THE FARMER'S MAGAZINE. 



323 



THE VINEYARDS OF LA BELLE FRANCE. 



We will now, if you please, visit the vineyards of 

 Burgundy ; and though Burgundy has no longer any 

 geographical existence, but is cut up into a variety of 

 smaller departments, it will only cease to be known by 

 this distinction when it has ceased to be distinguished 

 for its wines. Custom is a great conservative, and de- 

 fends his territories against all innovations, as those of 

 us know to our cost who have attempted to divert a foot- 

 path that has existed from " time immemorial." The 

 states of Normandy, Anjou, and Navarre, are so closely 

 connected with our historical associations, and those of 

 Champagne, Provence, and Burgundy by their produc- 

 tions, with our tastes, that many centuries probably will 

 elapse before the Postmaster-general will succeed in 

 blotting out these ancient distinctions. 



We take our ticket at the terminus Boulevard Maras, 

 near the Bastille, and proceeding through the valley of 

 the Seine, pass the forts that guard the approach to Paris 

 by that river at Charenton. Running very near the 

 celebrated veterinary college at Alfort, and the town of 

 Melun, from which the English were ejected in 1530, 

 and crossing several fine viaducts, which imply an un- 

 dulating country, our ears are assailed by cries of 

 " Fontainebleau," from railway officials not more cele- 

 brated for correct pronunciation than ours in England. 

 It is quite natural to start up, and strain the eye in hope 

 of discovering the Chateau Royal, restored by Louis 

 Philippe, while the mind reverts to the abdication of 

 Napoleon, signed there — the touching leave of the re- 

 mains of the Old Guard before Napoleon's departure for 

 Elba, taken there. While we are thinking about the 

 imprisonment, too, of the old Pope Pius VII., and the 

 efforts made by Napoleon to wring from him a renuncia- 

 tion of the temporal power, which are now being again 

 made by his nephew, the fine old groves of oak and 

 beech, with their memories of Francis I. and the Bon Roi 

 Henry IV., fade away in the far distance, and Thomery 

 is reached. It is a very pretty town, the houses and 

 walls being festooned with vines. Should you enquire 

 for Fontainebleau grapes in Paris, they will have come 

 from this place. During the season some 5,000 baskets 

 of them, packed in heather, are sent down to the Seine 

 every week. At Montereau, where the Yonne loses 

 itself in the Seine, the plain is surrounded by the heights 

 of Lurville, and the country is charming around, the 

 chateaux of the old noblesse and the spires of the 

 churches peeping over the trees. Here Napoleon 

 Jiointed his last victorious cannon against the Allies, 

 Feb. I8th, 1814. Vineyards everywhere to be seen as 

 we ascend the valley of the Yonne. Dashing past Sens, 

 which may be interesting to an Englishman, from pos- 

 sessing various ecclesiastical garments of Thomas-u- 

 Becket, the train runs over an open chalky district. 



Making a detour to Auxerre, and then proceeding to 

 Tonnerre, we visit a considerable number of vineyards, 

 which furnish Paris with a large quantity of rather in- 



diflferent red wine. Those in the former district, of 

 which the principal is the Clos de la Chainette, and Des 

 Olivotes, Pitoy, Perriure, and Prcaux, in the latter, ex- 

 ported a superior wine to England times gone by ; but 

 the farmers, by the substitution of a more prolific grape 

 for the celebrated plant channay, which was less gene- 

 rous in the abundance than in the quality of its juices, 

 have reduced the demand for these wines. Passing 

 Montbard, where lies the chateau of BufTon, desolated 

 by the revolutionists, the train arrives at Dijon, the an- 

 cient capital of the Duchy of Burgundy. Yes ! Turner, 

 with his true artistic skill, has seized upon the main 

 features of the splendid picture. Very striking indeed 

 is the appearance of that old city, throwing up from the 

 plain in massive structure the battlemented palace of 

 the warlike Dukes, contrasting well with church edifices 

 and the simple dwellings of the 29,000 citizens, the 

 Jura faintly bounding the horizon. 



This is one of the great depots for the wines of Bur- 

 gundy. 



Between Dijon and Chagny are situated the principal 

 vineyards of the Cote d'Or ; so called, either because of 

 the value of their produce, or because of the colour of 

 the soil — a light red loam, mixed with the debris of cal- 

 careous rocks. The sunny'sides of the chain of hills 

 are clothed with vineyards, ascending in terraces, and 

 spreading over the table land upon their summits. The 

 same fickleness which we observed in the vines of the 

 Champagne district is also here observable, for a hill 

 side will produce one sort of wine at the top, another or 

 two half-way down, and a fourth or fifth at the foot, 

 where the soil, washed down by rains, is usually deepest. 

 Nor is there any accounting for this. It is often the 

 case that two vineyards, divided only by a path, shall 

 produce wines of most unequal value, although the 

 chemical composition of the two soils shall be identical, 

 as well as the aspect, and the training to which the plants 

 have been subjected. 



While we are skirting the Chambertin vineyard, 

 which consists of 15 or 20 acres of land, divided 

 amongst numerous proprietors, there is a capital oppor- 

 tunity for making our observations as to the system of 

 cultivation pursued. The vines are planted in trenches, 

 at the distance of two feet apart, and trained on poles 

 to the height of 30 or 40 inches. Rather stumpy- 

 looking affairs, and not materially adding to the pictu- 

 resqueness of the scene. The artist, in fact, in search 

 of subjects for the walls of next year's Academy's exhi- 

 bition, is usually disgusted to find the purely visionary 

 character of his ideal vineyard, and turns away as disap- 

 pointed as the city child who finds that all lambs are not 

 born white with pink ribbons round their necks. Be- 

 tween these trenches are crops of potatoes, clover, and 

 maize, and dotting the fields are almond and cherry and 

 walnut trees. 



Presently the train brings us to Vougeot Station 



