Holidays in Eastern France | Page 7

care. Jouarre
is perched upon an airy green eminence, a quiet old-world town, with
an enormous convent in the centre, where some scores of cloistered
nuns have shut themselves up for the glory of God. There they live,
these Bernardines, as they are called, as much in prison as if they were
the most dangerous felons ever brought to justice; and a prison-house,
indeed, the convent looks with its high walls, bars, and bolts. I had a
little talk with the sister in charge of the porter's lodge, and she took me
into the church, pointing to the high iron rails barring off the cloistered
nuns, with that imbecile self-satisfaction as much inseparable from her
calling as her unwholesome dress.
"There is one young English lady here," she said, "formerly a
Protestant; she is twenty-one, and only the other day took the perpetual
vows."
I wondered, as I looked up at the barred windows, how long this kind
of Suttee would be permitted in happy France, or, indeed, in any other
country, and whether in the life-time of that foolish English girl the
doors would be opened and she would be compelled to live and labour
in the world like any other rational being. This dreary prison-house,
erected not in the interests of justice and society, but in order to pacify
cupidity on one side and fanaticism on the other, afforded a painful
contrast to the cheerful, active life outside.
Close to the convent is one of the most curious monuments in the entire
department of Seine et Marne, namely, the famous Merovingian Crypt,
described by French archaeologists in the "Bulletin Monumental" and
elsewhere. It is well known that during the Merovingian epoch, and
under Charlemagne, long journeys were often undertaken in order to
procure marbles and other building materials for the Christian churches.
Thus only can we account for the splendid columns of jasper, porphyry,
and other rare marbles of which this crypt is composed. The capitals of
white marble, in striking contrast to the deep reds, greens, and other
colours of the columns, are richly carved with acanthus leaves, scrolls,

and other classic patterns, without doubt the whole having originally
decorated some Pagan temple. The chapel containing the crypt is said
to have been founded in the seventh century, and speaks much for the
enthusiasm and artistic spirit animating its builders. There is
considerable elegance in these arches, also in the sculptured tombs of
different epochs, which, like the crypt, have been preserved so
wonderfully until the present time. Other archaeological treasures are
here, notably the so-called "Pierre des Sonneurs de Jouarre," or Stone
of the Jouarre Bell-ringers, a quaint design representing two
bell-ringers at their task, with a legend underneath, dating from the
fourteenth century.
It must be mentioned that the traveller's patience may undergo a trial
here. When I arrived at Jouarre, M. le Curé and the sacristan were both
absent, and as no one else possessed the key of the crypt, my chance of
seeing it seemed small. However, some one obligingly set out on a
voyage of discovery, and finally the sacristan's wife was found in a
neighbouring harvest-field, and she bustled up, delighted to show
everything; amongst other antiquities some precious skulls and bones
of Saints are kept under lock and key in the sacristy, and only exposed
on fête days.
In the middle ages, Jouarre possessed an important abbey, which was
destroyed during the Great Revolution. There are also in a lovely little
island, in the river close to the town, remains of a feudal castle where
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette halted on their way to Paris after their
capture at Varennes. No one, however, need to have archaeological
tastes in order to visit these little towns; alike scenery and people are
charming, and the tourist is welcomed as a guest rather than a customer.
But whether at Jouarre, or anywhere else, he who knows most will see
most, every day the dictum of the great Lessing being illustrated in
travel: "Wer viel weisst hat viel zu sorgen--" "Who knows much has
much to look after." The mere lover of the picturesque, who cares
nothing for French history, literature, and institutions, old or new, will
get a superb landscape here, and nothing more.
Our resting place at Couilly, where, sheltered by acacia trees, we hardly

feel the tropical heat of July, is an admirable starting point for
excursions, each interesting in a different way. The striking contrast
with the homely ease and well to do terre-à-terre about us is the
princely château of the Rothschilds at Ferrières, which none should
miss seeing on any account whatever. With princely liberality also,
Baron Rothschild admits anyone to his fairy-land who takes the trouble
to write for permission, and however much we may have been thinking