the Mater Dolorosa, knelt a woman in deep black, weeping and praying all
alone. In another flowery nook dedicated to the Infant Jesus, a peasant
girl was telling her beads over the baby asleep in her lap; her sunburnt
face refined and beautiful by the tenderness of mother-love. In a third
chapel a pale, wasted old man sat propped in a chair, while his rosy old
wife prayed heartily to St. Gratien, the patron saint of the church, for
the recovery of her John Anderson. And most striking of all was a dark,
handsome young man, well-dressed and elegant, who was waiting at the
door of a confessional with some great trouble in his face, as he
muttered and crossed himself, while his haggard eyes were fixed on the
benignant figure of St. Francis, as if asking himself if it were
possible for him also to put away the pleasant sins and follies of the
world, and lead a life like that which embalms the memory of that good
man.
'If we don't go away to-morrow we never shall, for this church will
bewitch us, and make it impossible to leave,' said Amanda, when at
length they tore themselves away.
'I give up trying to sketch cathedrals. It can't be done, and seems
impious to try,' said Matilda, quite exhausted by something deeper than
pleasure.
'I think the "Reminiscences of a Rook" would make a capital story. They
are long-lived birds, and could tell tales of the past that would
entirely eclipse our modern rubbish,' said Lavinia, taking a last look
at the solemn towers, and the shadowy birds that had haunted them for
ages.
The ladies agreed to be off early in the morning, that they might reach
Amboise in time for the eleven o'clock breakfast. Amanda was to pay the
bill, and to make certain enquiries at the office; Mat to fly out and do
a trifle of shopping; while Lavinia packed up the bundles and mounted
guard over them. They separated, but in half-an-hour all met again, not
in their room according to agreement, but before the cathedral, which
all had decided not to revisit on any account.
Matilda was there first, and as each of the others came stealing round
the corner, she greeted them with a laugh, in which all joined after the
first surprise was over.
'I told you it would bewitch us,' said Amanda; and then all took a
farewell look, which lasted so long that they had to rush back to the
hotel in most unseemly haste.
'Now to fresh _châteaux_ and churches new,' sang Lavinia, as they rolled
away on the fourth stage of their summer journey. A very short stage it
was, and soon they were in an entirely new scene, for Amboise was a
little, old-time village on the banks of the Loire, looking as if it had
been asleep for a hundred years. The Lion d'Or was a quaint place, so
like the inns described in French novels, that one kept expecting to see
some of Dumas' heroes come dashing up, all boots, plumes, and pistols,
with a love-letter for some court beauty in the castle on the hill
beyond.
Queer galleries and stairs led up outside the house to the rooms above.
The _salle-à-manger_ was across a court, and every dish came from a
kitchen round the corner. The _garçon_, a beaming, ubiquitous creature,
trotted perpetually, diving down steps, darting into dark corners, or
skipping up ladders, producing needfuls from most unexpected places. The
bread came from the stable, soup from the cellar, coffee out of a
meal-chest, and napkins from the housetop, apparently, for Adolphe went
up among the weather-cocks to get them.
'No one knows us, no one can speak a word of English, and if we happen
to die here it will never be known. How romantic and nice it is!'
exclaimed Mat, in good spirits, for the people treated the ladies as if
they were duchesses in disguise, and the young women liked it.
'I'm not so sure that the romance is all it looks. We should be in a
sweet quandary if anything happened to our sheet-anchor here. Just
remember, in any danger, save Amanda first, then she will save us. But
if she is lost, all is lost,' replied Lavinia, darkly, for she always
took tragical views of life when her bones ached.
Up the hill they went after breakfast; and balm was found for the old
lady's woes in the sight of many Angora cats, of great size and beauty.
White as snow, with tails like plumes, and mild, yellow eyes, were these
charmers. At every window sat one; on every door-step sprawled a bunch
of down; and frequently the eye of the tabby-loving spinster was
gladdened by the touching spectacle of a blonde mamma in the bosom of
her young family.
'If I could only carry it, I'd have one of those dears, no matter what
it cost!' cried Lavinia, more captivated by a live cat than by all the
dead Huguenots that Catherine de Medicis hung over the castle walls on
a certain memorable occasion.
'Well, you can't, so come on and improve your mind with some good,
useful history,' said Amanda, leading them forward. 'You _must_ remember
that Charles VII. was born here in 1470--that Anne of Brittany married
him for her first husband, and that he bumped his head against a low
door in the garden here above, as he was running through to play bowls
with his Anne, and it killed him.'
'Which? the bump or the bowls?' asked Mat, who liked to have things
clearly stated.
'Don't be frivolous, child. Here Margaret of Anjou and her son were
reconciled to Warwick. Abd-el Kader and his family were kept prisoners
here, and in the garden is a tomb with a crescent on it; likewise a
"pleached walk," and a winding drive inside the great tower, up which
lords and ladies used to ride straight into the hall,' continued the
sage Amanda, who yearned to enlighten the darkness of her careless
friends.
A brisk old woman did the honours of the castle, showing them mouldy
chapels, sepulchral halls, rickety stairs, grubby cells, and pitch-dark
passages, till even the romantic Matilda was glad to see the light of
day, and repose in the pleasant gardens while removing the cobwebs from
her countenance and the dust from her raiment.
A lovely view gladdened their eyes as they stood on the balcony whence
the amiable Catherine surveyed the walls hung thick, and the river
choked up with the dead. Below, the broad Loire rolled slowly by between
its green banks. Little boys, in the costume of Cupid, were riding great
horses in to bathe after the day's work. The grey roofs of the town
nestled to the hillside, and far away stretched the summer landscape,
full of vague suggestions of new scenes and pleasures to the pilgrims.
'We start for Chenonceaux at seven in the morning; so, ladies, I beg
that you will be ready punctually,' was the command issued by Amanda, as
they went to their rooms, after a festive dinner of what Lavinia called
'earth-worms and cacti,' not being fond of stewed brains, baked eels, or
thistles and pigweed chopped up in oil.
Such a droll night as the wanderers spent! No locks on the doors and no
bells. Stairs leading straight up the gallery from the courtyard, carts
going and coming, soft footsteps stealing up and down, whispers that
sounded suspicious (though they were only orders to kill chickens and
pick salad for the morrow), and a ghostly whistle that disturbed
Lavinia so much, she at last draped herself in the green coverlet, and
went boldly forth upon the balcony to see what it meant.
She intended to demand silence in French that would strike terror to the
soul of the bravest native. But when she saw that poor, dear,
hard-worked _garçon_ blacking boots by the light of the moon, her heart
melted with pity; and, resolving to give him an extra fee, she silently
retired to her stone-floored bower, and fell asleep in a stuffy little
bed, whose orange curtains filled her dreams with volcanic eruptions and
conflagrations of the most lurid description.
At seven, an open carriage with a stout pair of horses and a sleepy
driver rolled out of the court-yard of the Lion d'Or. Within it sat
three ladies, who gazed at one another with cheerful countenances, and
surveyed the world with an air of bland content, beautiful to behold.
'I am fairly faint with happiness,' sighed Matilda, as they drove
through fields scarlet with poppies, starred with daisies, or yellow
with buttercups, while birds piped gaily, and trees wore their early
green.
'You did not eat any breakfast. That accounts for it. Have a crust, do,'
said Amanda, who seldom stirred without a good, sweet crust or two; for
they were easy to carry, wholesome to chew, and always ready at a
moment's notice.
'Let us save our "entusymusy" till we get to the _château_, and enjoy
this lovely drive in a peaceful manner,' said Lavinia, still a little
sleepy after her adventures in the glimpses of the moon.
So, for an hour or two, they rolled along the smooth road, luxuriating
in the summer sights and sounds about them; the wayside cottages, with
women working in the gardens; villages clustered round some tiny,
picturesque church; windmills whirling on the distant hill-tops;
vineyards full of peasants tying up the young vines, or trudging by with
baskets on their backs, heaped with green cuttings for the goats at
home. Old men, breaking stone by the roadside, touched their red caps to
the pilgrims, jolly boys shouted at them from the cherry trees, and
little children peeped from behind the rose-bushes blooming everywhere.
Soon, glimpses of the winding Cher began to appear, then an avenue of
stately trees, and then, standing directly in the river, rose the lovely
_château_ built for Diane de Poictiers by her royal lover. Leaving the
carriage at the lodge, our sight-seers crossed the moat, and, led by a
wooden-faced girl with a lisp, entered the famous pleasure-house, which
its present owner (a pensive man in black velvet, who played fitfully on
a French-horn in a pepper-pot tower) is carefully restoring to its
former splendour.
The great picture-gallery was the chief attraction; and beginning with
Diane herself--a tall, simpering baggage, with a bow, hounds, crescent,
and a blue sash for drapery--they were led through a rapid review of all
sorts of worthies and unworthies, relics and rubbish, without end.
Portraits are always interesting. Even Lavinia, who 'had no soul for
Art,' as Mat said, looked with real pleasure at a bass-relief of Agnes
of Sorel, and pictures of Montaigne, Rabelais, Ninon d'Enclos, Madame de
Sévigné, and miniatures of La Fayette and Ben Franklin. The latter
gentleman looked rather out of place in such society; but, perhaps, his
good old face preached the Dianes and Ninons a silent sermon. His plain
suit certainly was a relief to the eye, wearied with periwigged sages
and bejewelled sinners.
Here was the little theatre where Rousseau's plays were acted. Here were
the gilded chairs in which kings had sat, swords heroes had held, books
philosophers had pored over, mirrors that had reflected famous beauties,
and painted walls that had looked down on royal revels long ago.
The old kitchen had a fireplace big enough for a dozen cooks to have
spoiled gallons of broth in, queer pots and pans, and a handy little
window, out of which they could fish at any moment, for the river ran
below.
The chapel, chambers, balconies, and terraces were all being repaired;
for, thanks to George Sand's grandmother, who owned the place in the
time of the Revolution, it was spared out of respect to her, and is
still a charming relic of the past.
The ladies went down the mossy steps, leading from the gallery to the
further shore, and, lying under the oaks, whiled away the noon-time by
re-peopling the spot with the shapes that used to inhabit it. A very
happy hour it was, dreaming there by the little river, with the scent of
new-mown hay in the fresh wind, and before them the airy towers and
gables of the old _château_ rising from the stream like a vision of
departed splendour, love, and romance.
Having seen every thing, and bought photographs _ad libitum_ of the
wooden-faced lisper, who cheated awfully, the pilgrims drove away,
satiated with relics, royalty, and '_regardez_.'
Another night in the stony-hearted, orange-coloured rooms, with the
sleepless _garçon_ sweeping and murmuring outside like a Banshee, while
the hens roosted sociably in the gallery, the horses seemed to be
champing directly under the bed, and the dead Huguenots bumping down
upon the roof from the castle-walls. Another curious meal wafted from
the bowels of the earth and cooled by all the airs that blow,--then the
shawl-straps were girded anew, the carriage (a half-grown omnibus with
the jaundice) mounted, the farewell bows and adieux received, and forth
rumbled the duchesses _en route_ for Blois.
'My heart is rent at leaving that lovely _château_,' said Mat, as they
crossed the bridge.
'I mourn the earth-worms, the cacti, and the tireless "gossoon,"' added
Amanda, who appreciated French cookery and had enjoyed confidences with
Adolphe.
'The cats, the cats, the cats! I could die happy if I had one,'
murmured Lavinia; and with these laments they left the town behind them.
Any thing hotter than Blois, with its half dried-up river, dusty
boulevards, and baked streets, can hardly be imagined. But these
indomitable women 'did' the church and the castle without flinching. The
former was pronounced a failure, but the latter was entirely
satisfactory. The Emperor was having it restored in the most splendid
manner. The interior seemed rather fresh and gay when contrasted with
the time-worn exterior, but the stamped leathern hangings, tiled floors,
emblazoned beams, and carved fireplaces were quite correct. Dragons and
crowns, porcupines and salamanders, monograms and flowers, shone
everywhere in a maze of scarlet and gold, brown and silver, purple and
white.
Here the historical Amanda revelled, and quenched the meek old guide
with a burst of information which caused him to stare humbly at 'the mad
English.'
'_Regardez_, my dears, the chamber and oratory of Catherine de Medicis,
who here plotted the death of the Duc de Guise. This is the cabinet of
her son, Henri III., where he gave the daggers to the gentlemen who were
to rid him of his enemy, the hero of the barricades. This is the Salle
des Gardes, where Guise was leaning on the chimney-piece when summoned
to the king. This is the little room at the entrance of which he was set
upon in the act of lifting the drapery, and stabbed with forty wounds.'
'Oh! how horrid!' gasped Matilda, staring about as if she saw the
sanguinary gentlemen approaching.
'So interesting! Do go on!' cried Lavinia, who was fond of woe, and
enjoyed horrors.
'This is the hall where the body lay for two hours, covered with a cloak
and a cross of straw on the breast,' cut in Amanda, as the guide opened
his mouth. 'Here the king came to look upon the corpse of the once
mighty Henri le Balafré, and spurned it with his foot, saying, I shall
not translate it for you, Mat,--"_Je ne le croyais pas aussi grand_" and
then ordered it to be burnt, and the ashes cast into the river. Remember
the date, I implore you, December 23, 1588.'
As Amanda paused for breath the little man took the word, and rattled
off a jumble of facts and fictions about the window from which Marie de
Medicis lowered herself when imprisoned here by her dutiful son, Louis
XIII.
'I wish the entire lot had been tossed out after her, for I do think
kings and queens are a set of rascals,' cried Mat, scandalized by the
royal iniquities to which she had been listening, till the hair stood
erect upon her innocent head.
The Salle des États was being prepared for the trial of the men who had
lately attempted the Emperor's life, and a most theatrical display of
justice was to be presented to the public. The richly carved stair-case,
with Francis the First's salamanders squirming up and down it, was a
relic worth seeing; but the parched pilgrims found the little pots of
clotted cream quite as interesting, and much more refreshing, when they
were served up at lunch (the pots, not the pilgrims), each covered with
a fresh vine-leaf, and delicately flavoured with butter-cups and
clover.
Amanda won the favour of the stately _garçon_ by praising them warmly,
and he kept bringing in fresh relays, and urging her to eat a third, a
fourth, with a persuasive dignity hard to resist.
'But yes, Mademoiselle, one more, for nowhere else can _crême de St.
Gervais_ be achieved. They are desired, ardently desired, in Paris; but,
alas! it is impossible to convey them so far, such is their exquisite
delicacy.'
How many the appreciative ladies consumed, the muse saith not; but the
susceptible heart of the great _garçon_ was deeply touched, and it was
with difficulty that they finally escaped from his attentions.
On being presented with a cast-off camp-stool, and a pair of old boots
to dispose of, he instantly appropriated them as graceful souvenirs,
and clasping his hands, declared with effusion that he would seat his
infant upon the so-useful stool, and offer the charming boots to Madame
my wife, who would weep for joy at this touching _tableau_.
With this melodramatic valedictory, he suffered the guests to depart,
and the last they saw of him, he was still waving a dirty napkin as he
stood at the gate, big, bland, and devoted to the end, though the drops
stood thick upon his manly brow, and the sun glared fiercely on his
uncovered head.
'I shall write an article on _garçons_ when I get home,' said Lavinia,
who was always planning great works and never executing them. 'We have
known such a nice variety, and all have been so good to us that we owe
them a tribute. You remember the dear, tow-headed one at Morlaix, who
insisted on handing us dishes of snails, and papers of pins with which
to pick out the repulsive delicacy?'
'Yes, and the gloomy one with black linen sleeves who glowered at us,
sighed gustily in our ears, and anointed us with gravy as he waited at
table,' added Amanda.
'Don't forget the dark one with languid, Spanish eyes and curly hair, on
the boat going down the Rance. How picturesque and polite he was, to be
sure, as he kept picking up our beer-bottles when they rolled about the
deck!' put in Mat, who had the dark youth safely in her sketch-book,
with eyes as big and black as blots.
'The solemn one at Tours, who squirted seltzer-water out of window at
the beggars, without a smile, was very funny. So was the little one with
grubby hands, who tottered under the big dishes, but insisted on
carrying the heaviest.'
'The fast-trotter at Amboise won my heart, he was so supernaturally
lively, and so full of hurried amiability. A very dear _garçon_ indeed.'
'Be sure you remember the superb being at Brest, whose eyes threatened
to fall out of his head at exciting moments. Also, Flabot's chubby boy
who adored Mat, and languished at her, over the onions, like a Cupid in
a blue blouse.'
'I will do justice to everyone,' and Lavinia took copious notes on the
spot.
Orleans was a prim, tidy town, and after taking a look at the fine
statue of the Maid, and laughing at some funny little soldiers drumming
wildly in the _Place_, our travellers went on to Bourges.
'This, now, is a nice, dingy old place, and we will take our walks
abroad directly, for it looks like rain, and we must make the most of
our time and money,' said Amanda;
'For, though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.'
Forth they went, as soon as dinner was over, and found the waters all
abroad also; for every man was playing away with a hose, every woman
scrubbing her door-steps, and the children gaily playing leap-frog in
the puddles.
'Nasty, damp place!' croaked the Raven, obscuring her disgusted
countenance behind the inevitable grey cloud, and gathering her garments
about her, as they hopped painfully over the wet stones, for sidewalks
there were none.
'I find it refreshing after the dust and heat. Please detach Mat from
that shop window, and come on, or we shall see nothing before dark,'
replied the ever amiable Amanda.
Matilda _would_ glue herself to every jeweller's window, and remain
fascinated by the richness there displayed, till led away by force. On
this occasion, however, her mania led to good results; for, at the ninth
window, as her keepers were about to drag her away, a ring of peculiar
antiquity caught their eyes simultaneously, and, to Mat's amazement,
both plunged into the little shop, clamouring to see it. A pale emerald,
surrounded by diamond chippings set in silver, with a wide gold band cut
in a leafy pattern, composed this gem of price.
'A Francis First ring, sold by a noble but impoverished family, and only
a hundred francs, Madame,' said the man, politely anxious to cheat the
fair foreigners out of four times its value.
'Can't afford it,' and Lavinia retired. But the shrewd Amanda, with
inimitable shrugs and pensive sighs, regretted that it was so costly. 'A
sweet ring; but, alas! forty francs is all I have to give.'
The man was desolated to think that eighty francs was the lowest he was
permitted to receive. Would Madame call again, and perhaps it might be
arranged?
Ah, no! Madame is forced to depart early, to return no more.
_Mon Dieu!_ how afflicting! In that case, sixty would be possible for so
rare a relic.
Madame is _abîmé_, but it is not to be. Forty is the utmost; therefore
_Merci_, and _Bonjour_.
'Hold! Where shall it be sent?' cries the man, giving in, but not
confessing it, with awkward frankness.
A thousand thanks! Madame will pay for it at once; and laying down the
money, she sweetly bows herself away, with the ring upon her finger.
'What a people!' ejaculated Lavinia, who always felt like a fly in a
cobweb when she attempted to deal with the French, in her blunt,
confiding way.
'It is great fun,' answered Amanda, flashing her ring with satisfaction
after the skirmish. 'Will Madame kindly direct me to the house of
Jacques Coeur?' she added, addressing an old woman clattering by in
_sabots_.
'Allez toujours à droit en vous appuyant sur la gauche,' replied the
native, beaming and bowing till the streamers of her cap waved in the
wind.
They followed these directions, but failed to find the place, and
applied to another old woman eating soup on her door-step.
'Suivez le chemin droit en tombant à gauche' was the reply, with a wave
of the spoon to all the points of the compass.
'Great heavens, what a language!' cried Lavinia, who had been vainly
endeavouring to 'support' herself, as she 'fell' in every direction over
and into the full gutters.
The house was found at last, an ancient, mysterious place, with a very
curious window, carved to look as if the shutters were half open, and
from behind one peeped a man's head, from the other a woman's, both so
life-like that it quite startled the strangers. Murray informed the
observers that these servants are supposed to be looking anxiously for
their master's return, Jacques having suddenly disappeared, after
lending much money to the king, who took that mediæval way of paying his
debts.
Service was being held in the church, and the ladies went in to rest
and listen, for the music was fine. Much red and white drapery gave the
sanctuary the appearance of a gay drawing-room, and the profane Lavinia
compared the officiating clergy to a set of red furniture. The biggest
priest was the sofa, four deacons the arm-chairs, and three little boys
the foot-stools, all upholstered in crimson silk, and neatly covered
with lace tidies.
As if to rebuke her frivolity, a lovely fresh voice from the hidden
choir suddenly soared up like a lark, singing so wonderfully that a
great stillness fell on the listeners, and while it lasted the tawdry
church and its mummery were quite forgotten, as the ear led the heart up
that ladder of sweet sounds to heaven. Even when the others joined in,
one could still hear that child-voice soaring and singing far above the
rest, as if some little angel were playing with the echoes among the
arches of the roof.
A proud native informed the strangers that it was a poor boy whose
exquisite voice was the pride of the town, and would in time make his
fortune. As the choir-boys came racing down stairs after service,
pulling off their dingy robes as they ran, Lavinia tried to pick out the
little angel, but gave it up in despair, for a more uninteresting set of
bullet-headed, copper-coloured sprigs she never saw.