A fair city Poictiers is, and remarkable for its widely-extending walls. In truth, it might claim to be one of the largest cities in France, if judged merely by the space which the walls inclose. But its steep and winding streets and large squares cover only a small portion of the ground included, much of which consists of fields and gardens: and neither the population nor the wealth of the place is, by any means, such as a stranger would naturally suppose when viewing it from the outside. But Poictiers had something to boast of in the shape of historical memorials. While the cathedral, built by Henry Plantagenet, reminds men of the days when a King of England ruled from the Orkneys to the Pyrenees, there are remnants of a civilisation that existed before the name of Plantagenet or of England was known. Here an arch, there an aqueduct, at another place the relics of an amphitheatre, recall to memory the age when Rome was great, and when evidences of Roman grandeur and dominion were everywhere visible.
Nor is Poictiers wanting in historical associations which recall the days of Frankish conquest and prowess in war; for, in the sixth and eighth centuries, its neighbourhood witnessed two famous fights. Near Poictiers, in the year 507, Clovis won a great victory over the Visigoths; and near Poictiers, in 758, Charles Martel won a great victory over the Saracens. It was now to be the scene of a battle in which the French were to sustain a more signal defeat than ever they inflicted, and in which the heir of Clovis and Charles Martel and his chivalry were to have still worse fortune than befell Charlemagne and his paladins at the pass of Roncesvalles.
But as yet no such disaster was dreamt of even by the least sanguine; and, in spite of the lesson they had been taught, the cry of the French, as before Cressy, was "Kill--kill--kill." There was little apprehension of defeat in the streets and squares of Poictiers; almost as little, perhaps, in the ranks of that mighty army which was slowly encamping in the dusk of evening under the banner of France on the plains outside the excited city. The old lion had turned to bay at Cressy, and torn his hunters to pieces. And the young lion should pay dearly for his father's victory.