In Beaune, They'll Drink to That

After switching to red wines with the main course, Harry began to howl. "What does my doctor -- I mean Dr. X -- know about having a good time?" he asked rhetorically. " Nothing! If she were here she would be sitting in the corner eating a saltine cracker with no salt!"

Despite medical advice to the contrary, this was the second year Harry had made the journey to Beaune with Joyce, his wife of 40 years.

There would, of course, be many more wines that evening. We guests were able to order bottles from a list of fine Burgundies that were poured into an array of glasses set before us. To me, it was a fantasy come true -- an expensive wine list where no one looks at the prices.

It was not until 1 a.m. that a New Orleans-style jazz band came onto the small stage. Right there in the middle of this historic place, with examples of the hospices' medieval tapestry collection looking on, the crowd started drumming on the white-linen-covered tables with dessert spoons and whatever other silver was left. As 2 a.m. approached, the band struck up "When the Saints Go Marching In," and it seemed the place would explode.

Roll Out the Barrels

Beaune is a well-kept, prosperous town of 23,000 that once a year doubles in population as visitors stream in for auction weekend, timed for when old barrels are being moved out of cellars for the new wine to go in. On Saturday afternoon there was a semi-marathon, and by the time it was winding its way through such nearby famous wine villages as Pommard, Volnay and Meursault, Burgundies were flowing on every street corner, sold from the many food and wine services set up in the town.

Even if there were no wine, Beaune would be well worth the visit. A medieval town surrounded by ramparts and fortresses, it's dotted with ancient dovecoted residences, mysterious courtyards and acres of subterranean tunnels, all dating to the powerful dukes of Burgundy, who in much of the 14th and 15th centuries controlled a large swath of territory up through Amsterdam.

I arrived on a Friday morning, when things were still calm. My first stop was the architectural masterwork and Beaune's dominant symbol: the old hospital, known as the Hotel-Dieu. A masterpiece of Flemish-influenced architecture, the Hotel-Dieu is a palatial Gothic building in stone, wood timbers and a colorful patterned tile roof that supports more than 50 weather vanes. It was built to care for the sick and dying in the mid-15th century by the chancellor of Burgundy, Nicolas Rolin, who saw the project as a sort of palace for the poor that would get him a flight up on the stairway to heaven.

Since 1971, the Hotel-Dieu has become a cultural center and museum. The star of the collection is a nine-piece altar painting, "The Last Judgment," by Flemish painter Rogier van der Weyden, classified as a national historic monument. A large, moving mechanized magnifying glass controlled by an attendant allows visitors to examine the microscopically fine brush details of the painting.

I also enjoyed the well-conceived displays of medieval medical instruments and techniques that seemed to rely on bleeding, more bleeding and major bleeding.

The hospice's old pharmacy has examples of some of the medicines of the day, such as crawfish eyes and dung beetle powder. A large ceramic jar labeled "Theriaca" once contained a general panacea made from opium and, of course, wine.

Yes, fermented grape juice is the river that floats Beaune's boats and helps pay for the upkeep of the Hotel Dieu. Over the centuries, the hospice has accumulated donated vineyards; its winery produces the wines sold at auction, and the money helps fund the hotel and the hospice's other charitable operations.

Saturday morning, I headed down to the town's labyrinthine cellars, which are to Beaune what "Pirates of the Caribbean" is to the Magic Kingdom. The Caves Patriarche are crassly commercial and thrillingly essential.