and narrow path and entered the great doorway where the moat and
drawbridge between the huge round towers again reminded us of Langeais.
Over this entrance are the graven initials of Louis and Anne of
Brittany, the arms of George of Amboise with his cardinal's hat, and the
double C's of Charles of Chaumont and his wife, Catherine of Chauvigny.
Here also are some scattered D's which stand for Diane of Poitiers, who
consented to accept this chateau when Catherine offered her a Hobson's
choice of Chaumont or nothing. We were especially interested in a rich
frieze in which were intertwined the double C's and the odd device of
the burning mountain, "Chaud-mont," from which, it is said, the name of
the chateau was derived. As Chaumont is still inhabited, we were not
shown the whole of the castle, but fortunately for us the suite of
historic rooms was on view. Here again we came upon associations with
the dreadful Catherine, whose bedroom and furniture are shown to
visitors. Whether or not these articles are genuine, and grave doubts
are thrown upon their authenticity, they are very handsome and of the
proper period. The tapestries in these rooms are all old and charming in
color, of old rose and pink. A description which I came across in a
delightful book by Mr. Theodore A. Cook, which M. La Tour brought us
from his mother's library, gives a better idea of this tapestry than any
words of mine: "Beside the door a blinded Love with rose-red wings and
quiver walks on the flushing paths, surrounded by strange scrolls and
mutilated fragments of old verses; upon the wall in front are ladies
with their squires attending, clad all in pink and playing mandolins,
while by the stream that courses through the flowery meadows small rosy
children feed the water birds, that seem to blush with pleasure beneath
the willow boughs of faded red."
Next to the so-called room of Catherine de Medicis is the chamber
attributed to Ruggieri, the chosen aide and abettor of her schemes,
which apartment very properly communicates with a private stairway
leading to the platform of the tower which is said to have been used by
him as an observatory. Whether or not Catherine ever inhabited these
rooms, and we know that she never lived for any length of time at
Chaumont, I must confess that seeing them thus conveniently placed for
plotting and adventure, they impressed us even more than her secret
stairways and poison cupboards at Blois. This may have been because
these rooms are small and dark and dreary, Ruggieri's being in one of
the corner towers, with small windows cut in the wall, which is over two
metres in thickness. From whatever reason, these apartments are the most
weird and ghostly that we have seen, fitted up as they are with many
memorials of Catherine, and two portraits of her, one in a rich costume,
an extinguisher gown with pink underskirt and wide full sleeves bordered
with a band of fur, each one as large as an ordinary muff. There is also
a portrait of Ruggieri here, whose dark, sinister face adds much to the
grewsomeness of the room, and standing here we could readily imagine the
scene, described by a chronicler of the time, when the Queen sought
Ruggieri here among his philters, minerals, foreign instruments,
parchments and maps of the heavens, to consult him about the future of
her offspring. This was soon after the death of Henry II, when the young
King's health had begun to break down. When the Queen desired to be
shown the horoscopes of her children, by some skillful arrangement of
mirrors the astrologer made her four sons to pass before her, each in
turn wearing crowns for a brief period; but all dying young and without
heirs, each figure was to turn around as many times as the number of
years he was to live. Poor Francis appeared, wan and sickly, and before
he had made an entire circle he passed out of sight, from which the
Queen knew that the young King would die before the year was out, which,
as we know, came true, as did some of the other prognostications. What
must have filled to the brim the cup of misery which this ambitious,
disappointed woman had held to her lips, was to see the rival of her
sons, the bitterly hated Henry of Navarre, following their shadows upon
the mirror and making over twenty turns, which meant that he would reign
in France for twenty years, or more. By whatever means the astrologer
accomplished these predictions, the remarkable thing about them is that
the account of this interview at Chaumont was written during the reign
of Henry III, before some of them had been fulfilled. Catherine, firmly
believing in Ruggieri's prognostications, left the chateau a sadder if
not a wiser woman.
The rooms of Catherine communicate directly with the chapel, where there
is a most realistic picture of The Last Judgment, and her book of the
hours lies open on her _prie dieu_ as if she had just finished her
devotions. For good and sufficient reasons, we do not think of this
Queen at prayer as readily as we figure her taking part in affairs of
state, plotting for the destruction of her enemies and trying to
hoodwink the Huguenots and Leaguers in turn.
"And yet," as Walter reminds us, "Catherine was extremely devout, with
all her deviltry." You may remember a portrait of her in fine enamel at
the Louvre, which represents Catherine kneeling before an altar, her
hands devoutly clasped, and as if to give point to the time-honored
adage "handsome is that handsome does," the Queen's face, in this
enamel, possesses some claim to good looks.
M. La Tour has been telling us of some old papers, recently brought to
light, which prove that Catherine, during the babyhood of her children,
was an anxious and watchful mother. She seems to have written careful
and minute directions regarding the food and clothing of her little
ones, in one instance directing that her son Henry should not be
encouraged to eat largely, adding, like any wise mother of to-day, "I am
of opinion that my children are rather ill from being too fat than too
thin." The evidence of this opinion is borne out by Clouet's drawings of
the chubby face of Henry and the fat, heavy cheeks of Francis II, both
in their babyhood. It was little Francis, an unassertive prince in after
years, who at the age of two insisted upon discarding his petticoats,
upon which the King, when consulted upon this important question, wrote
to the governor of the royal nursery, "It is right indeed that my son
should wear breeches if he asks for them; for I do not doubt that he
knows perfectly well what is needful."
These intimate details of the youth of the royal children, trifling as
they are, add a human interest to the figures of Henry II and Catherine,
whom we only think of as sweeping through these chateaux in form and
state, and raise a question as to whether, after all, this cruel Queen
had not a heart somewhere tucked away under her jewelled bodice.
Chaumont has many associations earlier than the days of Catherine,
reaching back to Charles of Amboise, who built much of the chateau, and
to his father Georges, one of the chief ministers of Louis XII. It is
said that Georges of Amboise used his tact and influence to gain the
papal bull necessary for the King's divorce from Jeanne of France, which
was brought to Chinon by Caesar Borgia, with great state and ceremony. It
was this same papal envoy who brought Georges d'Amboise his cardinal's
hat. Unscrupulous as he may have been in some instances, Cardinal
d'Amboise seems to have been, in the main, a wise and judicious minister
and helped Louis to institute many important reforms.
The romance of Chaumont is its association with the knightly figure of
Henri Coiffier de Ruze, Marquis de Cinq Mars. The opening scene of De
Vigny's novel rises before us, as we pass through the rooms of Chaumont.
The young Marquis was about to set forth upon his ill-fated journey into
the great world, and the members of his family were gathered together
for a solemn, farewell meal. De Vigny represents the poor youth
neglecting his dinner, and even indifferent to his mother's sorrow over
his departure in his desire to meet the beautiful eyes of Marie de
Gonzague, who was seated at the other end of the table, from whom he was
soon to part forever. It was by a lattice window in the rez-de-chaussee
of the western tower that Cinq-Mars found Marie waiting for him, when he
retraced his steps and came back at midnight for a last word with her.
We looked in vain for the window by which the lovers swore eternal
fidelity to their love and to each other; but the chateau has doubtless
undergone some changes since those early days, although it looks so
ancient. Lydia and I were wishing for a copy of Cinq-Mars in order to
follow the young Marquis through his sad and singular experience at
Loudun, his meeting with his old friend De Thou, his brilliant exploit
at Perpignan, his rapid preferment at court, and--just here Walter
called us from our rapid review of the career of Cinq-Mars to show us a
head of Benjamin Franklin in terra cotta. This excellent low relief of
Franklin is in a case with a number of other medallions, made by an
Italian, Nini, whom the owner of Chaumont brought here in the hope of
turning to account some clay found on the estate. This admirable
medallion excited the two antiquarians of the party more than anything
we have seen here, even more than the weird sky parlor of Ruggieri.
Walter is wondering whether this is not the medallion about which Dr.
Franklin wrote to his daughter soon after his arrival at Passy, as the
first of its kind made in France. This idea seems more probable, in view
of the fact that the same M. Le Ray, who owned Chaumont at that time,
was Franklin's host at Passy for nine years. All of which, as Walter
says, makes it more than likely that the old philosopher came to
Chaumont to have his portrait modelled by Nini, especially as his
relations with the master of Chaumont were of the most friendly nature.
The old potteries in which the Italian artist worked have long since
been turned into stables and a riding school.
Another familiar and even more recent figure associated with Chaumont is
Madame de Stael, who took refuge here, while reading the proofs of her
work upon Germany, Chaumont being the requisite forty leagues from
Paris. M. Le Ray and his family, with whom Madame de Stael was upon the
most intimate terms, were in America at this time. Here in the old
chateau the De Staels lived for some time, the authoress working in
peace and quietness upon her great work. When M. Le Ray and his family
returned to Chaumont, although hospitably invited to remain at the
chateau, Madame de Stael insisted upon removing with her family to a
villa in the neighborhood, which was placed at her disposal by M. de
Salaberry. At this place, called Fosse, Madame de Stael welcomed Madame
Recamier and other friends, and with the charming French trait of making
the most of the joys of the hour, she wrote with enthusiasm of the happy
days that she passed near her friends at Chaumont. Even if the old
Vendean soldier, the chatelain of Fosse, took little care of his estate,
she said that his constant kindness made everything easy and his
original turn of mind made everything amusing. "No sooner had we
arrived," wrote Madame de Stael, "than an Italian musician whom I had
with me, to give lessons to my daughter, began to play the guitar. My
daughter accompanied on the harp the sweet voice of my fair friend,
Madame Recamier; the peasants assembled below the windows astonished to
find this colony of troubadours who came to enliven the solitude of
their master. It was there that I passed my last days in France, with a
few friends whose memories are cherished in my heart. Surely this
reunion so intimate, this solitary sojourn, this delightful dalliance
with the fine arts could hurt no one."
Charming, innocent, pastoral seems this life, as Madame de Stael
described it, and yet even such simple pleasures as these she was not
allowed to enjoy, for during a brief visit to the home of M. de
Montmorency, an attempt was made to seize her manuscripts, which her
children had fortunately put in a place of safety; her book was
suppressed and she was ordered to leave France within three days.
When Madame de Stael asked why she was treated with such harshness by
the government and why her book was censured, the answer given under the
signature of the ministry plainly stated that the head and front of her
offending consisted in her not having mentioned the Emperor in her last
work. It is difficult to believe that a man who could do such great
things as Napoleon could be so small as to follow this brilliant woman
with bitter, relentless hatred, because she failed to burn incense at
his shrine.
Although we were not given the freedom of the grounds, we were shown the
beautiful court of honor with its one fine tree, a cedar of Lebanon
which spreads its branches quite close to the chapel walls. There is an
old Italian well in this court, with low reliefs carved upon its sides,
and graceful ornaments of wrought iron above the sweep. We pictured to
ourselves the Marquis de Cinq Mars and Marie de Gonzague meeting in this
court, under the friendly branches of the great cedar, and so with a
tender thought for these hapless old-time lovers, we turned away from
Chaumont. Still musing and dreaming over its numerous and varied
associations, we motored along toward Cheverny. This was an afternoon in
which to dream,--the air was full of a delicious drowsy autumnal warmth,
and a soft haze hung over the Loire and its tributaries. Involuntarily
our thoughts turn back to the time when the kings and nobles of France
made their stately progress along these same roads, many of them Roman
roads, for the great road-builders were all over this country as in
England. Upon these highways over which we speed along in an auto,
great lumbering stage coaches once made their way, and in the fields, as
to-day, were the toilers, the husband and wife, as in the Angelus of
Millet. For an instant they would look up from their work to see what
all the racket was about, and take a momentary interest in the gilded
coaches, the gay outriders, the richly caparisoned horses, and all the
pomp and circumstance of royalty. If near the highway, they would catch
a fleeting glimpse of the beautiful face of some royal or noble dame,
and seeing only the rich brocade of her gown, the jewels upon her breast
and the gay feathers and flowers in her hat, they would turn back to
their toil with a half-formulated wonder why life was a holiday to these
favored ones and only bitter toil and hardship to _nous autres_. Thomas
Jefferson's proposition, that all men are created free and equal, would
have shocked these simple souls as it would their lords and masters, and
yet a seed of thought was slumbering in their slow minds, germinating
for a future awakening, a small seed that was destined to become a
thousand in the sad and terrible reprisals of the French Revolution. To
these starved peasants luxury stood for happiness, never themselves
knowing the satisfaction of a full comfortable meal, it would have been
impossible to make them believe that this outward show and splendor did
not mean that these men and women, who rolled along in coaches and fed
sumptuously every day, were the supremely blessed of the earth. And yet
along these roads passed the coaches of the heavy hearted as well as of
the gay. By much the same way that we are going journeyed the unhappy
Princess Joanne when her husband, Louis XII, was minded to put her away
to give place to a more ambitious marriage. Another royal lady to whom a
crown brought naught but sorrow and disappointment was the gentle Louise
de Vandemont-Lorraine, wife of Henry III, who fared this way to the home
of her widowhood at Chenonceaux, and by much the same route passed Marie
de Medicis when she fled from Blois and found refuge and aid at Loches.
[Illustration: SMITHY NEAR GATE OF CHEVERNY]
As Cheverny and Chaumont are not far apart, we were aroused from our
reflections by a sudden stop at a little smithy near the gates of the
park. A most charming little smithy is this, with a niched saint on
the outside, vines clambering all over the wall, and a picturesque
outside staircase with a little balcony above. The blacksmith, himself,
as he stood framed in by the doorway, made a picture that we thought
well worth taking. Unfortunately the saint in the niche could not come
in, as it was some distance from the door, but just at the right moment
Lydia, quite unconsciously, stepped before the lens, and near the stone
stairway which she had been examining.
"Far better than a saint!" said Archie under his breath, and then aloud,
"Keep still, Miss Mott, the blacksmith will stay, I am sure, as he looks
as if he had been built into that door."
I think we shall be able to send you a photograph of our little smithy,
and perhaps one of the church across the road, which is quaint and
interesting, with its timbered verandas (one cannot, by any stretch of
courtesy, call them cloisters) and something like a lych-gate at the
entrance. Within are some marbles and memorial tablets of the Hurault
family. It seems that the Huraults owned the Seignory of Cheverny as
long ago as the fourteenth century, "before we Americans were
discovered," as Miss Cassandra says. Early in the sixteenth century, one
Raoul Hurault built a chateau here, of which little or nothing is left.
The present chateau was built by a later Hurault, in 1634, and, after
passing through several hands, it was bought, in 1825, by the
Marchioness Hurault de Vibraye, and being thus returned to the family of
the original owners, is still in their possession. A wonderful tale was
this for American ears!
Cheverny, with its well wooded park, and its avenue six kilometres in
length, is a noble domain; but the outside of the chateau, although its
architecture has been highly praised, did not impress us particularly.
This may be because the mansion is situated on a level sweep of lawn,
laid out after the English style, instead of crowning a great bluff like
Blois, Amboise and Chaumont. The interior of Cheverny leaves nothing to
be desired. It is elegant, aristocratic, and yet most delightfully
homelike, with its spacious hall, richly decorated royal bedroom, and
salon as livable as an English drawing room, with books, magazines and
writing materials scattered over the centre table. On the panelled
walls are gathered together a goodly and graceful company of noble lords
and beautiful ladies, among them a fine full-length portrait of Philippe
Hurault, Count de Cheverny, Chancellor of Finance under Henry IV, and
opposite him his beautiful and stately wife, Anne de Thou, Dame de
Cheverny, in a gown of black velvet garnished with rich lace. This noble
lady was related, in some way, to the gallant young De Thou who perished
on the scaffold with his friend Cinq Mars. Over the chimney-place is a
charming portrait by Mignard of the daughter, or daughter-in-law, of
Anne de Thou, Marie Johanne de Saumery, Marquise de Montglat, Countess
de Cheverny. The subject of this lovely portrait bears with distinction
her long array of cumbersome titles, while the airy grace of the figure
and the innocent sweetness of the rounded girlish face are irresistibly
attractive. Above the chimney-place, in which this portrait is set in
the white wainscot, is the monogram (HV) which one finds all over the
chateau, a proof that this ancient family is _legitimiste_ to the core,
and devoutly loyal to whatever is left of the ancient line of the
Bourbons. In the _salle a manger_, the monogram of the last Henry of
this royal house is especially conspicuous. We were puzzling over the
name of the pretender of to-day when the guide informed our ignorance,
with a most superior manner of knowing it all and wondering that we did
not know it also. From what he gave forth in rapid French with many
gestures, we gathered that on the death of the Comte de Paris his eldest
son, Philippe Robert, Duc d'Orleans, became heir to the house of
Bourbon, founded in 886 by Robert le Fort, with the title Philippe VII.
The Duc de Bourdeaux, always known as the Comte de Chambord after he
became owner of the chateau of the same name, was heir to the throne,
through the elder branch of the house, that is, as the grandson and
eldest descendant of Charles X, the last of the elder branch that
reigned in France. Some little time before his death, the Comte de
Chambord was reconciled to the younger or Orleans branch, which had
usurped the throne after the expulsion of Charles X. By this act the
Comte de Paris was recognized as the legitimate successor to the throne.
The present Duke of Orleans, should the monarchy be restored, would
rule as Philippe VII. The Comte de Chambord took the title Henri V, as
the next Henri after the king of Navarre, Henri IV. The Comte de
Chambord bequeathed the Chateau of Chambord, which was his personal
property, to his kinsman, the Duke de Parme, who was a Bourbon of the
Spanish line, being the descendant of the grandson of Louis XIV, who was
elected to the Spanish throne in 1700. From the pride with which this
information was communicated we realized that this very superior
_gardien_ was, like the noble master and mistress of Cheverny,
legitimist to the ends of his fingers.
[Illustration: Neurdein Freres, Photo.
ANNE DE THOU, DAME DE CHEVERNY]
While listening to this genealogical disquisition our eyes turned to a
most attractive looking tea table which was set forth with superb
silver, and thin slices of bread and butter and cake. With appetites
sharpened by our long ride through the fresh air, I fear that we all
gazed longingly at that tempting regale, and for Miss Cassandra, Lydia
and I positively trembled. With her strong feeling that the world was
made for herself and those whom she loves, it would not have surprised
us to see the good lady sit down at this hospitable looking table and
invite the rest of the party to join her. Lydia adroitly led the
conversation toward Chambord and the afternoon tea which our chauffeur
had promised us there, adding, gracefully, "It is very kind of the
Marquise to allow us to go through her beautiful chateau while the
family is in residence." "Yes," assented Miss Cassandra, "but how much
more hospitable if she would invite us to drink tea with her!" After
admiring the beautifully decorated ceiling and the handsome leather
hangings, we left the dining room and its temptations for what was a
much greater attraction to the men of the party, the fine suits of armor
in the Salle des Gardes.
Although Cheverny cherishes its Bourbon traditions, like the
proverbially happy nation and happy woman it has no history to speak of,
having even escaped the rigors of the French Revolution. In the past, as
to-day, this chateau seems to have been a homelike and peaceful abode,
its long facade and pavilions having looked down through many centuries
upon a smiling garden and a vast lawn, which shut it in from the world
beyond even more effectually than its great gates.