Those whose natures are sufficiently artistic to seek that intimate
and sympathetic accord that exists between human monuments and their
natural surroundings will do well to visit Chaumont on a fine summer’s
day under the rays of a scorching sun. Those strong towers built
to withstand a siege, and those towers still so white after four
centuries, should stand out strongly against the deep blue of a July
sky in order to produce their full effect. Then that gleaming mount
from which the ancient castle took its name, those great trees that
frame it, and that lazy stream sleeping at its feet attain their full
value. There is no discordant tone, nor any noise of man or beast, to
disturb the majestic unity of this beautiful spectacle.
[Illustration: CHÂTEAU SUR LOIRE, FRANCE.]
Seated on the opposite bank, on that embankment of the Loire that
goes back to the time of Louis le Débonnaire, at one glance the
traveller sees a picture that would enchant a painter, from the Loire
that ripples at his feet, the white houses of the little village of
Chaumont extending like a boa at the foot of the castle, pressed in as
it is between the hill and the river, and the stone stairway which by
a hundred and sixty steps ascends the side of the hill that broadens
towards its summit to give room for the little church of the bourg as
well as for the giant elm planted by Catherine de’Medici, to the
castle terrace hanging two hundred feet above the gorge, the carved
buttresses of the chapel in which George Amboise dreamed of the papacy,
and the vanes of the tower from which the widow of Henry II. questioned
the stars. At this noon-day hour when all nature is silent, the sun
that turns the sands of the stream into beds of gold, and picks out
ruby aigrettes in the rose windows of the chapel, casts the silhouettes
of pilasters that support it on the wall of the gallery that terminates
the courtyard of the castle, giving an infinite charm to the semi-gloom
of that gallery and to the beneficently shaded steps that must be
mounted to arrive there.
Those who love to arrange effects and not include an entire monument
in a single glance but allow it time to some extent to present itself
to the view and successively reveal the various features of its
physiognomy, will do well to avoid the rude stone stairway cut in the
rock and rather take the verdurous avenue that leaves the road and
leads by a lessened though still steep slope to the platform on which
the castle stands. By this means, they will see it rise progressively
through the openings of a clump of ancient elms called the Queen’s Mall.
Approached on this side, Chaumont presents itself at an angle and
spreads out in the form of a fan. At the extremity of each of the two
ribs of this fan rises a great tower, and the bottom of the fan which
is cant-shaped is guarded by two somewhat smaller towers between which
is the main entrance.
From this disposition, it results that from the angle occupied by this
gateway the visitor may include the four towers of the castle in one
field of vision: to the left is the Amboise tower, which is the highest
and the best preserved; to the right is that of Catherine de’Medici,
with its battlements still imprinted with cabalistic signs; and in
front are the two towers of the gateway. On these towers and on the
walls that connect them, about one-third of the way up, is a belt of
carving alternately framing a mountain with flames issuing from its top
and two C’s back to back, ϽC. These carvings present a somewhat curious
archæological puzzle.
The outer moat, at the present day largely filled up and replaced by a
flowery sward, somewhat relieves the heavy character of the drawbridge
that defends the entrance to the castle. We must halt upon this
drawbridge to examine the details of the thick oaken door, on which are
carved the Twelve Apostles, and the stone medallion that decorates the
archway. This medallion, which has recently been restored, offers a
remarkable exception to the rule generally followed in the Fourteenth
and Fifteenth Century, when it was customary to carve above the
principal gateway the arms of the family to whom the castle belonged,
and sometimes the statue of its founder. Here, framed by delicate
ornamentation, we see the initials of Louis XII. and Anne of Brittany,
his second wife: the L on a ground sewn with _fleurs de lis_ and
the A among the arms of Brittany. On a level with this medallion, arms
are incrusted on the towers guarding the gateway: on that on the right
are the arms of Georges d’Amboise surmounted by the cardinal’s hat; on
the tower on the left are those of his nephew, Charles of Chaumont,
Admiral and Grand Master of France. It is doubtless the latter to whom
all these sculptures should be attributed. It is presumable that on his
return from Nantes, where he had just espoused the widow of Charles
VIII., Louis XII. stopped at Chaumont in company with his new wife and
his minister, and that the Maréchal de Chaumont, to do honour to his
uncle and the royal pair, had this medallion and these arms carved on
the gateway and towers, and therefore they date from the year 1499.
We pass the drawbridge and the gate, leaving on our left a painted
gallery full of luminous shadow, and find ourselves in a vast
quadrilateral court of honour surrounded on three sides by bodies of
buildings and having the fourth open on immensity. Like the others,
this fourth side was once enclosed by buildings and flanked by two
towers commanding the Loire. These constructions were razed four
hundred years ago by a counsellor of the Parliament of Paris, named
Bertin de Vaugien, who at that time was the owner of the Castle. This
man did an intelligent thing in this, but probably without suspecting
it: by chance it happened that vandalism had good taste for once.
Leaning on the iron railing that has taken the place of this fourth
body of buildings, the visitor gazes over an immense horizon line and
a landscape “made for the delight of the eyes.” In the foreground are
terraces thick with flowers; a little lower down, through the stunted
trees that have thrust themselves through the clefts in the rock, peep
the sharp and symmetrical roofs of the little village of Chaumont;
behind this village is the Loire; behind the Loire stands the hamlet of
Escures; farther away is the railroad, the black and wearisome lines of
which lengthen out on their gravel bed; in the background appear the
church of the large town of Onzain and the ruins of the old castle in
which Voltaire wrote _La Pucelle_. There is no monument, however
fairy-like it might be imagined, that would not be crushed by such a
frame. Therefore Chaumont suffers by being viewed close at hand, from
the height of this magic balcony whence the work of divinity reveals
itself with a splendour that effaces the finest conceptions of man.
The great hall that comes after the anteroom contains nothing
remarkable but a long chest of carved wood set against the wall, and a
niche around which are reproduced the names or arms of all the lords of
Chaumont from Eudes I., Count of Blois, who lived at the close of the
Tenth Century and who consequently had no arms, to Vincent Walsh, whose
arms are three lance-heads.
A curtain over a door is raised and we are in the bedchamber of
Catherine de’Medici. Here the work of restoration is happy and
sufficiently complete. Here is the bed of the ambitious Florentine, a
bed with torso columns the carved top of which supports a royal crown.
On one side is the Queen’s _prie-dieu_ with her Hours open; on the
other is her toilette-table with her opiate boxes; the whole is framed
in tapestries of high gloss which give to this chamber the sombre and
somewhat sinister character that befits it. These curious tapestries
were certainly made for Chaumont, since we see the Castle reproduced
in one of their panels. We suppose that they date back to Charles
d’Amboise who rebuilt Chaumont towards the end of the reign of Louis
XI., or at least to his son, Marshal Chaumont, the friend and companion
of Louis XII.
Catherine was in possession of Chaumont for nine years, from 1550 to
1559, that is to say, during almost the entire reign of her husband.
This was the difficult and humiliating period of her life; that of her
struggle with the Constable Montmorency and Diana of Poitiers. The
curious _bahut_ that is admired in this chamber must have had many
state secrets concealed in its innumerable drawers, including many
plots, baffled or prepared, and many formidable projects. This chamber,
in which Catherine nursed her troubles as a queen and an outraged
woman, possessed one great advantage for her. She had at hand her two
guides, her two customary consolations,--Astrology and Religion. By
that door she could penetrate into the tower where she cast horoscopes
in company with Ruggieri; by the other one she could enter directly
into the chapel.
This pretty chapel forms a striking contrast with its neighbouring
tower. Just in proportion as the chamber in the tower is deaf, cold and
dumb, and admits a sinister light by its single window, pierced in a
wall of more than three metres’ thickness, to the same degree is the
chapel elegant, coquettish and smiling. Windows of bold contours pour a
flood of rosy light upon the choir, tiled with white faïence sewn with
blue crosses, producing a charming effect. Pretty bas-reliefs in oak
upon a gold background form the base of the altar. A tall and fine oak
chair, carved and emblazoned, which is said to have belonged to Georges
d’Amboise, stands beside the sanctuary. A red cardinal’s hat, attached
to the vault, hangs above this arm-chair.
This chapel terminates the edifice most happily. The apartments that
precede it have seen many masters pass through; they recall many
perfidies, struggles, and illustrious and unfortunate existences.
After all this tumult of glorious or withered memories, our mind, like
our eyes, finds grateful repose in the smiling and calm sanctuary. It
reaches God by an insensible and natural law of contrast as the sole
master who has not changed in this abode, the sole guest who has never
left behind him anything but good memories and consolation.
The Castle of Chaumont, as it has come down to us, is a building of the
Fifteenth Century. It was erected by Charles Amboise on the ruins of a
more ancient fortress razed by order of Louis XI. and which itself had
been built about 1159 on the remains of a strong castle destroyed by
Thibault V., Count of Blois and Champagne. The first and most ancient
of these constructions had been built about 908 by Eudes I., Count of
Blois, the eldest son of the celebrated Thibault the Trickster.