We never remained all summer at our place. August was a disagreeable
month there--the woods were full of horse-flies which made riding
impossible. No nets could keep them off the horses who were almost
maddened by the sting. They were so persistent that we had to take them
off with a sharp stick. They stuck like leeches. We generally went to
the sea--almost always to the Norman Coast--establishing ourselves in a
villa--sometimes at Deauville, sometimes at Villers, and making
excursions all over the country.
Some of the old Norman châteaux are charming, particularly those which
have remained just as they were before the Revolution, but, of course,
there are not many of these. When the young ones succeed, there is
always a tendency to modify and change, and it is not easy to mix the
elaborate luxurious furniture of our times with the stiff old-fashioned
chairs and sofas one finds in the old French houses. Merely to look at
them one understands why our grandfathers and grandmothers always sat
upright.
One of the most interesting of the Norman châteaux is "Abondant," in the
department of the Eure-et-Loir, belonging until very recently to the
Vallambrosa family. It belonged originally to la Duchesse de Tourzel,
gouvernante des Enfants de France (children of Louis XVI and Marie
Antoinette). After the imprisonment of the Royal Family, Madame de
Tourzel retired to her château d'Abondant and remained there all through
the Revolution. The village people and peasants adored her and she lived
there peacefully through all those terrible days. Neither château nor
park was damaged in any way, although she was known to be a devoted
friend and adherent of the unfortunate Royal Family. A band of
half-drunken "patriots" tried to force their way into the park one day,
with the intention of cutting down the trees and pillaging the château,
but all the villagers instantly assembled, armed with pitchforks, rusty
old guns and stones, and dispersed the rabble.
Abondant is a Louis XV château--very large--seventeen rooms en
façade--but simple in its architecture. The Duchess occupied a large
corner room on the ground-floor, with four windows. The ceiling (which
was very high) and walls covered with toiles de Jouy. An enormous bed à
baldaquin was trimmed with the same toile and each post had a great
bunch of white feathers on top.
In 1886, when one of my friends was staying at Abondant, the hangings
were the same which had been there all through the Revolution. She told
me she had never been so miserable as the first time she stayed at the
château during the lifetime of the late Duchesse de Vallambrosa. They
gave her the Duchesse de Tourzel's room, thinking it would interest her
as a chambre historique. She was already nervous at sleeping alone on
the ground-floor, far from all the other inmates of the château. The
room was enormous--walls nearly five metres high--the bed looked like an
island in the midst of space; there was very little furniture, and the
white feathers on the bed-posts nodded and waved in the dim light. She
scarcely closed her eyes, could not reason with herself, and asked the
next morning to have something less magnificent and more modern.
In all the bedrooms the dressing-tables were covered with dentelle de
Binche[15] of the epoch, and all the mirrors and various little boxes
for powder, rouge, patches, and the hundred accessories for a fine
lady's toilette in those days, were in Vernis Martin absolutely
intact. The drawing-rooms still had their old silk hangings--a white
ground covered with wreaths of flowers and birds with wonderful bright
plumage--hand-painted--framed in wood of two shades of light green.
[15] Binche, name of a village in Belgium where the lace is made.
The big drawing-room was entirely panelled in wood of the same light
green, most beautifully and delicately carved. These old boiseries were
all removed when the château was sold. After the death of the Duchesse
de Tourzel the château went to her niece, the Duchesse des Cars--who
left it to her niece, the Duchesse de Vallambrosa, a very rare instance,
in France, of a property descending directly through several generations
in the female line.
It was sold by the Vallambrosas. The old wood panels are in the Paris
house of a member of that family. The park was very large and
beautifully laid out, with the fine trees one sees all over Normandy.
Twenty years ago a salle de spectacle "en verdure" still existed in the
park--the seats were all in grass; the coulisses (side scenes) made in
the trees of the park--their boughs cut and trained into shape, to
represent green walls, a marble group of allegorical figures at the
back. It was most carefully preserved--the seats of the amphitheatre
looked like green velvet and the trees were always cut in the same
curious shapes. It seemed quite a fitting part of the fine old place,
with its memories of past fêtes and splendours, before the whirlwind of
liberty and equality swept over the country.
Many of the châteaux are changing hands. The majorat (entail) doesn't
exist in France, and as the fortunes must always be divided among the
children, it becomes more and more difficult to keep up the large
places. Life gets dearer every day--fortunes don't increase--very few
young Frenchmen of the upper classes do anything. The only way of
keeping up the big places is by making a rich marriage--the daughter of
a rich banker or industrial, or an American.
* * * * *
Our cousins, Comte and Comtesse d'Y----, have a pretty little old place
not very far from Villers-sur-Mer, where we went sometimes for
sea-bathing. The house is an ordinary square white stone building, a
fine terrace with a flight of steps leading down to the garden on one
side. The park is delightful--many splendid old trees. Until a few years
ago there were still some that dated since Louis XIV. The last one of
that age--a fine oak, with wide spreading branches--died about two years
ago, but they cannot make up their minds to cut it down. I advised them
to leave the trunk standing--(I think, by degrees, the branches will
fall as they are quite dead)--cover it with ivy or a vine of some kind,
and put a notice on it of the age of the tree.
The house stands high, and they have splendid views--on one side, from
the terrace, a great expanse of green valley looking toward Falaise--on
the other, the sea--a beautiful, blue summer sea, when we were there the
other day.
We went over from Villers to breakfast. It was late in the season, the
end of September--one of those bright days one sometimes has in
September, when summer still lingers and the sun gives beautiful mellow
tints to everything without being strong enough to make one feel the
heat. The road was lovely all the way, particularly after we turned off
the high road at the top of the Houlgate Hill. We went through countless
little Norman lanes, quite narrow, sometimes--between high green banks
with a hedge on top, and the trees meeting over our heads--so narrow
that I wondered what would happen if we met another auto. We left the
sea behind us, and plunged into the lovely green valley that runs along
back of the coast line. We came suddenly on the gates of the château,
rather a sharp turn. There was a broad avenue with fine trees leading up
to the house--on one side, meadows fenced off with white wooden palings
where horses and cows were grazing--a pretty lawn before the house with
beds of begonias, and all along the front, high raised borders of red
geranium which looked very well against the grey stone.
We found a family party, Comte and Comtesse d'Y----, their daughter and
a governess. We went upstairs (a nice wooden staircase with broad
shallow steps) to an end room, with a beautiful view over the park,
where we got out of all the wraps, veils, and glasses that one must have
in an open auto if one wishes to look respectable when one arrives, and
went down at once to the hall where the family was waiting.
The dining-room was large and light, high, wide windows and beautiful
trees wherever one looked. The decoration of the room was rather
curious. The d'Y----s descend--like many Norman families--from William
the Conqueror, and there are English coats-of-arms on some of the
shields on the walls. A band which looks like fresco, but is really
painted on linen--very cleverly arranged with some composition which
makes it look like the wall--runs straight around the room with all
sorts of curious figures: soldiers, horses, and boats, copied exactly
from the famous Bayeux tapestries, the most striking episodes--the
departure of the Conqueror from Dives--the embarkation of his army (the
cavalry--most extraordinary long queerly shaped horses with faces like
people)--the death of Harold--the fighting Bishop Odo--brother of the
Conqueror, who couldn't carry a lance, but had a good stout stick which
apparently did good service as various Saxons were flying horizontally
through the air as he and his steed advanced; one wonders at the
imagination which could have produced such extraordinary figures, as
certainly no men or beasts, at any period of time, could have looked
like those. The ships were less striking--had rather more the semblance
of boats.
However, the effect, with all the bright colouring, is very good and
quite in harmony with this part of the country, where everything teems
with legends and traditions of the great Duke. They see Falaise, where
he was born, from their terrace, sometimes. We didn't, for though the
day was beautiful, there was a slight haze which made the far-off
landscapes only a blue line.
After breakfast we went for a walk in the park. They have arranged it
very well, with rustic bridges and seats wherever the view was
particularly fine. We saw a nice, old, red brick house, near the farm,
which was the manoir where the Dowager Countess lives now. She made over
the château to her son, in her life time, on condition that he would
keep it up and arrange it, which he has done very well. We made the
tour of the park--passing a pretty lodge with roses and creepers all
over it and "Mairie" put upon a sign; d'Y----is mayor of his little
village and finds it convenient to have the Mairie at his own gate. We
rested a little in the drawing-room before going back, and he showed us
various portraits and miniatures of his family which were most
interesting. Some of the miniatures are exactly like one we have of
father, of that period with the high stock and tight-buttoned coat. The
light was lovely--so soft and warm--in the drawing-room, and as there
were no lace curtains or vitrages, and the silk curtains were drawn back
from the high plate glass windows, we seemed to be sitting in the park
under the trees. They gave us tea and the good little cakes, "St.
Pierre," a sort of "sablé," for which all the coast is famous.
The drive home was enchanting, with a lovely view from the top of the
hill; a beautiful blue sea at our feet and the turrets and pointed roofs
of the Villers houses taking every possible colour from the sunset
clouds.
We went back once more to a thé dansant given for her seventeen-year-old
daughter. It was a lovely afternoon and the place looked charming--the
gates open--carriages and autos arriving in every direction--people came
from a great distance as with the autos no one hesitates to undertake a
drive of a hundred kilomètres. The young people danced in the
drawing-room--Madame d'Y---- had taken out all the furniture, and the
parents and older people sat about on the terrace where there were
plenty of seats and little tea-tables. The dining-room--with an abundant
buffet--was always full; one arrives with a fine appetite after whirling
for two or three hours through the keen salt air. The girls all looked
charming--the white dresses, bright sashes, and big picture hats are so
becoming. They were dancing hard when we left, about half past six, and
it was a pretty sight as we looked back from the gates--long lines of
sunlight wavering over the grass, figures in white flitting through the
trees, distant strains of music, and what was less agreeable, the
strident sound of a sirène on some of the autos. They are detestable
things.
We were very comfortable at Villers in a nice, clean house looking on
the sea, with broad balconies at every story, where we put sofas and
tables and green blinds, using them as extra salons. We were never in
the house except to eat and sleep. Nothing is more characteristic of the
French (particularly in the bourgeoise) than the thorough way in which
they _do_ their month at the sea-shore. They generally come for the month
of August. Holidays have begun and business, of all kinds, is slack.
Our plage was really a curiosity. There is a splendid stretch of sand
beach--at low tide one can walk, by the shore, to Trouville or Houlgate
on perfectly firm, dry sand. There are hundreds of cabins and tents,
striped red and white, and umbrellas on the beach, and all day long
whole families sit there. They all bathe, and a curious fashion at
Villers is that you put on your bathing dress in your own house--over
that a peignoir, generally of red and white striped cotton, and walk
quite calmly through the streets to the établissement. Some of the
ladies and gentlemen of mature years are not to their advantage. When
they can, if they have houses with a terrace or garden, they take their
meals outside, and as soon as they have breakfasted, start again for the
beach. When it is low tide they go shrimp-fishing or walk about in the
shallow water looking for shells and sea-weed. When it is high tide, all
sit at the door of their tents sewing, reading, or talking--I mean, of
course, the petite bourgeoisie.
At other places on the coast, Deauville or Houlgate, the life is like
Newport or Dinard, or any other fashionable seaside place, with
automobiles, dinners, dressing, etc. They get all the sea air and
out-of-door life that they can crowd into one month. One lady said to me
one day, "I can't bathe, but I take a 'bain d'air' every day--I sit on
the rocks as far out in the water as I can--take off my hat and my shoes
and stockings."
There is a great clearing out always by the first of September and then
the place was enchanting--bright, beautiful September days, one could
still bathe, the sun was so strong; and the afternoons, with just a
little chill in the air, were delightful for walking and driving. There
was a pretty Norman farm--just over the plage--at the top of the falaise
where we went sometimes for tea. They gave us very good tea, milk, and
cider, and excellent bread and butter and cheese. We sat out of doors in
an apple orchard at little tables--all the beasts of the establishment
in the same field. The chickens and sheep surrounded us, were evidently
accustomed to being fed, but the horses, cows, and calves kept quite to
the other end. We saw the girls milking the cows which, of course,
interested the children immensely.
We made some charming excursions in the auto--went one Saturday to
Caen--such a pretty road through little smiling villages--every house
with a garden, or if too close together to allow that, there were pots
of geraniums, the falling kind, in the windows, which made a red curtain
dropping down over the walls. We stopped at Lisieux--a quaint old Norman
town, with a fine cathedral and curious houses with gables and
towers--one street most picturesque, very narrow, with wooden houses,
their projecting roofs coming so far over the street one could hardly
see the sky in some places. There were all kinds of balconies and
cornices most elaborately carved--the wood so dark one could scarcely
distinguish the original figures and devices, but some of them were
extraordinary, dragons, and enormous winged animals. We did not linger
very long as we were in our new auto--a Martini hill-climber--built in
Switzerland and, of course (like all automobilists), were anxious to
make as fast a run as possible between Villers and Caen.
The approach to Caen is not particularly interesting--the country is
flat, the road running through poplar-bordered fields--one does not see
it at all until one gets quite near, and then suddenly beautiful towers
and steeples seem to rise out of the green meadows. It was
Saturday--market day--and the town was crowded--every description of
vehicle in the main street and before the hotel, two enormous red
60-horse-power Mercedes--farmers' gigs and donkey carts with cheeses and
butter--a couple generally inside--the man with his blue smock and
broad-brimmed hat, the woman with a high, clean, stiff-starched muslin
cap, a knit shawl over her shoulders. They were not in the least
discomposed by the bustle and the automobiles, never thought of getting
out of the way--jogged comfortably on keeping to their side of the road.
We left the auto at the hotel and found many others in the court-yard,
and various friends. The d'Y----s had come over from Grangues (their
place). He is Conseiller Général of Calvados, and market day, in a
provincial town, is an excellent occasion for seeing one's electors.
There were also some friends from Trouville-Deauville, most of them in
autos--some in light carriages. We tried to make a rendezvous for tea at
the famous pâtissier's (who sends his cakes and bonbons over half the
department), but that was not very practical, as they had all finished
what they had to do and we had not even begun our sightseeing. However,
d'Y---- told us he would leave our names at the tea-room, a sort of club
they have established over the pâtissier's, where we would be quieter
and better served than in the shop which would certainly be crowded on
Saturday afternoon. We walked about till we were dead tired.
St. Pierre is a fine old Norman church with beautiful tower and steeple.
It stands fairly well in the Place St. Pierre, but the houses are much
too near. It should have more space around it. There was a market going
on, on the other side of the square--fruit, big apples and pears,
flowers and fish being heaped up together. The apples looked tempting,
such bright red ones.
We went to the two abbayes--both of them quite beautiful--St.
Étienne--Abbaye aux Hommes was built by William the Conqueror, who was
originally buried there. It is very grand--quite simple, but splendid
proportions--a fitting resting-place for the great soldier, who,
however, was not allowed to sleep his last sleep, undisturbed, in the
city he loved so well. His tomb was desecrated several times and his
remains lost in the work of destruction.
We went on to the Abbaye aux Dames which is very different; smaller--not
nearly so simple. The façade is very fine with two square towers most
elaborately carved, the steeples have long since disappeared; and there
are richly ornamented galleries and balustrades in the interior of the
church, not at all the high solemn vaulted aisles of the Abbaye aux
Hommes. It was founded by Queen Mathilde, wife of William the Conqueror,
and she is buried there--a perfectly simple tomb with an inscription in
Latin. There was at one time a very handsome monument, but it was
destroyed, like so many others, during the Revolution, and the remains
placed, some years after, in the stone coffin where they now rest. We
hadn't time to see the many interesting things in the churches and in
the town, as it was getting late and we wanted some tea before we
started back. We found our way to the pâtissier's quite easily, but
certainly couldn't have had any tea if d'Y---- had not told us to use
his name and ask for the club-room. The little shop was crowded--people
standing and making frantic dashes into the kitchen for chocolate and
muffins. The club-room upstairs was quite nice--painted white, a good
glass so that we could arrange our hair a little, one or two tables--and
we were attended to at once. They brought us the spécialité of the
place--light, hot brioches with grated ham inside--very good and very
indigestible.
We went home by a different road, but it looked just like the
other--fewer little hamlets, perhaps, and great pasture fields, filled
with fine specimens of Norman dray horses and mares with long-legged
colts running alongside of them. It was late when we got home. The
lighthouses of Honfleur and Havre made a long golden streak stretching
far out to sea, and the great turning flashlight of St. Adresse was
quite dazzling.
We went back over the same ground two or three days later on our way to
Bayeux. The town is not particularly interesting, but the cathedral is
beautiful and in wonderful preservation--the columns are very
grand--every capital exquisitely carved and no two alike. Our guide, a
very talkative person--unlike the generality of Norman peasants, who are
usually taciturn--was very anxious to show us each column in detail and
explain all the really beautiful carving, but we were rather hurried as
some of the party were going to lunch at Barbieville--Comte Foy's
château.
On the same place as the cathedral is the Hôtel de Ville, with the
wonderful tapestries worked by the Queen Mathilde, wife of William the
Conqueror. They are really most extraordinary and so well preserved. The
colours look as if they had been painted yesterday. I hadn't seen them
for years and had forgotten the curious shapes and vivid colouring. We
went to one of the lace shops. The Bayeux lace is very pretty, made with
the "fuseau", very fine--a mixture of Valenciennes and Mechlin. It is
very strong, though it looks delicate. The dentellières still do a very
good business. The little girls begin to work as soon as they can thread
their needle, and follow a simple pattern.
* * * * *
The F.'s enjoyed their day at Barbieville, Comte Foy's château, very
much. They said the house was nothing remarkable--a large square
building, but the park was original. Comte Foy is a racing man, breeds
horses, and has his "haras" on his place. The park is all cut up into
paddocks, each one separated from the other by a hedge and all
connected by green paths. F. said the effect from the terrace was quite
charming; one saw nothing but grass and hedges and young horses and
colts running about. Comtesse Foy and her daughters were making lace.
The girls went in to Bayeux three or four times a week and took lessons
from one of the dentellières.