Bretagne; in the town and neighbourhood, therefore, are many of the
relics of these early sovereigns. On an hill to the eastward is the
castle in which these princes used to hold their court: it is still
entire, though built nearly nine hundred years ago; and the repairs
having been made in the character of the original structure, it remains
a most perfect specimen of the architecture of the age in which it was
built. One room, the hall or banquetting-room, as in all Gothic castles,
is of an immense size, and lofty in proportion. The ornaments likewise
partake of the character of the age; they are chiefly carved angels,
croziers, and other sacred appendages. A remark here struck me very
forcibly, that many curious conclusions as to the characters, manners,
and even of the detail of domestic economy of men in the early ages,
might be deduced from the remains of their architecture. I have read
very curious and detailed histories founded only on the figures on
medals; the early history of Greece, and that of the lower empire of
Rome, have scarcely a better foundation. Now, why may not the same use
be made of architecture? Is not the religion of our ancestors legible in
the very ornaments of their house? Are not their excessive ignorance
and credulity equally visible in the griffins, sphinxes, dragons,
mermaids, and chimeras, which are so frequently carved in Gothic roofs,
and which are so absurdly mistaken for angels and devils? The analogy
might be extended much farther.
The monument of Francis the Second, Duke of Bretagne, and father to Anne
of Bretagne, the Queen of France, is one of the most magnificent of the
kind in France, and from this circumstance, I suppose, has been suffered
to survive the Revolution undefaced. This monument was the work of
Michael Colomb, and is one of those works of art which, like the Apollo
Belvidere, is sufficient of itself to immortalize its artist. The
figures are a curious mixture of the wives and children of the deceased
Duke, with angels, cherubs, &c.; but this was the taste of the age, and
must not be imputed to Michael Colomb. The heart of Anne is likewise
buried in a silver urn in the same vault. The inscription on the tomb
relates a vow made by Francis to the Holy Virgin, that if he should
obtain a child by his second marriage, he would dedicate a golden image
to the Virgin. The prince obtained the child, and the image was made and
dedicated.
It would be an injustice, in this account of Nantes, not to mention the
inn called the Hotel of Henry the Fourth. It is one of the largest and
most magnificently furnished in Europe. It makes up 60 beds, and can
take in 100 horses, and an equal proportion of servants. The rooms are
let very cheap, considering their quality: two neat rooms may be had for
four shillings a day; and a traveller may live very comfortably in the
house, and be provided with every thing, for about two guineas per week.
Horses are charged at the rate of two shillings only for a day and
night. And one thing which ought not to be forgotten, the beds are made,
and ladies are attended, by female servants, all of whom are neat, and
many of them very pretty girls. The contrary practice, which is almost
universal in France, is one of the most unpleasant circumstances to a
man educated in old English habits; for my own part, I never could
divest myself of my first disgust, at the sight of a huge, bearded,
raw-boned fellow, having access to the chamber at all hours, and making
the beds, and removing any of the usual appendages of a chamber, in the
presence of the ladies.
Having seen enough of Nantes, and exchanged our coach for a kind of open
barouche, particularly adapted for the French cross roads, being very
narrow, and composed entirely of cane, with removable wheels, so as to
take to pieces in an instant, we resumed the line of our Tour, and took
the road along the Loire for Ancennis.
It was a beautiful morning, and there being a fair at Mauves, a village
on the road, nothing could be more gay than our journey at its
commencement. I have forgotten to mention, that Mr. Younge and myself,
at the proposal of the ladies, had sent our horses forwards, and
therefore had taken our seats in the landau. The conversation of the
ladies was so pleasing and so intelligent, that hereafter I adopted this
proposal as often as it was offered, and as seldom as possible had
recourse to my horse.
Mauves, which was our first stage, is most romantically situated on a
hill, which forms one of the banks of the Loire. The country about it,
in the richness of its woods, and the verdure of its meadows, most
strongly reminded me of England; but I know of no scenery in England,
which together with this richness and variety of woodland and meadow,
has such a beautiful river as the Loire to complete it in all the
qualities of landscape. On each side of this river, from Nantes, are
hills, which are wooded to the summit, and there are very few of these
wood-tufted hills, which have not their castle or ruined tower. In some
of these ancient buildings, there was scarcely any thing remaining but
the two towers which guarded the grand portal; but others, being more
durably constructed, were still habitable, though still retaining their
ancient forms. I have frequently had occasion to observe, that the
French gentry, in making their repairs, invariably follow the style of
the building; whether through natural taste, or because they repair by
piece-meal, and therefore do only what is wanted, I know not. But there
is one necessary consequence from this practice, which is, that the
remains of antiquity are more perfect in France than in any other
kingdom in Europe. From Mauves to Oudon, where we dined, the country is
still very thickly wooded and inclosed; the properties evidently very
small, and therefore innumerable cottages and small gardens. These
cottages usually consist of only one floor, divided into two rooms, and
a shed behind. They were generally situated in orchards, and fronted the
Loire. They had invariably one or two large trees, which are decorated
with ribbons at sunset, as the signal for the dance, which is invariably
observed in this part of France. Some of the peasant girls, which came
out to us with fruit, were very handsome, though brown. The children,
which were in great numbers, looked healthy, but were very scantily
clad. None of them had more than a shift and a petticoat, and some of
them girls of ten or twelve years of age, only a shift, tied round the
waist by a coloured girdle. As seen at some distance, they reminded me
very forcibly of the figures in landscape pictures.
We remained at Oudon till near sunset, when we resumed our road to
Ancennis, where we intended to sleep. As this was only a distance of
seven miles, we took it very leisurely, sometimes riding, and sometimes
walking. The evening was as beautiful as is usual in the southern parts
of Europe at this season of the year. The road was most romantically
recluse, and so serpentine as never to be visible beyond an hundred
yards. The nightingales were singing in the adjoining woods. The road,
moreover, was bordered on each side by lofty hedges, intermingled with
fruit-trees, and even vines in full bearing. At every half mile, a cross
road, branching from the main one, led into the recesses of the country,
or to some castle or villa on the high grounds which overlook the river.
At some of these bye-ways were very curious inscriptions, painted on
narrow boards affixed to a tree. Such were, "The way to 'My Heart's
Content' is half a league up this road, and then turn to the right, and
keep on till you reach it." And another: "The way to 'Love's Hermitage'
is up this lane, till you come to the cherry-tree by the side of a
chalk-pit, where there is another direction." Mademoiselle Sillery
informed me, that these kind of inscriptions were characteristic of the
banks of the Loire. "The inhabitants along the whole of the course of
this river," said she, "have the reputation, from time immemorial, of
being all native poets; and the reputation, like some prophecies, has
perhaps been the means of realizing itself. You do not perhaps know,
that the Loire is called in the provinces the River of Love; and
doubtless its beautiful banks, its green meadows, and its woody
recesses, have what the musicians would call a symphony of tone with
that passion." I have translated this sentence verbally from my
note-book, as it may give some idea of Mademoiselle Sillery. If ever
figure was formed to inspire the passion of which she spoke, it was
this lady. Many days and years must pass over before I forget our walk
on the green road from Oudon to Ancennis--one of the sweetest, softest
scenes in France.
We entered the forest of Ancennis as the sun was setting. This forest is
celebrated in every ancient French ballad, as being the haunt of
fairies, and the scene of the ancient archery of the provinces of
Bretagne and Anjou. The road through it was over a green turf, in which
the marks of a wheel were scarcely visible The forest on each side was
very thick. At short intervals, narrow footpaths struck into the wood.
Our carriage had been sent before to Ancennis, and we were walking
merrily on, when the well-known sound of the French horn arrested our
steps and attention. Mademoiselle Sillery immediately guessed it to
proceed from a company of archers; and in a few moments her conjecture
was verified by the appearance of two ladies and a gentleman, who issued
from one of the narrow paths. The ladies, who were merely running from
the gentleman, were very tastily habited in the favourite French dress
after the Dian of David; whilst the blue silk jacket and hunting cap of
the gentleman gave him the appearance of a groom about to ride a race.
Our appearance necessarily took their attention; and after an exchange
of salutes, but in which no names were mentioned on either side, they
invited us to accompany them to their party, who were refreshing
themselves in an adjoining dell. "We have had a party at archery," said
one of them, "and Madame St. Amande has won the silver bugle and bow.
The party is now at supper, after which we go to the chateau to dance.
Perhaps you will not suffer us to repent having met you by refusing to
accompany us." Mademoiselle Sillery was very eager to accept this
invitation, and looked rather blank when Mrs. Younge declined it, as she
wished to proceed on her road as quickly as possible. "You will at least
accompany us, merely to see the party."--"By all means," said
Mademoiselle Sillery. "I must really regret that I cannot," said Mrs.
Younge. "If it must be so," resumed the lady who was inviting us, "let
us exchange tokens, and we may meet again." This proposal, so perfectly
new to me, was accepted: the fair archers gave our ladies their pearl
crescents, which had the appearance of being of considerable value.
Madame Younge returned something which I did not see: Mademoiselle
Sillery gave a silver Cupid, which had served her for an essence-bottle.
The gentleman then shaking hands with us, and the ladies embracing each
other, we parted mutually satisfied. "Who are these ladies?" demanded I.
"You know them as well as we do," replied Mademoiselle Sillery. "And is
it thus," said I, "that you receive all strangers
indiscriminately?"--"Yes," replied she; "all strangers of a certain
condition. Where they are evidently of our own rank, we know of no
reserve. Indeed, why should we? It is to general advantage to be
pleased, and to please each other."--"But you embraced them, as if you
really felt an affection for them."--"And I did feel that affection for
them," said she, "as long as I was with them. I would have done them
every service in my power, and would even have made sacrifices to serve
them."--"And yet if you were to see them again, you would perhaps not
know them."--"Very possibly," replied she. "But I can see no reason why
every affection should be necessarily permanent. We never pretend to
permanence. We are certainly transient, but not insincere."
In this conversation we reached Ancennis, a village on a green,
surrounded by forests. Some of the cottages, as we saw them by
moon-light, seemed most delightfully situated, and the village had
altogether that air of quietness and of rural retreat, which
characterizes the scenery of the Loire. Our horses having preceded us by
an hour or more, every thing was prepared for us when we reached our
inn. A turkey had been put down to roast, and I entered the kitchen in
time to prevent its being spoilt by French cookery. Mademoiselle Sillery
had the table provided in an instant with silver forks and table-linen.
Had a Parisian seen a table thus set out at Ancennis, without knowing
that we had brought all these requisites with us, he would not have
credited his senses. The inns in France along the banks of the Loire,
are less deficient in substantial comforts than in these ornamental
appendages. Poultry is every where cheap, and in great plenty; but a
French inn-keeper has no idea of a table-cloth, and still less of a
clean one. He will give you food and a feather-bed, but you must provide
yourselves with sheets and table-cloths. Our accommodations, with
respect to lodging for the night, were not altogether so uncomfortable:
the house had indeed two floors, but there were no stairs; so that we
had to ascend by a ladder, and that not the best of its kind. There
being, moreover, but two rooms, the one occupied by the landlord, his
wife, and two grown girls, there was some difficulty as to the disposal
of Mademoiselle Sillery and myself. It was at length arranged, that all
the females in the house should sleep in one room, and all the males in
another. When I came to take possession of my bed, I found that Mrs.
Younge had contrived to exempt her husband from this arrangement: he was
now sleeping by the side of the handsomest woman in France, whilst I was
lying at one end of a dirty room, the other being occupied by the
snoring landlord. Fatigue, however, according to the proverb, is better
than a bed of down; I accordingly soon fell asleep, and Mademoiselle
Sillery was not absent from my dreams. I should not forget to mention,
as another specimen of French manners, that I learned from this lady on
the following day, that she had slept with her sister and her husband.
Such are French manners.
On the following morning, induced by the example of the landlord, and by
the beauty of the rising sun, I rose early, and accompanied by my host,
walked into the fields round the village. The environs of Ancennis
appeared to me extremely beautiful; whether from the mere effect of
novelty, or that they really were so, I know not. Some of the neater
cottages were situated in gardens very carefully cultivated, and so much
in the style of England, that, but for some characteristic frivolities,
I could scarcely believe myself in France. In every garden, or orchard,
I invariably observed one tree distinguished above the rest; it had
usually a seat around its trunk, and where its top was large enough, a
railed seat, or what is called in America a look-out, amongst its
branches. I had the curiosity to ascend to some of these, for the garden
gates were invariably only latched, and small pieces of wood were nailed
to the trunk, so as to assist the ascent of the women. The branches,
which formed the look-out, were carved with the names of the village
beauties, and in one of the seats I found a French novel, and a very
pretty paper work-box. I saw enough to conclude, that Ancennis was not
without the characteristic French elegance; and I must once for all say,
that the manners of Marmontel are founded in nature, and that the
daughters of the yeomanry and humbler farmers in France have an
elegance, a vivacity, and a pleasantry, which is no where to be found
out of France.
On my return I found Mademoiselle Sillery at the breakfast table; and in
answer to her inquiries as to the object of my walk, informed her of my
observations. She replied, that they were very well founded, and added a
reason for it which seemed to me very satisfactory. "The French girls,"
said she, "all at least who learn to read, are formed to this elegance
and softness by the very elements of their education; their class-book
is Marmontel, and La Belle Assemblee, the last, one of the prettiest
novels in France. They are thus taught love with their letters, and they
improve in gallantry as they improve in reading; and I will venture to
say," continued this elegant girl, "that by this method of instruction
we make a great earned where there is a love-story at the end of it."
We shortly afterwards resumed our progress, and passed through a country
of the same kind as on the preceding day, alternate hill and valley. The
Arno, as described by the Tuscan poets, for I have never seen it, must
bear a strong resemblance to the Loire from Ancennis to Angers; nothing
can be more beautiful than the natural distribution of lawn, wood, hill
and valley, whilst the river, which borders this scenery, is ever giving
it a new form by its serpentine shape. The favourite images in the
landscapes of the ancient painters here meet the eye almost every
league: cattle resting under the shade, and attentively eyeing the
river, whilst the country around is of a nature and character, which the
fancy of a poet would select for the haunt of Dian and her huntresses.
The peasantry, as many of them as we met, seemed to have that life and
spirits the sure result of comfort; if they were not invariably well
clothed, they seemed at least sufficiently so for the climate of the
province. The younger women had dark complexions and shining black eyes;
their shapes were generally good, and their air and vivacity, even in
the lowest ranks, such as peculiarly characterize the French people. If
addressed, they were rather obliging than respectful, and had all of
them a compliment on their tongues' end. It was not indeed easy to get
rid of them with a mere word or question. I must add, however, that I am
here describing their manner towards Mr. Younge and myself. Towards the
ladies it was somewhat different. When Madame or Mademoiselle spoke to
them, they seemed modest and respectful in the extreme; to the latter,
indeed, they were more familiar, and many of them, on giving the adieu
after a ten minutes' conversation, very prettily embraced her, gently
putting their arms round her neck, and kissing the left shoulder; a form
of salutation very common in the French provinces. In a word, the more I
saw of the French character, the more did I wish that the more weighty
and valuable qualities of the English and American character, their
honesty and their sincerity, were accompanied by the gentleness, the
grace, the affectionate benevolence, which characterise the French
manners.
Ingrande, where we dined, is the last town of the province of Bretagne,
on the Loire, and thenceforwards we had entered Anjou. It is a town of
above three hundred houses, built round the base of a sandy hillock, the
church being on the hill. The houses are intermingled with trees, and
the country very prettily planted. It is not to be expected that the
habitations in such a town could be any thing better than cottages; but
they were tolerably clean, and not very ruinous.
We had now passed through the province of Bretagne as it lies along the
Loire, and it is but justice to say, that in point of natural scenery,
in the wildness and tranquillity which constitute what I should term the
romance of landscape, it exceeds every thing in Europe. Along the banks
of the Loire, France has meadows, the verdure of which will not sink in
comparison with those of England. Along the banks of the Loire,
moreover, France has woodlands, and lawns, and an, intermixture of wood
and water, and of every possible variety of surface, which no country in
the world but France can produce. The Loire is perhaps the only river in
Europe which is bordered by hills and hillocks, and which, in so long a
course, so seldom passes through a mere dead level. Accordingly, from
the earliest times of the French monarchy, the rising grounds of the
Loire have been selected for the sites of castles, monasteries, abbeys,
and chateaux, and as the possessors have superadded Art to Nature, this
natural beauty of the grounds has been improving from age to age. The
Monks have been immemorially celebrated for their skill as well in the
choice of situations as in their improvement of natural advantages;
their leisure, and their taste, improved by learning, have naturally
been employed on the scenes of their residence, on their vineyards and
their gardens. Innumerable are the still remaining vestiges of their
taste and of their industry, and I have a most sincere satisfaction in
thus doing them justice; in thus bearing my testimony, that, so far from
being the drones of the land, there is no part of a province which they
possessed, but what they have improved. The scenery along the Loire has
a character which I should think could not be found in any other
kingdom, and on any other river. Towns, windmills, steeples, ancient
castles and abbeys still entire, and others with nothing remaining but
their lofty walls; hills covered with vines, and alternate woods and
corn-fields--altogether form a landscape, or rather a chain of
landscapes, which remind one of a poem, and successively refresh,
delight, animate, and exalt the imagination. Is there any one oppressed
with grief for the loss of friends, or what is still more poignantly
felt, for their ingratitude and unkindness? Let him traverse the banks
of the Loire; let him appeal from man to Nature, from a world of passion
and vice, to scenes of groves, meads, and flowers. His must be no common
sorrow who would not forget it on the banks of the Loire.
After a short rest at Chantoce, a village of the same rank and
character with Mauves, we arrived at Angers, where we proposed to remain
till the following Monday, having arrived there on the Thursday evening.
We had scarcely reached the inn, before a gentleman of the name of Mons.
de Corseult, to whom we had sent forwards our letters from Nantes,
addressed himself to us, and insisted that we should continue our
journey to his house, about half a mile on the other side of the town.
The ladies at length acceded to this proposal, on the condition that our
horses, servants, &c. should be sent back to the inn, and that ourselves
only should be the visitors of Mons. de Corseult.
CHAP. XII.
_Angers--Situation--Antiquity and Face of the Town--Grand
Cathedral--Markets--Prices of Provisions--Public Walks--Manners
and Diversions of the Inhabitants--Departure from
Angers--Country between Angers and Saumur--Saumur._
WE had intended to have reposed ourselves at Angers, but Mons. de
Corseult, having been very lately married, had his house daily full of
visitors, and as we were strangers, parties were daily made for us.
Whatever time I could steal from this unintermitting round, I employed
in walks to the town, and in the neighbourhood. Mr. Younge generally
accompanied me, but I was sometimes fortunate enough to be honoured with
Mademoiselle St. Sillery, an happiness of which I should have been more
sensible, had it not usually tempted the intrusion of some coxcomb, who
converted a tour of information into a mere lounge of levity and
senseless gallantry. How miserable would have been an English girl, of
the beauty and wit of this young lady, with such gallants! Or is it with
ladies as with the poet in Don Quixotte--are love and flattery sweet,
though they may come from a fool and a madman? I should hope not, or at
least with Mademoiselle St. Sillery.
In despite, however, of these intrusions, we had two or three pleasant
walks through Angers, in which the curiosity of Mademoiselle was of much
use to me. He must be less than a man, who could be wearied even by the
most minute interrogations of an handsome woman. Mademoiselle St.
Sillery, as if resolved to be ignorant of nothing, put the most endless
questions to those who accompanied us about the town; and with true
French gallantry, the answers even exceeded the questions. I had little
to do but to look and to listen.