From Bussang to Remiremont our infant stream gurgles plashingly along; sometimes it conceals itself in little tranquil pools, where the large trout lie deep beneath the roots of the overshadowing trees; sometimes it falls with a gentle splash over an obstruction, leaping, as we do in early life, over all difficulties with a smile, even seeming to enjoy that which at a maturer age too often frets and chafes us, though we conceal our chagrin under an unruffled surface.

Sometimes our stream passes, broken into ripples, [13]over smooth shiny pebbles,—here the trout from time to time suddenly dart up and seize their insect food; and sometimes it glides between green banks which hem it in (fair setting for so bright a gem): here it is blue, reflecting the sky above.

Through the sultry summer days, hours spent splashing in this little stream, or dreaming on its banks, are most delicious,—but beware, O bather! of the shining pebbles that gleam mid the blue tide, for

Beneath the waters bright

The glitt’ring pebbles lie,

Like nymphs whose eyes the light

Shines on with brilliancy:

Like wicked water-sprites

These rounded pebbles trip

The bather, who delights

His body here to dip.

The timid foot is placed

Upon the tempting stone,

Then downward in all haste

The luckless wight is thrown.

And when he wrathful tries

His footing to regain,

The sprites, with shining eyes,

Just trip him up again.

The scenery down the valley is altogether charming, occasionally grand, but oftener sweetly beautiful; the hills are of considerable height, some cultivated in patches of grain-crops, some covered with trees, while others again are brightly green with turf, except where [14]grey rocks crop out and break the outline. Farther off the large shadowy mountains rise, calmly shutting in the minor hills, the valley, and the stream; the fleecy clouds float gently on, and rest upon their summits.

Groups of trees half hide the houses which frequently appear within the valley; the numerous bridges are generally of wood, some covered as in Switzerland.

The peasant women, in great straw hats or little close caps, work hard amidst the fields storing the hay crop; the oxen yoked together munch their fill of sweet fresh grass, that has grown in the well-watered meadows; round them the children play, piling the hay upon each other until, overcome by the heat, they hasten off to bathe in our cool stream.

Here, at a short distance above Remiremont, is the confluence of two branches of our river; and river the Moselle now becomes. Leaving her infant days she glides forth, with all the sunny joyousness of girlhood, through the valleys of Remiremont and Epinal, then on through the undulating plain, past Toul, to meet her confidant the Meurthe.

Remiremont is a well-built, clean town, with rivulets flowing constantly on both sides the roadway; it contains a fine church, near which are the buildings that formerly held the celebrated Dames de Remiremont, of whom the following account is given.

In the seventh century a monk named Amé arrived at the court of King Theodobert of Austrasia; moved [15]by his preaching, one of the principal officers of the king, named Romaric, embraced the monastic life, and gave an estate to found a monastery of nuns: the mountain on which this monastery was built was called “Mons Romarici,” hence the modern name of Remiremont.

A community of monks was established shortly after, near the nunnery, and St. Amé governed both; he dying, Romaric succeeded him: but now the female monastery was governed by an abbess,—it is said, a daughter of Romaric.

To this monastery Charlemagne came to enjoy the pleasures of the chase, and here the unhappy Waldrada, wife of Lothaire II., came to die after her long persecution by the Church.

In the tenth century the Huns penetrated here, and ravaged the monastery; a few years after it was totally destroyed by fire; after this event it was rebuilt at the foot of the mountain: the two communities now separated, the ladies entering on their new abode, and the monks retiring to the mountain.

The ladies lived such scandalous lives that Pope Eugenius reproached them with dishonouring the religious habit; his complaints were useless, and the ladies soon threw off even the appearance of religieuses, and remained bound together by a sort of female feudality. The abbesses were people of the best families, and none were admitted as members of the community but those who could prove themselves of noble blood on both sides for two hundred years. [16]

The abbess ranked as a princess of the Empire, and held a feudal court,—a drawn sword was carried before her by one of the officers, of whom she had many in her service; she received her investiture from the hands of the Emperor himself, and had many rights over different parts of the surrounding country, her power often clashing with that of the Dukes of Lorraine.

The Dukes were bound to appear before the monastery on the 15th of July of each year, and to carry on their shoulders the shrine of St. Romaric; they then signed, in a large book plated with gold and kept for that purpose, a confirmation of all the privileges of the abbey. In consideration of these services, however, they gained certain solid advantages.

One of the most violent quarrels between “les Dames” and the Dukes of Lorraine was owing to Duke Charles III. refusing to carry the saint’s relics on his shoulders; eventually the ladies gave up the point on consideration of receiving, in lieu, an annuity of 400 francs.

In 1637 Duke Charles IV. besieged the town, which had been garrisoned by the French with fifteen companies of the regiment of Normandy. These soldiers being driven to extremity, declared, rather than submit without conditions, they would burn the abbess, abbey, and all the ladies, as well as the citizens; the ladies despatched six of their number to the Duke, who, overcome by the tears of beauty, granted an advantageous capitulation to the Norman rascals.

Next year Turenne appeared before the city, which [17]the Duke had left feebly garrisoned; but the abbess, mindful of the Duke’s kindness, so stoutly defended it, that after three assaults Turenne retired with considerable loss. After this the abbess obtained from the French king a promise of neutrality.

The power of these extraordinary “Dames de Remiremont” lasted (though somewhat shorn) until the tide of the French Revolution swept away for a time even the name of the town, which was called Libremont. The church and buildings still remain, the last remnants of this extraordinary community.

Having climbed the hills above Remiremont and seated ourselves amid the heather and ferns, the valley in folds of bright green extends itself beneath; the hills around are varied and beautiful, clumps of trees adorn the meadows, and great shadows steal along, presenting to our eyes a constant succession of moving pictures.

One of these shadows we watch roll down the distant mountain-side, leaving it bright and glowing with the grain,—then, coming onwards, it rests upon a great clump of trees, whose contrasted darkness lights up the grass beyond: they in their turn are left behind, and, now quivering in light, they stand backed by the sombre mountain wrapped in a succeeding veil; these clouds roll on, and others quickly following, give to the valley an appearance similar to that of a rolling prairie: now they approach, and envelope the hill on which we sit in gloom; but shortly all again is clear, the sky above is pure, the air is sweet; the meadows [18]glory in their abundance, and our river, bending and turning, now to the far side of the valley, now towards the town, freshens the heated herbage with its limpid stream.

From the valley, beautiful though it be, we turn our eyes to the more glorious beauty of the
NOONDAY CLOUDS.

Over our heads the sunbeams quiver,

The air is filled with heat and light,

While at our feet the shining river

Sparkles with thousand dimples bright.

The distant hills, in sombre masses,

Sleep calmly on amidst the haze;

A mighty cloud through heaven passes,

And from the earth arrests our gaze.

For in the shadows of that cloud,

We seem to see extending far

Valleys and hills, where seraphs bow’d,

Praising their great Creator are.

Praising for ever “Him on high.”

Those glorious seraphs also pray,

That from this planet crime may die,

From man and earth sin pass away.

The shades of these hills of central air,

The gales that spring ’mid their lake,

Spread over our earthly valleys fair,

From our souls the weariness take;

And hope reviving emits its glad beam,

Which brightens our hearts, as sun does the stream.

Where we sit the ground is heaped into all sorts of forms, and covered with ferns and heather,—from the [19]latter rushes a large covey of whirring partridges, and swoops into the valley.

Above, the still forest sends down its treasures of bark and firewood, which are borne in creaking waggons down the steep ascent; the oxen stagger beneath the weight, while the drivers shout encouragement, and their great dogs look calmly from the overhanging bank upon the busy scene.

All the environs of Remiremont are beautiful, and the town itself is a favourable specimen of a French country town: it is much better paved than those towns usually are, and the principal street has arcades under the first floor, beneath whose shade it is pleasant to sit during the midday heat, and hear the water rushing through the tiny canals.

In the little busy inns people come and go rapidly, the fashionable watering-place of Plombières being only some twelve miles distant: the tables d’h?te at these inns are wonderful, the number of dishes, the rapidity with which they are served, and the really excellent cookery. Most of the diners are men, and they one and all make love to the woman who, in conjunction with a lad, waits on some twenty guests, and yet finds time to parry all their jokes with sharp repartee.

Here may be seen a good specimen of the false politeness of the French,—they never help themselves to the vin ordinaire without filling up their neighbour’s glass, whether he wants more or not, and they almost invariably pick out the choice morsel from the dish which the aforesaid neighbour eyes with longing looks: [20]one, an epicure, reaches over you to secure the oil and pepper, with which to make additions to some vile sauce he is compounding for a coming dish; another will have something out of its proper turn, which irritates the handmaid; all eat voraciously, and with knives scoop up superfluous gravy, endangering the fair proportions of their mouths. After dinner (which is at twelve), cards and coffee fill the time until a little gentle exercise brings them to a second dinner at seven, when the knives play their part again.

Travelling in the smaller diligences is very miserable, but the little rattling carts that can be hired are worse and slower. Journeying, again, brings out the politeness of the French men,—who secure the best seats if possible, never giving them up to ladies, and fill the vehicle with very bad tobacco smoke.

Leaving them to the smoke and dust, we will go down into the meadows, and walk with our fresh river through the fields it waters on its passage to the gay town of Epinal.
Nurses and Children.

Nurses and Children.

[21]

On a slight elevation at the entrance of the town is a public garden of fine old beech-trees, that shade seats and walks; rough grass lawns fill the intervening spaces. Here plays a military band on Sundays and fête-days, and the young men sun themselves in the eyes of the fair ladies, who in many-hued attire float up and down, ostensibly listening to the military music, but really to that of the voices of their admirers.

Here on all days play the children, and on the grass sit the picturesquely-dressed nurses, with great bows in their hair and snowy sleeves puffed out upon their arms. It is a pleasant lounge and of considerable extent; on one side is the river, the main body of which falls over a wear, while a portion of the water is conducted through the town in a clear stream, which reunites itself with the main body below the town: thus an island is formed, and Epinal stands on both banks as well as on this island, several bridges joining the different quarters.

There is near the end of the town a very beautiful old church; on the hill above, was formerly a strong castle, only a few stones of which now remain: the hill is covered by a private garden commanding fine views.

Epinal is on the site of a very ancient town that was twice destroyed by a fire and pillage; the modern town arose round the walls of a monastery founded in 980 A.D. by a Bishop of Metz, and enlarged in the following century.

The ladies of this monastery appear to have rivalled [22]the “Dames de Remiremont” in leading scandalous lives, if not in power; and when, in the thirteenth century, a Bishop of Toul undertook to re-establish the primitive rules among them, they refused to take any vow, and ended by secularising themselves, but still kept in some measure aloof from the world: they had two dresses, one for the convent, the other for society. They existed as a community till last century.

As a Bishop of Metz had founded this monastery, his successors assumed the sovereignty of the town, and one of them, in the thirteenth century, caused it to be fortified. This sovereignty was often disputed by the townspeople on the one hand, and by certain seigneurs, who had been declared guardians of the monastery, on the other: thus many disputes arose; at last it was agreed that the town should be ceded to the Dukes of Lorraine, and to this house it remained attached.

Frequently taken by the French, and as often retaken, it suffered much from war, but was always constant to its ducal rulers until Lorraine became finally incorporated in France. At the present day it is bustling, dirty, thriving, and ill-paved.

And now away, over the hills and valleys. The river swells on beneath or past us, leaving Thaon, Chatel, Charmes, and many other towns and villages behind; on it flows, falling over wears and circling many islands, wearing its course along until it leaves the Department des Vosges and enters on that of the Meurthe. [23]

Laughing and gay, we shall in the next chapter find “the fair girl” basking amid the corn-fields that adorn her course near Toul.