ANNECY AND LAC LEMAN
The immediate environs of the Lac du Bourget, the Lac d'Annecy and the
French shores of Lac Leman,--more popularly known to the world of
tourism as the Lake of Geneva--offer a succession of picturesque sights
and scenes, presented always with a historic accompaniment that few who
have come within the spell of their charms will ever forget.
It is not that these Savoyan lakes are more beautiful than any others;
it is not that they are grander; nor is it that they are particularly
"unspoiled," considering them from a certain point of view, for in the
season they are very much visited by the French themselves and loved
accordingly. The charm which makes them so attractive lies in the blend
of the historic past with the modernity of the twentieth century. The
mélange is less offensive here than in most other places, and their
contrasting of the old and the new, the historic and the romantic, with
the modern ways and means of travel and accessibility, gives this
mountain lakeland an unusual appeal.
On almost every side are the modern appointments of great hotels; there
are "good roads" everywhere for the automobilist, and the main lines of
railway crossing France to Italy give an accessibility and comfortable
manner of approach which is not excelled by the region of the Swiss and
Italian lakes themselves.
Annecy, the metropolis of these parts, has an old chateau that is much
better conserved than that of Chambéry so far as the presentation of it
as a whole is concerned. It is more nearly a perfect unit, and less of a
conglomerate restoration than the former.
The Chateau d'Annecy was the ancient residence of the Comtes de
Genevois, but in 1401 the seigniory passed to the house of Savoy. Robert
de Geneve, known to ecclesiastical history as Pope Clement VII, the
first of the Avignon Popes, was born here in 1342.
The military history of the Chateau d'Annecy is intimately bound up with
that of the town because of the fact that as a matter of protection the
first settlement grouped itself confidingly around the walls which
sheltered the seigneurial presence. Populace and the guardians of the
chateau together were thus enabled to throw off the troops which turned
back on Annecy after the defeat at Conflans in 1537, but no resistance
whatever was made to Henri IV and his followers, who entered without a
blow being dealt, and "found the inhabitants agreeable and warm of
welcome." This was perhaps a matter of mood; it might not have so
happened the day before or the day after, but their cordiality was
certainly to the credit of all concerned from a humane point of view,
whatever devotees of the war-game may think.
In 1630 Comte Louis de Sales commanded the chateau when the Maréchal de
Chatillon marched against it. The besieged made a stiff fight and only
capitulated after being able to make such terms as practically turned
defeat into victory. On the morrow the Comte de Sales escorted his
troops to the Chateau de Conflans, "with all the honours of war."
After a brilliant career of centuries the ancient residence of the
Comtes de Genevois, and the Princes de Savoie-Nemours who came after,
has become a barracks for a battalion of Chasseurs Alpins. Fortunately
for the æsthetic proprieties, it has lost nothing of its seigneurial
aspect of old as have so many of its contemporaries when put to a
similar use.
Really, Annecy's chateau, its well lined walls, its ramparts and towers,
and above all, its situation, close to the water's edge, where the
ensemble of its fabric mingles so well with artistically disposed
foreground, has an appeal possessed by but few structures of its class.
If one would see the town and lake of Annecy at their best they should
be viewed of a September afternoon, when the oblique rays of the autumn
sun first begin to gild the heavy square towers of the ancient chateau
of the Ducs de Nemours. Behind rise the roofs and spires of the town set
off with the reddish golden leaves of the chestnuts of La Puya. All is a
blend of the warm colouring of the southland with the sterner, more
angular outlines of the north. The contrasting effect is to be remarked.
To the left, regarding the town from the water's edge, or better yet
from a boat upon the lake, rises the Villa de la Tour, where died Eugene
Sue; and farther away the Grange du Hameau de Chavoires, where lingered
for a time Jean Jacques Rousseau. All around, through the chestnut
woods, are scattered glistening _villas_ and _manoirs_ and _granges_,
with, away off in the distance, the towering walls of the feudal Chateau
de Saint Bernard.
Another marvellous silhouette to be had from the bosom of the lake is
midway along the western shore, where the ramparts of Tournette and the
crenelated walls of the Dents du Lanfont and Charbonne are, after
midday, lighted up as with yellow fire. The brown and yellow roof and
façade of an old Benedictine convent, now become a hotel, rise above the
verdure of the foreshore, and the whole is as tranquil as if the
twentieth century were yet to be born.
On the opposite shore of the lake is the Chateau de Duingt, with its
white towers piercing the sky in quite the idyllic manner.
The Chateau de Duingt is a pretentious country residence belonging to
the Genevois family which in the seventeenth century gave a bishop to
the neighbourhood, a bishop, it is true, who was excommunicated and
shorn of all his rights by the Comte de Savoie, Amadée V, but a bishop
nevertheless.
The environs of the Lac d'Annecy have ever been a retreat for
litterateurs and artist folk. Ernest Renan lodged here in the
_hôtellerie_ of the famous Abbey, where he occupied a _chambre de
prieur_. José-Maria Héredia came here in company with Taine; Ferdinand
Fabre passed many months here in an isolated little house on the very
shores of the lake; Albert Besnard, the painter, has recently built a
studio here, and a quaint and altogether charming villa; Paul Chabas,
too, has resorted hither recently for the same purpose, and indeed
scores have found out this accessible but tranquil little corner of
Savoy. Another Parisian, a Monsieur Noblemaire, has acquired the
picturesque Savoyard Manoir de Thoron, built sometime during the
seventeenth century, and lives indeed the life of a noble under the old
régime amid the very same luxuriant and agreeable surroundings.
Faverges, at the lower end of the Lac d'Annecy, backed up by the sombre
Forêt de Doussard, and in plain view of the snowy top of Mont Blanc off
to the eastward, is at once a _ville industrielle_ and a reminiscent old
feudal town. Its interest is the more entrancing because of the
contrasting elements which go to make up its architectural aspect and
the life of its present day inhabitants. A mediæval chateau elbows a
modern silk factory, and the idle gossip of the workers as they take
their little walks abroad on the little _Place_ blends strangely enough
with the amorous escapades of Henri IV which still live in local legend.
On the road from Faverges to Thone, by the switch-back mountain road,
following the valley of the Fier, is the Manoir de la Tour, where on a
fine mid-summer morning in 1730 Jean Jacques Rousseau climbed a cherry
tree and bombarded the coquettish Mademoiselle Graffeny and Mademoiselle
Galley with the rich, ripe--not overripe--fruit. We know this because
Jean Jacques himself said so, and for that reason this little human note
makes a pilgrimage hither the pleasurable occupation that it is. The
fine old manor is still intact. But the cherry tree? No one knows. May
be it was a mythical cherry tree like that of the George Washington
legend. In spite of this the guardian will show visitors many cherry
trees, and one may take his choice.
Lac Leman is commonly thought a Swiss lake, as is Mont Blanc usually
referred to as a Swiss mountain--which it isn't. A good third of the
shore line of Lac Leman is French--"_Leman Français_," it is called.
Practically the whole southern, or French, shore of the Lake of
Geneva--or Lake Leman, as we had best think of it since it is thus known
to European geographers--is replete with a fascinating appeal which the
Swiss shore entirely lacks. It is difficult to explain this, but it is a
fact.
The region literally bristles with old castle walls and donjons, though
their histories have not in every instance been preserved, nor have
they always been so momentous as to have impressed themselves vividly in
the minds of the general reader or the conventional traveller. Perhaps
they are all the more charming for that. The writer thinks they are.
Mont Blanc dominates the entire region on the east, and may be
considered the good genius of Savoy and Upper Dauphiny, as it is of
French-speaking Switzerland and the high Alpine valleys of Italy.
The French shore of Lac Leman, the Département of Haute-Savoie, is cut
off from Geneva by the neutral Pays de Gex, and from Switzerland on the
east by the torrent of the Morge, just beyond Saint Gingolph. For
fifty-two kilometres stretches this French shore, or the "Côte de la
Savoie" as the Swiss call it, and its whole extent is as romantic and
fair a land as it is possible to conceive.
One may come from Geneva by boat; that indeed is the ideal way to make
one's entrance to Haute Savoie, unless one rolls in over the superb
roads comfortably ensconced on the soft cushions of a luxurious
automobile, a procedure which is commonly thought to be unromantic, but
which, it is the belief of the writer, is the only way of knowing well
the highways and byways of a beloved land, always excepting, of course,
the ideal method of walking. Not many will undertake the latter, least
of all the stranger tourist, who, perforce, is hurried on his way by
insistent conditions over which he really has but little control.
Walking tours have been made with pleasure and profit in Switzerland
before now; the suggestion is made that the thing be attempted on the
"Côte de la Savoie" sometime and see what happens.
One should leave the Geneva boat at Hermance, the last Swiss station on
the west. After that, one is on French soil. Touges is a simple landing
place, but rising high above the greenswarded banks are the donjon and
imposing gables of the Chateau de Beauregard belonging to the Marquis
Leon Costa. It is in a perfect state of conservation. It was here that
was born, in 1752, Marquis Joseph Costa, a celebrated historian, whose
fame rests principally on a work entitled "Comment l'Education des
Femmes Peut-elle Rendre les Hommes Meilleurs?" This is considered an
all-absorbing question even to-day.
At Nernier is a charming souvenir of Lamartine. It was here he lodged in
1815, in a humble thatched cottage--one of the few in France, one
fancies, as they are seldom seen--at a franc a day, "_la table et le
couvert compris_." There are some artists and literary folk living
cheaply in France to-day, but the _pension_ is not nearly as _bon
marché_ as that.
A little farther on, beyond the green hillside of Boisy, is the tiny
Savoyan city of Yvoire, with a great square mass of an old chateau, now
moss-grown and more or less crumbled with age.
Near-by are Excevenex, Sciez and the magnificently environed Chateau de
Coudrée, surrounded by a leafy park, a veritable royal domain in aspect.
Back a few kilometres from the shore of the lake is Douvaine, about
midway between Geneva and Thonon. Here is the ancient Chateau de
Troches, on the very limits of the Comté de Genevois, to the seigneurs
of which house it formerly belonged. It served many times as the meeting
place of the Princes of Savoy, and has been frequently cited in the
historical chronicles.
In 1682 Victor Amadée II made Troches and Douvaine a barony in favour of
François Marie Antoine Passerat, whose family were originally of Lucca
in Italy. The descendants of the same family have held the property
until very recent times, perhaps hold it to-day.
Throughout this region of the Chablais, as it is known, on towards
Thonon, and beyond, are numerous well preserved chateaux (_chateaux
debout_ the French appropriately call them in distinction to the ruined
chateaux which abound in even greater numbers), and others, here and
there arising a crumbled wall or tower above the dense foliage of the
hillsides round about. Certain of these old manors and chateaux of the
Genevois, the Chablais and Faucigny have, in recent years, after
centuries of comparative ruin, taken on new life as country houses and
"villas" of commoners--as sad a fall for a proud chateau as to become a
barracks or a poorhouse if the transformations have not been undertaken
in good taste. Still others remain at least as undefiled memories of the
_chateaux orgueilleux_ of other days. A remodelled, restored chateau of
the middle ages may be sympathetic and appealing, but the work must be
well done and all _art nouveau_ instincts suppressed.
There are other examples which have been allowed to tumble to actual
ruin, mere heaps of stones without form or outline, and others, like
Allinges, La Rochette, De la Roche and Faucigny, possessing only a
crumbling tower perched upon a height which dominates the valley and
the plain below and tell only the story of their former greatness by
suggestion. Chiefly however these can be classed as nothing more
pretentious than ruins.
Thonon-les-Bains, midway along the extent of the French shore, is
renowned as a "_ville d'eau_." In all ways it quite rivals many of the
Swiss stations on the opposite shore. It sits high on a sheaf of rock,
the first buttresses of the Alps, and enjoys a wide-spread view
extending to the other shore, and beyond to the Swiss Jura and the
Bernese Oberland.
A dainty esplanade shaded with lindens is the chief thoroughfare and
centre of life of this attractive little lakeside resort. Here once
stood an old chateau of the Ducs de Savoie. The court frequently
repaired thither because of the purity of the air and the altogether
delightful surroundings. It was one of the later line of dukes who
exploited the mineral springs which have given Thonon its latter-day
renown.
Back of Thonon rises a curiously disposed table-land known as the
Colline des Allinges. It alternates bare rock with a heather-like
vegetation in a colouring as wonderful as any artist's palette could
conceive. The ruins of two fortress-chateaux crown the height of the
plateau, one coming down from a period of great antiquity, whilst the
other is of more recent date, with a well preserved portal and a
drawbridge. Within the precincts of this latter are still to be seen the
ruins of a chapel rich in memories of Saint François-de-Sales, who spent
a considerable part of his apostleship here in the Chablais. To-day, the
old chateau and its chapel are a place of pious pilgrimage, but with the
piety left out it is the chief and most popular excursion for mere
sight-seers coming out from Thonon. This mere fact does not, however,
detract from its historic, religious and romantic significance, so let
no one omit it for that reason.
The Chateau de Ripaille, beyond Thonon towards Évian, is a grander
shrine by far. It was the retreat of a Duc de Savoie who was finally
withdrawn from his hiding place that he might be crowned with the papal
tiara. The incident is historically authenticated, and the very
substantial remains of the old chateau to-day--monumental even--make it
one of the most interesting shrines of its class in all France.
The Chateau de Ripaille was originally built by Amadée VIII as a
_rendez-vous de chasse_. "Near the Couvent des Augustins he built
himself a chateau of seven rooms and seven towers, after the death of
his wife, Marie de Bourgogne, in 1434," say the chronicles.
Here Amadée shut himself up with six fellowmen, either widowers or
celibates, who formed his sole counsellors and society. The Council of
Bale of 1439 sent the Cardinal d'Arles and twenty-five prelates to offer
the self-deposed monarch the papal crown. The attractions of the
position, or the inducements offered, were seemingly too great to be
resisted, and, as Felix V, he was made Pontiff in the Église de Ripaille
in the same year.
Soon the cramped quarters of the chateau and all the town were filled
with a splendid pageant of ambassadors, prelates and dignitaries. All
were anxious to salute in person the new head of the Church. France,
England, Castile, the Swiss Cantons, Austria, Bohemia, Savoy and
Piedmont recognized the new Pope, but the rest of Christendom remained
faithful to Eugene IV. Ripaille and Thonon received such an influx of
celebrities as it had never known before, nor since.
The towered and buttressed walls remain in evidence to-day, but within
all is hollow as a sepulchre. The great portal by which one passed from
the chapel to the dwelling is monumental from every point of view. What
it lacks in architectural excellence it makes up in its imposing
proportions, and moreover possesses an individual note which is rare in
modern works of a similar nature.
The chief centre after Thonon, going east, is Évian, with which most
travellers in France are familiar only as a name on the label on the
bottle of the most excellent mineral water on sale in the hotels and
restaurants. The "Eau d'Évian" is about the only table water universally
sold in Europe that isn't "fizzy," and is accordingly popular--and
expensive.
Évian, sitting snug under the flank of Mont Bénant, a four thousand foot
peak, its shore front dotted with little latteen-rigged, swallow-sailed
boats is the "Biarritz de Lac Leman," but a Biarritz framed with a
luxuriant vegetation, whereas its Basque prototype is, in this respect,
its antithesis.
Twenty thousand visitors come to Évian "for the waters" each year now,
but in 1840, when the delightful Tapffer wrote his "Voyages en Zig Zag,"
it was difficult for his joyous band of students to find the change for
a hundred franc note. Aside from its fame as a watering-place Évian has
no little architectural charm.
The waters of Évian and their medicinal properties were discovered by a
local hermit of the fifteenth century who loved the daughter of the
neighbouring Baron de la Rochette. This daughter, Beatrix, also loved
the hermit, all in quite conventional fashion, as real love affairs go,
but the obscure origin of the young man was no passport to the good
graces of the young lady's noble father, who had fallen ill with the
gout or some other malady of high living and was more irascible than
stern parents usually are.
So acute was the old man's malady that he caused it to be heralded afar
that he would give his daughter in marriage to him who would effect a
cure. This was a new phase of the marriage market up to that time, but
the hermit, Arnold, at a venture, suggested to the baron that he had but
to bathe in the alkaline waters of Évian to be cured of all his real or
imaginary ills. The miraculous, or curative, properties of the waters,
or whatever it was, did their work, and the lovers were united, and the
smiling little city of Évian on the shores of Lac Leman has progressed
and prospered ever since.
The origin of Évian is lost in the darkness of time, though its
nomenclature is supposed to have descended from the ancient _patois_
Evoua (water), which the Romans, who came long before the present crop
of flighty tourists, translated as Aquianum. From this one gathers that
Évian is historic. And it is, as much so as most cities who claim, an
antique ancestry. From the thirteenth century Évian possessed its
chateau-fort, surrounded by its sturdy bulwarks and a moat. Some
vestiges still remain of this first fortification, but the wars between
the Dauphin of the Viennois and the Comtes de Genevois necessitated
still stronger ones, which were built under Amadée V and Amadée VI.
Within the confines of the town are three distinctly defined structures
which may be classed as mediæval chateaux: the Chateau de Blonay, the
Tour de Fonbonne, and the Manoir Gribaldi, belonging to the Archbishops
of Vienne. This last has been stuccoed and whitewashed in outrageous
fashion, so that unless the rigours of a hard winter have softened its
violent colouring, it is to-day as crude and unlovely as a stage setting
seen in broad daylight. It has moreover been incorporated into the great
palatial hotel which, next to the more splendid Hotel Splendid on the
height, is the chief land-mark seen from afar. _Sic transit!_
Évian's parish church, capped with an enormous tower, is most curious. A
great Place, or Square, has been formed out of the ancient lands of the
Seigneurie of Blonay, which belonged to Baron Louis de Blonay, Vice-Roi
de Sardaigne. The seigneurial residence itself has been transformed,
basely enough, one thinks, into a casino and theatre, with an _art
nouveau_ façade. Not often does such a debasement of a historic shrine
take place in France to-day. Sometimes a fine old Gothic or Renaissance
house will disappear altogether, and sometimes a chateau, a donjon or
even a church may be turned to unlikely public uses, such as a hospital,
a prison or a barracks. This is bad enough, but for an historic monument
to be turned into a music hall and a gambling room seems the basest of
desecration. That's a great deal against Évian, but it must stand.
Another property once belonging to the same proprietor, and known as the
Manoir de Blonay, a name continually recurring in the annals of the
Chablais, is to be noted beyond the town, near the little village of
Maxilly.
Beyond Évian is "La Tour Ronde," a name given to a structure on the edge
of the lake. The nomenclature explains itself. A dismantled donjon of
the conventional build rises grim and militant among a serried row of
coquettish villas, chalets and hotels, but uncouth as it is, using the
word in a liberal sense, it forms a contrasting note which redounds to
its benefit as compared with the latest craze for fantastic building
which has been incorporated into many of the houses which line the
shores of the lake. Your modern tourist often cares as much for an
armoured cement, green tiled villa with a plaster cat on its ridge pole
as he does for a great square manoir of classic outline, or a donjon
with a _chemin de rond_ at its sky line and a half-lowered portcullis at
its entrance.
Meillerie, just beyond the Tour Ronde, is ever under the glamour cast
over it by Jean Jacques Rousseau. A souvenir of the hero of "La Nouvelle
Heloise" is here, the vestiges of the grotto where Saint Preux sought a
refuge. As a sight it may compare favourably with other grottos of its
class, but that is not saying that it is anything remarkable.