SAINT GERMAIN-EN-LAYE
Saint Germain has not the popularity of Versailles, nor the charm of
Fontainebleau, but it is more accessible than either, and, if less known
and less visited by the general mass of tourists, it is all the more
delightful for that.
Saint Germain, the chateau, the town and the forest, possess a
magnificent site. Behind is a wooded background, and before one are the
meanderings of the Seine which in the summer sunlight is a panorama
which is to be likened to no other on earth. Across the river bottom run
the great tree-lined roadways, straight as the proverbial flight of the
arrow, while on the horizon, looking from the celebrated terrace, one
sees to-day the silhouetted outline of Paris with the Tour Eiffel and
the dome of the Sacre Coeur as the culminating points.
The town itself is ugly and ill-paved, and heavy-booted dragoons make a
hideous noise as they clank along to and from the cavalry barracks all
through the day and night. Neither are scorching automobiles making
their ways to Trouville and Dieppe over the "Route des Quarante Sous" a
pleasant feature. One can ignore all these things, however, for what is
left is of a superlative charm.
[Illustration: SAINT GERMAIN]
Saint Germain-en-Laye in the first stages of French history was but a
vast extent of forest which under Charlemagne came to the possession of
the monks of the Abbaye de Saint Germain-des-Pres. The first royal
palace here was built by King Robert in the tenth century, practically
upon the site of the present edifice. In the eleventh century there came
into being another royal dwelling, and in the twelfth century
Louis-le-Gros built a chateau-fort as a protection to the royal
residence and monastery. This did not prevent the Black Prince from very
nearly burning them down on one of his bold raids, but by 1367, Charles
V re-erected the "_castel_" of Saint Germain-en-Laye.
The English, by coercion, induced a monk of a neighbouring establishment
at Nanterre to deliver up a set of false keys by which the great gates
of the castle were surreptitiously opened, and, for a time, the
descendants of the Conqueror held possession.
The establishment of Charles V in no way satisfying the artistic
ambitions of Francis I, that monarch gave the task of reconstruction to
the architect Pierre Chambiges, in 1539, preserving only the Saint
Chapelle of Saint Louis and the donjon.
The building must have gone forward with an extreme rapidity for at the
architect's death, in 1544, it had reached nearly the level of the
rooftop.
Chambiges' successor was his son-in-law, Guillaume Guillain, who,
without changing the primitive plan, completed the work in 1548.
Saint Germain, above the first story, is essentially a construction of
bricks, but the effect is even now, as Chambiges originally intended, an
edifice with its main constructive elements of lower sustaining walls
and buttresses of stone binding together the slighter fabric, or
filling, above. Although it is Renaissance through and through, Saint
Germain shows not the slightest reminiscence of anything Italian and
must be considered entirely as an achievement of French genius.
This edifice of Francis I was more a fortress than a palace in spite of
its decorative features, and Henri II, desiring something more of a
luxurious royal residence, began what the historians and savants know as
the Chateau Neuf--the palace of to-day which stands high on the hill
overlooking the winding Seine, to which seducing stream the gardens
originally descended in terraces.
Chiefly it is to Henri IV that this structure owes its distinction, for
previously work went on but intermittently, and very slowly. Henri IV
brought the work to completion and made the chateau his preferred and
most prolonged place of residence, as indeed did his successor.
It is the Chateau Neuf of the time of Henri IV which is to-day known as
the Palais de Saint Germain-en-Laye. Of the Vieux Chateau only some
fragmentary walls and piles of debris, the Pavillon Henri IV, and, in
part, the old royal chapel remain.
Actually the structure of to-day includes that part of the Hotel du
Pavillon Henri IV which is used as a restaurant.
Henri IV and Louis XIII gave Saint Germain its first great _eclat_ as a
suburban place of sojourn, and from the comings and goings of the court
of that time there gradually grew up the present city of twenty thousand
inhabitants; not all of them of courtly manners, as one learns from a
recollection of certain facts of contemporary modern history.
During the days when Mazarin actually held the reins of state the court
was frequently at Saint Germain. Louis XIV was born here, and until
Versailles and Marly came into being he made it his principal dwelling.
It was in one of the magnificent apartments, too, midway between the
angle turrets of the facade, Louis XIII ended his unhappy existence in
1642. His own private band of musicians played a "De Profundis" of his
own composition to waft his soul on its long journey.
The chroniclers describe one of the monarch's last conversations as
follows: "When they transport my body to Paris after my soul has flown,
Laporte, remember that place where the road turns under the hill; it is
a rough road, Laporte, and will surely shake my bones sadly if the
driver does not go slowly."
Those who have journeyed out from Paris to Saint Germain by road in this
later century will appreciate the necessity for the admonition.
Louis XIV, unlike Louis XIII, detested Saint Germain beyond words,
because the towers of the Abbaye de Saint Denis, where he was destined
one day to be buried, were visible from the terrace. Louis XV was not so
particular for he was so morbid that he even loved, as he claimed
himself, the scent of new-made graves.
The arrival of Anne d'Autriche and the royal family at Saint Germain
during the war of the Fronde was one of the most dramatic incidents of
the period. They had travelled half the night, coming from the Palais
Royal only to find a palace awaiting them which was unheated and
unfurnished though the time was mid-January. Always drear and gaunt it
was immeasurably so on this occasion. Mazarin had made no provision for
the queen's arrival; there, were neither beds, tables nor linen in their
proper places, no servants, no attendants of any kind, only the
guardians of the palace. The queen was obliged to take rest from her
fatigue on a folding camp bedstead, without covering of any kind. The
princes fared no better, actually sleeping on the floor.
There were plenty of mirrors and much gold gingerbread on the walls and
ceilings, but no furniture. The personal belongings which the court had
brought with them were few. No one had a change of clothing even; those
worn one day were washed the next. However the queen good-naturedly
smiled through it all. She called it "an escapade which can hardly last
a week."
All Paris was by this time crying "_Vive la Fronde_": "_Mort a
Mazarin_": but it proved to be something more than a little affair of a
week, as we now know.
At this period, when Anne d'Autriche was practically a prisoner at Saint
Germain, the picture made by the old chateau against its forest
background was undeniably more imposing than that which one sees to-day.
The glorious forest was not then hidden by rows of banal roof-tops, and
the dull drabs of barracks and prisons.
In the warm spring mornings the glittering facade of the chateau was
brilliant as a diamond against its setting, and the radiating avenues of
the park leading from the famous terrace stretched out into infinite
vistas that were most alluring. This effect, fortunately, is not wholly
lost to-day.
At night things were as idyllic as by day. The queen and her ladies,
relieved of the dreary presence of the king who still remained at Paris,
revelled in an unwonted freedom. Concerts, suppers and dances were the
rule and moonlight cavalcades to the heart of the forest, or promenades
on foot the length of the terrace, and by some romantically disposed
couples far beyond, gave a genuine "begone, dull care" aspect to court
life which was not at all possible in the capital.
The following picture, taken from a court chronicle, might apply as well
to-day if one makes due allowance for a refulgence of myriad lamps
gleaming out Parisward as night draws in.
"It is a rare moonlight night. The queen and her ladies have emerged
late on the stately terrace of Henri IV which borders upon the forest
and extends for nearly a league along the edge of the height upon which
stands the chateau.
"The queen and her brother-in-law, Gaston, Duc d'Orleans, have seated
themselves somewhat apart from the rest beside the stone balustrade
which overlooks the steep descent to the plain below. Vineyards line the
hillside and the Seine flows far beneath, the fertile river-bottom rich
with groves and orchards, villas and gardens. Still more distant sweeps
away the great plain wrapped in dark shadows punctuated here and there
with great splotches of moonlight. Of the great city beyond (the Paris
of to-day, whose myriad glow-worm lights actually do lend an additional
charm) not a vestige is to be seen. Scarcely a lantern marks the
existence of a living soul in the vast expanse below, but the moon, high
in the heavens, plots out the entire landscape with a wonderful
impressiveness, and the stars topping the forest trees to the rear and
the heights which rise on the distant horizon lend their quota of
romanticism, and, as if by their scintillations, mark the almost
indiscernible towers of the old Abbey of Saint Denis to the left.
"'Oh, what a lovely night,' said the queen to her companion. Again it is
the old chronicler who speaks. 'Can the world ever appear so calm and
peaceful elsewhere?'"
This Terrasse de Henri IV, so called, is one of the most splendid and
best-known terraces in Europe, and is noted for its extent as well as
for its marvellous point of view, the whole panorama Parisward being
spread out before one as if on a map, a view which extends from the
Chateau de Maisons on the left to the Aqueduct de Marly and the heights
of Louveciennes on the right, including the Bois de Vesinet, Mont
Valerian, Montmartre and the whole Parisian panorama as far as the
Coteaux de Montmorency.
This terrace, too, was the project and construction of Le Notre in 1672.
It is two and a half kilometres in length and thirty metres in width,
upheld by a stone retaining wall which is surmounted by a balustrade. It
extends from the Pavillon Henri IV to a gun battery well within the
confines of the forest. Entrance from the precincts of the palace is by
the great ornamental iron gateway known as the Grille Royale, from which
an alleyed row of lindens leads to the heart of the forest.
The record of another merry party at Saint Germain is that which
recounts that summer evening when the king and court scuttled about the
park enjoying themselves as only royalty can--when some one else pays
the bills. The terrace, the gravelled walks and the alleyed paths of the
forest all led to charming and discreet rendezvous.
[Illustration: _The Valley of the Seine, from the Terrace at Saint
Germain_]
So preoccupied was every one on this particular occasion that the
merry-makers had hardly a thought for their king, who, left to his own
devices, sought out four maids of honour gossiping in a bower, and,
taking the mischief-loving Lauzan into his confidence, pried upon them
in the ambush of the night. They were gossiping over the dancers at the
ball of the night before when one of them proclaimed her fancy for the
agility and grace of the king above all others. It was the first
expression of "La Valliere" since she had come timidly to court. The
rest is an idyll which is found set forth in all the history books at
considerable length, and at this particular moment it was a genuine
idyll, for the king had not then become the debauched roue that he was
in later life.
After Anne d'Autriche, Henriette, the widow of Charles I of England,
found at Saint Germain a comfortable and luxurious refuge.
From 1661 onward Louis XIV made frequent visits to Saint Germain and was
so taken with the charms of the neighbourhood and the immediate site
that he conjured six and a half million francs out of his Civil List, in
addition to his regular stipend, for the upkeep of this palace alone.
This was robbery: modern graft pales before this; candelabra by the
pound and writing tables by the square yard were known before the days
of machine politicians.
James II of England, in 1688, found a hospitable refuge at Saint
Germain, thanks to Louis XIV, and died within the palace walls in 1701,
as did his wife, Maria d'Este, in 1718.
Louis XV and Louis XVI gave Saint Germain scarce a thought, and under
the Empire it became a cavalry school, and later, under the Restoration,
sinking lower still, it merited only the denomination of a barracks. Its
culminating fall arrived when it was turned into a penitentiary.
Napoleon III, with finer instincts, here installed a museum, and
restorations and rebuilding having gone on intermittently since that
time the palace has now taken on a certain pretence to glory.
Practically the palace in its present form is a restoration, not
entirely a new building, but a rebuilding of an old one, first begun
under the competent efforts of the architect Eugene Millet, who sought
to reestablish the edifice as it was under Francis I. The great tower
has been preserved but the corner pavilions of the period of Louis XIV
have been demolished in accord with the carrying out of this plan.
For forty years Saint Germain has been in a state of restoration, and
like the restoration of Pierrefonds it has swallowed up fantastic sums.
The western facade has been rebuilt from the chapel to the entrance
portal and the last of Mansart's pavilions, which he built to please
either his own fancy or that of Louis XIV, have been demolished. Mansart
himself made way with the old _tourelles_ and the balustrade which
rounded off the angles of the walls of the main buildings and
substituted a series of heavy, ugly _maisonettes_, more like the
bastions of a fortress than any adjunct to a princely dwelling.
The courtyard of the chateau is curiously disposed; "so that it may
receive the sun at all times," was the claim of its designer. It, too,
has been brought back to the state in which it was originally conceived
and shorn of its encumbering outhouses and odds and ends which served
their purposes well enough when it was a barracks or a prison, but which
were a desecration to anything called by so dignified a name as a
chateau or a palace. This courtyard is to-day as it was when the lords
and ladies in the train of Charles IX strolled and even gambolled
therein.
The Chapelle de Saint Louis (1240) is in every way remarkable,
especially with respect to its great rose-window, which was found by
Millet to have been walled up by Louis XIV.
The military museum of to-day, which is enclosed by the palace walls,
possesses a remarkable collection of its kind, but has no intimate lien
upon the history of the palace.
The _parterre_ before the palace is cut off from the forest of Saint
Germain by three ornate iron gates. It was relaid, a transformation from
designs originally conceived in 1676, by Le Notre, modified in 1750 and
much reduced in size and beauty in the nineteenth century, though later
enlarged by taking three hectares of ground from the forest and turning
them into the accepted form of an English garden.
A peninsula of a superficial area of over ten thousand acres snugly
enfolded in one of the great horseshoe bends of the Seine contains the
Foret de Saint Germain. A line drawn across the neck of the peninsula
from Saint Germain to Poissy, following the Route de Poissy, completely
cuts off this tongue of land which is as wild and wooded to-day as in
the times of Francis, the Henris and the Louis.
The _routes_ and _allees_ of the forest are traced with regularity and
precision, and historians have written them down as of a length of
nearly four hundred leagues, a statement which a glance at any map of
the forest will well substantiate.
High upon its plateau sits this historic wildwood, for the most part of
a soil dry and sandy, with here and there some great _mamelon_
(Druidical or Pagan, as the case may be) rising somewhat above the
average level. Francis I, huntsman and lover of art and nature, did
much to preserve this great forest, and Louis XIV in his time developed
its system of roads and paths, "chiefly to make hunting easy," says
history, though it is difficult to follow this. At all events the forest
remains to-day the most extensive unspoiled breathing-spot of its class
near Paris.
Within this maze of paths and alleys are many famed historic spots, the
Chene Saint Fiacre, the Croix de Noailles, the Croix Saint Simon, the
Croix du Main (erected in 1709 in honour of the son of Louis XIV), the
Etoile des Amazones, the Patte d'Oie, the Chene du Capitaine and many
more which are continually referred to in the history of the palace, the
forest of Saint Germain-en-Laye, and of the Abbaye de Poissy.
The forest is not wholly separated from the mundane world for
occasionally a faint echo of the Rouen railway is heard, a toot from a
river tug-boat bringing coal up-river to Paris, the strident notes of
automobile horns, or that of a hooting steam-tram which scorches along
the principal roadway over which state coaches of kings and courtiers
formerly rolled. The contrast is not particularly offensive, but the
railway threatens to make further inroads, so one hardly knows the
future that may be in store for the patriarch oaks and elms and
chestnuts which make up this secular wildwood. Their ages may not in
all cases approach those of the great Fontainebleau trees, and in point
of fact the forest is by no means as solitary, nor ever was. One of the
most celebrated, certainly one of the most spectacular, duels of history
took place in the park at Saint Germain-en-Laye.
Gui Chabot de Jarnac lived a prodigal and profligate life at the
expense--it was said--of the favours of the Duchesse d'Etampes. The
dauphin, Henri, making an accusation, deemed wholly uncalled for, a
"_duel judiciaire_" took place, with La Chataigneraie as the dauphin's
substitute as adversary of de Jarnac who sought no apology but combat.
It was because Henri meantime had become king and issued his first
Letters Patent to his council concerning the "_duel judiciaire_,"
whereby he absolved himself of the right to partake, that he appointed
his dear friend Francois de Vivonne, "Seigneur de la Chataigneraie," to
play the role for him.
Unfortunately the young man could not justify by victory the honour of
his king and before the monarch and the assembled court he was laid low
by his adversary.
This was one of the last of the "_duels judiciaires_" in France. What
Saint Louis and Philippe-le-Bel had vainly sought to suppress, the
procedure having cost at least a hundred thousand _livres_, was
practically accomplished by Henri II by a stroke of the pen.