XII Notre Dame de Moulins
“Les Bourbonnais sont aimables, mais vains, légers et facilement oublieux, avec rien d’excessif, rien d’exubérance dans leur nature.”
—André Rolland.
Until he had travelled through Bourbonnais, “the sweetest part of France—in the hey-day of the vintage,” said Sterne, “I never felt the distress of plenty.”
This is an appropriate enough observation to have been promulgated by a latter-day traveller. Here the abundance which apparently pours forth for every one’s benefit knows no diminution one season from another. One should not allow his pen to ramble to too great an extent in this vein, or he will soon say with Sterne: “Just Heaven! it will fill up twenty volumes,—and alas, there are but a few small pages!”
It suffices, then, to reiterate, that in this plenteous land of mid-France there is, for all classes of man and beast, an abundance and excellence of the harvest of the soil which makes for a fondness to linger long within the confines of this region. Thus did the far-seeing Bourbons, who, throughout the country which yet is called of them, set up many magnificent establishments and ensconced themselves and their retainers among the comforts of this world to a far greater degree than many other ruling houses of mediæval times. Perhaps none of the great names, among the long lists of lords, dukes, and kings, whose lands afterward came to make the solidarity of the all-embracing monarchy, could be accused of curtailing the wealth of power and goods which conquest or bloodshed could secure or save for them.
The power of the Bourbons endured, like the English Tudors, but a century and a half beyond the period of its supremacy; whence, from its maturity onward, it rotted and was outrooted bodily.
The literature of Moulins, for the English reading and speaking world, appears to be an inconsiderable quantity. Certain romances have been woven about the ducal château, and yet others concerning the all-powerful Montmorencies, besides much history, which partakes generously of the components of literary expression.
In the country round about—if the traveller has come by road, or for that matter by “train omnibus”—if he will but keep his eyes open, he will have no difficulty in recognizing this picture: “A little farmhouse, surrounded with about twenty acres of vineyard, and about as much corn—and close to the house, on one side, a potagerie of an acre and a half, full of everything which could make plenty in a French peasant’s house—and on the other side a little wood, which furnished wherewithal to dress it.”
To continue, could one but see into that house, the picture would in no small degree differ from this: “A family consisting of an old, gray-headed man and his wife, with five or six sons and sons-in-law, and their several wives, and a joyous genealogy out of them... all sitting down together to their lentil soup; a large wheaten loaf in the middle of the table; and a flagon of wine at each end of it, and promised joy throughout the various stages of the repast.”
Where in any other than this land of plenty, for the peasant and prosperous alike, could such a picture be drawn of the plenitude which surrounds the home life of a son of the soil and his nearest kin? Such an equipment of comfort and joy not only makes for a continuous and placid contentment, but for character and ambition; in spite of all that harum-scarum Jeremiahs may proclaim out of their little knowledge and less sympathy with other affairs than their own. No individualism is proclaimed, but it is intimated, and the reader may apply the observation wherever he may think it belongs.
Moulins is the capital of the Bourbonnais—the name given to the province and the people alike. The derivation of the word Bourbon is more legendary than historical, if one is to give any weight to the discovery of a tablet at Bourbonne-les-Bains, in 1830, which bore the following dedication:
DEO, APOL
LINI BORVONI
ET DAMONAE
C DAMINIUS
FEROX CIVIS
LINGONUS EX
VOTO
Its later application to the land which sheltered the race is elucidated by a French writer, thus:
“Considering that the names of all the cities and towns known as des sources d’eaux thermales commence with either the prefix Bour or Bor, indicates a common origin of the word... from the name of the divinity which protects the waters.”
This is so plausible and picturesque a conjecture that it would seem to be true.
Archæologists have singled out from among the most beautiful chapelles seigneuriales the one formerly contained in the ducal palace of the Bourbons at Moulins. This formed, of course, a part of that gaunt, time-worn fabric which faces the westerly end of the cathedral.
Little there is to-day to suggest this splendour, and for such one has to look to those examples yet to be seen at Chambord or Chenonceaux, or that of the Maison de Jacques Cœur at Bourges, with which, in its former state, this private chapel of the Bourbons was a contemporary.
The other chief attraction of Moulins is the theatrical Mausolée de Henri de Montmorency, a seventeenth-century work which is certainly gorgeous and splendid in its magnificence, if not in its æsthetic value as an art treasure.
The fresh, modern-looking cathedral of Notre Dame de Moulins is a more ancient work than it really looks, though in its completed form it dates only from the late nineteenth century, when the indefatigable Viollet-le-Duc erected the fine twin towers and completed the western front.
The whole effect of this fresh-looking edifice is of a certain elegance, though in reality of no great luxuriousness.
The portal is deep but unornamented, and the rose window above is of generous design, though not actually so great in size as at first appears. Taken tout ensemble this west front—of modern design and workmanship—is far more expressive of the excellent and true proportions of the mediæval workers than is usually the case.
The spires are lofty (312 feet) and are decidedly the most beautiful feature of the entire design.
The choir, the more ancient portion (1465-1507), expands into a more ample width than the nave and has a curiously squared-off termination which would hardly be described as an apside, though the effect is circular when viewed from within. The choir, too, rises to a greater height than the nave, and, though there is no very great discrepancy in style between the easterly and westerly ends, the line of demarcation is readily placed. The square flanking chapels of the choir serve to give an ampleness to the ambulatory which is unusual, and in the exterior present again a most interesting arrangement and effect.
The cathedral gives on the west on the Place du Château, with the bare, broken wall of the ducal château immediately en face, and the Gendarmerie, which occupies a most interestingly picturesque Renaissance building, is immediately to the right.
The interior arrangements of this brilliant cathedral church are quite as pleasing and true as the exterior. There is no poverty in design or decoration, and no overdeveloped luxuriance, except for the accidence of the Renaissance tendencies of its time.
There is no flagrant offence committed, however, and the ambulatory of the choir and its queer overhanging gallery at the rear of the altar are the only unusual features from the conventional decorated Gothic plan; if we except the baldachino which covers the altar-table, and which is actually hideous in its enormity.
The bishop’s throne, curiously enough,—though the custom is, it appears, very, very old,—is placed behind the high-altar.
The triforium and clerestory of the choir have gracefully heightened arches supported by graceful pillars, which give an effect of exceeding lightness.
In the nave the triforium is omitted, and the clerestory only overtops the pillars of nave and aisles.
The transepts are not of great proportions, but are not in any way attenuated.
Under the high-altar is a “Holy Sepulchre” of the sixteenth century, which is penetrated by an opening which gives on the ambulatory of the choir.
There is a bountiful display of coloured glass of the Renaissance period, and, in the sacristy, a triptych attributed to Ghirlandajo.
There are no other artistic accessories of note, and the cathedral depends, in the main, for its satisfying qualities in its general completeness and consistency.