was exactly what I had anticipated; recluse and romantic to the most
extreme degree. The fields were small, and thickly enclosed; nothing
could be more beautiful than the shocks of corn as seen through the
thick foliage of the hedges. "How pleasant," said Mademoiselle to me,
"would be a walk by sunset under those hedge-rows." I agreed in the
observation, and repeat it as conveying an idea of the character of the
scenery. The gates and stiles to these several fields seemed as if they
had been made by Robinson Crusoe: there is nothing in America more rough
and aukward. We passed several cottages very delightfully situated, and
without a single exception covered with grapes. The gradual approach to
them had something which spoke both to the imagination and the feelings.
Imagine the carriage driving very slowly onwards, when you suddenly hear
a sweet female voice carrolling away in all the wildness of nature, and
this without knowing whence it comes. On a sudden, coming nearer the
bottom of the hill, you see on one side of the road a cottage chimney,
peeping as it were from a tuft of trees in a dell, and immediately
afterwards, coming in front, behold a girl picking grapes for the press,
and chearfully singing over her toil. There are few of these cottages
but what have a garden fronting the road, and some of these gardens, in
the season of fruit and flowers, are inimitably beautiful. Where is it
that I have read, that a Frenchman has no idea of gardening? Nothing can
be more false: the French peasants infinitely excell the English of the
same order in the knowledge and practice of this embellishment.
Nothing can be more obscure, more melancholy, than the situation of
Chambord; it is literally buried in woods, and the building, immense as
it is, is not visible till you are within some hundred yards of it. The
woods are not merely on one side, but entirely surround it, leaving only
a park in front, through the midst of which slowly flows a narrow river.
The day was overclouded, and I think I never beheld a more melancholy
scene.
The style of building is strictly Gothic, and the architecture,
considering the order, is very good. It was built by Francis the First,
who, on his return from Spain, commanded the ancient chateau of the
Counts of Blois to be destroyed, and built this in its place. He is said
to have employed eighteen hundred workmen for twelve years, and even
then it was left unfinished. It is moated and walled round, and has
every appendage of the Gothic castle, innumerable towers and turrets,
drawbridges and portals. If seated upon an hill, it would be impossible
to conceive a finer object.
The apartments correspond with its external magnitude; they are large
and spacious, but the effect of them is destroyed by what is very common
in old Gothic buildings; cross-beams from one side of the room to the
other. There is a silly story, that Catherine of Medicis had them so
placed by the advice of an astrologer, who having cast her nativity
discovered that she was in danger of perishing by the fall of an house.
The great Marshal Saxe lived and died in this chateau: the room in which
he breathed his last, is still shewn with great veneration. There is a
tradition that he was killed in a duel by the Prince of Conti, and that
his death was concealed. The Marshal lived here in great state; he had a
regiment of 1500 horse, the barracks of which are in the immediate
vicinity of the castle. The apartments which he occupied are in very
good taste; the ceilings are arched, and the proportions are excellent.
In one of the rooms is an admirable picture of Louis the Fourteenth on
horseback. The spiral staircase is a contrivance which it is impossible
to explain; it is so managed, as to contain two distinct staircases in
one, so that people may go up and down at the same time, without seeing
each other. The apartments are said to exceed twelve hundred.
This castle was the favourite residence of Francis the First, and it was
here that he so magnificently received and entertained the Emperor
Charles the Fifth. Francis the First was in every respect a true French
Knight; gallant, magnificent, and religious in the extreme. There was
formerly a pane of glass in one of the windows of this chateau, on which
Francis the First had written the two following lines;
Toute Femme varie,
Mal Habil qui s'y fie.
This glass is now lost, and I transcribe the verses from a detailed
description of this chateau published at Paris. The castle has been
deserted since the death of Louis the Fourteenth. This monarch used
occasionally to hunt in its forests, but never made it a permanent
residence.
We proposed to sleep at St. Laurence on the Waters, a beautiful village
on the high road to Orleans, and distant about twelve miles from
Chambord. It was evening before we left the castle, and the moon, though
not at the full, had risen, before we had performed the half our road.
Nothing could be more picturesque than the scenery, as now half
illuminated and half shaded. The cottage gardens looked like so many
fairy scenes. The peasant girls looking out of their windows, as they
were going to bed, added much to our mirth; and more particularly, as
our carriage was on a level with their windows. Whether the moon suited
their complexions better than the sun, or that they were different
individuals from those we had passed in the morning, I know not, but so
much I can say, that they appeared to me more delicate and beautiful.
One girl had the face of an angel: it is still imprinted on my mind, and
were I a painter, I could exhibit a most perfect resemblance of her, by
transferring the copy from my imagination to the canvass. There are some
faces which it is impossible to forget.
We passed a group of gipsies: they were seated under a broad branching
oak by the road-side; there were twenty or more of them collected in a
circle, in the midst of which was a fire, and a pot boiling. "These
people," said Mademoiselle St. Sillery, "are realising the wish of our
good King Henry the Fourth: he wished that every peasant in France might
have a fire in his chimney, and a fowl in his pot:--- and fowls must be
very scarce, when these good folks are in want of them."
"Whence is it," said I, "that such notorious thieves are tolerated."
"From the humanity," said Mr. Younge, "which prevails from an indistinct
reference to their origin. They are generally considered as the refugees
from some persecution in their native land: they have fled from towns
and cities to the shelter of woods and fields. On the continent they are
almost universally called Bohemians, and regarded as the descendants of
those unfortunate exiles, who were driven out of that kingdom in the
religious wars. By others, they have been considered as descendants
from the Jews expelled from Syria and Judaea under the Roman emperors. In
short, every tradition concurs in representing them as having their
origin in some persecution."
"But whatever this original stock must have been," said I, "it must
doubtless have long since perished, even in its posterity. Their
unsettled life is very unsuitable to keeping up their generation."
Mr. Younge suggested, that the species had been supported by subsequent
additions; that it was a standing receptacle for all vagabonds and
beggars: "but there is something in the true gipsey," said he, "which I
cannot but consider as characteristic of a certain definite origin. They
are all tall, raw-boned, and with raven locks; and though like the Jews
of different countries they may have national traits, these traits are
never sufficient to merge a certain essential character; they seem
chiefly only minor differences added to others more strong and
indelible."
We reached St. Laurence rather late, but were fortunate enough to
procure a good supper, two fowls being killed for the purpose. The
night, from some cause or other, was so chill, that we found it
necessary to have a fire, and being in excellent spirits, we sate up
late and talked merrily.
On the following morning we continued our progress. The scenery had so
great a resemblance to the road of the preceding day, that I saw nothing
worthy of detailed remark. The country was rich in views and in
fertility. The agriculture, as far as I could judge of it, is very
slovenly: the wheat is mowed, and gathered in by hand and in small
carts. The labourers, however, appeared in tolerable good condition, and
what cottages we passed by the road side, had every appearance of much
comfort, and some substance. I must not forget to mention that I saw no
cottage without a slip of land, and in many parts of the road, on the
waste by its side, were single fruit trees railed round, which as I
understood from Mr. Younge were the property of labourers, whose
cottages were perhaps removed a league from their trees. These trees,
which were in full bearing, are so much respected by the usage of the
country, that they are never invaded. I was pleased with this trait of
general honesty and confidence: it is common in America, but not in
England.
We passed several chateaus in meadows and lawns by the road side: some
of them were altogether in the ancient style, and so truly
characteristic of the French country house, as to merit a more detailed
description.
In the ordinary construction of a French chateau, there is a greater
consumption of wood than brick, and no sparing of ground. It is usually
a rambling building, with a body, wings, and again wings upon those
wings; and flanked on each side with a pigeon-house, stables, and barns,
the pigeon-house being on the right, and the barns and stables on the
left. The decorations are infinitely beneath contempt; painted
weathercocks and copper turrets, and even the paint apparently as
ancient as the chateau. The windows are numerous, but even in the best
chateaus there is strange neglect as to the broken glass; sometimes they
are left as broken, but more frequently patched with paper, coloured
silk, or even stuffed with linen. The upper tier of windows, even in the
front of the house, is usually ornamented with the clothes of the family
hanging out to dry, a piece of slovenliness and ill-taste for which
there can assuredly be no excuse in the country where there is surely
room enough for this part of household business. Upon the whole, the
appearance of a French chateau, in the old style, resembles one of those
deserted houses which are sometimes seen in England, where the plaister
has been peeled or is peeling off, and where every boy that passes
throws his stone at the windows.
The pleasure grounds attached to the chateau, very exactly correspond
with its style: the chateau is usually built in the worst possible site
of the whole estate. It generally stands in some meadow or lawn, and
precisely in that part of it which is the natural drain of the whole,
and where, if there were no house, there would necessarily be an
horse-pond. A grand avenue, planted on each side with noble trees, leads
up to the house, but is usually so overgrown with moss and weeds, as to
convey a most uncomfortable feeling of cold, dampness, and desolation.
The grass of the lawn is equally foul, and every thing of dirt and
rubbish is collected under the windows in front. The gardens behind are
in the same execrable state: gravel-walks over-run with moss and weeds;
flower beds ornamented with statues of leaden Floras, painted Mercurys,
and Dians with milk-pails. Every yard almost salutes you with some
similar absurdity. The hedges are shaped into peacocks, and not
unfrequently into ladies and gentlemen dancing a minuet. Pillars of
cypress, and pyramids of yew, terminate almost every walk, and if there
is an hollow in the garden, it is formed into a muddy pond, in which
half a dozen nymphs in stone, are about to plunge. The ill-taste of
these statues is not the worst; they are grossly indecent: nothing is
reserved, nothing is concealed; and yet the master of the house will not
hesitate to exhibit these to his female visitors, and what is worse, his
female visitors will look at them with a pleasant smile. Once for all,
there is no such thing as decency, as it is understood in other
kingdoms, to be found in France. Nature is the fashion of the day, and
according to the French philosophy, the passions are the best index to
what is natural. With a very few exceptions, the French women act up to
this doctrine, and are as natural as any one could wish them.
We passed through many pretty villages, and amongst them Clery, where
Louis the Eleventh was buried. We visited the tomb of that memorable
tyrant: it is of white marble, and the taste of it is good. The King is
represented as kneeling, and in the attitude of addressing his prayers
to the Virgin. The church of Clery was built by this King, and it was
his express wish that he should be interred in it. The monument was
raised by Louis the Thirteenth. It contains likewise the heart of
Charles the Eighth, and the body of Charlotte of Savoy, the wife of
Louis the Eleventh. This monument has been much defaced, the hatred of
the tyrant extending to his remains.
Clery was formerly a place of pilgrimage for the devout of all Europe.
There is an absurd story of a great bell in the church, which was said
to toll of itself, whenever any one, being in danger of any mischief by
sea or land, made a vow to the Holy Virgin, that if he escaped, he would
make a pilgrimage to Clery. The tolling of the bell was the acceptance
of the vow on the part of the Virgin. What a pity, that credulity should
injure the cause of true religion!
We passed over the bridge of Mesmion, where Francis Duke of Guise was
assassinated. There is an ancient abbey of the Order of St. Benedict in
this village: The vineyards in this district were beautiful, and
apparently fertile to a degree. They are said * * * *.
We reached Orleans to dinner, and whilst it was preparing had a walk
round the town. The ladies reserved themselves for the promenade, as we
intended to remain till the following morning.
Orleans has a very near resemblance to Tours, though the latter town is
certainly better built, and preferable in situation; Orleans, however,
is situated very beautifully. The country is uneven and diversified, and
the fields have the air of pleasure grounds, except in the luxuriant
wildness of the hedges, and the frequent intermixture of orchard and
fruit trees. As seen from the road, the aspect of Orleans is extremely
picturesque: it reminded me strongly of some towns I had seen in the
interior of England.
The interior of the town does not altogether correspond with the beauty
of the country in which it stands: some of the streets are narrow, the
houses old, and most execrably built. The principal street is in no way
inferior to that of Tours: it is terminated by a noble bridge, which has
lately been repaired from the ruinous state in which it was left by the
Chouans. The Grand Place is spacious, and has an air of magnificence.
The cathedral is worth peculiar attention: the first stone of it was
laid in the year 1287, but it was not finished till the year 1567. The
party of the Huguenots, having seized Orleans, destroyed a considerable
part of the cathedral; but Henry the Fourth, having visited the town,
caused it to be rebuilt. The chapels surrounding the altar are
wainscotted with oak, and the pannels are deeply cut into
representations of the histories of the New Testament. The
representation of our blessed Saviour on the cross, and the figures of
St. John and others of the Apostles, are very masterly. They are the
work of Baptiste Tubi, an Italian sculptor who sought refuge in France.
The two towers built at the western extremity by Louis the Fifteenth,
are generally known and celebrated; by some they have been considered as
too highly ornamented, but their effect is great. Perhaps the ornaments
may indeed lose their own effect by being attached to a building which,
by exciting stronger emotions, necessarily merges the less. The prospect
from the summit of these towers exceeds all powers of description. The
country seems one boundless garden covered with vineyards, the richness
of which at this season of the year must be seen to be understood. No
description can convey it with force to the imagination.
The Maid of Orleans, and the history of the times connected with her,
are too well known to render any detail of interest;--suffice it
therefore to say, that there are still several relics of her, and that
her memory is still held in veneration. In the Hotel de Ville is a
portrait of her at full length: her face is extremely beautiful, a long
oval, and has an air of melancholy grandeur which appeals forcibly to
the heart. She wears on her head a cap, or rather a bonnet, in which is
a white plume; her hair is auburn, and flows loosely down her back. Her
neck is ornamented with a necklace, surmounted by a small collar. Her
dress is what is termed a Vandyke robe; it fits closely, and is
scolloped round the neck, arms, and at the bottom. She holds a sword in
her hand. This picture is confirmed by its resemblance to her figure in
a monument in the main street. Charles the Seventh and the Maid of
Orleans are here represented kneeling before the body of our Saviour, as
it lies in the lap of the Virgin Mary. The King is bare-headed, his
helmet lying by him. The Maid of Orleans is opposite to him, her eyes
attentively fixed on Heaven. This monument was executed by the command
of Charles the Seventh, in the year 1458, and is therefore most probably
a correct representation both of the figure of the King himself and of
the Maid of Orleans.
We attended the ladies in the evening to the promenade, or to the
parade, as it has now become the fashion to call it, since France, and
every thing in France, has taken a military turn. I was much pleased
with the beauty of the ladies, and still more with a modesty and simple
elegance in their dress, which I had not expected. But I have observed
more than once, that the fashions of the capital have improved as they
have travelled downwards into the provinces. They lose their excess, or
what we should call in wine, their rawness and their freshness. The
bosom which was naked in Paris has here at least some covering, and
there is even some appearance of petticoats. The colours, as being
adapted to the season, purple and straw, I thought elegant. There were
two or three of the younger ladies in the dresses of bacchanals; they
were certainly tasty, but they did not please me.
We left Orleans at an early hour on the following day. The scenery
continued to improve as we advanced farther on the banks of the Loire.
For several miles it was so highly cultivated, and so naturally
beautiful, as to resemble a continued garden: the houses and chateaus
became neater, and every thing had an air of sprightliness and gaiety,
which might have animated even Despair itself. We observed that the
fields were even infested with game; they rose in the stubbles as we
passed along, and any one might have shot them from the road. Though
there are no game-laws in France, there is a decency and moderation in
the lower orders which answers the same purpose. No one presumes to
shoot game except on land of which he is the proprietor or tenant.
I know not whether I have before remarked, that almost every chateau has
a certain number of fish-ponds, and a certain quantity of woodland, and
that these are considered as such necessary appendages, that an house
is scarcely regarded as habitable without them. The table of a French
gentleman is almost solely supplied from his land. Having a plenty of
poultry, fish, and rabbits, he gives very little trouble to his butcher.
Hence in many of the villages meat is not to be had, and even in large
towns the supply bears a very small proportion to what would seem to be
the natural demand of the population.
Of all the provinces of France, those which compose the department of
the Loire are the richest, and best cultivated; and if any foreigner
would wish to fix his residence in France, let it be on the banks of
this river.--Fish, as I have said before, is cheap and plentiful, and
fowls about one-fourth of the price in England. The climate, not so
southerly as to be intolerably hot, nor so northerly as to be
continually humid, is perhaps the most healthy and pleasant in the
world--the sun shines day after day in a sky of etherial blue; the
spring is relieved by frequent intervals of sun, and the summer by
breezes. The evening, in loveliness and serenity, exceeds all powers of
description. The windows may be left safely open during the night; and
night after night have I laid in my bed, and watched the course of the
moon ascending in the fretted vault. Society, moreover, in this part of
the kingdom, is always within the reach of those who can afford to keep
it, and the expences of the best company are very trifling. I have
mentioned, I believe, that an establishment of two men servants, a
gardener, three maids, a family of from four to six in number, and a
carriage with two horses, might with great ease be kept in the French
provinces on an annual income from 250_l._ to 300_l._ per annum.
One distinction of French and English visiting I must not omit. In
England, if any one come from any distance to visit the family of a
friend, he of course takes his dinner, and perhaps his supper, but is
then expected to return home. Unless he is a brother or uncle, and not
even always then, he must not expect to have a bed. To remain day after
day for a week or a fortnight, would be considered as an outrage. On the
other hand, in France, a family no sooner comes to its chateau for the
summer (for since the Revolution this has become the fashion), than
preparation is immediately made for parties of visitors. Every day
brings some one, who is never suffered to go, as long as he can be
detained. Every chateau thus becomes a pleasant assemblage, and in
riding, walking, and fishing, nothing can pass more agreeably than a
French summer in the country. As we passed along, we met several of
these parties in their morning rides; they invariably addressed us, and
very frequently invited us to their houses, though perfectly strangers
to us. The mode of living in these country residences differs very
little from what is common in the same rank of life in England. The
breakfast consists of tea, coffee, fruits, and cold meat. The dinner is
usually at two o'clock, and is served up as in England. The French
however have not as yet imitated the English habit of sitting at table.
Coffee in a saloon or pavilion, fronting the garden and lawn,
immediately follows the dinner: this consumes about two hours. The
company then divide into parties, and walk. They return about eight
o'clock to tea. After tea they dance till supper. Supper is all gaiety
and gallantry, and the latter perhaps of a kind, which in England would
not be deemed very innocent. The champagne then goes round, and the
ladies drink as much as the gentlemen, that is to say, enough to
exhilarate, not to overwhelm the animal spirits. A French woman with
three or four glasses of wine in her head, would certainly make an
English one stare; but France is the land of love, and it is an
universal maxim that life is insipid without it.
We slept in a village, of which I have not noted the name: the ladies,
as usual, were huddled in one room, and Mr. Younge, as usual, was not
excluded from their party. For my own part I can sleep any where, and I
slept this night in the kitchen. The landlord, from civility, insisted
on having the honour of sleeping in the opposite corner. I very
willingly acceded to his request, and having made up a cheerful fire, we
composed ourselves in two chairs. The landlady seemed very indignant
that her husband should desert her bed: she was sure that Monsieur was
not afraid of remaining by himself. Her husband, she added, had a
rheumatism, and the night air might injure him. I was resolved, however,
for once to do mischief, or perhaps to do good, so said nothing, and the
husband was accordingly obliged to abide by his offer, and remain in the
kitchen.
CHAP. XVI.
_Comparative Estimate of French and English Country Inns--Tremendous
Hail Storm--Country Masquerade--La Charite--Beauty
and Luxuriance of its Environs--Nevers--Fille-de-Chambre--Lovely
Country between Nevers and Moulins--Treading
Corn--Moulins--Price of Provisions._