originally stood at the lower corner of the city ramparts. Broad quays
have taken the place of the outer fortifications on the river bank, and
most of the moat has been filled in to make boulevards, but between the
quay and the river front of the castle a crumbling mass of crazy old
houses still cluster around the castle, as if to remind us of the days
when the thick walls behind them meant safety. The seventeen round
towers and the battlements have all been torn down, leaving only the
slate-built walls, striped near the top with horizontal panels of a
lighter stone, and still so high that they look like precipices. We
entered by a heavy drawbridge and under a massive arch, and were duly
shown around by the guide, a man this time, whom we found far less
interesting than the women who have conducted us through most of the
other chateaux. He did, however, give us some interesting associations
with the Chateau of Angers, as he reminded us that Henry IV was here in
1598 with _la belle Gabrielle_, and their little son, "_Caesar
Monsieur_." Henry seems to have come to Angers to reduce Brittany to
subjection, and to punish the rebellious Duke de Mercoeur. The latter,
however, by a fine stroke of policy, sent his wife and her mother to
Angers to make his submission to the King and to propose an alliance
between his daughter, who was his sole heiress, and the little Caesar. An
interview with Henry took place here, in the chateau, we were told. With
two noble dames in tears, on their knees before him, and his own fair
duchess quite on their side, the King could refuse nothing, and
accordingly his son, aged four, was betrothed to Francoise de Lorraine,
who was in her sixth year and with no less magnificence than if the
little Caesar had been the legitimate heir to the throne of France.
Dancing and rejoicing took the place of the fighting and bloodshed to
which the old castle had been much more accustomed.
We are glad to turn from the stormy revengeful counts of Anjou and kings
of England to the reign of Henry of Navarre, that heroic figure whom we
still love whatever his shortcomings may have been. His faults and
failings were those of his time; his virtues, his sense of justice, his
large benevolence and desire to give every man a chance, and his broad
constructive policy, were far in advance of his age. He doubtless
inherited his noble traits from his mother, Jeanne D'Albert, while from
the less distinguished paternal side may have come the traits that
marred the character of the great Huguenot leader.
Miss Cassandra can never quite forgive Henry for his abjuration, and
says that to have renounced the religion for which they had both
sacrificed so much was unworthy the son of so great a mother. Member of
the Peace Society as she is, our Quaker lady will make no excuses for
Henry, although M. La Tour insists it was a wise and humane act on the
part of the King, as it put an end to the long war that was devastating
France, or, to use Henry's own forcible phrasing, "By my faith, I have
no wish to reign over a kingdom of dead men." The favorite expletive of
the Bearnois, "Ventre Saint Gris," seems to have gone out of favor after
he became a Catholic, having fallen into bad repute, as it was
considered a Protestant oath. There is little doubt that the traditions
of his early years had great influence over him, and that Henry of
Navarre was always at heart a Protestant.
Gabrielle d'Estrees, to whom Henry IV was far more devoted and more
faithful than to any other woman, had almost unbounded influence over
him, which she generally used with wisdom and moderation. Affectionate,
intelligent, and good tempered, she seemed an ideal companion for the
generous, impetuous and often ill-governed monarch. Henry was himself
wont to say that he loved her far more for her noble qualities of mind
and heart than for her dazzling beauty. That the King consulted
Gabrielle upon more than one occasion is evident, and equally so that
she did not hesitate to express her opinion frankly. After the King's
famous speech at the Abbey of St. Ouen, when he besought his noble
subjects to counsel him and generously invited them to share with him
whatever glory should fall to his share, Gabrielle, then Marquise de
Monceaux, was present, secluded from the general gaze by a screen or
curtain. Later, when questioned by Henry as to how she liked his speech,
she replied that she had rarely heard him speak better; but that she was
indeed surprised at his asking for counsel and offering to place himself
_en tutelle_ in the hands of the assembly.
"Ventre Saint Gris!" exclaimed the Bearnois, "That is true; but as I
understand it, in tutelage, with my sword by my side."
Gabrielle's womanly pride was doubtless satisfied with this quick-witted
rejoinder of her royal lover, who never seemed to be at a loss for an
argument or a _bon mot_. As Dumas says of his beloved hero, "In default
of money, something to which the Bearnois was accustomed all his life,
he was in the habit of paying his debts with that which he never stood
in need of borrowing, a ready wit."
The only influence that the great minister Sully feared was that of
Gabrielle, whom the King had promised to marry when the tie that bound
him to his beautiful, wilful, dissolute cousin, Marguerite of Valois,
should be annulled by the Pope. Sully, however, had other ambitions for
Henry and for France, as he was already entering into negotiations with
the Medici with a view to a marriage with a daughter of their house,
which would swell the depleted coffers of France and bring some coveted
territory to the kingdom.
Here in the old chateau at Angers, the scene of Gabrielle's most signal
triumph over the favorite minister, during whose absence her son was
created Duke of Vendome and affianced to the little heiress of the Duke
of Mercoeur, we could not help wondering whether Henry of Navarre's
life would not have been very different had he been allowed to marry the
woman of his choice. As the daughter of the Baron d'Estrees, and
connected with royalty through the Courtenays, it seemed to us that
Gabrielle was quite as suitable a consort for the French King as one of
the daughters of the Medici who had never brought good fortune to
France. Sully, who evidently thought more of the coffers of the kingdom
than of the happiness of the King, was the persistent enemy of Gabrielle
from the early days when Henry incurred untold dangers in passing the
enemy's lines in order to secure a brief half hour with her, to a later
time when as Duchesse de Beaufort she seemed to be perilously near the
throne. The tragedy of her sudden death, which has been attributed to
poison at the instance of Sully, and the King's agony of grief have
added a pathetic interest to the history of Gabrielle d'Estrees,
Duchesse de Beaufort.
It should be said, in justice to Sully, that there is no proof that he
had anything whatever to do with the death of the Duchesse de Beaufort;
but there is little doubt that the tidings of her death brought relief
to his mind, after the first shock was over.
The Chateau of Angers is bare and unadorned, with nothing to remind us
of the ceremonies and festivities that so annoyed Sully in the far away
time when Henry of Navarre and the charming Gabrielle held high festival
here. After its days of fighting and feasting were well over, the castle
was used as a prison. Now, with the thrift for which the French are
proverbial, this substantial building is used as a depot for military
stores. The only things suggestive of the gentler side of life are the
little chapel, and the castle within the castle, a small Renaissance
house in which the family of the prince lived in times of siege. The
walk around the top of the walls is well worth taking, not only because
it intensifies the impression of size and strength, but also because it
gives a charming view of the country round about. In front the Maine
flows calmly by to its junction with the Loire three or four miles to
the left; across the river there is an old suburb of the town with a few
good churches and old houses, and farther upstream near the river's
edge, stands what Walter calls "a business-like looking old tower" which
he thinks must have guarded a bridge connected with the ramparts. To the
right the cathedral looms up, its clumsy base hidden by other buildings
and its slender spires dominating the town. Beyond the town stretch
rich, green fields, with an occasional old windmill flapping its arms
and a slow boat drifting lazily down the river.
Even if Angers has never been one of the most important cities of
France, it seems always to have been a place of moderate consequence, as
it still is. There are a few good private houses dating several
centuries back, the most pretentious of these being the Hotel de Pince,
a charming Renaissance building, standing in the heart of the town and
now used as a museum of antiquities and _objets d'art_. There was no
guide to tell us the history of this house and the books are equally
reticent about its traditions. The Hotel de Pince looks like a charming
miniature chateau, suggesting Azay-le-Rideau or some of the Renaissance
houses in Tours, in its general style, and like them it makes one feel
that the builders of those days understood elegance and beauty better
than they did comfort and ease. Whatever king or noble or knight-at-arms
lived in this house, his women-folk had to drag their brocaded trains up
and down steep twisting stone staircases, and also to be content with
very little light and air in many of their elegant rooms. The rich
Angevin _bourgeoisie_ built these half-timbered houses, which are
somewhat like those that one sees so often in Normandy. One of the most
elaborate of these is the so-called Maison d'Adam, just behind the
cathedral, which, although it does not date back to our first ancestor,
is sufficiently ancient in appearance to satisfy our antiquarian tastes.
Much of the carving on the uprights is elaborate and effective, even if
bearing evidences of frequent restorations. The most noticeable thing
about this building is its height, as houses of six stories were not
usual in the days of the Renaissance in France.
So little is done for Angers by local guide books that the joy of
discovery adds a zest to our pleasure in this old town, and, although
Archie is usually the least enthusiastic of sightseers, he has never
been bored once to-day. Perhaps Lydia's presence and delight in it all
has something to do with his contented frame of mind. However that may
be, he has listened with polite attention to M. La Tour's long
disquisitions, architectural as well as historical, and in return has
asked him many questions about the products and industries of this
prosperous town. It seems that the extensive slate quarries have not
only roofed and housed a great part of Angers, but have added
considerably to its revenue. Archie is in a merry mood to-day and after
M. La Tour's disquisition upon these extensive slate quarries, he asked
Lydia if she did not think that King Rene must have missed his slate
when he was scribbling verses in the south. We all laughed heartily over
this very slight _bon mot_; but our Frenchman looked dreadfully puzzled
and asked to have it explained to him. He proved even more difficult
than Sydney Smith's Scotchman; or, as Walter expresses it, "It had to be
driven in with a sledge hammer," and he warns Archie solemnly to attempt
no more pleasantries in the presence of our Gallo-American, guide,
philosopher and friend.
On our way back to the Cheval Blanc, we stopped at the Prefecture whose
superbly carved arches and columns are said to date back to the Roman
occupation. While we were enjoying these noble arches and rich carvings,
M. La Tour told us that Julius Caesar and one hundred thousand of his
troops were encamped upon the triangle upon a part of which Angers is
now situated. Here they lived for months on the resources of this
somewhat restricted area, which does not seem at all wonderful if the
soil was cultivated in those days as it is now; and how those soldiers
must have enjoyed the rich vintage of Anjou!--to say nothing of the
choux-fleurs, artichokes, peas, and the various fruits which are now
shipped in carloads to Paris every night.
The idea of a Roman camp in the neighborhood of Angers appealed strongly
to our antiquarians, and while we were at luncheon Archie, after
politely inquiring what we proposed to do with our long afternoon, and
finding that we had no plans except to visit some place of interest in
the motor car, presented a well arranged programme. What Archie
suggested, evidently after collusion with Walter and the chauffeur, was
to motor to Nantes, stopping _en route_ at the Roman camp, if indeed its
site can be found.
Lydia and I would have shouted for joy had there not been other guests
in the _salle a manger_. As it was we contented ourselves with
congratulating Archie upon his fertility of resource, adding that we had
been longing to see Nantes, with its fortress-chateau and the tomb of
Francois, the father of our old friend, Anne de Bretagne.
Upon this Miss Cassandra waked up from a little nap she had been taking
between courses, and expressed her delight at the thought of seeing
Nantes in whose ancient chateau her favorite Anne was married to Louis
XII. "Not," she added, "that I approve of that marriage, it is the one
sad blot upon Anne's otherwise fine character that she was willing to
marry Louis after he had divorced poor Jeanne."
"I must warn you, before we set forth," said Archie, raising his finger
admonishingly, "that this is to be an afternoon in the open; the
chauffeur tells me that we shall have barely time to see the
surroundings of Nantes, to get a general view of the town, and return to
Angers in time for a late dinner."
"Of course we shall stop at the Roman camp," said Lydia, tactfully,
looking at Archie as she spoke. "It would never do to miss that, and I
plead for twenty minutes or a half hour at the cathedral to see the tomb
of Francois, and the gold box in which the heart of the Duchess Anne was
sent back to Brittany."
"You shall have your half hour at the cathedral, Miss Mott," said Archie
gallantly, "even if we don't get home 'till morning."
"'Till daylight doth appear," sang Walter as he went out to tell the
chauffeur to be ready for an early start.
M. La Tour looked his surprise, he had never seen us in quite so merry a
mood. There is something exhilarating in the air here, which is crisp
and fresh, almost like that of October at home, and we were further
stimulated by the thought of doing something as unexpected as it was
delightful.
We set forth promptly, a gay party, the three women folk upon the back
seat, M. La Tour and Archie vis a vis, and Walter with the chauffeur in
front. A nice intelligent young fellow is this chauffeur, with whom
Walter has become so intimate that he seems to be able to converse with
him without any apparent language. His name is Francois and Walter has,
in some way, fathomed the secrets of his soul and tells us that he is
the _fiance_ of the pretty black eyed Eloisa who showed us around the
chateau of Langeais. The confidence came about in this wise, Francois
asked us if we had seen Langeais, a very noble chateau, and did the
little _gardienne_, the pretty, dark-eyed one, take us about? Yes! that
is the one he knows, they both belong to the country around Tours, than
which there is nothing finer in the known world. Although living at
Blois, for financial reasons, he hopes to go back to that garden spot of
France and there to end his days. After which Walter, by means of
gestures and signs, extracted the story of his love. We did not feel it
incumbent upon us to reveal to Francois the sad fact that Eloisa was
flirting quite openly with one of the red-legged upholders of the
military glory of France, when we saw her at Langeais.
"That was doubtless an innocent diversion to which she resorted, in
order to pass away the time during her lover's absence," Archie
remarked, with a fine touch of sarcasm in his tone, for at this moment
Lydia, who is wearing some forget-me-nots that were beside her plate
this morning, is having a very animated conversation with M. La Tour.
Lydia is very charming in a blue linen suit, the tang of salt in the
air, which is quite evident here, has given her a brilliant color, and
every stray lock of her golden brown hair has curled up into bewildering
little ringlets. I don't wonder that Archie resents the forget-me-nots.
"Where the deuce does the fellow get them?" he asked me this morning.
"Francois and I have been looking all about the town before breakfast
and we can't even find a bunch of pansies."
Pansies would be a good offset to forget-me-nots; but as only sweet peas
and roses were to be found, Archie scorned to bestow these which grow in
such abundance, and so contented himself with a beautiful basket of
fruit which we all enjoyed.
I need not tell you, after our experience with Roman camps, that there
was little to be seen upon the site of this one of Angers; but we were
interested in the glimpse that we had, in passing through Ancenis, of
its ancient chateau with its tower-flanked doorway, the work of an
Angevin architect. Within this chateau, M. La Tour tells us, an
important treaty was signed by Francois II of Brittany and Louis XI.
As we drew near Nantes the strong salt air blowing in our faces made us
realize that we were near the sea. Nantes and St. Nazaire, which is a
little north and west of Nantes, are among the great sea ports of the
world. And here we find ourselves again in the Dumas country, for it
was along the part of the Loire that we have seen to-day that Fouquet
fled pursued relentlessly by Colbert. If only Fouquet could have reached
Nantes and his own Belle Ile, out beyond St. Nazaire, a different fate
might have been his. We follow again in imagination, with almost
breathless interest, that close pursuit, of one boat by the other, until
we suddenly find ourselves winding through the streets of a town and
know that we are in Queen Anne's city of Nantes, that also of the monk
Abelard and of the famous warrior surnamed "Bras de Fer."
Gazing upon the redoubtable Chateau of Nantes with its six towers, its
bastions and its wide and deep moat, into which the sea poured its
rising tide twice each day, we could understand Henri Quatre saying, as
he stood before it, "Ventre Saint Gris! the Dukes of Brittany were not
men to be trifled with!" It was into the dungeon of this chateau that
Fouquet was first thrown, and here Mazarin had Henri de Gondi
imprisoned, and from whence, as M. La Tour tells us, he escaped over the
side of the Bastion de Mercoeur, by means of a rope smuggled into the
prison by his friends. There are no end of interesting associations
connected with Nantes, of which not the least important is that Henry of
Navarre here signed the Edict of Nantes, the Huguenot charter of
liberties.
We needed a full day here, but remembering our promise, we did not even
ask whether the chateau was open to visitors, which was really very good
behavior on our part. We turned our faces toward the Cathedral of St.
Pierre, and spent there our half hour, no more, no less. Here over the
sculptured figure of its patron saint are some lines, in old French,
which tell us that this building dates back to the year 1434. The chief
treasure of the cathedral is the beautiful tomb of Francois II, and his
wife Marguerite de Foix, the father and mother of the little Duchess
Anne, on which the ermine tails are in full feather, if we may so
express it, and also the hound and the lion which are symbols of this
ancient house. The tomb, which is one of the masterpieces of that good
artist, Michel Colombe, was brought here from the old Eglise des Carmes
which was pillaged and burned during the Revolution.
Although we reached Angers only in time for a very late dinner, we were
inclined to wander again to-night. I don't know just how it came about;
Archie was out on the terrace smoking, and when Lydia appeared at the
door he threw away his cigar and joined her. As they walked off
together, Lydia turned back and said, in her sweet, demure way:
"Dr. Vernon is taking me to see the ruins of the Abbey of Toussaint by
moonlight. Why don't you and Mr. Leonard come too?"
"Oh! no, we don't spoil sport; do we, Zelphine?" said Walter, "and it
seems to me, dear, if my memory does not fail me, that moonlight upon
ruins has brought good luck to your matchmaking schemes before this. Do
you remember how Angela and the Doctor trotted off to see the ruins at
Exeter by moonlight?"
"Yes, of course, how could I forget that evening? Poor dear Angela will
be thinking of us and missing us to-night."
"Well, she will only have this one night to miss us and this day in
Angers has been worth so much to us."
"We have had many delightful days on this trip; but this has been one of
the most perfect. Why do many of the people, who do the chateaux so
conscientiously, skip Angers?"
"I hope that many may continue to skip it," said Walter, "tourists and
trippers would ruin this lovely old place and turn this comfortable,
homelike Cheval Blanc into a great noisy caravansary. And now that the
lov--I mean, now that your brother and Lydia have had a good start of
us, let us go to see the ruins of the old Abbey, Zelphine," and then
with a mischievous twinkle in his eye:
"Don't you think that Miss Cassandra and M. La Tour could be persuaded
to pair off and go with us?"
Miss Cassandra was just then sleeping sweetly in her chair; she does not
confess to any fatigue after our long motor trip, but she must be very
tired, and M. La Tour is engaged with some friends from Paris. Much as
we like him, and indeed no one could help liking him,--for this one
evening we are content to dispense with his kind attentions.
The ruins of the Abbey of Toussaint must be interesting at any time,
reminding us of those of Nettley and Jumieges, with their exquisite
carved arches and windows all overgrown and draped with vines and
shrubbery, but by moonlight, like fair Melrose, they take upon them an
added charm. We lingered long before the lovely carved window, through
which the moonlight streamed in silvery radiance; but we saw nothing of
Archie and Lydia. They had probably gone to take a last look at the
Castle of Angers by the light of the moon, and when they returned to the
Cheval Blanc Miss Cassandra and I had gone upstairs, feeling that we had
indeed had a full day, and that the wanderers would probably be quite as
happy without us.
XV
ORLEANS AND ITS MAID
ORLEANS, September 14th.
WE set forth early this morning, as we had a long day before us, and as
Walter warned us, little time to loiter by the way, great as the
temptation might be to stop _en route_.
I don't know that anything has happened, but the atmosphere seems
somewhat electric, and if anything has occurred I am quite sure that it
is of a cheerful nature, as there is a telltale light in Archie's eyes
that seems to say when they meet mine: "I have been sworn to secrecy,
find out if you can!" Lydia's face is inscrutable; but her color is a
little brighter than usual and she seems to avoid meeting my gaze, and
drops her eyelids in a way that she has when the sun is bright. Then,
she is beside me and consequently I cannot see her face as I can
Archie's. Our places have been changed in the auto; Lydia and Archie are
vis a vis this morning and M. La Tour is opposite to me, but this may
be quite accidental.
After Walter's solemn warning about the shortness of time, I was afraid
to suggest stopping anywhere; but Lydia had told me that she intended,
if possible, to see the Chateau de Morains, near Saumur, where Margaret
of Anjou died. She made her request with some hesitation.
"Of course we can stop," said Walter, "it won't take long, if Francois
knows the way."
Francois did not know the way to the historic shrine, which is evidently
neglected by English and American pilgrims; but by making inquiries he
found it without much trouble. We saw the outside of the little chateau
and what interested us especially, the inscription over the gateway
which relates that this Manoir of Vignole-Souzay, formerly Dampierre,
was the refuge of the heroine of the War of the Roses, Marguerite of
Anjou and Lancaster, Queen of England, the most unfortunate of queens,
wives and mothers, who died here the 25th of April, 1482, aged
fifty-three years. This little French tablet in memory of the English
Queen, who was received with such rejoicings in England upon her
marriage with Henry VI, seemed to us most pathetic.
As a return for this stop at Morains, which Walter considered a
particular concession to the women of the party, he suggested that we
take time to stop at Villandry to see a Druid stone which M. La Tour has
been telling him about. You may remember that he and Archie are somewhat
insane upon the subject of Druidical remains, but I notice that Archie
is not as keenly interested in the Druids, this morning, as usual. He
and Lydia are talking over some places that they mean to see in or near
Paris. Archie has been reading a description of Fouquet's Chateau of
Vaux-le-Vicomte, which is only an hour's ride from Paris, near Melun.
Wise in his day and generation is this brother of mine, for nothing
could so appeal to Lydia's historic soul as just such an expedition as
this! This was the chateau at which the great financier entertained the
King with such magnificence that he aroused the jealousy of his royal
master. You remember Dumas's description of it, and La Fontaine's _Songe
de Vaux_, in which he says that everything conspired for the pleasure of
the King, music, fountains, Moliere's plays, in which he was
praised,--even the moon and the stars seemed to shine for him, on those
nights at Vaux.