Part 6

Valenciennes should have been an economical town to live in, but it was not so; at least in the delightful hotel, which was so well kept and apparently so clean. The day following our arrival two charwomen started at the top of the house with buckets of water and scrubbing brushes. The buckets, by the way, were not the ordinary iron ones, but immense affairs of rough earthenware of a rich buff color outside, and a most delicious bright green enamel inside. The women scrubbed the floors from attic to back door--except the parquet floors--ignoring the corners, for cleanliness comes evidently very near to godliness in these semi-Flemish towns of Northern France; they are not very thorough. Following these bare-armed amazons came the housemaid with a great cake of beeswax, which was fixed into a fork of wood at the end of the handle as long and thick as a broomstick. With this beeswax she rubbed the floor most energetically until the grain of the old oak floor came out clearly. Then followed the polisher with a large, thick, flat brush made in the form of a sort of sandal which was fastened to one foot by a wide strap of leather, the brushless foot was kept stationary; the other with deft slides backwards and forwards produced a most beautiful polish like varnish. There were few carpets to be found anywhere, and in the summer one did not miss them, but I should imagine that the houses would be very damp and cold in the winter, when there is little provision made for heating these old drafty rooms, and (if one might consider expense) wood for the grate fires is charged for at the rate of "F. 1.25 per basket of nine sticks." (Per published tariff.)

We were told that the proper way to study this part of the country is to take a small house for the summer. One could furnish cheaply here, it was urged, in the country style, no carpets, and with the furniture made hereabouts.

My Lady Anne was quite taken with the idea.

The furniture was in good taste, stained a dark brown; it made a charming foil for the bright yellows and pale greens of the crockery.

The bedrooms had alcoves for the beds, with a curious little door cut out of the wooden partition wall at the back of the bed: this was for the convenience of the housemaid, as it saved the necessity of pulling out the bed to get behind it. These walls were almost always made of boards, and thus the doors were easily cut, so that covered with wall paper one scarcely ever noticed them.

My Lady Anne discovered that the clothing sent to be washed was, unless otherwise ordered, sent home rough dried! Ironing is special. Following the custom here there was no weekly washing day, but washing was done once a month or even two months, and this is the reason why there were so many of the really fine oak or chestnut armoirs to be found. Some of these were most beautiful, made of polished wood, and had often unique brass hinges and locks. Every household had one or more, in spite of the fact that the dealers were on the quest for them. The peasants who lived off the beaten track of travel willingly parted with them for comparatively small prices. We thought it rather extraordinary to find in a poor laborer's cottage a specimen of these fine chests fit for the hall of a millionaire collector. There were also fine wardrobes to be found, with handsomely carved chestnut or applewood panels polished like glass, and with brass knobs and locks worn bright with the use of many generations.

Occasionally one could find the old fashioned double decked bed made of dark oak, and the long heavy Norman table, which was the household larder, for in its long and deep drawer were generally stored the household provisions of ham, bacon, or dried fish; never the bread, though, for this was kept overhead upon a well polished board, in the older houses, hung from the ceiling, well out of the way of the rats, the torment of the peasant. In these houses the clothes were hung on ropes high up against the sloping roofs to prevent these pests from gnawing them. The broken necks of bottles were fastened at the ends of these cords or ropes, and on these the rats jumped from the rafters and went spinning over onto the floor far beneath. In all the villages there were public washing pools, a feature of the country. No washing was done in the cottages. Hundreds of peasant women washed the clothes, kneeling in long lines at the sides of the streams, keeping up all the time a chattering and laughing that could be heard from a distance.

Sometimes there were shelters overhead for their protection from sun and rain, sometimes not. They washed the clothes on flat boards, and beat them when lathered with a flat wooden sort of paddle. The washing was well done too, surprising to tell, but although they say not, one would think that the process was rather hard upon the clothes.

These quaint customs quite charmed us, and we were inclined to shut our eyes to certain evidences of drunkenness and its accompanying sins among the lower classes which could not be concealed, and which perhaps need not be entered into here.

Valenciennes was a manufacturing town, and the condition of the artisan classes was said to be even worse than that in Belgium just over the border. The hours of labor were long--unquestionably too long--and said to be as a rule fixed by the employer. Children of tender age were employed in factory and warehouse, and this perhaps explains the stunted appearance of the poor people. The law says that no child under sixteen can be kept at work for more than twelve hours a day, but it is understood that this law was easily evaded. The result was inevitable. If the child could be kept at work for twelve hours a day, then it will be understood that an adult was assumed to be able to do more.

Of course the man did not really work as hard as our own men do, and that he did piece work, and also that a considerable portion of his time must be deducted for shirking, for gossip and for rest. Still, at the foundries the hours and the labor were both excessive. The thought had not occurred to these manufacturers and proprietors that a man might do more in sixty hours a week than he will do in seventy. The terrible "Borinage" district of the mines of Belgium, which extends as far west as Quevrain on the border, really runs over the line, and some of its conditions existed at Blanc Misseron, Fresnes, and at Bruay. The name "Borinage" signifies the place of boring. Here was to be found a state of society that does not exist in any other part of the country, and the miners and their wretched families were a type quite distinct from all the rest of their countrymen. By the character of their work and by the deficiencies or lack of education, supplemented by the poisonous effects of the fiery and deleterious potato brandy and other decoctions which they freely imbibe, they had sunk into a state of both physical and mental decay.

"A visit to these places is not a pleasant experience, and the closer the acquaintance made with the life of the mining population the less attractive does it appear. The employment of children of tender years lies at the root of the ignorance of the people of the province.... To the proprietors, with rare exceptions, the miners are mere beasts of burden, in whom they do not feel the least interest. No steps whatever are taken to improve the lot of the miners, to elevate their ideas, or even to provide them with amusement or recreations.... The only places of resort are the 'Estaminets' and cabarets that are to be found in every third or fourth house.... It is scarcely going too far to say that morality does not exist in the Borinage; but the great curse in this community is the large number of immature mothers, and the consequent inseparable deterioration of the whole race.... Ignorance and immorality explain the low condition to which the mining population has sunk, but even these causes would not have produced such an appalling result if they had not been supplemented by the prevalence of drunkenness. As there is no restriction upon the sale of drink, every house may retail intoxicating liquors, and in many places where it is procurable there is no external appearance of the place being a drinking shop. The room of the cottage will contain a few chairs and benches, besides a table, and the liquor comes from a cupboard or an inner room. In warm weather the table and chairs are placed outside, and on Sundays and feast days there is not one of these houses which will not be crowded with visitors. The only amusement known to these people is to drink and to get drunk.... The beer drinkers are the more reasonable drunkards of the two. Having soaked themselves with 'faro' (a thin sour beer) they sleep it off. Not so the spirit drinkers, for when they have finished their orgies they are half mad with the poisonous alcohol which they have imbibed.

"The true explanation of the evils that follow this spirit drinking is to be found in the character of the spirit itself. In name it is gin or 'genievre,' but it bears little or no trace of that origin. What it is, no one outside the place of manufacture--which appears to be unknown--can correctly declare, but by the smell it would seem to be mainly composed of paraffin oil. This beverage is called 'Schnick' and is the favorite spirit of the miners. It is sold for ten centimes (1 penny) for a large wine glass, and five centimes (1/2 penny) for a small, and official statistics show that a large majority of the miners drink a pint of this stuff every day of their lives, while it is computed that there are no fewer than fifty thousand who drink a quart.... Lest the reader should imagine that there is some exaggeration in the figures just given, it may be mentioned that the total consumption of spirits per head of the population (of Belgium) exceeds fifty quarts." *

* "Belgian Life in Town and Country." Demetrius C. Boulger, p. 76.

This is, of course, written of Belgium, but as this mining country extends beyond the border into France, as I have said, these conditions exist in the neighboring villages to the north and east of Valenciennes. It is a relief to turn from this terrible picture to the vistas southwards, but it is only just to add that the Belgian Government was doing its best to cleanse this region when the war broke out and put a stop to the work.

How could the people who dwell in this terrible spot be other than debased? Conditions were all against them. World welfare demands the product of the mines; so workers are automatically produced to supply it, and thus across this fair land stretches this great black belt, like a vast unhealed wound, that extends from the western boundaries of Picardy, far beyond the German Westphalian province, and digs deep into the bowels of the earth, its presence being detected from afar by the heavy clouds of pungent, evil smelling black and brown smoke of the furnaces, as one approaches, and by the great heaps of clay and ashes along the railway lines.

This is the territory coveted by the "war lord." This is the road to the Channel, and over this strip by day and by night fall the shells of the invaders and defenders alike.

Gone now are the peaceful farmsteads; the quaint old villages clustered about the gray towers of the churches and monasteries, and the many towered, white walled châteaux in the vine clad gardens. The quiet towns and villages which we explored in those memorable summer days of 1910 are swept from the face of the earth, and there are now long level wide roads stretching towards and into the horizon, upon which the whole day and night, two mighty lines of silent armed men linking together heavy wagons and immense shapeless masses of heavy guns and tractors, to and from the fighting lines, form endless processions.

The God of Efficiency in destruction now reigns where once peaceful thrift was enthroned.

SOISSONS

|BOTH Abelard and Thomas à Becket are identified with this venerable fortress town, which was lately noted for its haricot-beans, and whose people, steeped in trade with Paris, were entirely oblivious to the value and beauty of the great cathedral of Notre Dame, SS. Gervais and Protais, the equal of which was perhaps not in all France.

Here Abelard was imprisoned in a tower which was shown, to those who sought it out, by a lame old priest. This tower was surmounted by a small chapel; it contained nothing, however, which was identified with the prisoner. There was also to be seen the ancient Abbey of St. Jean des Vignes, in which Thomas à Becket "spent nine years." The chief and most interesting part of this was the west façade or "portail," in the style of the thirteenth century, and flanked by a great tower more than 200 feet high, some say 225 feet, which could be seen from a great distance.

The approach to the town by way of the river bank was all that could be desired for picturesqueness, and above the trees and the quaint red tiled roofs of the many gabled houses, the great tower of the venerable cathedral lifted its heavy gray mass against a fleecy sky. The river was full of quaintly fashioned barges, and heavily built boats with huge rudders painted with stripes of vivid green and red, something like those on the Maas in Holland. Here and there a small black steamer belched forth pungent sooty smoke, and there seemed to be a great deal of business going on all about, and an air of prosperity and alertness, entirely out of keeping in so venerable a town, and which one could not decide to be quite as it should be or not. There were modern shops also with windows dressed quite _à la Paris_, and a good hostelry, the _Lion Rouge_, where one was made extraordinarily comfortable for a rather small sum. The streets were filled with quaint and unusual characters, and now and again we saw costumes and some headdresses on the peasant women that we had not seen elsewhere.

An old traveler writing of Soissons said: "At a small inn, 'Des Trois Pucelles,' I had a noble salmon, that still excites emotions in me when I think of it. I have never met with its like since--and there was also venison, a whole haunch brought to table, and claret the like of which would grace the king's table."

I looked for "Des Trois Pucelles," but alas, it had been pulled down long since.

Cathedral: Soissons

In this pleasant town, one might have lingered indefinitely and not lacked entertainment.

Soissons was called Augusta Suessionum under the early Empire. The town has great notoriety among historians for the great number of sieges it has undergone, down to the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, when for three days it resisted all attempts to take it.

Here Pépin le Bref was proclaimed King, and Louis le Débonnaire's undutiful sons imprisoned him in the Abbey of S. Medard.

From the beginning of the eleventh century to the middle of the fourteenth century, Soissons was ruled by its hereditary counts, but one of these, Louis de Chatil-lon, who fell at the battle of Crécy, being imprisoned in England, to pay his ransom, sold his countship to En-guerrand VII de Coucy in 1367, and with all the rest of the appanage of Coucy, it was taken by the crown of Louis XII.

From Cæsar to Napoleon its importance from a military point of view has been of the greatest value from its splendid position on the banks of the river Aisne. For centuries it had to defend itself from continued attacks, and in these, although many times successful, the stronghold seems to have worn down to its walls and towers. It has been called by historians "The City of Sieges," and certainly few towns seem to have suffered more. Doubtless its magnificent strategic position on the river Aisne has been the reason for the successive attacks upon it. It was also a favorite seat of royalty, and the capital of a Roman king, Syagrius. Architects have pronounced the Cathedral's interior even more impressive than that of Rheims, and say that "the beautiful proportions of the nave, the simplicity and purity of the carved capitals, the splendid glass, rendered it one of the most beautiful cathedrals of France." ("Cathedral Cities of France," Herbert Marshall.)

It was a splendid example of mixed Romanesque and Gothic of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The west façade had three beautiful doors, and a great rose window of Gothic design containing glass, the equal of which cannot, in the writer's opinion, be found in all France. There is a great square tower on the south side, terminating in an apse.

Inside, I saw some tapestry of the fifteenth century in good condition, and the sacristan showed an "Adoration of the Shepherds," which he attributed to Rubens, but it was so badly lighted that little of the detail could be seen.

Soissons suffered much at the hands of the Germans during the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, when it was besieged by a force under the command of the Duke of Mecklenburg, whose soldiers burned and destroyed to their hearts' content.

Even as late as 1910, when I visited the town, the sacristan of the Cathedral, in response to a question as to his knowledge of the siege, became quite incoherent in his denunciations of the enemy. One wonders what has become of this cultured and delightful old man, who was at once priest and patriot. The south transept is said to have been the oldest part of the Cathedral, and here was the sacristy (dated the end of the twelfth century). The sacristan showed us the choir (1212) which was surrounded by eight square, and the apse by five chapels of polygonal form. Of these "Fergusson" says, "Nothing can exceed the justness of the proportions of the center and side aisles, both in themselves and to one another."

Kneeling statues of the abbesses, Marie de la Rochefoucauld and Henriette de Lorraine d'Elbeuf were placed at either side of the west portal. These were from the royal abbey of Notre Dame, but the sacristan could not, or at any rate did not, give me any other information concerning them. In the west end was a lovely little chapel, in what is called the "Salle capit-ulaire," entrance to which is through an early Gothic cloister with graceful vaulting supported by two beautiful columns.

Very little remained of the once magnificent Abbey of St. Jean des Vignes, except two spires, and a ruined façade, and this is on an eminence near the station. In the bombardment of the town during the Franco-Prus-sian War these were greatly damaged, but not destroyed. Here Thomas à Becket lived in 1170. Some of the remaining buildings were being used as a military prison in 1910.

The beautiful remains of the royal abbey of Notre Dame were given over to the authorities as a soldiers' barracks, and admission to the premises was refused us at the gate by a sentry.

Behind the Cathedral was the Hôtel de Ville, which contained the Library and the Museum, neither of which was impressive.

Near the royal abbey of Notre Dame was the old Tour Lardier, in which, according to legend, Satan was put in chains and confined by St. Vaast.

Outside the town, to the north, was the ruined church of St. Crepin-en-Chaye, where in an abbey built in the eleventh century, the Saints Crepinien were burned at the stake as martyrs. The abbots of old were certainly militant personages, and their castles were strongholds. We saw the remains of the abbey of St. Medard, which is said to have been founded in 560 by Clotaire I. Here the Kings Clotaire and Sigebert were buried, and here Childeric III was deposed; Pépin of Heristal received his crown, and Louis le Débonnaire imprisoned by his heartless sons in 833. Abelard, condemned at the Council of Soissons, was confined here for years.

Cathedral: Noyon

The monastery was one of the richest in France, holding an appanage of two hundred and fifty villages, including manor houses and farmsteads. A warrior abbot headed one hundred and fifty armed vassals at the Battle of Bouvines.

Of the seven churches of St. Medard nothing remained, and the site was occupied by some nondescript buildings used as some sort of charitable institution.

In a crypt under the chapel of the abbey church we were shown a large stone coffin, alleged to be that of Clotaire, and a small vault contains a cell in which the unfortunate Louis le Débonnaire languished. There is an inscription supporting this as follows:=

```"Hélas, je suys bons prins des douleurs

`````que j'endure!

````Mourir mieux me vaudrait:

`````la peine me tient dure."

`````(Fourteenth Century.)=

Of the genuineness of this inscription some authorities are doubtful, but I include it here, nevertheless.

This whole region is now hidden behind the mask of smoke and mystery of the present infernal war.

Just what ruin lies behind this dropped curtain is uncertain. It has been reported that Soissons is in ashes, burned and sacked in revenge for the failure of the Verdun attack. At any rate its inhabitants are confined within the limits of the town, and it is understood that they are compelled to toil unceasingly for the invaders. The vast farmsteads and fields are understood to be worked to the utmost by the townspeople in regular "gangs" under the eyes of German officers, and that the crops have been regularly gathered and distributed under the remarkable system for which the Germans are noted. Other than these no details have been allowed to creep forth from this unfortunate town. That this sanctuary of architecture may perchance escape entire destruction at the hands of these barbarians is not too much to hope for, but that the Cathedral should be spared is inconceivable, when one remembers the fate of Rheims, Ypres, Louvain, Arras, Malines and Noyon, to mention but a few of the incomparable treasures that have vanished before their onslaught.

Soissons' magnificent monuments are now probably heaps of calcined stone and charred beams. Those marvels of painted glass will live henceforth only in the memory of those whose good fortune it was to have seen and valued them.

As I write this the Cathedral of Lâon is reported to be a wreck, and is thus added to the list. Words fail me.

These "murdered cities" are glorified forever more....

How one's imagination responds to their very names: Verdun, Amiens, Soissons, Rheims, Arras, Valenciennes!--and those others of Flanders: Bruges, Ghent, Louvain, Malines, Lille and Ypres--how full are these of grace and fancy. What ring of shield!--What clang of arms!

For forty years these towns have enjoyed peace and fancied security, while that once great power, with hypocritical words of good will towards all men, even while sending delegates to the conferences at The Hague, was deliberately planning the destruction of sleeping nations whose lands are now invaded; whose young manhood is disappearing in a storm of blood and iron; whose architectural treasures are now but smoldering heaps of ashes!

Rheims Cathedral, it is urged, was a landmark; a menace to the invader;--and this is true. It was a landmark, most certainly, and therefore it was a menace to the army of the invader, and was destroyed. This fact established, there followed the destruction of the other cathedrals, and it may be that before the invader is beaten off and pushed back over his own boundary line, those other great works of art still untouched will vanish under the rain of fire and shell--and none remain.