In Château Land

Part 1

IN CHATEAU LAND

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By Anne Hollingsworth Wharton

AN ENGLISH HONEYMOON. Decorated title and 17 illustrations. Cloth, extra, $1.50 net.

ITALIAN DAYS AND WAYS. Decorated title and 8 illustrations. 12 mo. Cloth, extra, $1.50 net.

SOCIAL LIFE IN THE EARLY REPUBLIC. Profusely illustrated. 8vo. Buckram, gilt top, uncut edges. $3.00 net; half levant, $6.00 net.

SALONS, COLONIAL AND REPUBLICAN. Profusely illustrated. 8vo. Buckram, $3.00; three-quarters levant, $6.00.

HEIRLOOMS IN MINIATURES. Profusely illustrated. 8vo. Buckram, $3.00; three-quarters levant, $6.00.

THROUGH COLONIAL DOORWAYS. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25.

COLONIAL DAYS AND DAMES. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25.

A LAST CENTURY MAID. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth, $1.25.

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LOCHES WITH GATE OF CORDELIERS]

IN CHATEAU LAND

ANNE HOLLINGSWORTH WHARTON

With 25 Illustrations

Philadelphia and London J. B. Lippincott Company MCMXI

Copyright, 1911, by J. B. Lippincott Company

Published November, 1911

Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company at the Washington Square Press Philadelphia, U.S.A.

CONTENTS

I PAGE AN EMBARRASSMENT OF CHATEAUX 9

II AN ISLAND CHATEAU 30

III AN AFTERNOON AT COPPET 45

IV EN ROUTE FOR TOURAINE 64

V IN AND AROUND TOURS 80

VI LANGEAIS AND AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 96

VII TWO QUEENS AT AMBOISE 117

Part 2

VIII A BATTLE ROYAL OF DAMES 146

IX A FAIR PRISON 174

X COMPENSATIONS 202

XI THE ROMANCE OF BLOIS 226

XII THREE CHATEAUX 258

XIII CHINON AND FONTEVRAULT 295

XIV ANGERS 319

XV ORLEANS AND ITS MAID 349

XVI A CHATEAU FETE 369

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

LOCHES, WITH GATE OF CORDELIERS Frontispiece

ISOLA BELLA, LAKE MAGGIORE 36

STAIRCASE AND CLOITRE DE LA PSALLETTE, ST. GATIEN 82

MEDIAEVAL STAIRWAY, CHATEAU OF LUYNES 96

ENTRANCE TO LANGEAIS, WITH DRAWBRIDGE 98

CAFE RABELAIS OPPOSITE CHATEAU OF LANGEAIS 108

CHATEAU OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU, EAST FACADE 112

CHATEAU OF LANGEAIS, FROM THE LOIRE 120

CHATEAU OF AMBOISE, FROM OPPOSITE BANK OF THE LOIRE 130

CHENONCEAUX, MARQUES TOWER AND GALLERY ACROSS THE CHER 154

HOUSE OF TRISTAN L'HERMITE 178

AGNES SOREL 188

ENTRANCE TO CHATEAU OF BLOIS, WITH STATUE OF LOUIS XII 214

COURT OF BLOIS, WITH STAIRCASE OF FRANCIS I 228

LOUISE DE LA VALLIERE 238

CHATEAU OF CHAUMONT, THE LOIRE ON THE LEFT 264

SMITHY NEAR GATE OF CHEVERNY 278 FROM PHOTOGRAPH BY MRS OTIS SKINNER

ANNE DE THOU, DAME DE CHEVERNY 282

Part 3

CHATEAU OF CHAMBORD 286

RUINS OF CHATEAU OF COUDRAY AT CHINON 296

FRENCH CAVE DWELLINGS NEAR SAUMUR 316

FORGE NEAR STONE STAIRWAY AT LUYNES 354 FROM PHOTOGRAPH BY MRS OTIS SKINNER

HOTEL CABU 364

HOUSE OF JOAN OF ARC 364

SALLE DES MARRIAGES, ORLEANS 366

IN CHATEAU LAND

AN EMBARRASSMENT OF CHATEAUX

HOTEL FLORENCE, BELLAGIO, August 10th.

YOU will be surprised, dear Margaret, to have a letter from me here instead of from Touraine. We fully intended to go directly from the Dolomites and Venice to Milan and on to Tours, stopping a day or two in Paris en route, but Miss Cassandra begged for a few days on Lake Como, as in all her travels by sea and shore she has never seen the Italian lakes. We changed our itinerary simply to be obliging, but Walter and I have had no reason to regret the change for one minute.

Beautiful as you and I found this region in June, I must admit that its August charms are more entrancing and pervasive. Instead of the clear blues, greens and purples of June, the light haze that veils the mountain tops brings out the same indescribable opalescent shades of heliotrope, azure and rose that we thought belonged exclusively to the Dolomites. However, these mountains are first cousins, once or twice removed, to the Eastern Italian and Austrian Alps and have a good right to a family likeness. There is something almost intoxicating in the ethereal beauty of this lake, something that goes to one's head like wine. I don't wonder that poets and artists rave about its charms, of which not the least is its infinite variety. The scene changes so quickly. The glow of color fades, a cloud obscures the sun, the blue and purple turn to gray in an instant, and we descend from a hillside garden, where gay flowers gain added brilliancy from the sun, to a cypress-bordered path where the grateful shade is so dense that we walk in twilight and listen to the liquid note of the nightingale, or the blackcap, whose song is sometimes mistaken for that of his more distinguished neighbor.

This morning when we were resting in a hillside pavilion, near the Villa Giulia, gazing upon the sapphire lake and the line of purple Alps beyond, we concluded that nothing was needed to complete the beauty of the scene but a snow mountain in the distance, when lo! as if in obedience to our call, a cloud that shrouded some far-off peaks slowly lifted, revealing to us the shining crest of Monte Rosa. It really seemed as if Monte Rosa had amiably thrown up that dazzling white shoulder for our especial delectation. This evening at sunset it will be touched with delicate pink.

I am writing this afternoon on one of the long tables so conveniently placed on the upper deck of the little steamers upon which we made so many excursions when you and I were here in June. The colors of sky, mountain and lake are particularly lovely at this time of the day. Miss Cassandra and Lydia have taken out their water colors, and are trying to put upon paper the exquisite translucent shades of the mountains that surround the lake. Lydia says that the wash of water colors reproduces these atmospheric effects much more faithfully than the solid oils, and she and our Quaker lady are washing away at their improvised easels, having sent the children off for fresh glasses of water. While I write to you, Walter lights his cigar and gives himself up to day dreams, and I shall soon say au revoir and devote myself to the same delightful, if unprofitable, occupation, as this fairy lake is the place of all others in which to dream and lead the dolce far niente life of Italy. And so we float about in boats, as at Venice, and think not of the morrow. By we, I mean Walter, Lydia and myself, as the children and Miss Cassandra are fatiguingly energetic. She has just reminded me that there is something to do here beside gazing at these picturesque shores from a boat, as there are numerous villas to be visited, to most of which are attached gardens of marvellous beauty. We are passing one just now which has a water gate, over which climbing geraniums have thrown a veil of bloom. The villa itself is of a delicate salmon color, and the garden close to the lake is gay with many flowers, petunias and pink and white oleanders being most in evidence. The roses are nearly over, but other flowers have taken their places, and the gardens all along the shore make brilliant patches of color.

It is not strange that Bulwer chose this lake as the site of Melnotte's chateau en Espagne, for surely there could not be found a more fitting spot for a romance than this deep vale,

"Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world, Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold, And whispering myrtles, glassing softest skies."

We were wondering what "golden fruits" were to be found on these shores at this time, oranges and nespoli being out of season, when some boatmen in a small fishing smack began to sing the "Santa Lucia" beloved by the Neapolitans. A handsome, middle-aged woman seated near us, touched to tears by the penetrating sweetness of the song, as it reached us across the waters, and with the camaraderie induced by the common hap of travel, has just whispered in my ear that her husband proposed to her at Bellagio. I fancied the happy pair floating about in a boat with a beautiful brown and yellow sail, but the lady has destroyed my picture by telling me that she was over in New York at the time. It appears that a timid and somewhat uncertain admirer, the kind that we read about in old-fashioned novels, as he strolled by the shores of the lake at twilight, heard a boatman singing her favorite song and the melody of "Santa Lucia" floating forth upon the still air, coupled with the beauty of the scene, so wrought upon his feelings that he forthwith wrote her a love letter by the flickering light of a bougie. This little incident dates back to the more romantic if less comfortable days before electricity came to light our way, even in remote places.

August 11th.

There are so many chateaux to be visited, and so many excursions on the lake to be made that we could stay here a month and have a charming plan for each day. This morning, we climbed a winding mountain path to the Villa Serbelloni and wandered through the hillside garden, with its grottoes and tunnels, to a natural balcony overhanging a precipice of sheer rock that rises above the lake. From this height there is a view of the whole northern part of Lake Como, with the Alps beyond, and here one realizes the beauty of Bellagio which along the water front is but a long line of shops. Situated on the extreme end of the point of land that separates Lake Como from its southern arm, the Lago di Lecco, the little town rises upon its terraces, and with its steep, narrow streets and winding paths, is as picturesque as only an Italian hillside villagio can be.

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