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Matilda Betham-Edwards - Holidays in Eastern France
Messageries is very pleasant, and here, as in the more primitive regions before described, you are
received rather as a guest to be made much of than as a foreigner to be imposed upon. This charming
bonhomie, found among all classes, is apt to take the form of gossip overmuch, which is sometimes
wearisome. The Franc-Comtois, I must believe, are the greatest talkers in the world, and any chance
listener to be caught by the button is not easily let go. Yet a considerable amount of volubility is
pardoned when people are so amiable and obliging.
Mendicity is forbidden in the Jura as in the Department of the Doubs, and there is little real pinching
poverty to be found among the rural population, though of course a laboriousness and economy unknown
among our own. In the most part, the vine-grower and fabricator of Gruyere cheese, so called, is
well-to-do and independent, and here indeed, the soil is the property of the people.
The Salins season ends on the 15th of September, when the magnificent hydropathic establishment is
closed, and only a few stray visitors remain. The Salins waters are said to be much more efficacious than
those of Kreuznach in Prussia, which they much resemble; and the nature of the soil is shown by its deep
crimson hue. If the tonic qualities of these mountain springs are invaluable, it must be admitted that they
are done ample justice to, for never surely were so many public fountains to be found in a town of the
same size. A charming monograph might be devoted to the public fountains of Franche-Comte, and those
of Salins are especially meritorious as works of art. How many there are, I cannot say, but at least
half-a-dozen are interesting as monuments, notably the charming life-size bronze figure of a Vintager, by
the gifted Salinois sculptor, Max Claudel, ornamenting one, the fine torso surmounting another, and of
which the history is mysterious, the group of swans adorning a third, and so on; at every turn the stranger
coming upon some street ornament of this kind, whilst the perpetual sound of running water is delightful
to the ear. I shall never recall the Jura without this cool, pleasant, dripping noise, as much a part of it as
its brisk air and dazzling blue sky.
There is a good deal to see at Salins; the salines, or salt-works, the old church of St. Anatole with
its humorous wood-carvings, the exquisite Bruges tapestries in the Museum, the ancient gateways of the
city, the quaint Renaissance statue of St. Maurice in the church of that name - wooden figure of a
soldier-peasant on horseback - and lastly the forts and the superb panoramas to be obtained from them.
This little straggling town, of not more than six thousand and odd inhabitants, possesses a public library
of ten thousand volumes, a natural history museum, and a theatre, and other resources. It is eminently
Catholic, but I was glad to find that the thin edge of the Protestant wedge is being driven in there, a
Protestant service being now held once a month, and this will doubtless soon develop into some regular
organization. Protestantism means cleanliness, education, and domestic morality, and Catholicism the
reverse; so no wonder that the more enlightened mayors and municipalities are inclined to look upon
these quiet invasions with favour. As I narrate my progress through the Jura, it will be seen that I found
Protestantism everywhere making head against the enemy.
Perhaps the most beautiful excursion to be made from Salins is to the little town of Nans, and the source
of the River Lison, a two hours' drive amid scenery of alternating loveliness and grandeur - vines
everywhere as we climb upwards, our road curling round the mountain-sides, as a ribbon twisted round a
sugar-loaf, and then having wound in and out jagged peaks covered with light foliage and abrupt slopes
clad with vines, we come to the sombre pine-forests, passing from one forest to another, the air blowing
upon us with sudden keenness. No sooner do we emerge from these gloomy precincts than we come
upon the pretty little village of Nans, smiling and glowing in a warm sunlit valley, and most enticing to
us after the sombreness and chilliness of the mountain-tops.
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