TOURXINE Bv RICHARD SUDBURY iMc^ hi\.\.mi ... . v'l^d .liimiiimmiiimmininiiniiiuillllll: JH Two Gentlemen in Touraine tt= t'A Til i;i)lx'.\ I, « >l' i'Ol U'S TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE i . T T . T BY RICHARD SUDBURY T . i t t V . i HERBERT S. STONE AND COMPANY CHICAGO AND NEW YORK MDCCCXCIX 1 • I i . Y ^ COPYRIGHT 1899, BY HERBERT S. STONE & CO CONTENTS Preface The Arrival The Chateau Cheverny .... Chambord Blois Chaumont Amboise . . • From Amboise to Chenonceau Chenonceau St. Aignan Valencay From Chenonceau to Azay AzAY LE Rideau . Usse . . • Le Lude Castle-in-the-Air de Persigny and Cour 1^H-24.S(J LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Cathedral of Tours Chateau de Cour Chevernv Chateau de Chambord ... Kranqois First Faqade. ChAteau de Blois Louis XII Cloister. Chateau de Blois Ldiis XI Wing. ChAteau de Blois . The Staircase. ChAteau de Blois The Hall. ChAteau de Blois . Chateau de Chaumont-surLoire ChAteau de Chaumont-sur-Loire .\mboise ....... ChAteau de Chenonceau .... Chenonceau-sur-Cher ChAteau de Valenqay ... .\zav-le-Rideau ChAteau D'Uss^. .... Chapel of the ChAteau D'Ussi . PREFACE 4 . T For many years it had been my earnest desire to visit, at his home in France, an old friend, the Comte de Persigny. But the difficulties which beset my path were so many and so insurmountable, that it seemed probable, at one time, that my longing to go to France would never be satisfied. A day came, however (at a time when it was least expected) when the clouds of the future broke away from one another. A clear sky appeared suddenly between them, and before I was aware that it was a fact, I was carrying into effect the dream that had been almost despaired of. Who, indeed, has not had some such dream as this in his own life, at one time or another, in some form or shape to which he alone may look back with pleasurable recollection? Who has not formed golden plans of rec- reation, of ambition, or of toil, to which he has clung fondly for years, and at last realized— sometimes by the strange chance of circumstance, and again, sometimes by the sheer persistency of his own desire? And so, like all other dreams which we live through in the night, and from which we awake at the break of day, my own came to an end in the course of time. But that it might not be lost to me entirely, I endeavored to recall some of its many characters and incidents. Having been begun as a short sketch, it grew somewhat, as the recollection of much that had taken place thrust itself fonvard. I had sought only to bring back for my Y . 4 T . V ^g^a^^^ai ^ PREFACE own gratification an itinerary which had afforded me many happy hours and much recreation. But so full of romance are the Historical Monuments of Touraine and so ideal is the beauty of their surroundings, that imagination has often overstepped fact and reality. And I must crave forgiveness, if the mists that overhang the banks of the river Loire have, at times, found their way between the leaves of this volume. For though it lays claim to a certain correctness of description, in regard to things which actually exist in France to-day, it must also acknowledge a degree of fancy and some fictitious char- acters. Where two minds of different nationality meet, in friendly intercourse, there is better opportunity to hear two sides to any argument which may occur. Where two such minds wander through the rendezvous of art and history and power, swayed by the inclination to gather some knowledge from the whole mass, there is time for speculative thought. One of them may be engrossed in new sights and scenes and in obtaining his own impres- sion of the whole, while the other may obtain as different a view from his very familiarity with it all. Having been induced to publish the papers, resulting from these wanderings through Touraine, I am, in offer- ing them to the public, inclined to shrink from a possible misunderstanding. For in many cases, the words of others have been put down as the representative opinions of certain classes of people in France, merely to show that they exist, and not as individual convictions. I beg, therefore, that this may be generously borne in mind by those who may chance to accompany us upon these idle peregrinations through the "garden of France." Boston, 1899. Two Gentlemen in Touraine chaptp:r I THE ARRIVAL "La Motte! La Motte!" shouted the guard. And the soft air of the country was wafted in at the window, free from the dust and dirt of town. A red brick station, covered with "bengale" roses that were climbing over the walls and falling about the doors and windows, appeared in sight; and we had arrived at our stopping place, for dejeuner. Some hundred yards behind the station, there stood a new hotel, or, more properly, an inn. On the road between, some carriages were awaiting the arrival of the train. Dog-carts, breaks, hunting wagons, driven by servants in brilliant French liveries, mingled with the chatelains and the chasseurs of the neighborhood, and made a lively scene. I watched them with some interest, as they dashed off, in different directions, to their cha- teaux, for they were my first experience of French men and women, in the country. An hour was to elapse before I could proceed upon my journey, through the country of Sologne, to the chateau where I was to make a visit for the f^rst time in France. Mv natural inclination drew me toward the inn. I ^a^^^^^^ TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE entered it, and was about to order mj- d6jeuner when I found that my host had already prepared for my arrival, and that I was to be served with more than usual atten- tion. I learnt afterwards, that this was an honor which I had but scarcely appreciated, at the time, for this inn is well known to have the most superior cuisine of Sologne. It is presided over by three maiden sisters, who are face- tiously known by their clientele as "the three graces. " If their name contains a little French sarcasm in its wit, they are, at all events, living exponents of their good cooking, for they are each possessed of several hundred pounds, which the visitor is told, shows little inclination to depart from them. My eye wandered down the long table of the table d'hote, and out into the neat-looking kitchen. Perhaps I had some vain thought that some one I knew might sud- denly appear from among the pots and pans. But the guests who were coming in, two or three at a time, were all unknown to me, and I was left to my own meditations and to the observation of the scene around me. There was an air of negligence about this country inn, a delight- ful disregard of the formality to which I had been accus- tomed in more public restaurants. It gave out the first spirit of that French spontaneity and charm which I was later to find so prevalent among this socially gifted people. One of "the three graces" — the smallest of all, I subsequently discovered, although I confidently believed that she must be the largest, as my eye rested upon her — was sitting at a small table, peeling potatoes and other vegetables, all at the same time. A second Grace was busily engaged in swinging lettuce to and fro, at the farther end of the room, and she seemed to have a lively action to her arm. The third, and by this time beyond all doubt the largest, was occupied in tormenting the contents of an unhappy frying pan, by tossing it up and down, and up again, over a very hot and noisy fire. IHK ARRIVAL Dieu! what a flavor there was escaping cverj'where; what a crackling of wootlen branches, and what a hopping and popping of the contents of the pan! It seemed to me that I had never experienced so delicate an odor as that which was given out from the culinary mysteries of "the three graces." I might well have remained all day, in contemplation of the scene, and in speculating over the possibility of such an ensemble existing in any other than a Latin country. But I was brought to myself, before many moments, by one of the Graces, who reminded me that the "tramway" would leave before I was aware of it, and that I had yet to do justice to her arts in the creation of a particularly tasteful d<5jeuner. The pleasures of feasting were soon engrossing my thoughts. Thepouletand the salade were already old friends; and the fromage-a-la-crfeme had made my acquaintance, before I had time to make even a formal bow to so accomplished a production. The ver>e de vin rouge was being drunk to the health of the Graces. The courtesies of the compensation were interchanged. A whistle sounded from the further side of the station; and it was time to be off. I waved a grateful farewell to my three hostesses, and crossed the narrow track. Awaiting me was a miniature train, known in France as "le tramway," with a private wagon attached to it, and a porter in attendance. I stepped inside, amid the bustle of the guards and laborers, and we started almost imme- diately, toward our destination. I felt not unlike some "fairie prince," as we proceeded through woods and forests, bearing an enchanted air which seemed to grow in its enchantment every minute. The whole atmosphere breathed a suggestion of dreams and fancies; and it was not difficult for one's thoughts to roam off into one's surroundings. As we travelled leisurely along, through the lines of imaginative foliage, I began to feel that my travels of many thousand miles were almost 3 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE Y . T r . i tJ at an end. The goal of many years of plans and antici- pations was now but a short distance away. After a lifetime, almost, spent in imgratified wishes to visit France and its many places immortalized by tradi- tion, I found myself suddenly in its very heart, about to meet, after years of separation, one of my most accom- plished and intimate of friends, the Corate de Persigny. It seemed difficult to believe that I could really be in the land of early dreams and pictures, and to find myself actually in an atmosphere which I had been accustomed to figure only on a distant horizon. Through forests, woods and fields, and then again through forests and heavy undergrowth, we travelled and I fell to musing over the events which were at present taking place in my life. After a long separa- tion I was at last to find myself in the company of one of my most intimate friends. It seemed to me, now that we -were about to meet, almost as if we had never been parted, so strongly did the influence of the present moment force itself upon me. But in reality, we had met some years before, at a summer watering place in Amer- ica. We had been attracted to each other, perhaps by the very difference of our temperaments, and had been in one another's society almost constantly for a month. At the end of that time our roads had led us in different directions, and we had parted, not to meet again. But so much interested had we been in various discussions, which we had had upon the social questions of life, that we had opened a correspondence, lasting, almost without a pause, during the years that had since passed. And now the meeting seemed but yesterday. So strongly sometimes will a personality, possessed of Latin spontaneity, impress itself upon an Anglo-Saxon ; and so out of the ordinary range of friendships had ours been, that its early scenes were still imprinted upon my memory. At the time of our meeting I was a young 4 THK ARRIVAL man, filled with the ambitions and enthusiasms of an American temperament. The Comte was my senior by several years. He had come to America upon a diplo- matic mission, and had been fCted as a distinRuished foreigner. I remember that I had requested to be intro- duced to him perhaps as much from curiosity as from any other motive. But we had soon discovered that our views, different in reality, had brought our minds into active relationship one with another. And it had ended in a friendship which seemed likely to endure through both our lives. For years we had contemplated a meeting in France, where he had become one of the political figures of his day. His powerful title, his large fortune and his men- tal qualities had placed him among the leaders of the Conservative party, where he now stood as one of its con- spicuous members. And we were at last to meet here, after years in which much had taken place in both our lives, here in his own countrj- and at the beautiful chateau which had been the home of his ancestors for over three hundred years. The moment was one of emotion, and I found it difficult to wait for the last whistle to announce our arrival. But at last the tramway began to reduce its speed, and finally it stopped. In the distance, there appeared a number of peasants wav-ing their hats and handkerchiefs at our arrival. A small village stood out against the sky behind them. And over it arose the out- line of a small station surrounded by a crowd, and in the centre of it carriages and horses. In another moment I was standing on the platform of the little wooden station, grasping the hand of my friend, my dear friend whom I had not seen for so many years. The crowds of peasants waving their welcome, the people in their quaint costumes, the station, all faded away before me, and I lost sight of everything but the face of the Comte as he pressed my hand in a hearty 5 T . y r . Y T . 1* ^a^ TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE welcome. His tall figure stood before me, straight and distinctive in outline. I thought him wonder- fully little changed since we had last met, though he spoke often of the gray hairs which I found it impos- sible to discover in his locks. He was a noble type of a Frenchman, the Comte. His light brown hair fell back in a slight wave, from his broad forehead, showing two large temples that were neither high nor low, but that spoke of a wonderful intelligence behind them. No one could look upon the Comte de Persigny and not be sensible that he was in the presence of a man of unusual qualities. The eyebrows, a little darker than the hair above, were smooth and even, though they seemed to protrude almost unnaturallj', owing to the strong develop- ment of the forehead. Beneath them shone a pair of deep-set ej'es, bearing that indescribable look which we find in all men who have thought much and thought deeply. It is difficult to convey the impression of this look in a man's eyes to any one who has not obsers'ed it for himself. There is in it an air of concentrated energy, shown by a development about the eye, one which bj' description might apply to a far different physiognomy, but which seen in the actual man is unmistakable. It is there, an indisputable proof of mind and intellect, a sign that speaks more eloquently for the bearer's qualities than any speech or language could describe. Such was the chief characteristic of the Comte's appearance, as I looked upon him in the full glare of the morning sunlight, and tried to think how to begin all that I had to say to him. At last we spoke, a thousand things of no importance in one breath, and then a thousand others, before the first had been disposed of. "Well, my dear friend, welcome to Persigny," said the Comte, as I alighted. "It is indeed a longed-for pleasure come true, to have you here. In fact, I thought at one 6 /n?^ ^a^a^a IHK ARRIVAL time that you would never come to us; but then your letter came, tellinjj me of your sudden departure, and here you are in truth. You have chanjjed so little that I am almost inclined to believe that we are not in France at all, but back again where we first met. Do you remem- ber it? What a pleasant month that was! I have amused myself in recalling its circumstances as I was driving over to meet you." Remember it! Had it not been in my mind, imprinted there in an unchangeable die, the years past, and had it not again formed the picture of the hour that had just ended? I told my friend as much, and we turned to pass through the little station and to enter his carriage amid the cheers of the peasants and the barking of a pair of huge mastiffs. The Comte jumped in, and seated himself at my side. The postilion, clothed in a red and green liver}-, cracked his whip; the great Percherons bounded forward, and we started. I was indeed at my journey's end. And we were upon our way to the chateau. I was soon conversing as of old with my friend the Comte, who was asking of my arrival at Paris, of the journey there, of a number of friends and acquaintances, and all the time adding information as to himself and his mother. I had no words at my command, nor chance of express- ing them if I had wished to, so I contented myself with listening to the Comte and with taking in the surroundings. The brilliant livery of the postilion shone in the sun, and mingled with that of the footmen. The round bells about the necks of the posti6res jingled a merry chime. The postilion emphasized his "Yuck hue!" with the crack of his short-handled whip, as we dashed through the long street of the village. The slate steeple of the church, with its gilded cross and its ever-turning weather- cock, was already behind us. The old bell, having rung the "Angelus," — as it had done at noon for no one knows how many years — had now ceased and was H TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE waiting in silence for the ending of the day that it might begin again. Young women and old were leaning against the doors, or lower windows, of the houses, which were bright with pots of flowers in full bloom. Some of them, still blushing roses of spring, peered at us with wide-open eyes and dropped a curtsey with some grace, while others, more like the leaves of autumn, bowed discreetly, and some even smiled. All bowed, all curtsied; all cried a welcome and cheered us on our way. Before long, the village had become a thing of the past, and we were rolling swiftly over a sandy road, as smooth as the alley of some private park. It seemed to me, on beholding, for the first time, one of these beautiful roads of France, like a long golden riband, bordered by emerald green. Some unknown being had unrolled it, in a straight line, toward the horizon. And we seemed to be driving straight into the sun, or rather to where the sun would be some hours later. To the right and left all was green, an extraordinary green such as it was a delight to look upon. At times some darkened pines would break the fields, and then a wood of heavy oaks, with here and there the silver leaves of a birch tree coquetting with the rays of the sun, would appear in sight. Often an indefinite carpet of heath would be spread beneath the trees, its pink and violet shades giving a delicacy of coloring that drew forth many an expression of delight. Still we rolled on, over the golden road. Here the thatched roof of a small house, on which the dark moss had grown so thick that it had covered it with a velvet mantle, was nestled in among many trees and flower- covered bushes. A little pond with ducks, or geese, or even a brood of young turkeys on the bank, would be near by. Further on, a hut. whose pointed roof of earth was overgrown with weeds and flowers, poked up its IHfc ARRIVAL head. It had been built by the woodcutter, and stood little more than ten feet from the ground. There he lived, year in, year out. It was his nest, the oak above his head, the pine needle as a couch. A canvas ba^' was hung as a curtain to the door and a cloud of thick black smoke, making its way through the leaves, told of the lire which was to cook his mid-day meal. Close to the side of the road there appeared a lake, some kilometers in extent. Its waters were unruffled, save by the ever-growing circles of a carp jumping from the water. Some lapwings were hovering above the reeds that lined the edges. From time to time they dove among them, to feed their little ones within the nest. High above, a large and cruel hawk struck terror into their gentle hearts by his wide and sweeping circles. At length there appeared some fields of wheat sur- rounded by woods and clumps of trees. Above them and far in the distance, some high slate roofs and chim- neys rose against the sky. They were those of the chateau toward which we were directing our steps. Between us was another little village, nestling into a valley which seemed but the suspicion of a valley without its reality. The road turned to the left, and joined another at a slight incline. A cross of stone stood at the corner, and as our cavalcade passed by, I saw the Comte lift reverentially his hat. I realized that the strong sentiment of the Roman Catholic Church predominated here. In another moment we were pa.ssing through the single street of the village, and the Comte was saying: "My dear friend, welcome to Persigny; we arc here at last, and has it not a picturesque surrounding?" " It had indeed. I had never seen so rustic or so artistic an effect. The whole place seemed almost in miniature, —an ideal set in true reality. The street itself was so narrow that one could cover it in a single stride. The Y . T T . T T . Y Y . V TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE houses, many of them hundreds of years old, seemed to me prettier and more picturesque than any I had yet seen. The brilliant whiteness, that makes often even the houses of a village harsh to the eye, was absent here. Instead of it, the walls and their surroundings were soft- ened in a hundred tints and colorings, by dirt and age. The roofs were covered with red tiles, that had long been covered with a coating of moss, and were in some places falling in and reaching down a long beam, or rafter, into the courtyard. Clusters of grape vines, or wild roses, were to be seen at all points, overhanging doors and windows. Pots of flowers, or some green plants, gave color to a win- dow-sill, an old wall, or a patch of earth. Here and there a house, a little older than its fellows, would be built of red bricks, laid diagonally, and set with cross-beams and timbers black with age. A single cottage was covered with the thatched roof so common in Normandy, but which is seldom found in this portion of the country. It was the "presbyt^re" ; and close by, rose the steeple of the little church. Its plastered walls and slated roof, much higher than the country church in England, its nar- row steeple with the pointed spire, which seemed to pierce the lowest clouds that floated in the sky, its stonework about the door, all told that it was of the fifteenth cen- tury. The little garden of the "presbytere" was alive with flowers and creeping vines, that covered its encir- cling wall completely. On the threshold of his door stood "Monsieur le Cur6," his gray hairs catching the rays of the sun, as he waited, with his head uncovered, to offer us a welcome. We paused a moment, that the stranger from foreign shores might thank him for his courtesy, and shake his hand. Poor man; he had thought to see some strange creature in a dress unknown to him and with a darkened skin. It was some time before he could be persuaded that the stranger was really like those among whom he THE ARRIVAL had lived for sixty years, so different had he expected him to be! As we passed on, once more, I noticed that every door was filled with some rustic figure and that every window had some head within it. Many clapped their hands and shouted as we passed, while others were waving hats and handkerchiefs. The little public square was crowded with a score or two of peasants, who had assembled to give us a rustic welcome. And as we passed by we bowed our acknowledgments to the cries which came to us from all sides, and "Vive Monsieur le Comte! Vive Monsieur le Comte!" sounded in our ears as we drove on. Soon we had passed the village and were at the gates of the park. In another moment I gave a cry of sudden delight. As we entered the long avenue leading to the chateau a scene of rare and unexpected beauty appeared before us. We had just entered a large hollow rectangle at least a kilometre in length, and hemmed in upon the right and left by walls of drooping oak trees. The centre of this rectangle was occupied by a sheet of water, — a canal, as my friend called it. Its waters were dotted, here and there, by the white wings of swans. And at its farthest boundary the high roofs of a chateau of the period of Louis XIII were reflected in the water. So still was everj'thing, and so like a mirror was the lake, that it seemed as if another chateau had been placed symmetri- cally underneath the one that rose from the beautiful lawn leading to its rush-covered bank. And yet it was but a reflection of the pure architecture above, a photo- graph of the reality. We were traversing one of the great avenues which ran on either side of the canal, and met in front of the "marquise" of the chateau. Tall trees lined the way, and shaded us from the heat of the mid-day sun, while giant palms in massive wooden tubs, waved above the head. i . T Y , 4 r . Y V . T TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE "My dear friend, what a beautiful spot is this that you live in!" I exclaimed. "Why did you never tell me that it was like this?" The Comte looked at me with a pleased expression on his countenance. "I thought," said he, "that some day you would come and see it for yourself, and so I would not spoil your first impression of it by description. You see that I was right," he added, with a smile. As we approached nearer to the chateau, I could scarcely find time to absorb the beauty of the scene around me, nor could I find words with which to express my feelings. An arch, formed by overhanging trees, enveloped us for a moment, and as we emerged from it we drew up before the door of the chateau. Several per- sons were standing about it to receive us, and as we alighted, the Comte turned to a lady, a little taller than the others, saj'ing: "This is my mother; once more, my dear friend, welcome to Persigny. ' ' The Comtesse de Persigny smiled a welcome to me and extended her hand with the utmost cordiality. I seemed at once to become one of her own family. For the stiff- ness of which the representatives of the older noblesse of France are sometimes accused, melts away, with their grace of manner, when they wish to admit any one to a more intimate relationship. And the most formal members of a secluded aristocracy become the most congenial of companions, to those whom they receive among them. I was soon introduced to the ladies and gentlemen standing near us, and I afterwards discovered that they formed part of the company that were staying at the chateau. They at once besieged me with many questions about myself, my countxy and my journey to France. So many were they, however, and so indifferent was my command of the French language, that I fear many of them remained unanswered. But my interlocutors passed over my unsuccessful attempts THE ARRIVAL at conversation with .1 lauph, or with some witty remark, and we soon passed into the chateau. Here I was at last, and I was to take up for a time the Ufe and customs of a Frenchman. The atmos- phere around me had indeed changed, and I began to realize that I was truly in a strange land, led by stand- ards and ideas far different from my own. The fascina- tion of it grew upon me, as the life into which I had thus suddenly fallen impressed itself upon the mind; and as I wound my way to my room, through many ancient corridors and passages, I felt almost that it was some strange dream, rather than reality. »3 T . Y T . Y Y , Y Y . V CHAPTER II THE CHATEAU DE PERSIGNY AND COUR CHEVERNY PART I THE CHATEAU DE PERSIGNY The morning after my arrival, I must own, I experienced an unusual disinclination to begin the day. My room was strangely inviting, with its polished floor, its light painted wookwork, and its hangings of chintz. It seemed as if the sun had never shone so brightly as it did on everj'- thing in the room, this summer morning in the month of August. At last I could resist it no longer, and I got up, and opened my window, with some difficulty, for the old fastenings had many turns and twists, and it needed some persuasion to induce them to work. I was rewarded, however, by a breath of the soft air, scented with honey- suckle and flowers, which arose from some beds beneath my window. The picture outside was so fair, that I lingered some time at the open casement, admiring it. The whole sur- rounding seemed so tranquil and full of peace that I fell to dreaming again before I knew it, and was only awakened by the "bon jour. Monsieur," of a fresh looking maid who was on her way to the potager. It was not far from harvest time, and the fields that stretched away for some distance, on three sides of the chateau, were covered with a rolling carpet of golden wheat. The tall, thin blades were glittering in the rays THE CHATEAU UE I'ERSKJNY of the sun, and whispering to one another, with every breath of the jjentlc air. Over toward the left, some pines were arranjjed in a long, straight line, so high, their tapering pinnacles seemed to prick the little clouds that were hovering above them, and so long and regular in their growth, that the avenue seemed but an endless line of yellow sand. A little brook wound its way in and out, between two banks of moss and bushes. Now it seemed lost completely, and I could hear it weeping, like a child. Now it had found its way again, and was smiling and laughing to itself, while a swan flapped its great wings in the water. I turned from the brook and its little life, from the swan, and from the rustic bridge, so old that moss and weeds hung from it, and were mirrored in the brook. I turned from these, only to meet a rural picture of greater beauty on the other side. Another line of trees grew here, greener than the last, though not so large. They were elms, grown so as to make, what the French call a charmille, in other words, an arched tunnel of trees, stretching for some hundred yards. The avenue beneath the feet was of soft, velvety grass, and was cut so short that it seemed almost like a rug. The trees were clipped, so as to make an even wall, and the light that peeped in between the leaves fell upon them, in a manner that suggested an enchanted palace studded with precious stones. Among the trees, a thick coating of ivy grew over everj-thing, and long arms of it reached up, over their dark trunks, as if to clutch the leaves that grew upon the lowest branches. Man and nature, art and taste, were combined in so intricate and delicate a work, that it was difficult to believe that these were really trees and grass, instead of fairj'-like creations. What a romance could be written of the French charm- ille, that treasure of the park, in which it is ever the most perfect portion! What thoughts and inspirations would i . i T . "i" f . V T . Y ^^I^^l^ TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE it not raise in the minds of those who wander over the soft green carpet to the tiny nook at its farther end, and then sit against the marble statue, brought from Italy perhaps, and dream away more than one happy hour in the cool and shade ! How many of us have done just such a thing! And how many more of us would long to do like- wise ! Was there ever a more romantic spot for lovers to meet, and there to forget all, save peace and happiness? Was there ever a more perfect setting for a poet's fancy than the charmille of some chateau's park? Surely, there could never be. And so I thought, as I gazed down at the one beneath me, which had been engrossing my atten- tion so particularly. A sharp "rap, rap, rap," at my door announced that the Comte was up and about. And I turned from the beauty of the scene without, to say good morning to him. "I have been enjoying the beauties of the garden about your chateau," said I. "Why have you never told me how much there was here — so artistic and so fair}--like? Why, I almost imagined myself in a land of dreams and fancies, as I was airing myself at the window. ' ' The Comte answered my remark with a smile of pleasure. "Yes; it is a lovely spot, and it seems to become more and more attractive to me every day. I have made a great many improvements since I inherited the chateau. And if you will come out with me, we will take a walk through the stables and gardens and view a part of the park. But I fear that you will be tired if we attempt to do the whole of the park in one day, for it is over ten miles." "I am afraid that I shall have to work up my way to that," I replied. "But I will be with you in a few moments, and we will then see everything that you care to show me, before dejeuner." I dressed myself, and hastened to join the Comte. But 16 w I IHt CHAItAU UE FtRSlGNY on my way down, I met some of the fjuests of the chateau. The Marquise de la Sij^e, an elderly dowager, with a wonderful complexion, and a color to her hair that was surprising considering her age, accosted me at the second landing of the staircase. I bowed politely, and she held out her hand for me to kiss. I performed my duty to her evident satisfaction, for she tapped me on the shoulder with her fan, and added: "Monsieur est tout-ii-fait Frani^ais. Vraiment, tout ce qu'il y-ade plus Franijais. J'esp^re que Monsieur a trfes bien dormi?" And this last inquiry she accompanied with the slightest inclination of her head. "Oh, very well, thank you. And now I am going out to view the park, with our host. May we not have the pleasure of your company?" "Oh, Monsieur is too kind. But I never go out before the afternoon," replied the Marquise with a shake of her head. "I haven't been out in the morning for two years. It is so bad for the complexion, you know," she added, with a merry twinkle in her eye. "But if you are not too tired, with your exertions this morning, we will walk for a quarter of an hour in the charmille, after tea — when the sun has set. Life is so much pleasanter when the sun has set." And my interlocutor waved her hand in a graceful farewell. I thought, as I wound my way down to the gallery below, that the Marquise de la Signe must indeed be a philosopher to have decided, at her age, that the simset was the pleasantcst portion of life. And I could not help thinking what a pity it was that more people were not of her turn of mind. In the gallerj-, I encountered the beau of the party, le Prince de Gourmet — an old friend of the Comte's mother, a perfect type of the French nobleman, of high position, but of low purse, who loves the best of everything and, somehow or other, always obtains it, an indispensable addition to every respectable chateau, to 17 ^a^a^^^^^s TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE ever}' salon and to every hotel in the Faubourg Saint Germain. Perhaps the Comtesse de Persigny had once entertained the idea of becoming a princess. Perhaps even the Prince had had serious thoughts of making a permanent residence at the chateau. There was no tell- ing. But somehow or other, the Comtesse never changed her name, and the Prince had never made the contem- plated stay. He still came for his three weeks in August and his fortnight in December, — for Christmas, — and was always the life of the party, the ever welcome guest, and nothing more. If Madame de la Signe's maid had unknown ways of making her mistress's head seem twenty years the younger, certainly the Prince's valet had discovered an "elixir of life" by which his master should never grow old. The Prince's age no one had ever known. In fact, he was even known to have said that no gentleman — or lady either — ever had an age. If any did have an age, why, all he could say, was, that they could not be ladies, or gentlemen. As for him, he had never been born at all. He had found himself in Paris one day, and had found it so pleasant there that he had stayed ever since, and should do so always. He had never been out of France, and never would go under any consideration, never — never. Thus the matter was settled, and the Prince's friends had begun to believe that, after all, he probably never had been born, and never would die. He had remained the same for so many j'ears, there was every reason to believe that he would continue to do so. Thus the Prince had become a permanent fixture in French society, a pillar of the Faubourg and an indis- pensable addition to all country parties. Before saying good morning to so unique a character as le Prince do Gourmet it was impossible to refrain from an admiring glance at his appearance. Yes, there could be no question, his valet understood the art of — what shall 18 THE CHATtAU DK FKRSIGNY \vc call it? — the art of wiggling — yes, anil the art of dyeiiiy and painting and powdering and dressing, — in fact, all the arts which could possibly enter into the toilet of a gentleman, a perfect gentleman of the old school. The Prince's hair was of a beautiful greyish brown — a little powder, that was all, and electrified, so as to stand up or lie down, so as to bristle like the spikes of a porcupine, or curl like a baby's ringlets. It was a wonderful head of hair. There was no doubt as to its superiority. There was no rival to it. It was the first of its kind in France. A certain barber in the Rue Castiglione had made his fortune by it. And this I heard later from the Comte himself. All the world knew it, and all the world went there, now, he affirmed, if they wished to look comme il faut. I must go when I returned to Paris. I would go. The Prince had been out for an early airing this morn- ing, and was attired in a short jacket of buff-colored stufif, fitted in at the waist to a marvelous degree. Knicker- bockers, of a different shade, encased the Prince's limbs, and the buckles at the knees were hidden by the tops of the long stockings, knit by no less a personage than the Comtesse de Persigny herself. Ah, Cupid, Cupid! where would you not lead us? Where would you not show your face and strike your persistent arrow? Not many years ago you may have pointed your bow and arrow at a lady's cheek. And now it is upon the victim's calves! There they were, the light brown stockings with their great squares of different colored worsted; there they were, resplendent, upon a pair of padded calves. A faint suspicion of dust upon his boots told that Monsieur le Prince had been to walk around the garden, up the avenue, and home through the potager, where he had picked his daily bunch of bleuettes (pink bachelor's but- tons grown especially for him), which he had picked for years on his daily walk that never varied. He was «9 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE T , T T . Y T.Y V . T looking at some miniatures as I entered the gallery, and turned from them to hold out his hand to me and wish me a graceful good morning. "Monsieur a bien dormi, j'espfere," said he with a dozen bows, to which I found it difficult to do jus- tice. It seemed to me that almost everj' one here took an extraordinary interest in one's sleep. I supposed that the reason must be that French people did not sleep. At least it seemed so, judging from the time at which most of them rose in the morning. But as I had never been annoyed by insomnia, I did not give the matter any deeper thought, and followed up the Prince's polite- ness by inviting him to accompany us upon our tour of inspection. "Ah — hdlas! C'^tait impossible" — with at least a dozen shrugs of the shoulders — "I was too kind. I was a charming American, so different from what he had imagined them. I was not red, nor dark. I had no feathers. I was tout a fait fran^ais. But he had taken his walk. He never walked again, after his walk was once over. A thousand thanks!" I really began to think that I must be tout h fait frangais. And I left the Prince to his miniatures, and joined my friend to see the stables and the garden. I found him standing on a glass-covered terrace, over- looking the beautiful entrance to the chateau. I am wiser now than I was then, and may call this glass- covered terrace a "marquise," that almost universal ele- ment of a French hotel or chateau. It seemed particularly bright, I thought, almost too much so, and I wondered why the ironwork had not been painted black, instead of white. But when I mentioned the fact to the Comte, I received an imperative order never to suggest such a thing in France. Ironwork was never painted black in France. It might be in England, or even in America. But I must remember that I was in France now. Here THE CHATEAU DE PERSIGNY it was always white or gTay or sometimes silver. We stood a moment, taking in the beautiful scenes open- ing before us, and then the Comte broke the silence. "I did not have time yesterday to tell you why I dragged you away from Paris so soon," said he. "We had not been together for so long that the pleasure of seeing you once again and under such different circum- stances, of picking up the threads that had been dropped or lost altogether, occupied all my thoughts at our meet- ing and every moment of yesterday. I am looking forward to the next few months — for you are not to think of going before the late autumn — with more pleasurable anticipation than I can well express. In fact, to tell the truth, my English is not up to the undertaking. I fear it has become rather neglected of late, for it is over a year since I have been in England, and nearly ten months since I have spoken a word that was not French. "But I must tell you why I wished you to come — apart from our 'fete de famille' of to-day. I am anxious to start to-morrow on a tour of the beautiful chateaux of Touraine, of which you have so often written me, and to which we have so often contemplated a visit. One of them, the Chateau de Cour Chevemy, is in this neighbor- hood, and we will start for it early to-morrow morning, if you are not too tired of this continual movement. We would wait another week, but the season is late, and I am anxious for you, who are so fond of flowers, to see the parterres and gardens of some of these chateaux while they are at their best. I know so many of their owners that we shall see them in an interesting way. What say you? Shall we go to-morrow?" Of course I agreed, with an exclamation of pleasure at the thought of seeing the wonders of Chambord and Blois, of Chenonceau and Azay-le-Rideau. remem- bering the romance and history lurking among their beautifully ornamented towers and walls. Visions of i . T ^ihh§-^ f . V i . T TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAIXE Catherine de Medici, of Francois I, of Henry II, and Henry III, of the beautiful Diane de Poitiers, and last but not least, of the unhappy Marie Stuart, arose before me in an enchanted picture that carried me back into the history of the Middle Ages and the happier Renaissance. Go? Of course I would go. In spite of the beauties of the park and the gardens of the Chateau de Persigny, I could scarcely wait for the morrow, that we might start on this long-projected trip. How happy I was at the thought ! It seemed to me I had not been so happy since the day I had left school and realized that it was a thing of the past. I believe that I was more interested than the Comte, though he was in very good spirits and almost as enthusiastic as I over the intended tour. "This, indeed, is what I have always wished to do," said he, "but I have never found just the person to do it with me. It is necessary to be rather more than simply genial to travel alone in this way. One must be truly fond of the subject, and willing to put up with some inconveniences. For the auberges are not always of the best, and the weather is sometimes very hot. But in spite of this, I am sure that we shall enjoy it. We will go a little out of the beaten track and visit the beautiful chateaux of Valen^ay and of le Lude. For in the gar- dens of this last there is one of the most beautiful terraces in France." "I agree to everything in advance," I replied. "And would it not be a good plan to go on foot some of the way? If it is possible, I should like very much to do so. I have always wished to take a walking tour. I have always longed to travel in a perfectly "laissez aller" fashion, studying the country and the rural life as I wandered along, stopping here and there, to speak to a peasant, or some other members of a lower class, and if possible, to form some idea of their condition of THK CHATKAU DK PKRSIGNY mind and of the motives which actuate their ways of thinking." "Admirable, men ami, admirable," exclaimed the Comtc, as we walked off in the direction of a large iron grille on our left. "Admirable. I join you in your mood completely. And to make the whole idea a perfectly rural one, we will ask Monsieur le Curd to take us to the station at Mur, in his old, rustic pony-carriage. We will have nothing to do with victorias or postibres. The placid 'Bichette,' the old pony of the Cut6, who has eaten so many extra rations of oats, and nibbled at so many of the neighboring lawns, that she can scarcely waddle along the even roads, shall be our rustic steed. And Monsieur le Cut6 himself shall be our guide, as far as the station at all events." So it was decided ; and as we passed through the iron grille toward which we had been directing our steps, we proceeded to give ourselves up to the enjoyment of the stables of Persigny, though I fear that our hearts were far too full of the anticipation of the morrow. I could not refrain from uttering a word of admiration as we entered one of the great courts of the stables. It covered an area of at least an hectare, enclosed by long, low buildings. In the center, a large stone basin rose, high above the head, as did the soft spray of a fountain springing from it. At the further end of this court a second gate, whose ironwork, though less elaborate, was as effective as the one which was now behind us, opened into another court. The buildings and arrangements there were not unlike those of the first, save that they were used for the farms and their various appendages, instead of for the horses and carriages of the chateau. "As you see, all our horses are on this side of the court, and the carriages upon the left," said the Comtc, as we stood by the fountain. And as I looked, I could see carriages, of all kinds, ranged in a long row against the -3 ^a^SK H TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE wall. They looked wonderfull}' inviting, with their shining red wheels and green bodies, while here and there was one painted to imitate basket work. I felt almost sorr>' that we had decided to be so rustic upon our trip; buttheComte "pooh-poohed" my nonsense. I was altogether too fond of luxury, but we would have none of it here. We were to be all for art and architecture and the study of those marvels of the French Renaissance, with the history connected with them — "at least, with as much of it as possible," I put in, for I had no idea of attempting to absorb all the historj' that was lurking about Touraine. We would devote a little energy to each subject, and end, in all probability, by knowing nothing valuable about any one of them. But then, that was so natural, and so like most of the world, that we might as well content ourselves with this principle of being "a Jack at all trades and a master of none." The Comte was inclined to object to this, as being too much the tendency — and the evil tendency, moreover — of our age. He said that this was the great trouble to-day and that he, for one, and I, for two, must not follow in such mediocre footsteps. The old wooden gate of the potager had closed behind us, by this time, and we were sauntering down a long box-lined alley, between rows of tiny, distorted apple trees. They could not have been more than a foot high, and seemed to be so crippled and deformed that their limbs had to be supported upon sticks and wires. The old plaster-covered wall on our right was covered with creeping vines of pears and apples, while a few last bunches of wall-roses hung in clusters here and there. Long lines of mignonette and heliotrope followed one another in an untrained mass. Dahlias and sunflowers, at the back, lent their effective lights and shades to beautify the picture which we were now enjoying. Soon, the potager with its hot-beds, its flowers, its vegetables, 24 THE CHATEAU DE FERSIGNY its gardeners and all its quiet rural life faded away behind us, and we wore wandering through long alleys, lined with underbrush and covered with grass. For nearly twenty miles, the Comte told me, the whole park was covered by this network of avenues, stretching, it seemed, for endless distances in a straight line, and cut at inter- vals by other avenues leading no one knew where. Many of these my friend himself had never explored, nor could one do so, even if one would, so many were they, and so confusing were they in their likeness one to another. After walking some time in the honey-scented air, we came to a small open space, where nine of these avenues met one another and, as if angry at having been discov- ered, dashed away again in all directions. We sat a moment in the shade of a tall post, which held up a number of signs bearing the names of the various avenues. These were named after members of his family, the Comte explained to me, as we made our way to a little farm not far away, where the tenants, over- joyed at Monsieur le Comte's visit, pressed their best wine upon us. We were obliged to drink it, to the last drop, lest they should be offended, and I doubt if it was much effort to me, for it was far better than many of our own wines. At last, it was time to return, and we thanked the kindly peasants, complimenting them upon the condition of their cottages, upon their farm and upon everything, in fact, that it was possible to praise. The whole family followed us, as we departed, bowing and curtsey- ing, till we were at some distance from their humble dwelling. And we returned to the chateau by grass- grown lanes, and by the "charmille," to find the Prince de Gourmet impatiently awaiting his d(5jeuner. "It was after midi; what could be the matter? En effet, there could be no doubt about it, the dejeuner was at least five -'5 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE T . Y T . V fj Y . y minutes late," and the maitre d' hotel was severely repri- manded (because the gentlemen had been out walking and he had waited for them). A pleasant surprise took place that evening. It was the fete day of Madame la Comtesse, and such bustling among the maitre d'hotel, the footmen and the entire culinary department, such preparations and running hither and thither, could not easily be imagined. As we entered the dining-room for dinner, after having formed a procession in the furthest drawing-room and made a tour of all the others, we saw the result of these elab- orate preparations. The great dining-room of the chateau had been transformed into a bower of plants and flowers. Orchids hung from the walls and covered the centre of the dinner table. Upon the sideboard at the further end of the dining-room was displayed the great service of gold plate, which made its appearance only twice a year, or upon some special occasion. As we sat down to dinner pistol shots were heard outside the window and some fireworks threw their variegated lights into the room. The effect was emphasized by the cheers of the tenantry, who had formed in a circle before the chateau to pay their tribute to Madame la Comtesse on her fete day. The cheers were so persistent that the Comte was forced to go to the window and to make a graceful speech in thanks, which elicited only more enthusiasm from the loyal tenantry. At last the dinner was served, much to the satisfaction of the Prince de Gourmet, who was seated at the right of the hostess and who received a rose from her bouquet after all was over, a little attention which had taken place for no one knows how many j'ears. As we parted later in the evening, I felt a sincere regret that the first day at the chateau had come to an end, and that we were again to travel on the morrow. But sorry as I was to leave a place to which I had so long 26 ■*• . T T , V f . I T . V COUR CHKVtRNY looked forward, it was difficult to complain, with such an interesting journey before us. So we bade affection- .Uc au revoirs to all before retiring, and prepared to start early the next morning. The Marquise pressed my hand, and begged me to come and sec her at her hotel in the Faubourg. The Prince wished us good luck on our journey, and Monsieur le Curd, who had been invited to the chateau for dinner, left us to prepare the pony and cart for the drive to the station. i . Y PART II COUR CHEVERNV At an early hour we were up and out, to be in time for Monsieur le Curd and to meet him at the village. It would save at least half an hour if Bichette did not come to the chateau. So we decided that it was both shorter and simpler to go to her. The mail had just arrived as we reached the little plaster-covered cottage that served as the postoffice, and the postmaster, who untied the bags in a tiny room opening upon the highway, handed us our letters as we paused. A grand collection of many-colored envelopes they were, bearing in their right-hand corners bright stamps of many nationalities. And many hopes and fears, such as only mails may inspire, were raised within us, only to remain hopes and fears for the present, as Monsieur le Curd had just drawn up with Mile. Bichette and the antiquated pony cart. We were forced to start at once that we might not lose the train. To be sure, it did not leave for two hours; but then we had eight miles to go, and this was a good deal for so portly a dowager as Bichette. But never mind, we resolved to bum a candle to Notre Dame if the temptations of the road were not too much for her, so we arrived in time. 27 T . *• T . T TWO GEN TLEMEN IN TOURAINE Allow me to introduce to the company this dignified lady, upon whose kindly mercies we had thrown our- selves. We have made a mistake. It is Madame Bichette, and not Mademoiselle — Madame Bichette, the only possible companion for a worthy cut6 de cam- pagne, Madame Bichette, a most respectable and deliberate pony who renders many valuable services to her dear master. With her he goes from one steeple to another, from a fellow cur6 to a neighboring chateau, and returns home by rain, sunshine, or moonlight. At last we were seated and ready. ' ' Will you be kind enough to start, Bichette?" says Monsieur le Cure. And after tossing into the air an intruding fly which had just settled upon the end of her nose, Bichette began to move — carefully, "piano, sano. " Drops of rain from an almost cloudless sky showed signs of a dampness in the atmosphere which is discourag- ing to any one who rejoices in bright and sunny expedi- tions. However, we kept our anxiety to ourselves lest we should disturb Bichette, who had just reached the climax of her powers, a gentle trot, or more properly a waddle, that shook the pony cart with ever>' step. We kept our anxiety to ourselves, I say, and opened our letters, in spite of the rain. "Hue, Bichette! Allons, gentiment!" And as we were tossed up and down, until our teeth were nearly rattled out of our heads, the news from home and from abroad danced up and down, down and up, before our eyes, like an ignis fatuus. Dear me ! So and so is married, and scarcely realizes it. Another one is dead, and others still see the day. But never mind. Our business this morning is to catch the train, and Monsieur le Cur6 whispers unknown induce- ments to Bichette, unknown things that cause her to trot along as fast as possible, mindful only of the flies. Two little villages, with miniature streets and almost 38 .,w^ -^^k ■ ' - ^^>A^9^^^vv ^Bw^ — , — '^^» r ■■ IT'^' ^^^ ^ M f .. IBHBP/^ a - • ^^^^^' V irl 7 ^^^^^^^^K ^^^^^K' wKkr - ^K 5 ^Bgjf^"^'*- -v-^^ ^ iIh L ■jHl* fl^Ky^iln "^ ' ' 'ulU \ nl^^^^^H W ^^BC^^HkiE^^^ COUR CHKVKRNY miniature houses, were passed through, and left behind. The old walls of a deserted monastery appeared on our right, great hanging branches of ivy, vines and roses clinging to them in a confused mass. And they fade away again behind us. Bichette is surprised, even at her- self, and is well-nigh overcome, by the time we reach the little station of soft white stone, which is our destination. After a time, the engine and its long line of carriages come rattling and shambling along. And we make no end of "au revoirs" to Madame Bichette and to Monsieur Ic CnrC: The latter is very sorrj' that he cannot accompany us further; but he has promised to breakfast with a friend near by. Bichette pokes out her head, and neighs, a long, contented, lazy neigh. Her master bares his ven- erable head with only a few silver}- locks left, and as the train whistles, and puflfs off, we can see his black form standing by the side of his companion. A pretty, rural picture that leaves a kindly impression upon those who have been looking at it I We had intended to go straight to Blois when we set out from the beautiful surroundings of the Chateau de Persigny ; but like most intentions, made in all good faith, this did not long remain unbroken. In spite of showers, the day was beautiful in its coloring, and little clouds were dotted over the clear blue sky, like tiny bits of snow- white fleece, just severed from the coat of some young lamb. Now and again some darker clouds appeared, and these were sometimes followed by a large, black mass that hid a thunderstorm. We ran into one of these, en route for Blois; and as the train flew through it, the verdant vineyards, the brilliant fields of wheat, the undulating country, changed at ever>' moment, in a variety of shapes and colors that were rendered even more wonderful by the storm. It was impossible to gaze at these ever-moving pic- tures of nature without a feeling of joy. The dark green TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE Y , T T . T V . T of the pine forests, in the distance, shaded by the softer tones of oaks and elms, and countless others in the fore- ground, made one realize the inspiration that must have governed Poussin and Claude Lorraine. The rows of tall and sharply-cut poplar trees, whose thin contours broke the lines of the scenery at every turn, only added to the intensity of the scene and at the same time seemed to lend it a magic touch. One could almost imagine, yonder, in the long dark groves, a classic temple erected to some goddess of mythology, and a closer gaze would raise up forms and figures flitting to and fro in the shade — reclining by the side of white marble columns, or bending over classic fountains. But just as I began to catch a faint glimpse of these pictures of another world, I was aroused from my reverie by my companion. "What can you say in praise of our French scenery after your enthusiasm over England?" the Comte broke in. "Ask me rather what I cannot say in praise of it," I replied. "But since you speak of England, I will say that I should call the English scenery domestic. It is clothed with a domestic charm, an almost miniature pic- turesqueness which I thought unrivaled when I first saw it. And it certainly is ixnrivaled in its way. But I am sure you will agree with me, that the scenery here, though still domestic, is strung in a higher view. Apart from the picturesque charm which characterizes it, it possesses a dignity and a variety of coloring not to be found in England." "You are right," the Comte replied. "I have always thought that myself. I think the poplar trees, so common everywhere in France, are largely responsible for it. But look," said he, turning suddenly to the win- dow, "there are the roofs of the chateau of Cour Che- verny. The rest of the building is hidden behind the trees." 30 -?► COUR CHEVERNY "We should have stopped here on our way to Blois," said I. "It is perfectly possible to do so now, and we will," exclaimed the Comte, seizing our bags and umbrellas in true French excitement. But alas, just as we were about to get out of the carriage the train started, so that we decided to stop at the little station of Mont and walk back to Cour Chevemy, a few miles this side of it. "Here we are at last," said ray companion, as we alighted finally in the midst of a second thunderstorm. "Now we shall have a walk through pretty country, and I will tell you all I know about the chateau which we are about to visit." We were soon walking along a wood-lined road, some- what muddy after the shower, and on which the trees, above and at the side, continued to drop shining par- ticles of water, that looked like pearls or diamonds in the afternoon sunlight. They were chiefly pines, the trees about us now ; but as if unwilling to be excluded from any gathering, stray clumps of poplars could be seen rearing up their tall thin heads above the others. Here and there, a little stream might be discovered, winding its way along through a bit of wood, and sometimes diving down beneath the road as we passed above. Some old and trembling boards ser\'ed as a bridge, as they had these twenty years, and doubtless would for twenty years to come. Out came the moving bit of water again, only to jump down a tiny bank and lose itself at last in some muddy pool. Now an open space would appear, and a little farm house, almost covered with vines (almost hidden beneath the moss and lichen that g^ew upon it), would nestle itself in against a back- ground of dark trees. Only patches of its red tiled roof would appear, and these almost black with age, while the soft green of the moss harmonized with the rest. Amid such picturesque and peaceful surroundings we 3' 4 . i Y , i f . V T . i TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE fell to speaking of the chateau before us and of other things until at last the conversation took a deeper tone, I remember that I returned to my favorite theme of comparing France with England, perhaps a dangerous one considering my companion. But at all events before I knew it, I found myself saying: "What differences there are, what interesting differ- ences there are, between the lower classes of the three countries: America, England and France! One seems to find even more points in common between these last two countries than between the first." "I am surprised to hear you say that," the Comte replied, "considering what an impassable barrier the English Channel has always been between the characters of French and English people. Their attempts to understand one another seem as futile, at times, as an attempt to bridge over that stormy bit of water. " "The affinity between the lower classes of England and France," I replied, "is the result of Europe, while that between the corresponding classes of England and Amer- ica is the outcome of blood relationship. And I fear that in this case Europe has been more far-reaching in its effects than blood. What I mean is just this, that the cultivation, and especially the civility of the French and English country people, peasants if you like, is far greater than it is among the corresponding classes of America. In France especially, the courtesy, the genial good will, until offended, and the interest in the most refined and artistic things, is very noticeable. In Eng- land, the peasantry — perhaps I should call them the tenantry there — are as picturesque in their life, and as civil in their address. But they are less communicative. They are well informed only upon the particular subject to which they have been born and bred. This they know, with that thoroughness which is, perhaps, one of the greatest characteristics of the English race. And COUR CHEVERNY the interest which they take in their subject .ind in their own special phase of life, is most attractive and inviting to study. Here, on the contrarj', the peasants seem to show a much more varied knowledge of what is going on around them. And they display a more general fond- ness for the things of beauty that surround many of their lives. Verj- naturally their knowledge is less thorough ; and probably if one investigated it, one would find very little actual intelligence. But the love of art for which the French people are so renowned seems to have come out in every class, even in the lowest, although it may be oddly mixed with the utmost simplicity and ignorance. "In America, as well as in many parts of England, the effect of a rapid and popular legislation for the lower classes — offer far too popular — has been to raise their ideas and ambitions far above their means or their powers of perception. By this legislation they are given powers and privileges to which they are incapable of doing justice, as well by their education as their place in society. As we see, the results are discontent and in many cases a chaotic overthrow of classes, as well as of an entire social order." The Comte was silent for some minutes after I had finished speaking. He was evidently thinking over the various questions that presented themselves in so large a subject as this comparison and discussion of classes. At last he said: "I have always thought that the proper solution of this great, this almost universal problem of to-day, is not the assimilation and eventual destruction of classes — for this would be obviously impossible while men live — but on the contrary, a proper ordering and division of these classes, and more than anything of their relative behavior one to another. The present troubles all over the world, in Europe as well as in America, have come, almost invari- ably, from the fact that various members of society abuse 35 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE the responsibilities of their positions. They come, more than anything, from the master maltreating his servant and from the ser\'ant turning against his master. One of these is as culpable as the other, and has almost always been so. The one class has been as much at fault as the other, and I do not know but that the master is most to blame, for in nine cases out of ten he has begun the abuse. Whatever their behavior may be, however, neither of these classes can live without the other. Therefore, the most philosophical way of living would be for each class to work for the other's interest, each in its own particular position, instead of continually endeavor- ing to change places one with another. However much they try, classes will never succeed in changing places. By so doing, they not only fail in their object, but they do much to destroy cultivation and order. Until men open their eyes wide enough to see this, all the radical legislation in the world will not eifect its boasted object of bettering the condition of the lower classes. As far as I can see, from the results that we have around us, it seems only to embitter them." The Comte had been speaking earnestly, in answering the questions which the conversation had called up to both our minds. Perhaps he had some flagrant example of this very subject before his mind to give more vehemence to his words. It was difficult for me to tell, so short had been my actual experience among his sur- roundings. But at all events, I learned from what he said that we were both of the same opinion in regard to this subject, however divergent we might discover ourselves to be upon others. I was glad that we had touched upon this topic, as of late it had been much impressed upon my own mind. And I looked forward to some future discus- sions of the same great problem with an almost youthful enthusiasm, so eager are we all in this world to dip deeply, perhaps often too deeply, into those social ques- 34 COUR CHEVERNY tions with which we are incapable of battling. But besides this, there was something deeper and more full of meaning to me in this short conversation upon a serious subject. For it told me that many fears which I had hud upon my travels, fears which all of us have felt and which I had forced back, almost before they had had time to form themselves and to appear before my mind, had been unfounded. The Conite and I had not met for so long, we had lived such different lives during that time, among such different people and in such different sur- roundings, that there seemed every reason for us to have developed different ideas, tastes, and sympathies. And while I had been traveling through the north of France three days before, I had been unable to hide from myself the possibility of the existence of just this thing. The thought was almost a sad one ; for it had cast a shadow over an otherwise cloudless sky. What if, after the cor- respondence which had taken place between us, and the desire on both our parts that the philosophical subjects discussed in it should be of permanent benefit to our- selves — what if, when we met again, our views had changed and we should find only disappointment and delusion? ^Vhat if after our decision to spend a month together in France, devoted largely to conversations upon our favorite topics, we should find that we had ceased to be congenial? The thought and the fears which it brought with it, were not unnatural after all. How many of us have found just this delusion in our lives, more than once, and each time found it to be more painfully real! How many of us have built a beautiful ideal upon that fair-sounding name of Friendship, and found to our regret, too late, that we had failed, and that the wall fell in one moment, after it had taken years to build! How many of us there are! We dare not even stop to think how many. So I found in my particular case, with my Comte, my 35 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE T . Y T . Y tJ Y . Y old friend whom I had loved and admired and with whom I had built castles in the air for so many years, that my ideal was not to fall entirely, and that at all events some portion of the wall would stand. This indeed was secure, even if the rest should crumble and break in pieces. There were some things that could be depended upon, and there was a good chance of finding more. So I was glad, nay, more than glad. I was happy; for my mind was reassured, and there are few things in this world that make us happier than reassurance. Our conversation and our thoughts, and my own sub- sequent contemplations had brought us to a turn in the road which led into a long lane. An old bridge whose stones were blackened by dirt and time (so that they were now almost as dark as the muddy stream beneath them), arose some distance on. Before long we were standing upon it, and admiring a tiny valley of green grass and bulrushes, that grew especially green about its centre. At the end of the lane and close to the bridge, stood a picturesque little inn, whose pointed roof of reddish tiles was broken at the top by a heavy line of pink-white mortar. All seemed to add to the invitation, hanging just above the door, which announced this little tavern to be a "Debit de Vin." "I am going to introduce you to a beverage which is a favorite one with us," said the Comte, as we sat down within the little cottage, at a long table, beside which there stood some benches of a rustic pattern. "Bon jour. Messieurs," said the mistress of the estab- lishment, a kindly looking woman of some fifty summers, which she bore with noticeable ease beneath her white cap. Its broad top, and wide ends, tied behind a gener- ous chignon, showed it to be that cap which is worn by all the women of this region and which it is impossible to forget when once seen. "Bon jour, ma brave femme," returned the Comte. 36 COUR CHliVKRNY "H61as! Messieurs, que mauvais temps nous avons pour les r(5colettesI" added the woman, with a very stronjj accent. "And what will ces messieurs take to refresh themselves?" "Ces messieurs" would take a little curacoa and water, if she pleased. Of course she pleased, and off she went to get it. "La c'est bien," said the Comte, with a contented sign, as she placed the glasses and a jug of water before us. "Click" went the glasses in a hearty health to madame; and down went the curacoa in a surprising manner. And then we sat a moment taking in our quaint surroundings and thinking that perhaps another glass of curacoa and water might help us upon our way. Indeed, I took to curacoa and water like a true French- man, and the Comte was delighted at the success of his receipt. I shall not easily forget the picturesque and mellowed scene in that little "Debit de Vin." If I had been an artist, a painter, I might perhaps have caught the inspiration of some olden days and kept it upon a bit of canvas. But I was not, alas, and it was to-day and not yesterday in which we were living, however much I might wish it to be otherwise. So I contented myself with taking in all that my eyes could grasp, and I have the scene yet before me, as clearly as it was when I was there. The old walls were darkened with age and tobacco smoke, and the simple woodwork was so mellowed and so softened in its coloring by the misty haze of time that it might have been the most artistic carving. A great cupboard, of the time of Louis XV, stood in the comer, scarcely visible among the shadows and the little clouds of smoke about it, yet seeming to say: "Ah, if you only knew one-half the things that have taken place 37 i . T T . X f . *i i . r TWO GENTLExMEN IN TOURAINE before my old and worm-eaten doors! If you had only witnessed one quarter of the scenes that I have wit- nessed, how happy would you be! I have a past that no one knows, and that no one will ever know. I have the secrets of many a noble family locked into my depths, and I could tell you stories that would open your youthful eyes if I chose — stories of centuries ago that no one knows, and that no one will ever know." And the old face, carved in the pane, just above the doors of the cupboard, seemed almost to wink its eyes and move its lips, talking to itself. I was becoming strangely infatuated with the old cupboard, I found, as well as with its surroundings. The room was growing hazy with smoke, and its mistress had betaken herself to a corner, and was now darning stockings. I thought once more that the picture was worthy of a master hand, and then I was awakened from my dreams. The crack of a whip was heard outside, and as we peered through the rather dirt)' window-pane, we could see an old, private omnibus draw up at the door. It was drawn by a very portly pair of French horses. A still more portly French coachman was seated upon the box, swathed in a black French livery. He was seated, I say, but it would be more correct to describe him as balancing himself upon the topmost pinnacle of a very high cushion. It was built up in the middle, so as to form a species of tower, from which he looked down upon the rest of the world. His face had a wistful expression, as though he would say: "How shall I ever get down?" At all events, it had the desired effect of looking eminently respectable, eminently old, and above all, eminently comfortable. In some unaccountable way, while we were not looking, the coachman had managed to roll down from his digni- fied position, and to roll himself into the one and only room of the "Debit de Vin." His octogenarian livery 38 ^aii^a^a^^ COUR CHEVtRNY seemed to breathe forth ape and respectability at every wrinkle. His great black hat was milled up the wrong way, not unlike a turkey gobbler when it has been dis- pleased. And the heavy whip which he dragged at his side nodded condescendingly to right and left as he entered. In another moment he was drinking his glass of white wine with an old soldier, who had a number Qf war stories to tell in a patois that was difficult to under- stand. We arose to go, and once outside, stood for some moments looking at this little rural tavern with its air of quaintness, thinking of the scene and of the characters within. The coachman came out, to mount once more upon his precarious perch, and seeing that we were on foot, he took the liberty of offering us a lift, with a great deal of bowing and scraping and a good deal of embar- rassment at making advances to the "messieurs." "If the messieurs are going as far as Cour Cheverny, perhaps I could give them a lift. It is several kilometres from here. I am going there for Madame la Baronnc de M , who is returning from Paris." And with this, the coachman took off his hat with a tremendous flourish, bowed lower than most of those who rejoice in so generous a figure are able to do, and opened the door of the omni- bus. It was evident that he did not intend us to see his ascent to the box. Perhaps, we thought, he might be sensitive upon this point, so the Comte contented him- self by looking through a comer of the front window, just to satisfy his curiosity. At last we were ready, and the horses were wound up and set in motion, like so many automatons. And the wheels began to move, and wc realized that, somehow or other, the old coachman of Madame la Baronne was more limber than he had looked. "Pauvre Madame de M !" sighed the Comte, as we jogged along the even road, with a fourth thunder-storm lowering over our heads. "Pauvre Madame la Baronne! 7,0 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE Little does she realize, as she sleeps away the last hour of her journey from Paris, the good uses to which her omnibus is being placed. My dear friend, have you a two franc piece? I have used up all my change." I had, and the Comte could breathe more easily, now that his sudden fear was allayed. Before many minutes we were in the little town of Cour Cheverny, and leaving our kindly friend the coachman, with many thanks and with the two franc piece, we proceeded at once to the gates of the chateau. And what was the first impression which we received? What effect upon us was produced by the approach to the first of this wonderful group of historical monuments, which we were about to visit? Alas, I fear it was a little of a disappointment, for although the estates of Cheverny are very large, the cultivated portion of the park is only fifty acres. The entrance is therefore a little unsatisfac- tory, although it is impossible to be indifferent to its picturesque surroundings. An old arch, built of pinkish brick and cream-white stone, in the period of Louis XIII, appeared at the open- ing of a high wall which we had been following. As we passed beneath it, I could not refrain from remarking that it bore a certain resemblance to the old Temple Bar of London. It was Temple Bar in pink and white. Temple Bar looking newer and brighter than the original. As we emerged from beneath it, the children of the gate- keeper presented themselves for a salutation, and there being no one else to ask, the Comte accosted them. "Is Monsieur le Marquis at home?" "Non, messieurs!" answered the whole flock at once. "He will not return for a month. But there is no one at the chateau, and the messieurs may see everything, if they care to." "Ah, as I thought," said the Comte, not heeding the children's last remark. "Monsieur de V is generally COUR CHKVKRNY here in the autumn and winter only, when, however, he is always surruuiulcil by plenty of company, for his fam- ily alone numbers twenty." As he spoke we emerged from a large group of trees and shrubs and reached the open space before the chateau. A long, symmetrical building stood before us, built of the most brilliant white stone, whose yellowish tint reminded one of milk that has been left over night for the cream to form upon it. The unbroken fa(,-ade stretched away for nearly three hundred feet, and as we stood at one end of it, the whole chateau seemed a long, narrow elevation. On the other side, the effect had been somewhat changed by two wings, projecting into a moat. This moat had been filled with i\'j', greens and flowers, that almost covered its stone sides, and grew about the arches of an old bridge, leading from the rear of the chateau. The stone used here is different from that in front, and the effect is softer, being of a grayish hue. As we retraced our steps, and came back to the first facade, the contrast made the brilliant coloring of its stone even more notice- able. The facings here were such as to produce the appearance of clapboards of wood, instead of stone, and as might be supposed, this effect lessened the beauty of the architecture, which was that of the famous Philibert Delorme. As in so many of the greater French chateaux, so in Chevemy we miss instinctively that natural and softer finish, always such a feature in the English country house. The iNy, that is there allowed to climb over the walls and to soften a fa<,'ade perhaps otherwise too harsh, is absent here. No shrubs or growth of any kind are allowed to break the formal symmetry of the facade. The grass and lawns even are at a distance, and the only relief from the glare of the unsympathetic gravel, cover- ing the open space before the chateau, is a row of orange trees. And even these seem stunted in their growth, as 41 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE T . T T . T i . V if their owners were almost unwilling that they should be there. We stood a moment looking at the rather hard lines of the architecture before us. I was receiving my first impression of an historical French chateau, and — I was a little disappointed. There was, however, much that was beautiful in the facade. A row of busts, set into niches, above the first-storj' windows, contained some good carv- ing. The proportions were fair and noble even, with the exception of the doorway, which was too small. And yet one recoiled from it all. It lacked the artistic flavor which I had anticipated, and I was glad when my com- panion began to tell me of the history of the chateau, for it turned my thoughts from the criticism of the building itself. "Cheverny was built in the seventeenth centur}- by Hurault, Comte de Cheverny," the Comte began. "He was the chancellor of Louis XIIL His wife, Anne de Thou, had much to do with the constniction of the chateau. When we enter it we shall see her picture beside that of her husband in the great salon. The last Comte who inhabited Cheverny wrote an interesting account of its history. I will get it some time, if you would be interested in it. In the revolution of 1793 the chateau passed out of the family, and it came into its pos- session again only through the present Marquis, to whom it was given some j'ears ago by a lady. ' ' As the Comte was speaking, we ascended a short flight of steps and entered the vestibule within. A massive staircase of white stone rose before us, and turned upon itself. Its vaulted roof, its heavy balustrade and its panels, beautifully carved, gave it the appearance of marble. Some of the details, carved in exquisite rich- ness, reminded one of the art of Gibbons in the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral in London; and the whole work was of surpassing beauty. We mounted it, and reached a 42 COUR LHKVKRNY gallery above, which led to the g^uard chamber, the i)rin- cipal room of the chateau and one which was worthy of a royal residence. From this beautiful room, which it would take too long to describe in detail, we passed into the "King's room," built for Henry IV of France. It was filled with Flemish tapestries of a high order, the bed being draped also with them. Perhaps the most inter- esting thing in this room is the King's trunk, a massive chest studded with nails, which stands in one of the deep recesses of the windows. The gallery and dining-room beneath these apartments are wonderfully rich in ornament, the furniture being carved in the most elaborate manner. On the other side of the vestibule is a boudoir, hung with a series of pastelles in oval frames. They looked as if they might have been by Greuze, so delicate was their coloring and so soft their effect. On the top of a high cabinet rested the helmet and cuirasse of Henrj' V, Comte de Chambord, when a child. The miniature bits of armor, beautifully fashioned and perfect in every de- tail, spoke eloquently of their dead master. We left this boudoir somewhat subdued and impressed. It seemed almost an inner atrium, a sacred spot, where that which was most personal to the chateau had been collected. Passing through a billiard room, where the most no- ticeable object was a collection of minerals gathered together by the father of the present owner, we came to the grand salon. This room, like most of the interior of the chateau, is entirely decorated in the elaborate style of the Renaissance. The beams of the ceiling are left unplastered, and like portions of the Chateau of Blois, are painted in an intricate detail. The walls are deco- rated in a similar manner, and a beautiful collection of pictures has been let into the panels. Nothing can e.Kceed the startling effect which this form of decoration 43 **• . Y T . i t.t T . r TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE produces upon the observer to whom it is new. It seems almost fantastic, so unaccustomed to it are we. But after a comparison of the variety of its details with the decora- tions of the rest of the chateau, we are forced to the con- clusion that this portion of it is almost simple. The more temperate shades which have here been employed, lose somewhat in their startling effect when contrasted with the brilliancy of reds and yellows, and at length we are induced almost to accept this strange melange of orna- ment as beautiful. A large and very artistic looking portrait caught my eye. "That is Philipe de Vibraye," explained the Comte, who had not spoken for some time. "Here is his wife; a fine picture, is it not? That picture beyond, of Mile, de Saumery, is by Mignard. And here we have Mile, de Montpensier, Louise, 'la grandc Mademoiselle,' the cousin of Louis XIII. There are Hurault de Vibrage and his wife, Anne de Thou. You remember I spoke of these pictures before we came in." We paused a moment in front of the portraits of these two personages who had built Cheverny, and then passed on to a beautiful Van Dyke, a portrait of the Comte de Midicis. This, with a beautiful picture of Anne of Austria, and a copy of Raphael, concluded the collection. Before leaving this room, however, in which were gath- ered together so many works of art and so much that was beautiful, we looked for a few moments at the view out of the back windows. It was worth looking at and remembering. Directly opposite, and at the further end of a great lawn, surrounded by shrubs and flowers, stood a beautiful little building, one story in height. The brilliant whiteness of its stone set off the details of a pure bit of Louis XV architecture, and its slate roof rose so high above the round windows of the upi)er portion of the wall, that in any other country than France it would have seemed out of proportion. COUR CHKVKRNY "That was used as an 'ambulance' in the war of 1870," my companion explained, as wc once more emcrjjcd from the chateau. "The great lawn in front, endinjj in one of those lonj,^ vistas, only to be found in French parks, was originally laid out in 'jardins ii la franc^aise," but it is now allowed to produce, in undisturbed tranquillity, an indifferent crop of grass. " Walks and avenues on our right led into bowers of imknown depth and beauty, and clumps of trees, which looked like the opening of a forest, overhung the path. We had no time to test their true extent, however, for the afternoon had worn away before we knew it, and our \'isit was coming to an end all too soon. As we wound our way homeward, through a garden (enclosing within its high, old-fashioned walls, flowers and fruit and all that goes to make a garden alluring to the heart), and through the stable courts, showing here and there a bit of ancient car\-ing, high against a tower, I looked back upon my first experience of an historical chateau, with mingled feelings of pleasure and of disappointment. Like all things which we picture to our minds, it had been different from what I had expected. But like some others also, it had proved more beautiful in many ways than I could have imagined. The first of this group of chateaux, which we had so wished to see, the first of that wonderful galaxy of architectural beauty, the first of that historic group of royal and noble residences, which are famous the world over as the Chateaux of the Loire, had passed before us and was left behind. Even now it had faded away into the shades of the night. 45 T . i i . Y CHAPTER III r , i r , i CHAMBORD Early in the soft summer morning of the following day we left our picturesque auberge in the town of Cour Cheverny. We were soon upon a road that winds up hill and down dale through vineyards and forests by the town of Bracieux, and through the forest of Russy until it reaches the Chateau of Chambord. As we said good-bye to our hostess at the door of the auberge where we had passed the night, the Comte uttered the last of his many recommendations to her in regard to our luggage. He was, indeed, in a great state of excitement, lest it should go wrong. And having already given the gargon full directions in regard to it, and repeated them all to the femme de chambre of the humble establishment, he now proceeded to impress them upon its mistress. "Then you will not fail to send our bags by the first carriage that goes to Chambord, so that they may arrive this evening!" "Oh, soyez tranquille, monsieur; soyez tranquille," was the only answer, and we started at last, though the Comte was not "tranquille" at all. "Oh, my bags, my bags; how I fear for my bags!" said he to himself, when we were already at some distance on the high-road. "You seem very anxious over the bags," said I, with some composure. "The absorbing subject of luggage, as well as the worry about it, seems to occupy a very great 46 t T . T y . i C H A M H O R D place in French minds. In our country we check our lujjU-'K^'. ^^'■^ ^o n*^' bother ourselves about it until it reaches its destination. It is very simple." "Have you not been in France lonjj' enough to learn that nothing is simple here?" replied my companion. "All is more or less complicated, and nothing more so tli.m explanations. We have always to start from the iKginning, to stop and consider each point, then to repeat it all over once so as to impress it upon the mind. Then it has to be repeated a second time, to keep it impressed, and still a third time for the impression to sink deeply into the intelligence and to have its desired effect. Do you suppose, for instance, if I had said to our landlady this morning, 'Ma brave femme, you must send our luggage to Chambord, ' do you suppose there would have been the least chance of its getting there? Cer- tainly not. I was obliged first, to tell her the number of pieces, then where she could find them in the room (without looking for them), then the simplest means of getting them to Chambord, which I found was by the 'diligence' to Bracieux and by a private cart from there. Then I was forced to extract, with some difficulty, the price, and finally to state that I would pay exactly one half of what was asked and that only when the luggage was delivered. All this had to be repeated, over and over again, at least three times. So you see," the Comte concluded triumphantly, "luggage is not such a simple matter, after all." I could not repress a smile, as I asked: "And are you satisfied, even now, of the safety of our bags? ' "Certainly not," was the decided answer, "nor shall I be, until I see them, safe and sound, this evening." By this time we had walked .some distance, and our road was now crossing a plateau covered with vineyards and with, here and there, the trees of a park, broken by the pointed roofs of some smill chateau. Two young i: i . T T . T V . T T . T TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE girls appeared upon the road, with flannel dresses and with white sailor hats. "Evidently English girls," I remarked to my com- panion. "And why not French?" asked the Comte. "Do you suppose," he added, "that in our damp climate of Touraine there are no French girls with golden hair and large blue eyes and fair complexions?" "I am afraid," said I, "that I have too often associated French golden hair with some form of preparation, and French complexion with a good deal of making-up. " "At this rate you leave very little that is genuine to our fair sex," the Comte replied. "But I wish that you would place aside your old associations, with any Puritan prejudices which may have found their way in among them, and consider these two young girls, as examples that are easy to find here. " They were French, after all; I was forced to acknowl- edge it, for their speech, their manners, and even their eyes, were peculiarly Latin, as they passed us by. They were dressed identically alike, and a strong resem- blance told us that they were undoubtedly sisters. The younger of the two was teaching the elder to ride upon a bicycle. The Comte did not approve of this exercise, I think, nor did he find it entirely fitting for these two young girls to be alone upon the high-road to Bracieux. But the roofs of a pretty chateau, half hidden by large chestnut trees, appeared near by and seemed, to the Comte at all events, to be a sort of silent sponsor for these unattended young ladies. He looked ahead in the most dignified manner; but I must confess I allowed a stray glance to wander back to those golden locks, and I had some little difficulty in recalling it again. "Don't, don't," said the Comte. "We shall be taken for tourists of the worst sort." But the temptation was so great that, in spite of my friend's disapproving remark. I looked apain — ami they looked and "our eyes kissed," as a Frenchman would say. This meeting with the two young ladies riding their bicycles upon the high-road did not seem to put the Comte in as pleasant a mood as it did me. Poor Comte, ever so afraid that his foreign companion might not receive the most favorable impression of France and of the French people! Before long, we passed a little village of no importance but very pretty — Tour-en-Sologne. Beyond this, the valley of the river Beuvron runs, for a hundred and twenty-five kilometres, through the country of Sologne. We crossed the road from Blois to Bracieux at right angles, and stopped for a few moments to rest at a little auberge, over whose doorway there hung a sign bearing the familiar inscription, "Loge i pied et h cheval." A small wooden table and two straw-covered chairs were placed at our disposal, in front of this diminutive public-house, and before many moments we were contentedly sipping our proverbial curacoa and water. A young woman was washing and scrubbing the small panes of glass in the windows, for it was Saturday — a washing day the world over. We endeavored to draw her into conversation, but for all our efforts we could but extract the rather laconic answers of "yes" and "no." "So this is the road to Bracieux?" we enquired. "Yes," answered the woman. "Is it a pleasant bourg?" "I don't know. I've never been there." "And the little chateau on our right — to whom does it belong?" I asked. "I don't know. " "What is the name of it?" put in the Comte. "I don't know. I've never been there." "Probably you have just arrived in this part of the country?" suggested the Comte, in some amusement. 40 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE "No; I was born here," replied the girl, somewhat to our astonishment. "And how is your business?" "Oh! Qa ne va point du tout!" with a shrug of her calico-covered shoulders. It was useless to try longer, so the Comte and I contented ourselves with a second glass of curacoa. Carts and wagons on high wheels and innocent of springs were passing by continually, toward the village of Bracieux. Some of these were covered with green can- vas tops, or "baches," as they are called in Sologne. Others were open, and all were filled with peasants and women in white caps; as a rule six or eight of them crowded into each cart. A very fat woman — people are more often fat than thin, we discovered, in this part of France — a large, fat woman stopped in front of the auberge. A basket himg from her arm, and as she opened it, we saw that it was filled with straw and that in the midst of it there lay some eggs. "Vous faut-il point des oeufs aujourd'hui, messieurs?" said this corpulent peasant with an engaging smile. "Merci, la maitresse," answered the woman for us, still scrubbing the windows. "lis sont pourtant point cher; dix-huit sous la douzaine," urged the peasant in a seductive tone. This price must have been very tempting to the woman, for she stopped rubbing the glass, came down from her chair and took from the basket an egg, which she proceeded to shake with all her might. "Sont ils bien frais?" she enquired. "Oui, oui, pondus aujourd'hui," answered the peasant. "Very well, give me two dozen." The two women sat down and counted out the eggs, first one and then the other, and then all over again. The woman of the auberge got one egg pardessus le march6, and they continued to chatter along at a great SO CHAMBORD rate, and we left them still chattering, while the carts were still passing toward Bracieux in an unbroken stream. "Bracieux, Bracieux? The name sounds familiar to me, " said I, as we started once more. "Of course it does," said the Comte. "Who does not know Dumas" "Trois Mousquetaires"? and that le sire de Bracieux plays a conspicuous part in that famous history. The village yonder, with its white steeple, half hidden behind the silver leaves of the willows, bears the same name though hardly the same fame. It is very well known for its market, however, which brings many people to the place every week. It is one of the best in Sologne, and indeed Bracieux is better known for its butcher (who is no mean celebrity) than it is for itself. His meat is greatly sought after by all the neighboring chateaux, and their owners come to Bracieux once a week for supplies. I might even tell you — although you have neglected to ask me — that this butcher sells his meat, at present, for eighteen cents a pound. I say at present, because the price of meat is one of the most conservative things that there are in France. It hardly ever changes more than a sou or two, in a lifetime." "You seem to be a perfect rural encyclopedia, my dear friend." I replied, amused. "One may go to you, and not in vain, even for the price of meat. Really this is most instructive." "Well, well, all things have their importance, and if you had ever directed a chateau in France you would have learned how useful it is to know all these little details. If one entertains a large number of people, not only the guests but the servants, who in any house amount to fourteen or fifteen, have to be looked after and fed. And, pray, who is to see to all this, if not the master?" And here the Comte gave a frantic wave of his hand in the air, as if to emphasize more distinctly his remark. "Nothing in France," he continued, "makes us 5' TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE T , Y r . Y r.'s Y . Y so perfectly wretched as what we call 'coulage. ' We know that there must be a reasonable amount of stealing and cheating; but we wish to have as little as possible. The 'butchers and bakers' come to the chateau but once or twice a week, so you may imagine how much there is to think of for that unfortunate person who has to arrange for the welfare of its inmates during the inter- vening days. "In America, you see," the Comte continued (gestic- ulating violently with every available portion of his body), "in America, the longer you live, the less you seem to need your servants, and I may add, the more useless your servants seem to become. Machinery and other inven- tions take their place. But old-world people have still retained the old traditions and the old ways of doing things. Therefore we need a large number of people about us. In fact, my dear friend, we really could not do without them." This last bit of information the Comte imparted in a confidential whisper, as if the whole world were listening and he were telling me a state secret. And so the conversation ended. We soon plunged into the valley, and crossed the river Beuvron over an old stone bridge, whose three pictur- esque arches were in a somewhat ruined condition. "What a sad-looking stream!" remarked my compan- ion. "It seems as if it had been draining up some of the sadness from the country around it. It is like a stream of jet-black ink, winding its way amid the weeping reeds which half conceal it. The whole valley is like a great swamp, over which Nature has spread a green carpet, spotted here and there with pink and yellow. I think it must hide, among its folds, some treacherous pits or holes. It seems odd to think that forty years ago this portion of the country, lying close to Touraine, which is the 'garden of France' and known as Sologne, was all as unhealthy and desolate as this particular place. There i • 9 i . Y Y . Y Y . Y V . Y C H A M B O R D was nothing to be seen, for miles and miles, but swamps or woods. The water was stajjnant; trees were few and scattered. Houses and small fanns were to be seen here and there; but their owners were attacked by fever. There were but few roads, and those were poorly kept. "In later years, however, with proper drainage and cultivation, all Solojjne has become healthy and habit- able. Some parts of it are now so fertile, that they yield as good and as abundant crops as any portion of France. The trees, which would not grow before, on account of the dampness, are now able to live, and even flourish. And indeed the forests have become so beautiful and so full of game, that Sologne is now known as 'le Paradis des Chasseurs." But at the same time an air of mystery hangs over it all, such as woods and water may alone bestow, and this is perhaps one of the greatest attractions of the country. In spite of its many advances, civiliza- tion seems still to linger upon the threshold of Sologne; and that false knowledge which civilization often brings with it as an offspring of its advantages, has not yet spoilt the peasants of this region. One feels that among them there is still a field for good work, and this feeling in itself produces one of peace and happiness to those who live among them. Each year, of course, this very sentiment diminishes; but nevertheless, one enjoys it while it yet lasts." 'Could you not make it last forever, or at least for some time longer, by fighting against this invasion of civilization?" I enquired. "Oh, no. I fear that nothing of the kind would be of any use. There is no human power which could stop it. It must be, and I suppose that one day we shall see its advantages. For the present, it brings no good whatever, nothing but rebellion against that which has always been and which is only replaced, in these days, by something 5.^ i . f T , i f . ( T . T TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE undesirable. Periods of social transition, my friend," the Comte continued, shaking his head, "beware of them; beware of them. The reaction will come one day, however; and may it be a sound one when it does." "I fear that Providence alone will have to create this reaction, for you do not seem to help her much in the matter," I ventured to remark. "Well, yes, perhaps, perhaps. But let us drop the subject. I suppose we must endure those things which we cannot avoid. ' ' "And that through your own fault, you old fogy conservatives," I added, with a smile. "Ah, I know it. But, mj' friend, I cannot fight alone, so let us drop the subject, as I already suggested, and live for a while in this crumbling past which has for us conservatives such a saddened fascination. What could give us a better opportunity than Chambord? Remains of great things and great men, both have their fascina- tion. Remains of rank, royalty, and riches must and do have this, more than anything else, indescribably more than those things which claim to interest us without them. ' ' We pursued our way for some time in deep silence. A little in front of us, and close to the stream, there appeared in sight a pretty "gentilhommiere," of the fifteenth cen- tury, whose high-pointed roofs were just visible through the poplar trees which mounted guard upon the banks. Its name was Villesavin. The yellow walls, pierced here and there by ornamented windows, showed in a mild relief against the green about them. "Let us stop and ask if we may visit this place," said the Comte. "It makes me think of some nest con- taining birds, built upon a reed bending over the river. It should be half concealed, like this, by wide, pointed leaves and should show only when the wind moved them aside. The bird is called Loriot, I believe. His plumage m^m C H A M U O R D is beautiful and bripht. Do let us take one look at the bird that inhabits this nest." "Yuu might liken it to a cage as well as to a nest," I answered, "for see how small is the park which surrounds it." "Yes, that is tnie; but cage or nest, let us try and get into it." And we walked along, beside the gray walls of the inclosure, until we came to a modem gateway, placed between two round towers that seemed, on the con- trary, to be fairly overwhelmed with age. We pulled at the iron bell-rope, and an answer came back to us, in the deep, bass note of the bell. Soon after, the key turned in the door and an old woman, who looked as if she might be an elder sister to the two towers, poked out her head just far enough for us to see a pointed nose and a still more pointed chin. She looked not unlike the wicked fair)-, who used always to be present at the christening of bygone princesses, and to throw upon thera her enchantment. "May we visit the park and the chateau?" enquired the Comte. "I will go and see," muttered the old woman, between her toothless jaws, and so saying, she closed the postern once more upon us, and we could see only the tops of the trees sweeping over the high walls. They were so thick that their branches seemed to intermingle, as if centuries had passed since they were first planted, and as if all had fallen asleep since then and still slept, thus leaving the trees to grow unmolested and in all directions. They were so thick that their branches, covered with ever- greens and ix-y, seemed almost impenetrable. We waited outside for some time, sitting upon a large stone. The footsteps of the old fair)- sounded, in a strange staccato, upon the graveled path. Soon they grew indistinct. A murmur of voices, brought by a gust of wind, came toward us, and died away ; all was silent again. 55 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE "How strangely unreal, how sad, and yet how allur- ing is this place!" said the Comte. "I feel as if we were upon the threshold of some haunted or secret palace which we were about to enter, and from which we were never to return. They are discussing whether or not we are worthy to be received into these sacred precincts; and we are awaiting their decision with beating hearts. "They take certainly time enough to make up their minds," said I. "Perhaps it is a chance, a last chance, which Heaven gives us, to escape from that fate which overhangs all who go therein. Let us wait no longer. I am afraid; yes, I feel afraid to cross the threshold of this crumbling door. Let us hasten away from this haunted place, and as we flee, let us not cast our eyes behind us, lest they meet those of the old fairy who seems to have already thrown a strange and mysterious charm over me and over my thoughts. For pity's sake, I entreat you to leave. The gray towers, the trees, the walls with their clusters of leaves so dark that they seem almost black, how they all stare at us, as if somehow we were a prey to them. But hark! There are the steps upon the gravel. They grow more distinct. They are louder. It is too late to run — too late. " And the postern opened, only ajar, showing a deep wall of green and a path winding its way through it and lost in a further one, greener, deeper, thicker yet. The pointed nose and the still more pointed chin of the wicked fairy made their way through a crack of the door, and at last, a husky, hollow voice cried, in a dissonant key: "Young men, this is an abode of love. Behind these bowers and walls of stone, a god, my master, conceals the goddess of his dreams. Woe to that man who shall lose himself in this veil of mystery; and woe to him who, wandering through these paths, shall cross the winged god. His arrow, poisoned, never misses its S6 C H A M B O R 1) mark. Go, younp men, and retrace your steps. Beware, lest you ring this bell again, for Love might escape from the door, ajar, and the master would jiursue you. Woe, woe to you, if you should cross his path!" And the door banged to, so hard that the towers of stone seemed to shake, and the trees seemed to whisper "beware!" "Well, my dear fellow, if this is what you called French hospitality, many thanks for it." "Do not joke about such serious matters," returned the Comte, in the most concerned manner. "This woman will bring to us some ill luck ; I feel sure of it. Why did we stop? Why did we ever ring this cursed bell?" "So you believe in the evil ej-e, then?" I asked. "Oh, no. But there is, however, in all of those who belong to the Latin races, a latent germ of superstition which cannot be killed, and against which we fight in vain. Therefore, let us drop a heavy curtain over Villcsavin and its impressions; let us blot it out from our lives and never mention it or think of it again." "Very well," said I, and turning toward the object of our aversion I added: "Farewell, wicked fair}'; good-bye forever, and welcome the beautiful forest of Russy!" "Here we are, at the very entrance of the forest," broke in my friend, "on the avenue called 'I'all^e du Roi.' It is so long and straight, that it is lost in the hori- zon, without making a single cur\'e. The trees, which join over our heads like the vaults of a flamboyant cathedral, grow nearer together in the distance, and the vaults grow smaller, until they seem finally to join, far away before us. I wonder if you see all this as I do, and if you feel the same enchanted air hanging over evcr>-thing?" and the Comte turned to me with an enquiring look, as he added, "I wish that I could make you understand the fears and expectations which are passing through my mind just now. You know that I -?- TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE Y . T T . T r . Y i , T have been longing to see Chambord for many years, and I can hardly realize now, that in less than an hour it will be before me. I ask myself, whether or not, it will come up to ray expectations, whether it will be the reality of what I have always pictured it in my mind. For Chambord has, in the minds of all true Royal- ists, a frame, a setting, which is an intrinsic part of the picture, of the stone. In my own case, this is of so high a standard that I fear the picture and the stone will be less beautiful than I had fancied them. The setting to Chambord is royalty itself, not that royalty which is made of gold and precious stones, and surrounded by glories, honors and pleasures— royalty with its intrigues, its scan- dals and its courtesans (the inevitable satellites of power and fame); but that royalty which is surrounded by delusions and by exile, a royalty made of far greater glory, of purity of soul, of the greatness of hon- esty, of peace of mind and heart, and of true friends, truer perhaps because they were the friends of misfor- tune. It was personified by le Comte de Chambord, who would have been Henry V of France in 1871 had he been willing to exchange the white fleur-de-lis6e flag of his ancestors for the tricolored one of the French nation. "Chambord was bought in 1821, by subscription, for $300,000, and on the 7th of February, 1830, the French people presented it to the grandson of Charles X, le due de Bordeaux, who took, in exile, the title of Comte de Cham- bord. And now, when a true Frenchman, who bears in his heart an impartiality which permits him to judge that which is best, in a country influenced by prejudice or old political opinion, when he makes his way, I say, toward that Chambord given by a people to their king (who never reigned as king, and who resided there only for one day), all seems filled, not only with the souvenirs, but with the presence of one who knew to be great in exile, as great perhaps as if he had been reigning, king. Ah, I 58 -^ T . V T/i V.T CH AMBOR 1) wonder if Chambord will really be what I have pictured it." And the Comte ended his long speech in an impress- ive whisper, almost to himself. I could well imagine, although it was impossible for me to share all of them, the feelings which were governing the mind and the imagination of my companion. And I could fully sympathize with this old Royalist, thus visit- ing for the first time this scat of history and of much that he held dear both in principles and in politics. The scenes which surrounded us increased every moment his feelings of loyalty to the old rdgime of France, and the general remorse which he shared for its upheaval and its overthrow. "This approach is certainly ver}- beautiful," said I. "This forest is indescribably imposing, with its lofty trees. Oaks and elms rise sixty feet above the ground. Their branches intermingle and link with one another, like giants' arras, as if thus to lift themselves higher and higher. The heavy leaves which crown all seem to whisper to each other. I wish that I could hear what they are saying, for I am sure it must be in praise of him who is no more, of the last Royal master of Cham- bord, although he passed but once beneath these noble trees, these royal arches, designed by man and carried out by Nature." "Oh, my dear friend," replied the Comte, with enthusiasm, "if you could know how everything around speaks to me of him who would have made the happiness of France! Look at these ferns, growing out of this mossy bed, in the shade of the giant trees. Look at these, just coming out of the ground. Their first leaves are scarcely out, and they lift their heads already toward the sky, as if they thought that in one year they might meet these giant companions." As he spoke a distant bell tolled twelve o'clock. We crossed the "rendezvous de chassc," where the ave- 59 * . T T . y Y . r TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE nues of "Pologne" and "du Roy," with five others, meet and depart again in all directions from the pointed fingers of a white sign-post. Here, the forest is composed entirely of pine trees, and the air is scented, far and near, by their fragrant odor. We sit down to rest, leaning against a young tree swayed to and fro by the wind as it passes by. And we dream and muse on all around, on the beauty of Nature and on the chateau which we are so soon to see. We listen to the wind and the trees, and we seem to hear the waves of an eastern sea as they break over the sandy beach — loud and louder, then soft again, but alwaj^s with a wonderful depth and an indefiniteness which holds us in an increasing expecta- tion. Another wave bi-eaks, prouder and louder than the last — breaks with the roar of thunder — on the sand. Can you not hear it? It is the wind playing with the pines. As we come nearer to Chambord the scenery becomes sadder and more barren. The trees of the forest are now small and far apart. Vegetation seems to fade away and to die almost, as if unable to live longer in the heart of so much glor>' passed awa}'. "What a strange contrast this is," said the Comte, "and how in keeping is such sadness with one's inner feelings! Passed monarchy! What is there sadder than its crumbled glory, if it be not the death of old and hon- ored institutions? And what is there more barren or more shallow, if it be not the barrenness and shallowness of modern ones? See, even the trees partake of my feelings. They are shrivelled up, for they need the air of royalty to make them grow. ' ' "But, my dear friend," I broke in, "why are you, with all your loyalty to the old regime and its royalty, with much of which I sympathize, why are you, with it all, so full of prejudice and narrow-mindedness?" "That I do not know," replied the Comte, "perhaps you may account for that better than I. But how could 60 C H A M B O R D we part with the only thing left to us of our past ideal, the souvenir of bygone greatness? They have tried to take everything from us; but one thing, however, is left to us — at least I suppose it is — the liberty of thought." We continued upon our road, in silence, for some time after this; and at last there arose, out of the heath and the stunted underbrush around us, a long line of a greenish hue broken here and there by whiter places. This line of green trees (for so it proved to be) is unbroken for many miles, on the right as well as on the left; but directly in front of us, and on the road, is an open space of several metres. "The park!" exclaimed the Comte, taking hold of my arm. "Excuse me, my dear friend, my limbs give way beneath me. May I lean upon your arm? Imagine — the park of ChambordI We are treading upon sacred soil. We are about to traverse that avenue so often rutted by the royal equipages of Francois I and his court, of Henry II and a hundred others, coming in a long, illus- trious line, down to the present master, the Due de Parme, Comte de Bardi." And as we passed through the modern gateway, with its house also modem with its roof of red tiles and its walls of gray, I saw the Comte lift his hat in respect, as if he were passing a cross at the comer of two roads, and I should not wonder if he had tears in his eyes. "Five thousand hectares of park — twenty-four kilo- metres of walls, at least — five farms, a church, a village — five hundred inhabitants — an income of thirty thousand dollars a year — how great this park is!" I heard the Comte mumbling to himself, as we were walking over the avenue leading through the park. "There is a small roof," he continued. "It must be one of the farms. I wonder if it could be the one called 'Litia,' after one of the children of Berthier, Prince de Wagram, who owned 6i TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE Y , Y Y . Y Y.Y Y . Y Chambord at the beginning of this century. It had been given to him by Napoleon." "What a pity the trees are not better here!" I put in casually. "Yes, of course. But they were not so when Royalty owned Chambord, when Francois I, Francois II, Henri II, Louis XIII, hunted among these beautiful avenues at the heels of a royal pack of hounds. I almost feel as if we should meet them at a turning of the road. Do you know why the trees are so small and so scarce here?" "Because of the Republic, I suppose, and possibly because the soil is bad," I replied, jokingly. "It may be for both these reasons," added my friend, rather stiffly, I thought, "and to these I will add a third. It is because the 'New Aristocracy,' which was repre- sented here in the person of la Princesse de Wagram, was always more or less in need of money. It was she ordered trees cut down, to increase her income, and finally, I believe, she rented Chambord to an English- man for 4, ooo francs a year. She was afterwards allowed to sell it, and was going to do so to 'la bande noire'; but Chambord was saved from destruction by the sub- scription, with which it was bought for le Due de Bordeaux." "Poor Princesse de Wagram ! You would have had her starve to death, I suppose, rather than sell a tree. But, nevertheless, I can but agree with you that it is almost a sacrilege to cut down beautiful trees, especially in such a place and such a park as this." "It must be well-nigh impossible for any one, even royalty, to use Chambord as a residence," mused the Comte, half to me and half to himself, as we walked on arm in arm. "I have been told that the revolution of 1793 left not a single piece of furniture in the chateau, and that when Napoleon wished to refurnish it for the princes of Spain, during their exile, he was told that it would cost 63 i CHAMBORD Y . Y Y . Y Y . Y Y , Y 9,000,000 francs. Four hundred and forty rooms are not easy to furnish. Oh, there is the castle now!" And, in fact, there appeared, just over the hill which we were climbing, and some miles away, a mass of spires, cam- paniles, high stone chimneys and carved stone windows, the whole showing in relief against the dark slate of the roofs. It was not unlike a confused mass of stone open- work, in different shades. In a few minutes all disap- peared once more behind a bit of shrubbery. We crossed another "rendezvous de chasse," surrounded by well trimmed fir trees. Alleys and paths, now in good order, now altogether wild, crossed and recrossed each other, and we were forever upon the long, straight road with the "campanile" of Chambord showing, from time to time, in the centre of the open space before us. As we drew nearer, the roofs and pinarets grew more and more distinct, though still far from us. The great, gray mass seemed to grow up slowly out of the ground, suggesting the effect of a mirage, in a wilderness. - "Are you not overwhelmed with a sense of almost overpowering sadness?" said the Comte. "Yes, indeed, I am," was my reply. "It gives an impression of solitude, of silence, of fear lest anything might come to disturb the fascination of this wilderness, — a wilderness which has not, perhaps, the grandiose effect of a true wilderness, but which has the depth of a past without a present. Life seems to have shrunk from this place, and one fears that it may come back to disturb the stillness of death." "Yes, yes," the Comte rejoined, "it is a monument, bom of Royalty, which needed Royalty, to live, and which will sleep in death-like quiet until its Royalty returns. " "And therefore has a good chance to sleep forever," I put in. "Who can tell? The wheel of fortune, you know, is a capricious one and may turn once more, so that it points 63 4 . Y Y . Y Y . Y TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE to the royal blue of France, leaving the Republic aside. That which turns in French minds is even more capricious than the wheel of fortune," answered the Comte, more to himself than to me. As he spoke, we emerged into a rather bare and arid plain, stretching away for some distance, and cut by large, straight avenues, which ran between great squares of unkempt grass. Some sickly-looking linden trees alone held up their shortened branches in the foreground, and seemed to deplore the fact that they had not lived and died three centuries before. And here a gigantic pile of stone seemed to have arisen from the ground. Surrounded by its majestic air of sadness and dignitj', impossible to describe, and yet impossible to escape from in the presence of this great being, it seemed to have a soul, and yet to be more ghost than real. Its four open cupolas arose, like accompanying guards, about the stone fleur-de-lis, which held its head above them all, in the centre of the great campanile. And their massive towers beneath seemed to stand as the great circular supporters of the whole. An almost fairy-like interweaving, of stones, pilasters and monumental chim- neys, of lace work and balustrades, of cornices and carv- ing, surmounted the whole, and arose like the neck and shoulders of this vast creature whose body was the don- jon of the chateau. And yet, as the visitor stands, like a pigmy, beside this wonderful architectural creation, enveloped in its gray shroud of sadness and solitude, the details begin, one by one, to stand out, and to become more visible. The chimneys, especially, which by a wonderful art have become the chief ornaments of Chambord, add their beauty, at all points, to that roof which has made it such a marvel of the French Renais- sance, untouched by Italian influence. The whole is encircled by a massive cornice, made of Renaissance shells, which seem to bend beneath the wealth of the <~'// € C H A M B O R 1) carv'inp above them. A little lower down, and to the rijjht and left, come the straight lines of the roofs which join the donjon to the round, comer towers. And lower still come the walls, hard and dry, not even softened by the gray hues of time. They are cold and bare, cut by high windows close together, and divided at each story l>y the strong horizontal lines which alone endeavor to relieve their nudity. It is strange that as the eye falls lower and lower toward the ground, this bare simplicity shows in stronger contrast to the warmth and artistic wonders of the roofs. The roofs of Chambord ! What a note the words strike upon the heart! What a magic they hold for all those who know them, or who have seen them! What a thrill of artistic and historic great- ness they contain ! What a world they are within them- selves, high up above the head, as we stand before the castle gate, high and higher every moment, as we approach, till they seem almost to hang upon the air in the soft light of the departing day! Thus appears the south facade: nearly forty metres high and one hundred and fifty-six metres long. The Comte began speaking to himself as we stood, still gazing at the chateau. "And here it has been standing for more than three hundred years," said he, breaking in upon my revery. "Here it has been since 1523, when Francois I ordered it to be erected by Trinquaux, an architect of Blois, as a hunting lodge — a royal hunting lodge, in the midst of the w^ildemess of Sologne, close to a little stream called !e Cosson, whose yellow, muddy waters wind in and out among the surrounding trees! What a curious idea! ~But I suppose that 'le Roi Chevalier* required change and diversion, so that his love for hunting led him to choose the best countrj' for hunting rather than the most beautiful. In 1538 Chambord was nearly completed. How beautiful it must have been then ! And no wonder 6S ^a^a^^^^^a TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE that it caused 'Charles-quint' to utter a cry of admiration. It is both curious and interesting to note how the walls grow richer and richer as they approach the roofs, where they reach the climax of their art and their perfection." Here I could not refrain from remarking: "I fear, my dear friend, that curiosity and interest are so tenderly amalgamated in your mind that I shall soon have to invent a new name for the resulting combination of these two predominant qualities in your character. Curiosity and interest ! How much they mean to Frenchmen in gen- eral and to you in particular! Hereafter, when you wish to speak of them both say only 'interest,' and I promise you I will always take the other for granted. You will forgive my little interruption, I am sure." And the Comte continued in as forgiving a manner as was possible under the circumstances: -JL^ "Chambord was built as a hunting lodge, and so it was constructed with a view to overlooking the chase in the park. Thus the roofs became the most important part, since they were to be used as a rendezvous for the court to watch the huntsmen in the distance. It is for this reason that the richness of decoration is centered there, rather than upon the walls of the castle. Another strange thing, of which Chambord is an exponent, is the fact that the architects and the architectural schools in the time of French Renaissance seem to have fallen into strange insignificance, considering the importance of that architectural period. Indeed, the Italian influence was so strongly felt in everything at that time, that it has even ascribed the conception of Chambord to the great Italian, le Primatice, although this seems well-nigh impossible, for the latter was not in France at the time, as there was a war between France and Italy. It is extraordinary, however, how strong the Italian feeling is, in all that architecture which we call French Renaissance. Italy and Italian art seem to have been embraced, on all sides 66 CHAMiH)RD and at all points, throxighout these chateaux of Touraine. I suppose, of course, that Catherine de Medici was largely responsible for it, and it is in this perhaps that she impressed her existence, and its after effects, upon France, more than in anything else. It is wonderful to think how much art Henry II brought into his nation and among his people when he asked the famous Italian princess to be "la Reine de France." It is wonderful to think of the power which one human being may possess and may exercise upon people and peoples yet unborn, upon a nation whose age and position may impress that power throughout the civilized world, and hand it down to posterity. And what is it, my dear friend, which has created this wonderful power in the past and present of history and which still continues to create it wherever it chances to exist to-day? What? Why, it is Royalty! Royalty alone has been able to do it in the past, and Royalty alone is capable of doing so to-day, and of doing so to-morrow. Run over the greatest individual influ- ences of the world in your mind, taking their lasting effects upon art, architecture, religion, politics, govern- ment, manners, customs, or institutions, anything, in short, which goes to make a nation great among its neighbors, and you will see more than a little truth in what I say." As the Comte was speaking we left the south facade of the castle and walked along by the great west walls, leav- ing upon our left the little church, situated some hundred yards away. Its newly repaired facade was half hidden by the trees around, and its miniature steeple — the exact copy of one of the monumental chimneys of the castle — threw its shadows over the nave, to give a softening, gray efifect to the milk-white stone. Before us and still a little to the left stood our hotel, a building like a thou- sand others all over France, looking suspiciously like a square box, covered with white mortar. "Hotel du 67 TWO GENTLEiMEN IN TOURAINL T , T T . T j^ r.¥ V . y Grand St. Michel" was written in large black letters beneath the cornice. "Hotel du Grand St. Michel," read the Comte. "The twenty-ninth of September is its feast day, and the birthday of our dead King, Henri, Comte de Chambord. What a date is that for all French Royalists, and what an odd souvenir of it, is this awk- ward, uninteresting, two-storied hotel I Does it not seem strange?" Yes, it was strange. Stranger still beneath the shadow of the great historic pile of stones near-by and beside the picturesque stream which ran quietly upon the left of the small, square courtyard, dotted with round tables, at which sat numbers of mixed tourists. Carriages of different degrees and station in the world were passing to and fro, some bringing the chatelaines of the neighbor- hood and their guests to visit the old "monument" of Sologne, and others, not so attractive, filled with annoy- ing specimens of that most annoying class known as tourists. A number of bicycles were also to be seen, surmounted by men who might have been described as 'moth-eaten,' and by colossal women who appeared even more gigantic than usual, in their endeavors to appear graceful. They seemed to emerge from all sides, herald- ing their aiTival, and greeting one another with shrieks (such as only a French bicyclist can give birth to), and by that never-ceasing "dring, dring, dring," which issues from a nickel-plated bell upon the handle. Truly the bicycle is a modern invention which embodies the very quintessence of modernism. Modernism seems to burst forth from every spoke of the bicycle's wheel. Modern- ism seems to have settled like a hopeless canker upon each and every votary of the Goddess of Bicycles. In another century the latter will have found a place in mythology. But at Chambord it was like the buzzing of a thousand bees, filling the air on our left, while on the right rose the white mass, the chateau, erect and silent, 68 i . T T . i V , Y V . Y T . V J.. Y.i C H A M B () R D lifting its proud and beautiful head in unspeakable disap- proval of this sacrilege of modern days. It was more eloquent, and spoke more for the greatness of those gone by than any voice or pen could tell. And the criticism of it all, from both of us, was: "Great and beautiful indeed, but cold and sad." At this moment some ten or fifteen tourists, escorted by a guide, came out of the chateau through one of the great archways. As they parted they dropped the little "pitce blanche" into the hand of the guide, a "pour- boire ' for which some were not even thanked. "I wonder what the impressions of those people are," remarked the Comte, as they dispersed. "It seems to mc, that if I saw Chambord in such a way — hurried and pushed through the rooms, not unlike a letter through a pneumatic tube — I should wish never to come back to it. " "Verj' few are as fortunate as we," I rejoined, "to see the castle as we wish to, by special admission. Let us wait until sunset, when every one will have left, and then we will go in and wander at our leisure through those vast halls whose pillaged walls have looked down upon so much historj-. We will mount the wonderful staircase to the roofs, where we may see the sun go down in the centre of the western vista from the campanile." It was after seven when we passed under the same archway in the middle of the western faqade. We found ourselves almost immediately in the inner courtyard, from whose centre rises the donjon. The walls are long, low buildings of one and two stories. The central portion of Chambord, the donjon, is surrounded on three sides by this courtyard, and on the fourth side it coincides with the north facade, so as to make one great even wall, cut ecjually by four round towers. "Here we have the customary plan, upon which feudal chateaux were built," said the Comte, as we paused in the great court, to take in the scene. 'First, there is 69 lYAAtAAYAA'i: i . Y Y , Y Y . Y Y . Y TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE always a great square mass, with its proverbial round towers, enclosing the whole chateau. Then there comes a smaller pile of stones, with towers also — the donjon. Custom has preserved these plans and their ancient names, so that if, in the sixteenth centurj', we find towers and donjons and battlements, they are onlj^ as ornaments and as the beautified remains of past feudality." Our guide, taking from a large bunch of keys the largest one, turned it in the rusty lock of the donjon door. The hea\y oak swung open before us. We entered, and it banged behind, banged with a moaning, an almost tearful noise, like the cry of a child. The sound, echoed by the stone vaults, came back to us, ten times repeated. Instinctively we turned as if to depart, to leave this cold, damp atmosphere where the frosts of winter seemed no more to penetrate than the warmth of summer. But the door was already locked behind us, and my friend and I were alone; alone in the great, deserted chateau of Chambord. We were standing in one of the four "Salles des Gardes." These are forty feet long and thirty feet wide, and they form the arms of a Greek cross whose centre is occupied by the wonderful, double staircase. These four giant halls occupy the greater part of the donjon and reach to the roofs, except, as is now the case, where they have been broken by floors which cut them at the different stories. Before we realized it, our surroundings had torn the present, the living present, from us, and had carried us back to the dead, the dying past, which fascinates one so that one cannot escape from its grasp. We were as if petrified. We seemed riveted to the flagstone on which we stood. Perhaps we feared to move, lest each step taken by us should be brought back in a thousand echoes, from the vaulted ceilings of the "Salles des Gardes." As we looked up at them we could see those compart- ments into which the stone was furrowed to encase the CHAMBORD salamander of Francois I, which, according to some, is able to exist in lire and, according to others, cxtin^juishes it by its ver)' coldness. In every other compartment appeared the royal F, surmounted by the crown of France, and surrounded by the "Cordon de St. Fran9ois. " "St. Francois was the founder of the Franciscan fathers, who still wear the same cordon about their waists," said the Comte to me, almost in a whisper. A ray of hght, dimmed by the growing twilight, reached us, through the crack of a door which stood ajar upon the left. As if drawn on by an enchanted hand, we crept toward it, entered, and found ourselves in a large, square room. Some six or eight state coaches caught the eye, in unexpected brilliancy. The panelings and trap- pings were of dark blue. In the centre of the boxes shone the three golden fleurs-de-lis, upon azure — the royal arms of France. They were surrounded by the lilies of France, painted upon blue. A royal crown sur- mounted the whole, while at the upper comers of the coach and at intervals along the top were smaller crowns of silver. The hammer cloth was dark blue also, heavily fringed with gold ; and the state coach of the king was lined with white satin, quilted with gold. "And this is all that is left of Royalty," the Comte broke in on the impressive silence, "eight carriages, ordered by le Comte de Chambord from a Paris carossier. And they have remained here ever since, untouched, unused, as if waiting in a sort of stupor for something which will never be. Each morning they are dusted carefully, as if the king were to drive out in them that day. How long will it last? We know not. Once a presumptuous man dared to ascend the king's carriage, and there niffle the white satin of the cushions. Since that day the door of this room has been locked, and the car- riages stand, imtouched, unseen, except by a few who, by special favor, may look at them without touching." 7« TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE We turned from the coaches, and were once more in one of the "Salle des Gardes" and standing at the foot of the wonderful staircase, the climax of Chambord in beauty and in conception, a chef d'oeuvre of art, of execution, and of wealth of detail. The staircase is com- pletely isolated, and runs, like one great shaft, intricately chiseled into two winding stairs which unfold themselves, within the lacework of the whole, up to the roof. These two staircases, twisted into one, twined about one another like a braid of hair, make it possible for two persons to start from the bottom and to mount to the very top, without once meeting, although they are visible to one another, through the lacework of the ornamental carving. We started in this way, feeling our way up the white stone steps, for it was now almost dark. When I had lost sight of my companion, who had ascended the other staircase, it seemed as if the last link which held the present to the past had parted. And as I mounted, the past seemed to surround me more and more at every step. At last I was forced to stand aside, so as to allow the people to pass, the crowds of people who inhabited the chateau and who were ever passing and repassing over the great staircase. Soldiers, valets, gentlemen and ladies of the court were meeting one another and passing me at every turn. Some were descending to fulfil an order; others were proudly ascending to the private apartments of the king. All were beautifully attired, and greeted one another with a nod of the head, with a smile. Priceless tapestries hung from the walls, and drowned the sounds of their steps. The "frou-frou" of silks, the "cliquetis" of swords, the "chuchotments" of love — it was all there, the life of Chambord. And to-day? . . . The walls are bare and damp. The sounds are uncanny. Our voices, half restrained in our throats by some unconscious fear, come back to us nevertheless, increased and rendered 72 C H A M U O R D harsh by the echoing of the stone. It is the death of Clmmbord. We have reached the top. The network of stones is lost within the furrowed vaults. The double staircase has become a single mass, that springs up into the air over the roofs, one hundred feet above the ground. And still higher up, lost almost in the fleeting light, the great, central "campanile" crowns the whole edifice, and ends in the stone fleur-de-lis that blooms over all. We tread the topmost stair; we pass through a little door, which causes us to bend the head, and we come out, at last upon the roofs — the famous roofs of Chambord. Is it possible to forget our first impressions of bewilderment, of ecstasy, when we set foot upon those roofs, upon those hanging avenues and streets, lined with the fairest jewels of architecture? The four principal ave- nues start from the central crowning of the staircase, and run, north, east, south and west, to the stone balustrade, which surrounds the entire roof. On either side of these four aerial avenues, which are really but the roofs of the four great chambers of the chateau, through which we entered, and which are the continuance of the motive of the Greek cross, arise pile upon pile of rich decorative detail. Windows, whose massiveness and ornaments would alone make a miniature chateau, burst forth from the roofs, around, above, at each new turn. And higher still the chimneys of the roofs of Chambord seem to grow from the very midst of this wealth of ornament and beauty. Here, even more predominant than in the smaller pilasters, is seen the motif of stone lozenges inlaid with black slate. It is indeed impossible to tell this slate from marble, although it would seem otherwise. "The orii^inal plans provided for black Italian marble," said the Comte to me, as we stood in silent admiration of this detail, "but it was impossible to obtain this at the moment of construction, owing to the war between 73 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE T . T V . t T . V France and Italy; so the slate was substituted and proved so good an imitation that it has been left, ever since. See, the most exquisite ornamentation of the chimneys is about their tops, where the delicacy of the artist's taste seems fairly to have reached a climax." And as we wandered on, almost buried beneath these masses of genius which loomed up on every side, the great heart of all, the climax of that inimitable staircase, the zenith of the artist's power, the central "campanile" of Chambord, loomed ever above the rest and stood before us whether we turned to the right or to the left. Eight arches, flanked by columns, with pilasters behind them, enclosing the top of the staircase in the form of an octa- gon, rose directly from the centre of the roofs. These arches were twenty-four feet in height and supported another tier above. But here the solid wall and the arches filled with glass windows were replaced by a form of flying buttress, if one might call them so, whose mas- sive tops made them almost an arch, cut in twain by the circular staircase, mounting ever in the centre, toward the top. Beneath the shade of these eight arches radiating from the stair one could walk, and leaning over the carved stone balustrade look here again upon the beauty of the ornamented roofs. And as we gazed, we could see great medallions carved in the stone, which bore the ever recurring salamander and the royal F, surmounted by the crown of France. It would seem that here the artistic longings of the most excessive nature were fully realized, and that no more was needed; but there is still more. Still more, above ; still more, higher and higher. Still more, though we mount the now tiny stair into the "campanile" and the "belvidere," crowned by the topmost fleur-de-lis. Let us then take a sweeping glance around, for we may not have another half so grand, half so fair, or half so high, while we are in the old Touraine which lies before 74 i 'i' ill C H A M H () R I) Y . V V . i t.t Y . V us, there in the last orange glow of the departed sun. And if we follow these avenues of the roof below us, if we wind our way around these great towers, around the high and pointed roofs of slate, we may well imagine our- selves in some fairj'land. This maze of cupolas, of domes, of towers, appears more bewildering to us than ever. And we lean against the stone, in an artistic intox- ication, so overpowering is it. Oh, matchless evening of an August day! You have already covered the ground with a mantle of sleepiness, which seems to hang over everything and to cast its shadow. The green trees in the plain, a hundred feet below, seem to slumber in the shade. Wearied looking and dark, they scarcely show against the ground. A long line of silvery gray winds its way amidst the trees. It is the tiny river Cosson, catching the reflected rays of the Starr}' heavens. But we, who are so high above, we still catch the mauve tint of the last hour of the day. It is a faint glimmer which gi%-es not strength enough to live by itself, but only to form the subject and the sur- roundings of a dream. The day is at an end, and we are left, still leaning against the "campanile," whose wings look like those of some great firefly. The long shadows around us are of the same pale color as the sky. No sound, no breath dis- turbs the silence. These marvels of artistic genius alone speak to us from every side. Their splendor is brought out the more by the very contrast of flowering beauty with the fading of decay. Here a lace-work colonnade, here a stone tower arises, before unnoticed. The faces of the gargoyles make strange grimaces at us in the even- ing light. Carj-atids, with features that express strange thoughts and strange emotions, look down upon us in the gloom. One might well give them the names of mis- tresses and courtiers and monarchs that have passed, for they are surrounded by the air of other days. Indeed, 75 i . r T , V T . V TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE under the weight of such overpowering beauty as they support, our own eyelids close, and we are in another world, with scenes and characters surrounding us that have long passed into history. A strange, dreamy atmosphere attends us. The faint sounds of distant music reach the ear. The hand of some fairy seems to have placed a light in the open cam- panile, beneath the fleur-de-lis. It is "le feu du roi. " It burns only when the king is present. Lines of Venetian lanterns and tiny lamps, of stained glass, are hung across the avenues, above the head, or twined about the towers. Large orange trees, brought recently from Italy, are planted in wooden boxes, and perfume the air with the intoxicating odor of bridal flowers. They are grouped here and there, in clusters, about the windows of the roofs or of the great towers. In the shadows of their branches there are tables spread out, laden with fruits and wines and flowers in gold and silver dishes. Valets and servants hover around, and give last touches to the decorations. And it is not difficult to see that some large entertainment will take place. Soon the murmur of voices, coming as if from the court below, reaches the ear. The murmur increases in a crescendo, like the ninth wave of a summer sea, till it breaks and falls upon us. The door leading from the double staircase onto the roofs opens, and an endless stream of gentlemen and ladies pours forth. They wear costumes of the sixteenth century, and as they emerge from the staircase, two by two, their eyes and faces tell us of what they must be thinking. They move slowly forward, lingering beneath the orange trees, or stopping at the tables. They walk toward the balustrade, and look through the park. They seem to be watching, as if waiting to detect some light, some unknown object, in the forest. But the night has spread its dark wings over all, and there is nothing 76 CH AMBORI) to be seen. They turn from tlic stone balustrade, dis- couraged by their unsuccessful attempts, and wander once more around the towers and in and out among the orange trees. Suddenly a voice is heard above the mur- murs of conversation, "Le Roi! le Roi!" And all turn toward the door from whence it comes, hushed and with bowing heads. A tall, thin figure wearing a velvet "pourpoint," with puffed sleeves, appears in the midst of a respectful court. It is Fran9ois I. At his side walks another figure. And we can hear those about us whispering: "Charles-quint, the Emperor." The laughter and talking is replaced by a silence so profound that the steps of the Emperor and the King may be heard distinctly, as they move slowly through the crowds of courtiers. They stop, here and there, to speak to a favorite, or to some dignitary. "Le Roi Chevalier" gives a smile, a compliment, to the beauties of his court. They receive them with a bow of respect and admiration. One of them, a woman of extraordinary beauty, receives more than a bow from the King. He looks at her in a peculiar way; we do not understand, for we know not the secrets of the court. And as he lifts his finger, to command her attention, we can hear him say: "Descend to my private apartments, and look upon the windows. For on one of the panes of glass I have written, with the diamond of my ring, what I have learned through your inconstancy. Stay, I will repeat it now : 'Souvent femme varie. Bien fol est qui s'y fie." "And now adieu." He passes on, and leans over the stone balustrade with Charles-quint. They look, with the others, in the direc- tion of the park, and endeavor to pierce the darkness of the night. But nothing is to be seen. TWO GENTLEiMEN IN TOURAINE T . T T . V Of a sudden, the sound of horns and the barking of hounds is heard. Far in the distance appear the flicker- ing lights of a hundred torches, winding in and out, between the poplar trees which line the river's bank. And in the uncertain light which they throw around, now faint, now strong, a stag is seen to plunge into the river and to make for the opposite bank. He is closely fol- lowed by the maddened hounds. The splashing of the water, thus disturbed from its peaceful slumber, is brought back to us over the night air. The breaking of many twigs, the thud of a fallen steed, and then, the King's voice breaks in upon the distant sounds. "By our Lady, there is the hunt! The midnight hunt!" he cries. And the whole court answers: "The hunt! The hunt!" But soon the sounds, the lights, the barking have all vanished, and the hunt continues, unseen, through the thick green of the forest. Y . i T . T i . T "One! two! three! four! . . . Ten deep notes, from a massive bell above our heads, bring us back again to reality. Cursed bell, what have you done? The pic- tures and the dreams of courts and kings and centuries now gone are dispelled, as all our pictures sooner or later are dispelled through life. The fairest things must have an end. The sweetest dreams are bound to have their waking. And I have awakened from my dream. It must have been a dream, for I know not where I am and cry out to my friend: "Where am I? Where am I?" "On the roofs of Chambord, foolish child," answers my companion. And taking me by the hand, for I was half asleep, he led the way down the stairs. We passed through the apartments of Louis XIV, where nothing is left but the table upon which Maurice de Saxe, one of the owners of Chambord, was embalmed. 78 r . i V . T C H A M U O R D V . v T . V r . Y V . T Something of death seems ever to follow us through this massive ruin of a dead and long decaying monarchy. Some few pictures yet hang from the walls. But they are in a neglected state, and seem to weep for all around them and for their own fate also, perhaps. One portrait is more beautiful than the others. It is one of Marie Lcczinska, by Vanloo. There the mother-in-law of Louis X\', one of the royal chatelains of Chambord, watches over the kingdom of her exile, from behind a gilded frame whose age has turned it almost black. And now we are once more in the courtyard where the guardian of the place is pacing up and down over the sandy pavement. And we leave him behind us, with the visions of Franqois I, Frangois II, Plenri II, Louis XIV, Maurice de Sa.\e, Berthier de Wagram, Henri V. We leave him behind, with Chambord and with its glori- ous but faded past. "I wonder what will become of it after the death of the present owners," said the Comte, as we reached our little hotel with its homely rooms and its window curtains of white piquet. "Yes, what will become of it?" I added. And even as we asked the question the answer seemed to come from nature, or from Heaven. For a sudden flash of light- ning rent the sky and seemed to dash down upon the chateau as if it would strike it from existence. The great phantom appeared once more before us in the ghastly light, and a great rumbling clap of thunder made us shudder and draw away, as the storm burst over our heads. The lightning vanished, and all was thrown into greater darkness than before. "Yes, what will become of Chambord?" wc both whis- pered, as all grew quiet. And the storm also faded away, and died with the first hour of the night. f . Y Y . Y CHAPTER IV BLOIS PART I We arose early on the morning of our third day at Chambord to say good-bye to the pile of history-laden stones which had been towering before us, like some huge phantom of the past. Taking the avenue which led through the forest upon the other side of the chateau, we pursued our way toward the high-road to Blois. It is this avenue which is to be seen from the roofs of the chateau, cutting a long line that may be clearly defined through the heavy foliage. It forms an endless vista upon either side of Chambord, and seems not unlike the backbone of the great forest itself. As we pursued our way over the stones and gravel, we were almost tempted to retrace our steps to the place from which we had started, the Saturday before. An inclination which was almost irresistible tempted us to repeat that walk which had excited so much admiration from us. There were brought back to us the impressions of a few days before, that had been emphasized at sunset by the pointed lantern and the ornamented chimney tops of Chambord, now behind us. A little bridge, of crumbling stones, faded away, and was lost in a confused haze, with the cottages and build- ings of the tiny town beside the chateau. The river, now so low that it was little more than a stream, sank deep be- neath its mossy banks The reflections of the castle van- B I, O 1 S ished with it, and the trees shut in a small, square picture in which the chateau occupied the chief position. Wearied of the saddening aspect of the roofs and ever fadinjj "campanile" behind us, we turned from the beaten track of fallen kings and courts of France, this avenue where, not long ago, the cracking whips and the shouts of postil- ions announced the arrival of some courtier to the chateau, this avenue which to-day is used but once a year by its present master, the Due de Parme. Leaving the road, we wandered through the paths and alleys of the park. The faint mist of the summer morning lent a mystic charm to the foliage, around and overhead. The trees and bushes met in some places, to form a canopy of green leaves. Tiny vistas caught the eye at a distance, and near at hand, others still distracted the attention in a series of ever changing pictures. The mossy bed on which we walked was strewn with flowers. The trunks of trees were often covered by a thin coat of ivy, which grew everywhere in profusion. The silence was broken only by the clear note of a skylark, high above the head. One could almost realize the winged forms of a fairy host, flitting hither and thither amid the trees and flowers. The deep bay of a hound sounded afar off, and then , nearer. The noise of cracking branches and of rustling leaves was followed by the sound of horses' footsteps and the winding of a hunter's horn. Suddenly a blast of cold air blew against our startled faces, and from the trees emerged a spectral huntsman, dressed in black, rid- ing madly a jet black steed and followed by a pack of hounds, black also. The ghostly cavalcade covered the open space and disappeared around the angle of an alley, before we knew whether it was a reality or not. Could it have been but a passing picture of the mind, or had we unconsciously wandered through that part of the forest which is haunted by the famous Thibault de Champagne, called "The Cheat"' The Solognots know it well, for it 8i TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE is covered by the long green grass they call "I'herbe qui 6gare" — meaning the grass which misleads unwary travelers through this haunted spot. The legend runs that the spectral huntsman is to be seen returning, early in the morning, from the pavilion of Montfrault to the ruins of Bury. Perhaps, after all, we had seen the vision so much spoken of, but which no Solognot had ever cared to verify for himself. And yet, who knows whether we had not been allowing our imaginations to form poetic visions in these fairy-like surroundings? By and by, the forest and its scenes had given place to open country, fields and lanes. Chambord had disap- peared, and we had laid aside its legends, its history, and its wonders of architecture, to think of Blois, which was before us, and to picture to ourselves the details of that central figure in this unrivaled group of royal monu- ments. A walk of some six or eight miles, broken here and there by a picturesque village, with roses hanging from the cottage walls, brought us, after a steep incline, / to the banks of the Loire. Here the road turned sharply to the left, to follow for a hundred miles this wonderful river, whose banks are for- tified by a long line of dikes crowned by the winding road. Across the river, an almost endless row of clipped linden trees, a white wall (nearly brown with age), and a long slate roof among the green told us that we were not far from the beautiful Chateau de Mdnars. In the seven- teenth century this chateau was inhabited by Stanislas Lesinski, King of Poland, and the father-in-law of Louis XV. Madame de Pompadour rebuilt it, as it stands to-day, and lived in it for some time with her brother, the Marquis Poisson de Marigny. As might be expected, Louis XV paid all the bills, which was no light obliga- tion even for him to meet, for both Madame de Pompa- dour and her brother had exquisite taste, which they did not hesitate to satisfy at the expense of the king. Dur- 82 BLOIS inp the revolution, however, the chateau was sold; but it was bouKht finally by the Due do Hellune. During his ownership of M<5nars the episode took place on which Scribe presumably founded his social drama "Malheurs d'un Amant Heurcux." The chateau has since been owned respectively by the Prince Joseph de Chimay, the Princesse de BcaulTremont, and lastly by M. Vatel, an "entrepreneur de construction." Some distance further on it appeared in full \-iew— a simple but exceedingly good bit of Louis XV architecture. The long, flat faqade, the two wings, the flower-grown terraces, reaching almost to the river's edge, and a little classic summerhouse with Ionic columns, all blended gracefully in the mist. The whole scene, of a deep green relieved only by the white stone of the buildings and statues, made one think of one's ideals of French chateaux, as depicted in a stage setting, or upon some noted canvas. And still the road-crowned dike wound on and on, fol- lowing the snake-like curves and turnings of the river to which it owes its "raison d'etre." Forests, chateaux, villas, appeared in the distance, became momentary realities and faded away behind us. The third shower of the morning broke over our heads, to be succeeded shortly by the ever recurring sunshine, whose intensity now announced it to be not far from midday. An old stone bridge with enlarging arches appeared in view, stretching across the river. The central arch, which was much wider than the others, culminated in a carved pedestal surmounted by an iron cross. Green fields and trees and country scenes gave place to plaster houses and paved streets. A large town appeared upon the opposite bank, with countless slate roofs growing up the hill, like so many mushrooms that were black instead of white, by some sad chance. The whole was crowned by a larger mass of slate than those below. This must then be the 83 . TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE T . i T . T V , y chateau which we had walked so far to see, and yet there was but little in the unshapely mass to excite either enthusiasm or artistic admiration. We turned to cross the river, and our little journey of the morning was at an end. Blois had been reached, and we realized that the first view of this famous town was neither the most artistic nor the most attractive. The view from the top of the bridge, however, is more effective. To the right and left the blue waters of the Loire run, turn, and twist between two verdant banks of green. Islands and small flats of yellow sand break the surface of the river here and there, making its naviga- tion difficult, if not impossible. Directly in front the decline of the bridge is checked in its downward course by a massive flight of steps which rises some distance beyond, but whose angle is exaggerated bj^ the sloping of the bridge. The steps lead to the upper portion of the city, where roads and gardens are closely pressed by neat looking houses behind them. The scene before us was varied by the crowds of French men and women, moving about in their odd costumes, and indulging in exclamations and movements almost unknown to the Anglo-Saxon. The centre of the place, for so this por- tion of the road seemed to be, was occupied by a monu- mental statue of indifferent taste. The figure is that of Denis Papin, the discoverer of the boiling point of water. The history of the bridge itself is rather interesting, for it was the first of its kind which was built under Louis XV. The work was begun in 1719, by an architect named Gabriel, and the eleventh arch was completed in 1724. In the year ninety-three of the same century came the revolution. The insurgents set upon the bridge and endeavored to destroy it, because it had been built by the king. But happily for the bridge, as well as for the city of Blois, it was too strong to suffer much damage, 84 i . V T , X T . y y . y H LOIS Y . i V . V t/i V . V and after the revolution, royal and imperial camafjes <.nce more passed over the bridge, which Louis XV had bu.lt to reach the chateau. In 1804 Monsieur de Corbi^ny. ••Pr<5fef of Blois. had it repaired, under Napoleon, and a slab bearing its history was placed on the stone pedestal in its centre. ^ A short turn to the left brought us to our hotel, a pub- lic house whose pretensions to excellence in all things were f.>und, on investigation, to be good— for nothing. The day was ver>' warm, and the atmosphere of the din- in-room would have put even that of the kitchen to shame. It was filled to overflowing with examples of the worst type of French people. Every one seemed very fit Every one seemed unusually warm. Everybody was drinking a great deal of "vin rouge," gobbling up an impossible dejeuner and talking excitedly at the top of tlieir voices, a form of amusement which they accom- panied bv the most violent gesticulations. A large, fat child— fatter than any one else in the room, and whom it would have been difficult to squeeze into the largest of hogsheads— was amusing herself by throwing her arms about the gentlemen's necks and trj-ing to embrace thcra. She seemed peculiady persistent in her advances, although they were, strangely enough, unreciprocated. My companion and I were very happy to breathe the somewhat variegated air of a barber's shop later, and still happier to gain the road to the chateau, after haviiig sufTered under the merciless scissors of the "coiffeur de As all who have been to Blois know, the chateau first ap- pears rising high above the street. Numberless arched balconies lined with colored frescoes of the Renaissance, succeed each other in a double row, not unlike the tiers of boxes at some great opera house. Here and there a beautifully car^•cd bow-window, with stone lace-work, projects from the broken surface of the walls, while a i . T T . T TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE quantity of grinning gargoyles crane out their long necks, and peer down upon the intruder from the hea\'y cornice. The Italian Renaissance is a strong clement in the archi- ^tecture of this portion of the chateau, and the delicately ' chiseled pilasters, everywhere dividing the balconies and windows, are among its chief characteristics. The roof especially savors of the Italian, and it is flatter than those which we are accustomed to in France. It projects over the great cornice, not unlike a huge villa, and is sup- ported by shortened columns, forming a long upper balcony. The roof is broken by a Renaissance window and several massive ornamented chimneys, which pierce its surface irregularly, like seeds which have just sprouted in a flower bed. The whole effect is imposing and artistic, beautiful in detail rather than in the ensemble, which is irregular and often lacking in symmetry. A flight of steps, a steep avenue, leading around the massive foundations of the wing of Francois I, and an open place, bring one face to face with what is per- haps the most beautiful facade of the whole chateau, that of Louis XII. This wonderful wing, which takes its name from its founder and which forms a complete chateau in itself, is but one side of a court whose four portions boast as many styles of architecture, and whose character is unrivaled in France. The beauty of the whole effect of this court is indescribable. Indeed, it would afford a complete study of perfection in archi- tectural detail. From the outside, the pinnacle-capped windows, the red and black brick walls, culminating in the elaborate carving and the "statue equestre" of Louis XII, are a soft and happy mdlange of exquisite details. The fleur-de-lis, appearing everywhere, and the crowned porcupine (the sign of Louis XII), are characteristic ornaments in this fagade. The gentle tones of color, the genius in the proportions, the master hand which is 86 B L O I S felt at ever}' point, transport the spectator and silence the critic. Indeed, the first view of this fa(;adc is a wonderful introduction to the great splendor of the Chateau of Blois. Passing through the deeply chiseled archway, the _ visitor finds himself suddenly in the great court of the chateau. At the first view the sight seems difficult to realize. It appears rather like the massive "mise-en- scfene" to some opera than the actual setting of the history of France; and we wait, almost expecting the tenor to spring from some low window upon the right, and to hold us entranced by an impassioned love song. Again it is like the square of an enchanted city whose four palaces stand before us, all distinctly different and yet all blending into a raan'elous ensemble. Yes, it is not a dream but a grand reality, the far-famed court of the Chateau de Blois, the scene of so many pageants and displays in the history of France, this incomparable spot where are clustered such marvels of the Renaissance. Behind and to the right are the interior facades of the two wings that are seen from without, and in admiring the unbounded richness^ the perfect taste, and the extraordinar>' beauty of both, it is well-nigh impossible to lay the laurel wreath upon the steps of the Francois I wing and yet refrain from doing likewise to that of Louis XII. A low cloister stretches along the entire length of this last fa(;ade, making a delicate foundation to the beautiful work above. It is in the transition period, or that prior to the Italian Renaissance. The high slate , roof, broken by five richly ornamented windows and sur- mounted by a hea\'y stone railing, is higher even than the two stories below it. Yet the lines and proportions are so perfect that they form an ensemble more pleasing to the eye, if anything, than the beauties of the Francois I wing, beside it. A square tower of brick and stone (like all of the Louis XI and Louis XII portions of Blois) S7 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE divides this cloister from another upon the left. The columns are foreshortened and extremely simple in the cloister of Louis XI; but in that of Louis XII they are richly carved. They are alternated, round and square, the round ones being studded with fleur-de-lis. The chapel of Louis XI, upon the left, is half hidden, from where we stand, by the cloister and the rather heavy work above it. A beautiful bit of stone detail, with a huge gargoyle at the climax of a corner buttress, tempts one to peer around still further, to be rewarded by a large gothic window over the door of the chapel. The top to the door itself is a fine bit of carved stonework and extends in a point up against that of the window. It bears the letters L and A, with the escutcheons of Louis and Anne, surmounted by the royal crown of France. Within, the chapel is rich in frescoes, copied after those of the fifteenth century. The effect outside is not unlike that of the famous Sainte-Chapelle in Paris, with its laceworked spire, rising against the sky from the top of the pointed roof. The chapel and the rest of this wing were the work of Louis XI, and are the oldest parts of the chateau, after the "Salle des Etats" opposite. The Louis XII wing forms an harmonious second link, in this marvelous sequence of architectural studies. The styles of these two are so much alike as to blend almost into one, at the first glance; but we soon notice the more graceful and elaborate finish of the details. The carving of the windows assumes the most exquisite and artistic convolutions. The ornaments and accessories of the two towers show, with the long wing between them, the superiority and advance of this period over that of Louis XI. I was standing in the centre of the court, and had turned about to take in, to their fullest extent, the beauty of the buildings just described. I must have lost myself in the enchantment of their lines, for I was B L O I S aroused from my dreams and criticisms by my friend the Comte, who touched my arm, and said: "Let us go into this portion of the chateau, before even looking at the outside of the rest of it. Let us dip into the life and the surroundings of Louis XII and of Anne de Bretagne, and fdl our minds with more knowl- edge of their own period, before passing on to the home of Francois I and of Catherine de Medici." "You are right," I replied. "I always like to go to the bottom of one thing, or one monument, if it happens to be one, before going to another. It seems more of a duty than a pleasure, if one is hurried along from one set of thoughts, or the masses of historical stones which produce them, to the next, without time to sit down and to study something about them. Whereas, if one is only permitted to wander peacefully about, to enjoy those things which most appeal to the senses, and to pick up something of the time-laden air that hangs about and lurks in dusty corners, a feeling of charm and poetry unconsciously takes hold of one. To-day, especially, I feel in just such a mood, and as I am aware that you know as much of Blois as many of these guides, we will dispense with them, and you shall tell me of Louis XII and his portion of Blois." "Eh bien," said the Comte, delighted at my proposal, "we are now in the guard chamber of Anne de Bretagne. I will not slight your French history by telling you that she was the wife of Louis XII. See how triste and gloomy these state apartments are. I have always won- dered why they have never cut some windows upon the side of the cloisters here; these seem so small and so insuflBcient. There is a very good example of those wonderful chimney-pieces, which have lent their fame and beauty to the chateau." And the Comte pointed out an elaborate specimen. "See with what art and taste the richness of the carving is still kept delicate 89 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE V , T T . T r.Y i . i and not allowed to grow too heavy. There are the ermine of Anne and the porcupine of Louis. They are everywhere in the architecture of their epoch, just as the salamander and the swan pierced with a dagger, are the signs of Francois and of Claude. Everything here is in the period before theirs, — the transition period between the Mediasval and the Renaissance. The Renaissance is here in the wing upon our right, and the Mediccval we shall see to-morrow at Chaumont. " "And here is the death chamber of Anne de Bretagne, " said L "I have often seen it in pictures and longed to be here. What an odd little door, between these two rooms! I suppose it was necessary to protect the queen from the chance gaze of her guards while at her toilette. You seem rather silent upon this subject. I think I can tell you some things which you do not know, after all. The queen died in this room on the 9th of Januar)', 1514, and the king was so overcome with grief that he left Blois and married an English princess, according to history. There were two ways for the dead queen Anne to have regarded his conduct, if they ever met again after this life, — one, as a compliment, that life was so sad without a wife that he wished to replace her charms as soon as possible, and then another, as a slight to her royal memory. They say, however, that Louis married the second time for political reasons only, so perhaps his grief was sincere, after all." "Dieu! que vous vous lancez, " cried the Comte. "You are always giving me these surprises, and I expect there will be little I can tell you about Blois that you do not know already. Louis XII began his work here in 1501. Come now, acknowledge that you did not know that," and the Comte's eyes twinkled with merriment. "When it was finished, the chateau was much better off than it is to-day, though only half as large, for it had for- ests and parks about it, instead of a bare-looking town, 90 BLOIS -> -> liV with bad hotels and coiffeurs in it. There were some 4 1 4 C^ Italian gardens, in those days, on the side of Ihe river, I believe; and it is said that they were the most beautiful ot their time. They ought certainly to have been, for the king rewarded his head gardener, Passello, by giving him the Chateau Gaillard. The only restriction he imposed upon the gift was that he was to receive a bou- quet of orange blossoms every year from the orange trees, which were the first ones introduced into France. They were brought from Italy, and probably had more influence than we imagine upon the introduction of the . „ , Italian Renaissance. The orange trees have retained the *A* V g affection of my fickle countrymen longer than the country • " from whence they came; for indeed what would the gardens of France be to-day without these almost uni- versal adjuncts?" We had wandered out to the court again, while the Comte was speaking, and had come into full view of the Francois I wing. From the last arch of the cloister, where we stood, still gazing at a distance, perhaps the most artistic view of the ensemble is to be obtained. The yellow tinted stone is disappointing to the eye, and in strange contrast to the colors of the brick and stone around it and on the other side. But the grace of the proportions, the delicacy of the pilasters covering the walls and framing the windows, the extraordinary rich- ' ' ness of the massive cornice, where the long gargoyles hang over all and cast a shadow, here and there, upon the white : all these combine to cause one to forget criticism and to indulge in almost extravagant praise. The salamander surmounted by its royal crown adorns the nude surfaces c.f the walls, and changes them into framed pictures of stone. In the centre of all bursts forth the staircase which has delighted an admiring world for so many cen- .-- 1/ # ti'ries, and which now blooms fairer than ever, the V T g climax of the Renaissance. Here, indeed, is every i . i r . i i , X f . V T . T TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE artistic longing of the French temperament satisfied. Here the genius of a taste-gifted race has forced its chisel, with a master hand, into the soft and shadow-covered stone, to create a chef d'oeuvre of the art of architecture. Here richness and delicacy go hand in hand, mounting the ever-winding stair to drop their fairest jewels upon each step, and to vie with one another in their gifts. Detail and ensemble meet one another in a harmony so seldom found that it adds a tenfold charm. Shades and shadows blend in a softening tone, and throw a cloak of beauty over something which is more than our own eyes at first appreciate. As we look at the staircase of Blois, framed by the two columns of the cloister, darkened by heavy shadows, it seems to fascinate the whole being as only perfec- tion and beauty have the power to do. And we are tempted to say: "Why has the New World left so long untouched a design and an inspiration that deserve to find reproductions in a hundred forms and combinations? Why, when it has such marvelous examples and incen- tives in France and in the whole of Europe, has it not more improved such opportunities?" "You must not go in there yet," said the Comte, point- ing to the staircase. "You must allow the beauty of that wonderful piece of architecture to dawn more fully upon you, and to sink deeper into your mind, before entering the door which leads to the scenes of history within. We will cross the court and examine the most recent portion of the chateau, the last side of this inimitable quadri- lateral. There it is, as you see, a cold and pure example of Louis Xni's period. It was built by Gaston d'Orleans, who was exiled to Blois for many years, and who died in 1660. His heart, by the way, is in the Jesuit Fathers' church of Blois. "He had always intended to tear down the rest of the chateau and to rebuild it all in the style of this wing; 92 riii; >^ lAiu* A^^i.. tii\ri.Ai in. i;i.>>i: B L O I S but, mercifully for those who have lived since, his death prevented him from destroying these stones, which have boon such a standard of beauty in architecture ever since. " "What a contrast," said I, "to the beauty of the archi- tecture surrounding it! How could any one have been so dead to artistic value as to think of destroying such creations as that staircase, or the wing behind us?" "You know what the poet says, do you not?" said the Comte. 'Breathes there a man with soul so dead. Who never to himself hath said: "This is my own, my native land" '? Gaston d'Orleans might have paraphrased : 'There breathes a man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said: "This is indeed true, noble art, And from its lines I may not part." ' But he did not, as you see. Let us go inside, and look at the great staircase, reaching to the heavily ornamented roof. It is a noble work, one cannot deny the fact; but what a contrast to its neighbors!" And the Comte shook his head sadly, while I bowed a silent assent. Turning from the rather overshadowed beauties of this massive wing, we crossed once more the sandy court, and mounted the winding staircase. Here, in the days of Claude, the wife of Francois I, and in those of the famous Catherine de Medici, the soldiers and officers of the court stood on its many winding balconies, outside the ever-winding stairs, to welcome their king and queen. Here, royal persons of histor}*, whose names stand out in bas-relief against centuries of time, wound their way, in state processions, to their apartments above. Here they gathered in the morning, in the evening, for a casual 9.^ TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE T , T r . T t.t Y . i meeting, two or three, or for the secret intrigue, which ended frequently in the death of those concerned. The stones are worn by historic feet, whose masters have long since passed away, but who live to-day as vividly as if they were still young, still powerful, still human and still wicked. Ah, beautifully ornamented stones, carved in all the richness, the art, the taste that the Renaissance could bring, what a tale you have to tell ! How many an historian would give his fortune, only to speak with you for one short hour; how many men would give their lives to know one-half of all you have there, lingering in your dusty corners! Truly, this is a marvelous staircase. Its panels, carved in such delicate tracery and lacework that the finger nail might almost break its symmetry; its groined roof, with everywhere the salamander and the ermine holding a royal crown; its intricately chiseled shaft, the backbone of it all, which is the best and which the least of these? Each seems to outweigh the others in beauty, and yet there is always something still more beautiful to please the eye until the topmost stair is reached. The door stands open for us to enter the apartments of the king and queen. Our smiling guide stands waiting for us, with her great bunch of keys jingling against one another, her youthful cheek red with the exertion of our ascent. And yet we linger on the last step, about to go and yet loath to leave these wonderful surroundings. "Why should we not stay a moment longer, now that we are here?" said the Comte, laying his hand on my arm. "It is not often that the traveler has a chance to stand upon the great staircase of Blois. It is not often that one looks upon a scene so beautiful, so perfect as the one in this small area of scarce an acre." We had come a long way and waited many years for this view. We had thought of it, often, I dare not say how often, and gazed at it in pictures. We had imagined 94 i i . T T , r V . T 4.Y HLOIS Y . Y V . V r . T V . T the time that was now here. The picture was no longer a picture, but a reality. Why not keep it for a moment more, now that it was here? The Corate, anticipating my desire, took my arm and leaned over the heavy stonework of the topmost balcony in silent contemplation. "Look down at the wonderful details of these bal- conies," he said, at last, "winding, in their long line, slowly up to where we stand. From below, they seem but the railings of the staircase. And see how subtly the architect has inserted them almost into the thickness of the walls, so broken and so cut in countless arches, niches, crevices, that they seem but an elaborately orna- mental network of stone pilasters. "How many kings and queens of France, how many courtiers, statesmen, satellites of Royalty and royal favor, have stood on the stones beneath our feet and looked down upon the very traceries and carvings which we are admiring this morning! Suns have set and moons have risen upon their passions, their wrongs, watching their evil lives rising and falling, often as fleeting as the sun itself. And there it is to-day, still lighting the stage of time. Really, one cannot but feel that this is hallowed ground." And the Comte looked dreamily off toward the broken view of the river in the distance, for he had been speaking more to himself than to me. "Hallowed, indeed, I suppose it is," I replied. "And yet it seems almost a mockery to use that term, when one considers the acts and actors of those times. For the very air you call so hallowed is still redolent with the blood of victims, the scent of immorality, the dissolute selfishness of the courts of Franfois I and of Henry HI, the schemes and cruelty of Catherine de Medici and all about her. For centuries the sun has been shining into those windows; but it has nut dried the stains upon the walls. For centuries the rain and wind have fallen upon 95 ^i i . Y Y . Y Y . Y Y . Y ^a^a^a TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE the roof and tried to purify this hallowed atmosphere, and yet they have not washed away those stains, that must remain as long as the mortar holds the stones of Blois together and as long as those stains retain their particles. Call it hallowed, if you like, this ground, which has stayed the fall of many a murdered victim of intrigue and jealousy. I fear all history must be so then, and that we must take those men who figured in it as they came, judging them only for their good and for what they have left behind them for the benefit of mankind." "Are you not a little hard upon men and women of the past?" said the Comte. " You must consider, you know, the circumstances under which they lived. Poor human nature, it seems to me, is capable of only so much resist- ance against temptation, just as it is capable of so much work and power of comprehension. I think, if you come to a careful analysis of natural desires, you will find the worst people of the world to be in almost exact propor- tion to their temptations. We are all too fond of judging people from our own standpoints, neglecting to consider that perhaps they have desires and temptations unknown to us and of which we have never tasted the bitterness — desires that are so unknown to us and temptations that are so strong as to be irresistible to the strongest natures." "Then I take it that you consider good and bad as relative terms?" I replied. "Hardly that," said my friend, his face lighting up as he continued in a strain in which he loved so well to speak. "I am considering more the impossibility of human nature judging itself properly, with its limited data, than the possibility of being good or bad. Our bodies are nothing more or less than intricate, natural machines expressing actions. They are gauged to stand a certain amount of pressure, and after that they must 96 ^SB BLOIS give way. Temptation is the pressure, and the people who are called bad in this world, arc almost always those who have had more temptation than they could bear. In the same way, the good ones are more often those who have not experienced temptation, and less often, alas, those whose resistance is the greatest. A great many pi'ople in this world have forces, evil forces, working Uiion them to such an extent that the strongest nature even must succumb. The world calls them bad. Others there are, who have never had even the semblance of such a force brought to bear upon them, and so it is not surprising that they never give way to it. And these the world calls good. "For all we know, Catherine de Medici was of the former class. But how is it possible to decide whether one of these classes is better or more culpable than the other? Human beings have not the power of discovering this exact ratio between the opposite forces of tempta- tion and resistance; and therefore it is impossible for them to judge one another correctly. " PART II The conversation on the staircase was interrupted by our guide, who had been waiting patiently while we indulged in philosophical speculations, which had wan- dered somewhat from the overhanging gargoyles of the roof. We turned, with some reluctance, from the scene without and the thoughts which it had inspired, to enter the apartments of Henry III. These occupy the whole of the upper floor; and if they are barren of their former furniture, they may at least boast a wealth of old and historical associations connected with the times and doings of Catherine de Medici. The whole suite, con- sisting of rooms, of private closets and galleries overlook- ing the town, is in a perfect state of restoration. The French government has devoted much time and money to 97 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE the preservation and reproduction of old designs and styles of decoration. Everywhere the blue and yellow polished tiles, representing the or and azure of heraldry, are noticeable, in their everchanging design, upon the floor. The thick beams of the ceiling, decorated in the thousand patterns and brilliant coloring peculiar to the Renaissance, blend with that of the walls, and make us believe almost that it is yesterday in which we are liv- ing rather than to-day. A beautiful little chamber leads out of the private chapel of the king. It is entirely lined with tiny wooden panels, two hundred and forty in num- ber, which are all of different design and highly orna- mented in gold and brown. The ceiling is so similar to the walls that it gives to the whole the appearance of a little jewel box built to enclose some royal gem. And indeed it did once, long ago, for hard by is a window leading to the famous balcony where Marie de Medici, the cousin of Catherine and the wife of Henry IV, escaped, after twenty two years of captivity in this chamber. The secret cavities, behind their symmetrical panels, bring vividly to mind the terrible reality of those Mediaeval days, when a chance mistake in court diplomacy might mean ruin or even death. Then an injudicious remark, a word too much, or a look misunderstood, might bring the fatal consequences of an angry sovereign or of a schem- ing mother. A note discovered, intercepted perhaps, the paper of a courtier, might be as dangerous as a cup of poison. So a secret panel, opening with an invis- ible spring, was, in the days of Blois, of Chambord, or of Chenon^eau, a valuable necessity, rather than an idle plaything in which to hide one's jewels. A little door leads to a balcony of stone, winding around a tower to the dungeon where the Cardinal de Lorraine, the ill-fated brother of the Due de Guise, passed his last night on earth. It was during the morning that he was taken out upon some false pretense and B L () I S murdered at a place not far distant. The dun^'con is the same to-day as when the Cardinal was imprisoned in it. A large, iron-grated window looks out toward the garden of the king, high up on the MediiEval walls, and across a narrow gateway. In the distance, are the baths of his persecutor, Catherine de Medici. As one looks out upon all this from behind the bars of iron, one may well imagine the despair of the Cardinal, the agony of antici- pation in which he must have passed that last night in prison. With what terrible sufferings of mind and soul must he have looked first at the beautiful scene without, thinking the while of all that it embodied, of life, of freedom, of everything that is precious to a human being! And with what a sickening dread must he have turned to the iron door, or the round hole in the centre of his royal cell, where on the morrow his body might be precipitated into the bowels of the castle, from which no link or memory of him ever could return ! A shudder passed over my companion and myself as we turned to one another and exclaimed, almost in the same breath: "And of such were the Mediaeval days." "The present days are bad," said I, "far worse than they should be ; but I think we have a few advantages over those that are left behind, in spite of telegraph poles, electric cars and modern so-called conveniences." "It is, indeed, difficult to combine advanced civiliza- tion with the early simplicity and taste," the Comte remarked, musingly. "The modern education seems to teach rich men nothing of this principle and to teach poor men still less. At present, apparently, every- thing is considered useful if only it is made cheap and ugly. In the olden times everything was made to please the eye and to satisfy the taste, without the least idea of its convenience. Take these old chateaux of the Loire, for instance. They are wretchedly inconsistent and impracticable to live in. But they are perfectly beau- 09 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE r , T j^ A ^ *^'^"'' ^here, in the world to-day, do they build such wonderful, such artistic palaces? Where do they even build a cottage or a hamlet to compare in beauty with the old thatched roofs and plastered walls of earlier cen- turies? I should very much like to see that place, if it exists, for at present I find nothing but an ugly mass of hard white stone and plaster, coming to life daily here in France. The same appears, in yellow brick, with slate or tiles, in England, and in America j'ou are satisfied with painted wood. Really, the modem work seems framed to please every artistic sense to a marvelous degree ! I suppose it is the quintessence of convenience, for it must have something to recommend it." And the Comte con- cluded his sarcasm with a little laugh. "The present system of classes and their wages would make such works as these French chateaux impossible for any one to undertake in these days," I replied. "If a man did not ruin himself in building such a place, his family would do so before the third generation, judging from the rate at which great fortunes are now dissipated. Property taxation, the lack of primogeniture, and a thou- sand other results of popular legislation, have rendered "'•■ •> l/J ^^^^ pleasures impossibilities. I fear the world must r § H satisfy itself to-day with 'castles in the air.' " "But all this does not help matters in the least," added my friend; "it is just what I complain of. The old sys- tems and customs are being gradually broken down, without any thought of supplanting them by better ones. The ancient art of the Greeks and Romans has never been equaled since their day. The great castles and chateaux of the middle ages are not built nowadays. And so it is with almost all the greater things that are beautiful. They must inevitably pass away sometime. At least their material existence will. And what is the artistic and historic world to do when they are gone? The present systems of culture and refinement seem •*• . T Y . T l\t T . Y Y( B LOIS T . Y T . T i . i sinpiilarly short-sighted. They establish schools and academies, it is true, for the advancement of learning, in those subjects that their ancestors have conceived. But they do little, or nothing, toward encouraging the inspira- tion, the mental simplicity, which characterized the con- ception of that inspiration. The present educations, systems and dc%-elopments establish a routine life and a mechanical existence, which kills, little by little, all the freedom of thought, all the originality, all the natural gifts lying latent in human nature. Yet under all these adverse influences, they think it strange that the present generation lacks purity of inspiration, or artistic great- ness. Now this is very inconsistent. We complain of the lack of artistic genius, of refinement and cultivation in artistic things, and yet each day of the nineteenth cen- tury we do more and more toward its destruction. Sim- plicity is the thing, and the only thing, which can produce a lasting creation, or a lasting impression upon this overflowing world of to-day. "Let them look to themselves, I say," continued the Comte, with vehemence, "these men who have made and are still making our century what it is. It is to them that the results are due. They are responsible for what they would now deplore. They have taken away the old- time possibilities of leisure, and therefore they should not expect those results, which are alone the outcome of leisure and of natural joy, the joy of a peaceful and dreamy life, far from the cares and sadnesses of our urban existence, far from the hardening influences of striving men. Joy! What a mockerj' the term is to-day! Joy! How many of the men or women about us in the world to-day have but an atom of it in their whole composi- tion! Bad as the early days have been in many ways, they could still teach us many a precious lesson to which we have forgotten, in our speed, to prove ourselves and our ideas superior." i . Y Y . Y t.t Y . Y TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE "My dear friend," I replied, at the conclusion of these reflections, "you must remember that you are a Conservative, but that the world of the present day is Radical, yea, and more than Radical. Entre nous, I coincide with many if not all of your opinions, and I hope sincerely that some day we shall obtain the much desired 'golden mean' of which the poets speak, between Radicalism and Conservatism, between poetry and prac- ticality, between ornament and use. I say, let us indeed hope that the future may be such a medium between the present and the past." Our conversation was cut short by the voice of our guide, exclaiming, as she threw open a door, with the air of one who is offering the best she has to an appreciative audience: "This, Messieurs, is the bed-chamber of Henry III." And, indeed, this was the bed-chamber, the famous bed-chamber, of that dissolute monarch. It looked not unlike several other royal bed-chambers in the castle. The floor was covered with blue and yellow tiles. The walls were hung in painted canvas, elaborately fres- coed in the patterns of that period. The windows over- looked the town below, and the arches of their heavy balconies were painted in the same brilliant coloring which is so noticeable from without. Everywhere the salamander, crown and coronet appeared, amid a mass of blue and gold and yellow, adding richness to the whole, and beauty to one another. Yes, this was indeed the chamber of Henry III, the chamber in which so much had happened to be handed down to history, the chamber and perhaps the very spot where the famous murder of the Due de Guise had taken place. Scenes and names and characters well iip and overflow the mind as we stand here, in the room that has witnessed so much and between these four walls that have so many histories to tell if they could only speak. The tragic death-scene of the Due de Guise seems to stand out, especially, and to BI.OIS present its vi\'id picture to our imaginative fancy. Cath- erine do Medici, hard and pitiless, moved only by hor jealousy and pride, passes before the eyes, and sinks behind the tapestries of an adjoining apartment. Henry III, inflamed by his intriguing mother and thinking only of how to rid himself of this cousin, who had incurred the jealousy of Catherine, waits in his private room, to hear the Due de Guise come toward his door, and fall beneath a murderer's hand. The room is separated by a portiJ^re of tapestr}-, only, and as the king waits for the sounds, which are soon to tell him that his treacherous commands have been fulfilled, the scowl upon his brow haunts us, and we shudder as the Due de Guise enters the fatal chamber. The walls are lined by armed gentlemen of the court, and we are surrounded by them and crushed in by those who push forward to bow to the Due. He advances unsuspectingly, holding his drageoir in his hand, and smiling upon those who are around him. Suddenly a footstep from behind surprises him. An expression of alarm overspreads his countenance, as he realizes, for the first time, his danger. Another step, nearer and nearer. It is an enemy, a murderer, and he may not show his fear, lest all be lost. Another sound, close to him now, tells him instinctively that he must defend himself, or die by the assassin's hand. He turns, he is about to draw his sword ; but another hand is too swift, too fatal, in its aim. Ah, unhappy cousin of an angry king, you are too late ; the hour is at hand, and nothing can avail. Ah, noble victim of a jealous queen, you are betrayed, and naught can save you now. The poignard is at your heart; and enemies abound. Fall, there, upon the cold blue tiles. The "bleu de France" has neither aid nor pity for you, in this last hour. Your life is cut down in a moment, and you lie writhing amid a pool of royal blood. And has the king no word, no act of pity or of mercy. TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE for his murdered kinsman? Has he no feelings of remorse nor consciousness of crime within his heart? It would seem not, for methinks that we can see him, issuing from among the tapestries, in the confusion of this dread- ful scene, to stop before the dying man and kick the bleeding brow that is turned toward him. Another and another "coup de pied" fall in relentless wrath upon the body, from which life has been so foully driven, and from which it is now fast fleeing, as from an outraged shrine. And has the royal pleasure been fulfilled; is the monarch satisfied? Is His Majesty unmoved by con science, or by a solitary feeling of humanity? Alas, it is difficult for us to see, the courtiers hover so around the king, the scene becomes confused. Forms and faces grow dim. The curtain of Time drops softly over all; and we are once more in an empty chamber, filled only with the recollection of a former century. Many winding passages and stairs, worn by the deep ruts of time, bring one at last from the apartments of Henry III to those of Catherine de Medici. They are upon the lower story, and are much the same, in plan and in decoration, as the ones above. The visitor is not a little impressed, as he passes through these rooms and guard-chambers, by their massive chimney pieces of carved stone. Still larger rooms open out of antecham- bers, decorated in the manner of the rest of Blois, and the long line of apartments ends in the private closet and bed-chamber of the most famous member of a famous family. Although our guide tells us but little of the historic associations of these rooms, inhabited by the Queen of France, the imagination is fain to picture sights and scenes which must have been there in her time. Near at hand, a beautifully ornamented little door, carved in French Gothic, and perfectly restored in colors, leads into one of the guard chambers. And here again we find 104 BLOIS another door of ccjual beauty, while the massive chimney piece of carved stone, might well be called a chef d"(cuvre. A^ain the life and characters of Blois come vividly to the imajjination in these royal chambers which have enclosed so many chapters of French history. Almost do the faces of the soldiers, courtiers, generals and statesmen, rise and live, until we expect to hear them exchange a word, a salutation, or an order. Here is a group about the fire. There is another by the window, looking out upon the court. Each and all are the satellites, the servants of a queen who is there behind the ornamented door, there in the recesses of the tapestry-covered boudoir, the cor- ridor or the closet, there behind it all, invisible and yet holding all within her iron grasp. For Catherine de Medici is no visionar}' queen, but an august reality, before whom all tremble, all bow down. Within her hand she holds the reins of a kingdom, and directs a power, that is second to none other of the Mediaeval world. What a life, indeed, is hers, what a power, what a past! And yet when all is said of it, all written, was not the power of the life of Catherine de Medici more like a living death, so tinged was it with blood, and so covered was it by a cloak of crime and cruelty? A great door swings to, upon our departing footsteps. A modern staircase brings us to a great hall whose domed ceiling is covered with golden fleurs-de-lis upon a ground of royal blue. We wander in and out among the pillars,^ which are but slender bands to uphold so vast a chamber'' as is this. It is the ancient "Salle dcs Etats" of the Chateau of Blois, and we are wafted back to the very beginning of its history, to mingle with the company oi nobles assembled here who rule the land. At last our dreams of other days come to an end, and we are once more under the beautiful tower of Louis XII and in the cloister, where again we look back upon the home of so many of the kings and queens of France. '05 TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE We cast a last look at the tower, ere we part, and breathe a silent prayer that we may once more return. The shadows of the archway are succeeded by the steps, the avenue, the town; and Blois, in all its beauty, all its grandeur, all its history is left behind. And as the haunts of Catherine, of Henry, of Francois, Louis, Claude and Anne fade out of our sight, their memories, both good and bad, seem to come out more strongly, and to remain imprinted upon the mind. i . T T . i T . i" T . T y . i io6 T . V Y . V i . T CHAPTER V T . Y t.Y Y , Y CHAUMONT A long, straight road leads from Blois to Chaumont, ending in a street between two rows of plaster-covered houses. A high cliff, covered with trees and shrubs, rises a hundred feet above the street and seems almost to over- hang the roofs of slate. The deep, blue waters of the Loire are darkened by the shadows of the cliff that are made longer by the setting sun, and they wash the garden walls. Such is the village of Chaumont. Pointed roofs and pinarets, standing against the sky, crown the cliff and tell of the presence of the castle. We draw up at the Hotel Miichin, occupying a humble position at one end of the village street. It is half past seven, and in spite of the pleasures of the afternoon, we welcome the hour for dinner. The dining-room of this diminutive public-house is approached through the prin- cipal apartment of the establishment, the billiard room. Its ding}' walls are decorated in lugubrious frescoes, of an indifferent character. The cobwebs in the comers look as if laden down, with years, and the accumulated dust of ages. The blackened ceiling bears signs of many a bowl of tobacco, smoked beneath it. In short, this is the ban- queting hall of the Hotel Mi;chin. We, however, are not deemed worthy of being honored with a banquet here, and we sit down — though none the less contentedly — to cat our "poulet de fondation," and to turn our thoughts toward the Chateau of Chaumont. 107 Y . Y Y , Y Y . Y TWO GENTLEMEN IN TOURAINE The evening is one of those soft and mild ones tnat are to be found so frequently in August. The sky overhead is spangled with a myriad of stars that culminate, at last, in the long "milky way," which seems to cut the heavens with an avenue of silvery light. After our dinner, we are tempted, before bringing the day to an end, to stroll through the village street, out toward the river, beside which we had been lingering during the last days. The little houses looked even smaller in the moonlight. They seem to be positively shriveled up, in fear of the covered cliff, which is threatening to fall upon them. The modern village church looms up beside the road, and its pointed spire is lost in the soft shades of the night. The "Pres- bytfere," built in the shadows of the church, seems to be gazing at itself in the great, moving mirror by its side — the water, that is sometimes blue and dark, sometimes light and clear, sometimes yellow, as it runs over a bed of golden sand. The houses disappear one by one, and a little square comes into view, overlooking the river. Linden trees are planted here and there upon it, and beneath them the village children play a last game of hide and seek. Their childish cries, their protestations to their mothers' calls, alone break the peaceful calmness of the river's bank. One by one the children leave the game and seek their homes. The waters, flowing smoothly on their course, splash against the bank. A horse and cart, delayed by some unknown cause, pass us hastily upon the village road, to gain the town beyond. These are the last sounds which disturb the tranquillity of the summer's evening, lighted by the stars. And as the hour strikes, from the village church, we return to our hotel. We cross the long, low billiard room, whose darkened walls are made still darker by the night without; we pass the kitchen, with its large, square table, where the men are drinking; we ascend the steep flight of stairs, leading from the kitchen itself, and 1 08 C H A U M O N T at last lay our heads down to rest in rooms as small as they are uncomfortable. The bursts of laughter from the men below reach us through the cracks of the old tiled floors, and mingle with the dreams of a day that has been filled with Chambord, Rlois, and the approach to Chaumont. Early the next morning we left our hotel to enter the park of Chaumont by ;m iron gateway, which was almost directly across the street. This entrance is, however, far from being one's ideal of the principal approach to a chateau so renowned as this. The gate itself, which is painted black, has an indescribable air about it which suggests something less grandiose than Chaumont, and it seems more appropriate to a side entrance than to the chief approach. A steep avenue, cut into the side of the cliff, leads from it toward the chateau. On the left shrubberies and English ivy hide a stone wall, built there to protect the land from sliding away. The high trees upon the right half disclose and half conceal the pano- rama of the Loire, which, as we ascend, becomes more and more beautiful. At the end of half a mile, the avenue opens upon the park above. Lawns, that are left untrimmed and allowed often to grow half wild, are dotted here and there with trees, and they stretch off with a rolling effect, due partly to the long grass. At the edge of the cliff they are lost in evergreens and bushes. The pointed slate roofs, the towers and the gray walls of the chateau, appear in front, while the park spreads out behind. And yet the park itself is disappointing. It seems too cramped and narrowed for the dignity of the chateau in its midst. The trees seem small, as if the earth in which they grew could not afford to give them their necessary f