Ian McIvor who lived in Paris for months while he was studying medicine.
We set forth this afternoon in truly democratic fashion on top of a
tram, on one of the double-deckers that they have over here, to Angela's
great delight. A rather lively party we were, I must admit, despite the
sobriety of our errand.
There was nothing that especially interested us in the prosperous
manufacturing town of St. Denis, and we went directly to the basilica,
which with the mingling of the Romanesque and Gothic in its architecture
is much more beautiful than we had expected. It is sufficiently ancient
to satisfy our antiquarian taste, as the site of the original abbey
dates back to 275, having been erected over the remains of St. Dionysius
or St. Denis. The present edifice owes its existence to the Abbe Suger
who reigned here in the days of Saint Louis. There have been many
restorations, of course, and some very bad ones as late as the reign of
Napoleon Bonaparte. In this basilica the Emperor Napoleon was married to
the Archduchess Marie Louise and, what is more interesting to us, here
Joan of Arc hung up her arms, in 1429. It is wonderful to see the
monuments to royalties as far back in French history as Queen Fredegonde
and King Dagobert, who founded an abbey here as early as 638. The tomb
of Dagobert is a most remarkable and realistic representation of the
King's soul leaving his body and its reception in heaven; the means of
transportation is a boat with oarsmen, both going and coming, if I may
so express it, that is the soul of Dagobert goes forth upon the unknown
sea in a boat, and in another carving on the tomb he is welcomed to the
shores of heaven, still in a boat. It is very interesting, as there is a
poetic as well as a realistic side to the strange conception. Near
Dagobert's monument some one had left a visiting card, after the curious
French fashion.
"It seemed so very late in the day to be calling upon King Dagobert," as
Walter remarked.
After this ancient mausoleum, that of Louis and Anne de Bretagne seemed
quite modern, and very handsome, much in the style of the Visconti
monument at the Certosa near Pavia. Not far from this tomb we came upon
that of Henry II and Catherine de Medicis, in which they are represented
in that gruesome fashion so frequent in English cathedral tombs,--the
nude figures below, while above in a beautiful chapel, with marble
columns and pillars, there are handsome bronze figures of the King and
Queen devoutly kneeling. Very inappropriately at the four corners are
placed bronze figures of Faith, Hope, Charity and Good Works. Catherine
is said to have planned this mausoleum herself, and, strange to relate,
in the choir we found another monument to the same King and Queen.
"Just like the grasping creature to want two tombs!" exclaimed Miss
Cassandra. "Most people are satisfied with one."
It appears that in her old age Catherine disapproved of the nude figures
on the first monument, and had this one made with two decently robed
effigies, in marble, resting upon a bronze couch.
We went down into the crypt, all of us except Angela, who still has an
aversion to underground resorts. Ian went with us; but after a hurried
glance at the most important tombs he made his way back to the sunshine
and to Angela. The rest of the party went through everything quite
resolutely, although we found this ancient crypt of the good Abbe Suger
even more gruesome than most crypts. The guide directed us to a tiny
window, through which we could see the place where poor Marie Antoinette
and Louis XVI were finally buried, at least all that could be found of
their remains. Here a light was burning, which they told us was never
allowed to go out. In strange contrast to this solemn little chapel,
there is a kneeling figure of the Queen on one side of the crypt in a
ball dress with jewels around her neck. This statue, by Petitot,
although strangely inappropriate in costume, is beautiful in expression,
and in the modelling of the face, arms, and hands, the latter being very
lovely.
Here also is a "Caveau Imperial," constructed by the order of Napoleon
III, as the burial place of his dynasty. This tomb is quite untenanted,
of course, as no Bonapartes lie at St. Denis; although the bones of the
Valois, Orleans and Bourbon families, who have come and gone in France,
probably forever, are royally entombed here, from their early sovereigns
down to Louis XVIII.
I tell you all this because I think you have not been to St. Denis, and
we found it so much more interesting than we had expected. Walter and
Archie made their acknowledgments to Lydia, in due form, and indeed we
should never have made this pilgrimage had she not been enterprising
enough to lead us forth toward St. Denis and its royal tombs.
September 17th.
Madame La Tour and her son made a formal call upon us yesterday. M. La
Tour had already dropped in, in his friendly way, to inquire after our
comfort and to offer his services, as a guide to anything that we might
wish to see. As Madame had announced her coming we were at home to
receive her. She is pretty and graceful, a charming combination of the
American and French woman. We all fell in love with her. M. La Tour is
frankly proud of his mother and was anxious that we should meet her. He
has evidently not yet grasped the situation of affairs, although during
the visit, which was brief if somewhat embarrassing, I could see nothing
but the sapphire that sparkled upon Lydia's finger. Madame La Tour very
cordially invited Lydia to go to the opera with her, and M. La Tour was
evidently much disappointed when she declined in consequence of another
engagement.
"Lydia never said a truer word in her life!" exclaimed Walter, after the
visitors had departed; "but La Tour is very stupid not to know what sort
of an engagement it is that she has on her hands."
Upon which I suggested that Walter should mention the engagement to M.
La Tour, quite casually, in the course of conversation.
"Why not tell him yourself, Zelphine? You are so much more adroit at
that sort of thing."
"It is really becoming embarrassing. Some flowers came last night,
forget-me-nots again, to Archie's amusement. Now if Lydia had been
anything but just ordinarily nice and pleasant to him, as she is to
everyone, it would be different."
"Well, and even if she had been more than ordinarily nice to La Tour why
do you trouble yourself about it, Zelphine? It is something that only
concerns Lydia and La Tour, and Archie perhaps in a way, but we really
have nothing to do with it."
Thus, manlike, does Walter push aside all part and lot in the _affaires
du coeur_ of his fellow-travellers; but I have just had a brilliant
and beautiful idea, which I intend to communicate to Archie at once. We
were all talking _en route_ of the Chateau of Vaux-le-Vicomte.
As this is a land where people make a fete upon every occasion, Archie
shall give a breakfast at Melun or some place near the chateau, and
invite us all, and the La Tours also, an engagement party. I have no
doubt the French have some charming name for this sort of an
entertainment, which we can find out. I shall write you later of the
success of my plan.
September 18th.
Of course Archie was delighted with my suggestion, as he and Lydia have
been promising themselves the pleasure of an excursion to
Vaux-le-Vicomte which seems to go by the name of Vaux-Praslin at the
present time. Archie and Walter did the very kindest and most friendly
thing, which in the end proved to be the most advantageous to
themselves. They took M. La Tour into their confidence and consulted
with him as to how the little excursion should be made and where the
breakfast should be given. Naturally the poor boy was very much
surprised, and quite downhearted when he found out what event was to be
celebrated, and we did not see him for two whole days, not until this
evening, when he called and offered his congratulations to Lydia in
pretty French phrases.
Angela is charmed with M. La Tour and his manners, and says that she
does not see how Lydia could possibly resist his fascinations; this with
a mischievous glance at Archie, who, serene and confident in his own
happiness, replies that Lydia is probably making the mistake of her life
in turning away from the young Frenchman and his chateau.
But Lydia knows that she is making no mistake and takes all this jesting
in good part; but she insists that the little celebration shall be
called a chateau fete, as Vaux-le-Vicomte is our objective point. This
is in much better taste, and, after all, we don't know the French name
for an engagement fete.
"We certainly don't want to ask La Tour to inform our ignorance," as
Walter says. "It would be like requiring the man who is down on his luck
to name the happy day. It is quite better taste, and, after all, we
don't know the occasion."
Miss Cassandra and Walter and I went to the American church this morning
because we like the simple service there, and the rest of the party went
to the Russian Church to hear the music, which was very good to-day. The
afternoon we all spent at Versailles, where we were so fortunate as to
see the fountains play. Nothing, not even the chateaux of the Loire,
gives us so realizing a sense of the gayety and splendor of the life of
the French court, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, as this
vast palace of pleasure when the gardens bask in sunshine and the
fountains are playing. We recalled Madame de Sevigne's spirited
description of the court and royal family setting forth upon some
pleasure party, herself among them, tucked in snugly in the same
_carosse_ with her favorite, Duchesse de La Valliere, or Madame de
Montespan of the many ringlets, for whom she cares nothing,--these two
ladies in close quarters although cordially hating each other. The Queen
is in another _carosse_ with her children, and the King, being a free
lance, drives in the coach with the royal favorites or rides beside it
as his fancy dictates.
Our fete is to be on Tuesday, and M. La Tour came to the hotel this
evening with a well arranged plan. He really is a dear, and having
plenty of spirit and a certain kind of pride that seems to belong to
well-bred French people, he has no idea of wearing his heart upon his
sleeve, even for the love of Lydia. His suggestions are most practical
and sensible, and his advice to Archie is to go to Fontainebleu first
and have a walk through the forest, breakfast at one of the hotels
there, and motor to Vaux-le-Vicomte, by way of Melun, in the afternoon.
It all sounds perfectly delightful, and I have secured a copy of the
Vicomte de Bragelonne, at Brentano's, in order to read over again his
account of Fouquet's reception of the King at Vaux.
We shall be glad to see Fontainebleau again. Since we have seen the
chateaux of the Loire, all of these palaces near Paris are most
interesting to us, as they make us realize, as we have never done
before, what a great pleasure park much of France was under the Valois
and the Bourbons. If the forest of Chambord was vast with its many
acres, so also was that of Fontainebleau with its 42,500 acres. Palaces
of pleasure, all of these chateaux were intended to be, as were
Chenonceaux, Azay le Rideau, Blois and Chambord, although many of them
are stained by dark and bloody crimes. Passing through the gardens and
park of Versailles to-day we forgot the terrible scenes that were
enacted there in 1793, until the guide pointed out to us the Queen's
apartments, and showed us the little room from which Marie Antoinette
fled for safety to the King's rooms, on that October night of horror,
when the Parisian mob swept down upon the palace.
September 20th.
Our day in the open was a brilliant success. Archie had a large
automobile, or perhaps I should say a touring car, large enough to hold
us all. Madame La Tour declined, and so we have our chateau party, with
the pleasant addition of Angela and Ian, who naturally entered with
great spirit into the celebration. We had all the time we needed at
Fontainebleau, entering by the old Cour du Cheval Blanc, but avoiding
the interior of the palace, as we had all been here before, some of us
several times, and spending all our time in the gardens and forest which
are ever new and always beautiful. We looked for the quincunx near which
Louise de La Valliere and her companions were hiding when the king and
St. Aignan overheard their girlish confidences, but not finding anything
answering to Dumas's description we had to content ourselves with a
labyrinth which M. La Tour thinks should answer quite as well. At the
end of it is the huge grape-vine, called the King's Vine, which reminded
us of the vine at Hampton Court, and like it is said to produce an
enormous crop of grapes.
Archie's breakfast was delightful, an _al fresco_ entertainment under a
spreading horse-chestnut tree in the garden of a hotel at Fontainebleau.
The table was beautifully decorated with flowers and fruit, and the
menu, which was suggested by M. La Tour, was the sort to tempt one's
appetite on a warm day like this, for it is summer here and much like
our September weather at home.
Walter complimented M. La Tour so heartily upon his good taste that he
laughingly reminded Walter of our first acquaintance at the _Bon
Laboreur_, and asked him if he still had a poor opinion of the French
_cuisine_. "Not when you have anything to do with the ordering, my dear
fellow!" was the response. "Perhaps my taste needed to be cultivated,
for I have come to like some of your French dishes very much, and as for
your wines, my taste did not need to be cultivated to like them; I took
to them quite naturally." There were toasts, speeches and good wishes,
Angela and Ian coming in for their full share. Altogether something to
be remembered was that luncheon under the chestnut tree, and near the
great forest of Fontainebleau, one of the many pleasant things to be
stored up in our memories in connection with our days in Chateau Land.
This motor trip, to Vaux-le-Vicomte, which seemed so short to us, was
evidently quite an affair to Louis XIV and his court, as, according to
Dumas, there was some talk of stopping at Melun over night. As we know,
large bodies move slowly, and the royal party must have been
sufficiently cumbersome, with the heavy coaches of the King, of the two
Queens, Anne of Austria and Maria Teresa, and the several coaches of
their maids of honor, to say nothing of the outriders, the Swiss Guards
and the Musketeers with our friend D'Artagnan at their head. A small
army was this, that passed over the road that we travel to-day, lighting
up the gray-green landscape with all colors of the rainbow.
At the Chateau of Vaux-le-Vicomte, of which we had only expected to see
the outside, M. La Tour had a surprise for us, as he had managed, in
some way, to secure tickets of admission. We mounted the great steps,
entered the vast vestibule and passed through the salons in which are
beautiful paintings by Mignard and the two Le Bruns. As we wandered
through these rooms, richly furnished and hung with old tapestries, and
into the rotunda, capped by its great dome, we wondered in which of
these rooms Moliere's play had been given.
The performance of _Les Facheux_, written especially for the occasion,
was the crowning glory of the King's visit to Vaux. We learned that it
was not given in any of these rooms, but in the garden, in the
starlight. When the guests were seated, Moliere appeared, and with well
counterfeited surprise at seeing the King, apologized for having no
players with him and no play to give. At this juncture, there arose from
the waters of a fountain nearby, a nymph in a shell, who gracefully
explained that she had come from her home beneath the water to behold
the greatest monarch that the world had ever seen.
We can well believe that a play, set in this flattering key, was
calculated to please the King, who was praised all through at the
expense of his courtiers, who were _les facheux_, the bores. After this
rare bit of adulation Moliere's fortune was made.
For the host, Fouquet, who had gathered so much here to give the King
pleasure, a far different fate was reserved. The sumptuous
entertainment, the show of wealth on all sides, aroused bitter jealousy
in the King's heart, and when some designing person (Colbert, it is
said) whispered in his ear that Fouquet, not content with outshining his
sovereign in the magnificence of his chateau, had raised his eyes to the
royal favorite, Louise de La Valliere, the King's wrath knew no bounds.
He was eager to have Fouquet arrested, while he was still accepting his
hospitality.
One of the finest passages in Dumas's description of the fete at
Vaux-le-Vicomte is that in which Colbert tries to inflame his royal
master's jealousy, while the usually timid and gentle Louise de La
Valliere urges the King to control his wrath, reminding him that he is
the guest of M. Fouquet and would dishonor himself by arresting him
under such circumstances.
"He is my King and my master," said La Valliere, turning to Fouquet; "I
am the humblest of his servants. But he who touches his honor touches my
life. Now, I repeat that they dishonor the King who advise him to arrest
M. Fouquet under his own roof.... Were M. Fouquet the vilest of men, I
should say aloud, 'M. Fouquet's person is sacred to the King because he
is the King's host. Were his house a den of thieves, were Vaux a cave of
coiners or robbers, his home is sacred, his palace inviolable, since his
wife is living in it; and it is an asylum which even executioners would
not dare to violate.'"
These words, from the woman whom he loved, influenced Louis, and for the
time he relinquished his design; but eighteen days after the great
festival at Vaux, M. Fouquet was arrested, near Nantes as we know, and
ended his days in prison. This magnificent chateau, which the architect
Le Vau, the artist Le Brun, and the landscape gardener Le Notre had
conspired to make so beautiful, is still, in a way, a monument to the
great financier, although it has passed from his family into the hands
of the Duke de Praslin.
Unlike many of the chateaux, Vaux-le-Vicomte is still the home of people
who love its beautiful lawns and parterres and keep them green and
blooming. Armies of gardeners trim the hedges, plant the borders, and
remove every stray leaf from the gravel paths. Here we saw the
perfection of French gardening.
As we motored home by the light of the stars, we felt that this, our
last day in Chateau Land, was one of the happiest that we had known. We
would like to stay longer in Paris and visit the many chateaux within
motoring distance of the capital; but our holiday time is nearly over.
Walter starts for Lausanne to-night, to gather up the children and bring
them to London, whither we all go to-morrow. We shall have a few days
there, and as many more in Oxford, where Walter has some engagements
with old friends, and then to Southampton and home. We all sail October
first, all except Ian McIvor, who comes over in December for a very
important event. You and Allen must come some time, and visit with us
the chateaux that we have seen, and see the others that we have not yet
visited. For to-night, au revoir. Life has many joys, and not the least
among them is to see the beautiful places of the earth, in congenial
company, such as yours, dear Margaret.
Yours always devoted,
ZELPHINE.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Photographs were moved so that they did not interrupt paragraphs.
Page 32, "apearance" changed to "appearance" (gala appearance, as if)
Page 35, "apears" changed to "appears" (lake side appears like)
Page 38, "apears" changed to "appears" (as it appears from the)
Page 61, "naive" changed to "naive" (with naive inconsistency)
Page 77, "Hotel" changed to "Hotel" (at the Hotel de)
Page 83, "Cloitre" changed to "Cloitre" (the Cloitre de la Psallette)
Page 87, "Cloitre de la Psalette" changed to "Cloitre de la Psallette"
(lovely Cloitre de la Psallette)
Page 99, "impresion" changed to "impression" (an impression of power)
Page 101, "naively" changed to "naively" (guide naively remarked)
Page 107, "Medici" changed to "Medici" (de Medici whom he beheld)
Page 142, "Medici" changed to "Medici" (Medici, like Minerva)