, the older ones leave; the turn of the younger is come. Then the fillettes begin to appear-Fifines made fine for the Fair-all cut after the same

nd was nursing a tin mug. They were discussing bargains and their budget. "I got this for three sous; et je trouve que c'est bien s

efore the largest of the tents a half-naked, muscular ruffian stands silent up

He will wrestle with a great bear. Now for la lutte aux ours! Entrez; we will show you the véritable gorille, and the most terrible beast

e baby that followed us, shewing signs of str

lease gentlemen. La séanc

ng, writhing, rolling, till the bare, oily skins were dark with perspiration and sawdust. Their eyes were so full

-with arms like telegraph posts-"le plus fort du pays." S

feebly scratching, tangled bear, who was too bored to be méchant. From behind their bars the Monstre Du Pole

players, sitting in their shirt-sleeves, squeaked and ground lustily. There was babble of voices and rhythmic scuffle of feet. A young soldier, fair and close-cropped, in uniform, crossed the salle, bowed to my wife, and asked for a d

e former are not dangerous, as they are in Languedoc and other parts of the south of France; and we are happily free to-day from the dangers of two hundred years ago; as when, on the 18th of June, 1718, at nightfall, St. Léger was visited by a mad wolf from the top of Beuvray, that wounded and disfigured six

o it; but as there are more than twenty miles of Gaulish roads intersecting on the tree-clad slopes of the Mount, it is very easy to lose yourself completely, as I did on my first visit; until there was nothing for it but to descend to the road and seek a

be seen but a view; and what mean these twenty miles of Gaulish roads through a wilderness o

his, whose flanks have echoed to the tramp of C?sar's legions, whose crest, the council chamber of kings and generals, has flamed through long nights with the beacon fires of a great city. Nowhere else will you find a hill that the centuries have so peopled with dragon and

the place referred to, until the researches of M. Bulliot, the Antiquary of Hamerton's delightful work "The Mount," settled the problem once for all. Of the history of the last days of the town I will say something in the next chapter; for the present, let us be co

owner having stipulated that all "fouilles" should be covered up, a precaution necessary in any event, if the pr

tous trees. Here, on the site of the ancient temple to the Dea Bibracte, one of the many Gaulish gods, M. Bulliot has erected a little chapel in Romanesque style, dedicated t

e preached on the plateau of Beuvray, possibly from the Pierre de la Wivre; and the legend has it that here he overthrew a pagan temple, arousing thereby such fierce anger among the inhabitants, that he escaped only by a miraculous leap of

hose who would live close to nature and to the past. When I first visited it, on a bright autumn afternoon, not a leaf was astir upon the golden oaks, not a spray of the bramble trembled,

was that I co

l the sleepers

ivers running

a toy village among tiny hills; there was the Etang de Poisson, a sapphire set in emeralds, and far away the evening sun flashing upon the spires of Autun Cathedral.[6] The sound of a foots

t midnight, a loud voice commanding ghostly legions in Latin; shadowy riders, moving shades of medi?val knights and barons still climbing the stony paths to this their airy

oft April evening, with a breeze in the leaves, and silv

s due to the lichen with which it is covered. From the green headland, surrounded with holly-bushes, on which it stands, you have magnificent views over rounded, village-dotted

d ourselves whether there may not have been some religious significance in the surrounding belt of holly bushes, since there are indications of a similar

ompanied by her child, went to the stone of the Wivern, instead of going to Mass, intending to take his treasure. She found the cave open, entered, and took as much gold as she could carry, and came out just in time to escape the Wivern on his return. On looking round for her child, she could not find him anywhere. The cavern being now closed again, she knew not what to do, and went in despair to the priest, who told her to go to the place every day and pour milk and honey on the stone till the expiration

iring a daily offering (perhaps of milk and honey) until certain stolen treasure was restored. The Catholic character of the leg

elves rewarded by a glorious sight. Westward we could see extending mile upon mile, ridge after ridge, the glowing mountains of Auvergne, and the valley of the Loire, veiled in

descriptions and industries of the town, the visits of C?sar-I have no space to deal here; but I recommend particula

res from Autun, is a place famous in French Ecclesiastical history. It has, as is common in Burgundian villages, a delightful little

a?trai devant Notre Seigneur, il me demandera; 'Curé Monthelonius, ubi sunt brebetis meis'-ce qui veut dire; 'Curé de Monthelon, où sont

rom reading "The

tno

n's "The Mo

y interesting, lacks the my

cap. 23: "By far the finest

es are open every year during

n see Mont Blanc, 157 miles as the crow flies.

Mount," p

Mount," p

gend; the name is probably deri