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Title: Royal Palaces and Parks of France
Author: Mansfield, M. F. (Milburg Francisco), 1871-
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Royal Palaces and Parks of France" ***

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FRANCE***


ROYAL PALACES AND PARKS OF FRANCE

       *       *       *       *       *


_WORKS OF

FRANCIS MILTOUN_

   _Rambles on the Riviera_                                          $2.50

   _Rambles in Normandy_                                              2.50

   _Rambles in Brittany_                                              2.50

   _The Cathedrals and Churches of the Rhine_                         2.50

   _The Cathedrals of Northern France_                                2.50

   _The Cathedrals of Southern France_                                2.50

   _In the Land of Mosques and Minarets_                              3.00

   _Royal Palaces and Parks of France_                                3.00

   _Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine and the Loire Country_       3.00

   _Castles and Chateaux of Old Navarre and the Basque Provinces_     3.00

   _Castles and Chateaux of Old Burgundy and the Border Provinces_    3.00

   _Italian Highways and Byways from a Motor Car_                     3.00

   _The Automobilist Abroad_                                      net 3.00

         (_Postage Extra_)

_L. C. Page and Company_

_53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Terrace of Henri IV, Saint Germain_ (_See page 286_)]

[Illustration]

ROYAL PALACES AND PARKS OF FRANCE

by

FRANCIS MILTOUN

Author of "Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine," "Castles
and Chateaux of Old Burgundy," "Rambles in Normandy,"
"Italian Highways and Byways
from a Motor-Car," etc.

With Many Illustrations
Reproduced from paintings made on the spot by Blanche Mcmanus



Boston
L. C. Page & Company
1910

Copyright, 1910.
by L. C. Page & Company.
(Incorporated)
All rights reserved

First Impression, November, 1910

Printed by
The Colonial Press
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U. S. A.



Preface

     "A thousand years ago, by the rim of a tiny spring, a monk who had
     avowed himself to the cult of Saint Saturnin, robed, cowled and
     sandalled, knelt down to say a prayer to his beloved patron saint.
     Again he came, this time followed by more of his kind, and a wooden
     cross was planted by the side of the "Fontaine Belle Eau," by this
     time become a place of pious pilgrimage. After the monk came a
     king, the latter to hunt in the neighbouring forest."


It was this old account of fact, or legend, that led the author and
illustrator of this book to a full realization of the wealth of historic
and romantic incidents connected with the French royal parks and
palaces, incidents which the makers of guidebooks have passed over in
favour of the, presumably, more important, well authenticated facts of
history which are often the bare recitals of political rises and falls
and dull chronologies of building up and tearing down.

Much of the history of France was made in the great national forests and
the royal country-houses of the kingdom, but usually it has been only
the events of the capital which have been passed in review. To a great
extent this history was of the gallant, daring kind, often written in
blood, the sword replacing the pen.

At times gayety reigned supreme, and at times it was sadness; but always
the pageant was imposing.

The day of pageants has passed, the day when lords and ladies moved
through stately halls, when royal equipages hunted deer or boar on royal
preserves, when gay cavalcades of solemn cortèges thronged the great
French highways to the uttermost frontiers and ofttimes beyond. Those
days have passed; but, to one who knows the real France, a ready-made
setting is ever at hand if he would depart a little from the beaten
paths worn smooth by railway and automobile tourists who follow only the
lines of conventional travel.

France, even to-day, the city and the country alike, is the paradise of
European monarchs on a holiday. One may be met at Biarritz on the shores
of the Gascon gulf; another may be taking the waters at Aix or Vichy,
shooting pigeons under the shadow of the Tete de Chien, or hunting at
Rambouillet. This is modern France, the most cosmopolitan meeting place
and playground of royalty in the world.

French royal parks and palaces, those of the kings and queens of
mediæval, as well as later, times, differ greatly from those of other
lands. This is perhaps not so much in their degree of splendour and
luxury as in the sentiment which attaches itself to them. In France
there has ever been a spirit of gayety and spontaneity unknown
elsewhere. It was this which inspired the construction and maintenance
of such magnificent royal residences as the palaces of Saint
Germain-en-Laye, Fontainebleau, Versailles, Compiègne, Rambouillet,
etc., quite different from the motives which caused the erection of the
Louvre, the Tuileries or the Palais Cardinal at Paris.

Nowhere else does there exist the equal of these inspired royal
country-houses of France, and, when it comes to a consideration of their
surrounding parks and gardens, or those royal hunting preserves in the
vicinity of the Ile de France, or of those still further afield, at
Rambouillet or in the Loire country, their superiority to similar
domains beyond the frontiers is even more marked.

In plan this book is a series of itineraries, at least the chapters are
arranged, to a great extent in a topographical sequence; and, if the
scope is not as wide as all France, it is because of the prominence
already given to the parks and palaces of Touraine and elsewhere in the
old French provinces in other works in which the artist and author have
collaborated. It is for this reason that so little consideration has
been given to Chambord, Amboise or Chenonceaux, which were as truly
royal as any of that magnificent group of suburban Paris palaces which
begins with Conflans and ends with Marly and Versailles.

Going still further afield, there is in the Pyrenees that chateau, royal
from all points of view, in which was born the gallant Henri of France
and Navarre, but a consideration of that, too, has already been included
in another volume.

The present survey includes the royal dwellings of the capital, those of
the faubourgs and the outlying districts far enough from town to be
recognized as in the country, and still others as remote as Rambouillet,
Chantilly and Compiègne. All, however, were intimately connected with
the life of the capital in the mediæval and Renaissance days, and
together form a class distinct from any other monumental edifices which
exist, or ever have existed, in France.

Mere historic fact has been subordinated as far as possible to a recital
of such picturesque incidents of the life of contemporary times as the
old writers have handed down to us, and a complete chronological review
has in no manner been attempted.



Contents

   CHAPTER                                                 PAGE

       I. INTRODUCTORY                                       13
      II. THE EVOLUTION OF FRENCH GARDENS                    14
     III. THE ROYAL HUNT IN FRANCE                           43
      IV. THE PALAIS DE LA CITÉ AND TOURNELLES               61
       V. THE OLD LOUVRE AND ITS HISTORY                     75
      VI. THE LOUVRE OF FRANCIS I AND ITS SUCCESSORS         85
     VII. THE TUILERIES AND ITS GARDENS                     106
    VIII. THE PALAIS CARDINAL AND THE PALAIS
          ROYAL                                             131
      IX. THE LUXEMBOURG, THE ELYSÉE AND THE
          PALAIS BOURBON                                    151
      X.  VINCENNES AND CONFLANS                            168
     XI.  FONTAINEBLEAU AND ITS FOREST                      180
     XII. BY THE BANKS OF THE SEINE                         203
    XIII. MALMAISON AND MARLY                               215
     XIV. SAINT CLOUD AND ITS PARK                          229
      XV. VERSAILLES: THE GLORY OF FRANCE                   244
     XVI. THE GARDENS OF VERSAILLES AND THE TRIANONS        260
    XVII. SAINT GERMAIN-EN-LAYE                             279
   XVIII. MAINTENON                                         296
     XIX. RAMBOUILLET AND ITS FOREST                        309
      XX. CHANTILLY                                         324
     XXI. COMPIÈGNE AND ITS FOREST                          342
          INDEX                                             363



[Illustration: List of Illustrations]


         PAGE

   TERRACE OF HENRI IV, SAINT GERMAIN (_see page 286_)       _Frontispiece_
   THE LOUVRE, THE TUILERIES AND THE PALAIS ROYAL OF TO-DAY  _facing_   12
   "JARDIN FRANÇAIS--JARDIN ANGLAIS"                                    15
   HENRI IV IN AN OLD FRENCH GARDEN                          _facing_   20
   PARTERRE DE DIANE, CHENONCEAUX                                       27
   PLAN OF SUNKEN GARDEN (JARDIN CREUX)                                 30
   A PARTERRE      _facing_ 32
   BASSIN DE LA COURONNE, VAUX-LE-VICOMTE                    _facing_   42
   A "CURÉE AUX FLAMBEAUX"                                   _facing_   46
   AN IMPERIAL HUNT AT FONTAINEBLEAU                         _facing_   52
   RENDEZVOUS DE CHASSE, RAMBOUILLET                         _facing_   56
   BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF OLD PARIS (Map)                        _facing_   74
   THE XIV CENTURY LOUVRE                                    _facing_   82
   THE LOUVRE                                                _facing_   90
   ORIGINAL PLAN OF THE TUILERIES (Diagram)                            106
   SALLE DES MARECHAUX, TUILERIES                            _facing_  116
   THE GALLERIES OF THE PALAIS ROYAL                                   146
   BOURBON-ORLEANS DESCENDANTS OF LOUIS PHILIPPE (Diagram)   _facing_  146
   PALAIS DU LUXEMBOURG                                      _facing_  154
   DOOR IN THRONE ROOM, LUXEMBOURG                                     156
   THE PETIT LUXEMBOURG                                      _facing_  156
   THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS                                    _facing_  158
   THE THRONE OF THE PALAIS BOURBON                                    161
   VINCENNES UNDER CHARLES V                                           168
   CHATEAU DE VINCENNES                                      _facing_  172
   A HUNT UNDER THE WALLS OF VINCENNES                       _facing_  174
   CONFLANS                                                            176
   ORIGINAL PLAN OF FONTAINEBLEAU                                      180
   FROM PARIS TO FONTAINEBLEAU (Map)                         _facing_  180
   PALAIS DE FONTAINEBLEAU                                   _facing_  186
   SALLE DU THRONE, FONTAINEBLEAU                            _facing_  190
   FRAGMENTS FROM FONTAINEBLEAU                              _facing_  192
   CHEMINÉE DE LA REINE, FONTAINEBLEAU                       _facing_  194
   MONUMENT TO ROUSSEAU AND MILLET AT BARBISON               _facing_  200
   CHATEAU DE BAGATELLE                                                204
   CHATEAU DE MALMAISON                                      _facing_  218
   THE GARDENS OF SAINT CLOUD                                _facing_  236
   THE CASCADES AT SAINT CLOUD                               _facing_  240
   COUR DE MARBRE, VERSAILLES                                _facing_  264
   THE POTAGER DU ROY, VERSAILLES                            _facing_  270
   THE BASSIN DE LATONE, VERSAILLES                          _facing_  272
   THE FOUNTAIN OF NEPTUNE, VERSAILLES                       _facing_  274
   PETIT TRIANON                                             _facing_  276
   LAITERIE DE LA REINE, PETIT TRIANON                                 277
   SAINT GERMAIN (Diagram)                                             280
   THE VALLEY OF THE SEINE, FROM THE TERRACE AT SAINT
     GERMAIN                                                 _facing_  288
   FAUTEUIL OF MME. DE MAINTENON                                       297
   CHATEAU DE MAINTENON                                      _facing_  300
   AQUEDUCT OF LOUIS XIV AT MAINTENON                        _facing_  306
   CHATEAU DE RAMBOUILLET (Diagram)                                    309
   LAITERIE DE LA REINE, RAMBOUILLET                         _facing_  312
   CHATEAU DE RAMBOUILLET                                    _facing_  316
   CHANTILLY (Diagram)                                                 325
   STATUE OF LE NOTRE, CHANTILLY                             _facing_  326
   CHATEAU DE CHANTILLY                                      _facing_  336
   COMPIÈGNE (Diagram)                                                 343
   NAPOLEON'S BEDCHAMBER, COMPIÈGNE                          _facing_  352
   COURS DE COMPIÈGNE                                        _facing_  356



Royal Palaces and Parks of France



CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY


The modern traveller sees something beyond mere facts. Historical
material as identified with the life of some great architectural glory
is something more than a mere repetition of chronologies; the sidelights
and the co-related incidents, though indeed many of them may be but
hearsay, are quite as interesting, quite as necessary, in fact, for the
proper appreciation of a famous palace or chateau as long columns of
dates, or an evolved genealogical tree which attempts to make plain that
which could be better left unexplained. The glamour of history would be
considerably dimmed if everything was explained, and a very seamy block
of marble may be chiselled into a very acceptable statue if the workman
but knows how to avoid the doubtful parts.

An itinerary that follows not only the ridges, but occasionally plunges
down into the hollows and turns up or down such crossroads as may have
chanced to look inviting, is perhaps more interesting than one laid out
on conventional lines. A shadowy something, which for a better name may
be called sentiment, if given full play encourages these side-steps, and
since they are generally found fruitful, and often not too fatiguing,
the procedure should be given every encouragement.

Not all the interesting royal palaces and chateaux of France are those
with the best known names. Not all front on Paris streets and quays, no
more than the best glimpses of ancient or modern France are to be had
from the benches of a sight-seeing automobile.

Versailles, and even Fontainebleau, are too frequently considered as but
the end of a half-day pilgrimage for the tripper. It were better that
one should approach them more slowly, and by easy stages, and leave them
less hurriedly. As for those architectural monuments of kings, which
were tuned in a minor key, they, at all events, need to be hunted down
on the spot, the enthusiast being forearmed with such scraps of historic
fact as he can gather beforehand, otherwise he will see nothing at
Conflans, Marly or Bourg-la-Reine which will suggest that royalty ever
had the slightest concern therewith.

Dealing first with Paris it is evident it is there that the pilgrim to
French shrines must make his most profound obeisance. This applies as
well to palaces as to churches. In all cases one goes back into the past
to make a start, and old Paris, what there is left of it, is still old
Paris, though one has to leave the grand boulevards to find this out.

Colberts and Haussmanns do not live to-day, or if they do they have
become so "practical" that a drainage canal or an overhead or
underground railway is more of a civic improvement than the laying out
of a public park, like the gardens of the Tuileries, or the building and
embellishment of a public edifice--at least with due regard for the best
traditions. When the monarchs of old called in men of taste and culture
instead of "business men" they builded in the most agreeable fashion. We
have not improved things with our "systems" and our committees of
"_hommes d'affaires_."

It is the fashion to-day to decry the cavaliers and the wearers of
"love-locks," but they had a pretty taste in art and an eye for artistic
surroundings, those old fellows of the sword and cloak; a much more
pretty taste than their descendants, the steam-heat and running-water
partisans of to-day. Louis XV and Empire drawing and dining-rooms are
everywhere advertised as the attractions of the great palace hotels, and
some of them are very good copies of their predecessors, though one
cannot help but feel that the clientele as a whole is more insistent on
telephones in the bedrooms and auto-taxis always on tap than with regard
to the sentiment of good taste and good cheer which is to be evoked by
eating even a hurried meal in a room which reproduces some historically
famous Salle des Gardes or the Chambre of the OEil de Boeuf of the
Louvre, if, indeed, most of the hungry folk know what their surroundings
are supposed to represent.

Any chronicle which attempts to set down a record of the comings and
goings of French monarchs is saved from being a mere dull chronology of
dates and résumé of facts by its obligatory references to the architects
and builders who made possible the splendid settings amid which these
picturesque rulers passed their lives.

The castle builders of France, the garden designers, the architects,
decorators and craftsmen of all ranks produced not a medley, but a
coherent, cohesive whole, which stands apart from, and far ahead of,
most of the contemporary work of its kind in other lands. Castles and
keeps were of one sort in England and Scotland, of still another along
the Rhine, and if the Renaissance palaces and chateaux first came into
being in Italy it is certain they never grew to the flowering luxuriance
there that they did in France.

Thus does France establish itself as leader in new movements once again.
It was so in the olden time with the arts of the architect, the
landscape gardener and the painter; it is so to-day with respect to such
mundane, less sentimental things as automobiles and aeroplanes.

Another chapter, in a story long since started, is a repetition, or
review, of the outdoor life of the French monarchs and their followers.
Not only did Frenchmen of Gothic and Renaissance times have a taste for
travelling far afield, pursuing the arts of peace or war as their
conscience or conditions dictated; but they loved, too, the open country
and the open road at home; they loved also _la chasse_, as they did
tournaments, _fêtes-champêtres_ and outdoor spectacles of all kinds. Add
these stage settings to the splendid costuming and the flamboyant
architectural accessories of Renaissance times in France and we have
what is assuredly not to be found in other lands, a spectacular and
imposing pageant of mediæval and Renaissance life and manners which is
superlative from all points of view.

This is perhaps hard, sometimes, to reconcile with the French attitude
towards outdoor life to-day, when _la chasse_ means the hunting of tame
foxes (a sport which has been imported from across the channel),
"_sport_" means a prize fight, and a garden party or a _fête-champêtre_
a mere gossiping rendezvous over a cup of badly made tea. In the France
of the olden time they did things differently--and better.

Not all French history was made, or written, within palace walls; much
of it came into being in the open air, like the two famous meetings by
the Bidassoa, Napoleon's first sight of Marie Louise on the highroad
leading out from Senlis, or his making the Pope a prisoner at the Croix
de Saint Héram, in the Forest of Fontainebleau.

It is this change of scene that makes French history so appealing to
those who might otherwise let it remain in shut-up and dry-as-dust books
on library shelves.

The French monarchs of old were indeed great travellers, and it is by
virtue of the fact that affairs of state were often promulgated and
consummated _en voyage_ that a royal stamp came to be acquired by many a
chateau or country-house which to-day would hardly otherwise be
considered as of royal rank.

Throughout France, notably in the neighbourhood of Paris, are certain
chateaux--palaces only by lack of name--of the nobility where royalties
were often as much at home as under their own royal standards. One
cannot attempt to confine the limits where these chateaux are to be
found, for they actually covered the length and breadth of France.

Journeying afield in those romantic times was probably as comfortably
accomplished, by monarchs at least, as it is to-day. What was lacking
was speed, but they lodged at night under roofs as hospitable as those
of the white and gold caravanserai (and some more humble) which perforce
come to be temporary abiding places of royalties _en tour_ to-day. The
writer has seen the Dowager Queen of Italy lunching at a neighbouring
table at a roadside _trattoria_ in Piedmont which would have no class
distinction whatever as compared with the average suburban road-house
across the Atlantic. At Biarritz, too, the automobiling monarch,
Alphonse XIII, has been known to take "tea" on the terrace of the great
tourist-peopled hotel in company with mere be-goggled commoners. _Le
temps va!_ Were monarchs so democratic in the olden time, one wonders.

The court chronicles of all ages, and all ranks, have proved a gold
mine for the makers of books of all sorts and conditions. Not only court
chroniclers but pamphleteers, even troubadours and players, have
contributed much to the records of the life of mediæval France. All
history was not made by political intrigue or presumption; a good deal
of it was born of the gentler passions, and a chap-book maker would put
often into print many accounts which the recorder of mere history did
not dare use. History is often enough sorry stuff when it comes to human
interest, and it needs editing only too often.

Courtiers and the fashionable world of France, ever since the days of
the poetry-making and ballad-singing Francis and Marguerite, and before,
for that matter, made of literature--at least the written and spoken
chronicle of some sort--a diversion and an accomplishment. Royal or
official patronage given these mediæval story-tellers did not always
produce the truest tales. Then, as now, writer folk were wont to
exaggerate, but most of their work made interesting reading.

These courtiers of the itching pen did not often write for money. Royal
favour, or that of some fair lady, or ladies, was their chief return in
many more cases than those for which their accounts were settled by mere
dross. It is in the work of such chroniclers as these that one finds a
fund of unrepeated historic lore.

The dramatists came on the scene with their plots ready-made (and have
been coming ever since, if one recalls the large number of French
costume plays of recent years), and whether they introduced errors of
fact, or not, there was usually so much truth about their work that the
very historians more than once were obliged to have recourse to the
productions of their colleagues. The dramatists' early days in France,
as in England, were their golden days. The mere literary man, or
chronicler, was often flayed alive, but the dramatist, even though he
dished up the foibles of a king, and without any dressing at that, was
fêted and made as much of as a record piano player of to-day.

One hears a lot about the deathbed scribblers in England in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but there was not much of that sort
of thing in France. No one here penned bitter jibes and lascivious
verses merely to keep out of jail, as did Nash and Marlowe in England.
In short, one must give due credit to the court chroniclers and
ballad-singers of France as being something more than mere pilfering,
blackmailing hacks.

All the French court and its followers in the sixteenth century shouted
epigrams and affected being greater poets than they really were. It was
a good sign, and it left its impress on French literature. Following in
the footsteps of Francis I and the two Marguerites nobles vied with each
other in their efforts to produce some epoch-making work of poesy or
prose, and while they did not often publish for profit they were glad
enough to see themselves in print. Then there were also the professional
men of letters, as distinct from the courtiers with literary ambitions,
the churchmen and courtly attachés of all ranks with the literary bee
humming in their bonnets. They, too, left behind them an imposing
record, which has been very useful to others coming after who were
concerned with getting a local colour of a brand which should look
natural.

It is with such guiding lights as are suggested by the foregoing résumé
that one seeks his clues for the repicturing of the circumstances under
which French royal palaces were erected, as well as for the truthful
repetition of the ceremonies and functions of the times, for the court
life of old, whether in city palace or country chateau, was a very
different thing from that of the Republican régime of to-day.

Not only were the royal Paris dwellings, from the earliest times, of a
profound luxuriance of design and execution, but the private hotels, the
palaces, one may well say, of the nobility were of the same superlative
order, and kings and queens alike did not disdain to lodge therein on
such occasions as suited their convenience. The suggestive comparison is
made because of the close liens with which royalty and the higher
nobility were bound.

It is sufficient to recall, among others of this class, the celebrated
Hotel de Beauvais which will illustrate the reference. Not only was this
magnificent town house of palatial dimensions, but it was the envy of
the monarchs themselves, because of its refined elegance of
construction. This edifice exists to-day, in part, at No. 68 Rue
François Miron, and the visitor may judge for himself as to its former
elegance.

Loret, in his "Gazette" in verse, recounts a visit made to the Hotel de
Beauvais in 1663 by Marie Thérèse, the Queen of Louis XIV.

   Mercredi, notre auguste Reine,
   Cette charmante souveraine,
   Fut chez Madame de Beauvais
   Pour de son amiable palais
   Voir les merveilles étonnantes
   Et les raretés surprenantes.

Times have changed, for the worse or for the better. The sedan-chair and
the coach have given way to the automobile and the engine, and the wood
fire to a stale calorifer, or perhaps a gas-log.

The comparisons _are_ odious; there is no question as to this; but it is
by contrast that the subject is made the more interesting.

From the old Palais des Thermes (now a part of the Musée de Cluny) of
the Roman emperors down through the Palais de la Cité (where lodged the
kings of the first and second races) to the modern installations of the
Louvre is a matter of twelve centuries. The record is by no means a
consecutive one, but a record exists which embraces a dozen, at least,
of the Paris abodes of royalty, where indeed they lived according to
many varying scales of comfort and luxury.

Not all the succeeding French monarchs had the abilities or the
inclinations that enabled them to keep up to the traditions of the
art-loving Francis I, but almost all of their number did something
creditable in building or decoration, or commanded it to be done.

Louis XIV, though he delayed the adjustment of Europe for two centuries,
was the first real beautifier of Paris since Philippe Auguste. Privately
his taste in art and architecture was rather ridiculous, but publicly he
and his architects achieved great things in the general scheme.

[Illustration: _The_ Louvre _The_ Tuileries & _The_ Palais Royal _of_
To-Day]

Napoleon I, in turn, caught up with things in a political sense, in
truth he ran ahead of them, but he in no way neglected the
embellishments of the capital, and added a new wing to the Louvre, and
filled Musées with stolen loot, which remorse, or popular clamour,
induced him, for the most part, to return at a later day.

In a decade Napoleon made much history, and he likewise did much for the
royal palaces of France. After him a gap supervened until the advent of
Napoleon III, who, weakling that he was, had the perspicacity to give
the Baron Haussmann a chance to play his part in the making of modern
Paris, and if the Tuileries and Saint Cloud had not disappeared as a
result of his indiscretion the period of the Second Empire would not
have been at all discreditable, as far as the impress it left on Paris
was concerned.



CHAPTER II

THE EVOLUTION OF FRENCH GARDENS


The French garden was a creation of all epochs from the fifteenth to the
seventeenth centuries, and, for the most part, those of to-day and of
later decades of the nineteenth century, are adaptations and
restorations of the classic accepted forms.

From the modest _jardinet_ of the moyen-age to the ample gardens and
_parterres_ of the Renaissance was a wide range. In their highest
expression these early French gardens, with their _broderies_ and
_carreaux_ may well be compared as works of art with contemporary
structures in stone or wood or stuffs in woven tapestries, which latter
they greatly resembled.

Under Louis XIV and Louis XV the elaborateness of the French garden was
even more an accentuated epitome of the tastes of the period. Near the
end of the eighteenth century a marked deterioration was noticeable and
a separation of the tastes which ordained the arrangement of
contemporary dwellings and their gardens was very apparent. Under the
Empire the antique style of furniture and decoration was used too, but
there was no contemporary expression with regard to garden making.

[Illustration: JARDIN FRANÇAIS

JARDIN ANGLAIS]

In the second half of the nineteenth century, under the Second Empire,
the symmetrical lines of the old-time _parterres_ came again into being,
and to them were attached composite elements or motives, which more
closely resembled details of the conventional English garden than
anything distinctly French.

The English garden was, for the most part, pure affectation in France,
or, at best, it was treated as a frank exotic. Even to-day, in modern
France, where an old dwelling of the period of Henri IV, François I,
Louis XIII, Louis XIV, or Louis XV still exists with its garden, the
latter is more often than not on the classically pure French lines,
while that of a modern cottage, villa or chateau is often a poor,
variegated thing, fantastic to distraction.

Turning back the pages of history one finds that each people, each
century, possessed its own specious variety of garden; a species which
responded sufficiently to the tastes and necessities of the people, to
their habits and their aspirations.

Garden-making, like the art of the architect, differed greatly in
succeeding centuries, and it is for this reason that the garden of the
moyen-age, of the epoch of the Crusades, for example, did not bear the
least resemblance to the more ample _parterres_ of the Renaissance.
Civilization was making great progress, and it was necessary that the
gardens should be in keeping with a less restrained, more luxurious
method of life.

If the gardens of the Renaissance marked a progress over the _preaux_
and _jardinets_ of mediævalism, those of Le Notre were a blossoming
forth of the Renaissance seed. Regretfully, one cannot say as much for
the garden plots of the eighteenth century, and it was only with the
mid-nineteenth century that the general outlines took on a real charm
and attractiveness again, and this was only achieved by going back to
original principles.

The first gardens were the _vergers_ and _preaux_, little checker-board
squares of a painful primitiveness as compared with later standards.
These squares, or _carreaux_, were often laid out in foliage and
blossoming plants as suggestive as possible of their being made of
carpeting or marble. When these miniature enclosures came to be
surrounded with trellises and walls the Renaissance in garden-making may
be considered as having been in full sway.

Under Louis XIV a certain affluence was noticeable in garden plots, and
with Louis XV an even more notable symmetry was apparent in the
disposition of the general outlines. By this time, the garden in France
had become a frame which set off the architectural charms of the
dwelling rather than remaining a mere accessory, but it was only with
the replacing of the castle-fortress by the more domesticated chateau
that a really generous garden space became a definite attribute of a
great house.

The first gardens surrounding the French chateaux were developments, or
adaptations, of Italian gardens, such as were designed across the Alps
by Mercogliano, during the feudal period.

Later, and during the time of the Crusades, the garden question hardly
entered into French life. Gardens, like all other luxuries, were given
little thought when the graver questions of peace and security were to
be considered, and, for this reason, there is little or nothing to say
of French gardens previous to the twelfth century.

An important species of the gardens of the moyen-age was that which was
found as an adjunct to the great monastic institutions, the _preaux_,
which were usually surrounded by the cloister colonnade. One of the most
important of these, of which history makes mention, was that of the
Abbaye de Saint Gall, of which Charlemagne was capitular. It was he who
selected the plants and vegetables which the dwellers therein should
cultivate.

Of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries there is an abundant literary
record, and, in a way, a pictorial record as well. From these one can
make a very good deduction of what the garden of that day was like;
still restrained, but yet something more than rudimentary. From now on
French gardens were divided specifically into the _potager_ and
_verger_.

The _potager_ was virtually a vegetable garden within the walls which
surrounded the seigneurial dwelling, and was of necessity of very
limited extent, chiefly laid out in tiny _carreaux_, or beds, bordered
by tiles or bricks, much as a small city garden is arranged to-day. Here
were cultivated the commonest vegetables, a few flowers and a liberal
assortment of herbs, such as rue, mint, parsley, sage, lavender, etc.

The _verger_, or _viridarium_, was practically a fruit garden, as it is
to-day, with perhaps a generous sprinkling of flowers and aromatic
plants. The _verger_ was always outside the walls, but not far from the
entrance or the drawbridge crossing the moat and leading to the chateau.

It was to the _verger_, or orchard, curiously enough, that in times of
peace the seigneur and his family retired after luncheon for diversion
or repose.

   "D illocques vieng en cest vergier
   Eascuns jour pour s'esbanoier."

Thus ran a couplet of the "Roman de Thèbes"; and of the hundred or more
tales of chivalry in verse, which are recognized as classic, nearly all
make mention of the _verger_.

It was here that young men and maidens came in springtime for the fête
of flowers, when they wove chaplets and garlands, for the moyen-age had
preserved the antique custom of the coiffure of flowers, that is to say
hats of natural flowers, as we might call them to-day, except that
modern hats seemingly call for most of the products of the barnyard and
the farm in their decoration, as well as the flowers of the field.

The rose was queen among all these flowers and then came the lily and
the carnation, chiefly in their simple, savage state, not the highly
cultivated product of to-day. From the ballads and the love songs, one
gathers that there were also violets, eglantine, daisies, pansies,
forget-me-nots, and the marguerite, or _consoude_, was one of the most
loved of all.

The carnation, or _oeillet_, was called _armerie_; the pansy was
particularly in favour with the ladies, who embroidered it on their
handkerchiefs and their girdles. Still other flowers found a place in
this early horticultural catalogue, the marigold, gladiolus, stocks,
lily-of-the-valley and buttercups.

Frequently the _verger_ was surrounded by a protecting wall, of more or
less architectural pretense, with towers and accessories conforming to
the style of the period, and decorative and utilitarian fountains,
benches and seats were also common accessories.

[Illustration: _Henri IV in an Old French Garden_]

The old prints, which reproduced these early French gardens, are most
curious to study, amusing even; but their point of view was often
distorted as to perspective. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries,
perspective was almost wholly ignored in pictorial records. There was
often no scale, and no depth; everything was out of proportion with
everything else, and for this reason it is difficult to judge of the
exact proportions of many of these early French gardens.

The origin of garden-making in France, in the best accepted sense of the
term, properly began with the later years of the thirteenth century and
the early years of the fourteenth; continuing the tradition, remained
distinctly French until the mid-fifteenth century, for the Italian
influence did not begin to make itself felt until after the Italian wars
and travels of Charles VIII, Louis XI and Francis I.

The earliest traces of the work of the first two of these monarchs are
to be seen at Blois and, for a time henceforth, it is to be presumed
that all royal gardens in France were largely conceived under the
inspiration of Italian influences. Before, as there were primitives in
the art of painting in France, there were certainly French gardeners in
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. One of these, whoever he may
have been, was the designer of the _preaux_ and the _treilles_ of the
Louvre of Charles V, of which a pictorial record exists, and he, or
they, did work of a like nature for the powerful house of Bourgogne, and
for René d'Anjou, whom we know was a great amateur gardener.

The archives of these princely houses often recount the expenses in
detail, and so numerous are certain of them that it would not be
difficult to picture anew as to just what they referred.

Debanes, the gardener of the Chateau d'Angers, on a certain occasion,
gave an accounting for "X Sols" for repairing the grass-plots and for
making a _petit preau_. Again: "XI Sols" for the employ of six gardeners
to trim the vines and clean up the alleys of the _grand_ and _petit
jardin_.

Luxury in all things settled down upon all France to a greater degree
than hitherto in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and almost
without exception princely houses set out to rival one another in the
splendour of their surroundings. Now came in the ornamental garden as
distinct from the _verger_, and the _preau_ became a greensward
accessory, at once practical and decorative, the precursor of the
_pelouse_ and the _parterre_ of Le Notre.

The _preau_ (in old French _prael_) was a symmetrical square or
rectangular grass-grown garden plot. From the Latin _pratum_, or
_pratellum_, the words _preau_, _pré_ and _prairie_ were evolved
naturally enough, and came thus early to be applied in France to that
portion of the pleasure garden set out as a grassy lawn. The word is
very ancient, and has come down to us through the monkish vocabulary of
the cloister.

Some celebrated verse of Christine de Pisan, who wrote "The Life of
Charles V," thus describes the cloister at Poissy.

   "Du cloistre grand large et especieux
   Que est carré, et, afin qu'il soit mieulx
   A un prael, ou milieu, gracieux
   Vert sans grappin
   Ou a planté en my un très hault pin."

It was at this period, that of Saint Louis and the apotheosis of Gothic
architecture, that France was at the head of European civilization,
therefore in no way can her preëminence in garden-making be questioned.

The gardens of the Gothic era seldom surpassed the _enclos_ with a
rivulet passing through it, a spring, a pine tree giving a welcome
shade, some simple flowers and a _verger_ of fruit trees.

The neighbours of France were often warring among themselves but the
Grand Seigneur here was settling down to beautifying his surroundings
and framing his chateaux, manors and country-seats in dignified and most
appealing pictures. Grass-plots appeared in dooryards, flowers climbed
up along castle walls and shrubs and trees came to play a genuinely
esthetic rôle in the life of the times.

An illustrious stranger, banished from Italy, one Brunetto Latini, the
master of Dante, who had sought a refuge in France, wrote his views on
the matter, which in substance were as above.

About this time originated the progenitors of the _gloriettes_, which
became so greatly the vogue in the eighteenth century. Practically the
_gloriette_, a word in common use in northern France and in Flanders,
was a _logette de plaisance_. The Spaniards, too, in their _glorietta_,
a pavilion in a garden, had practically the same signification of the
word.

In the fourteenth century French garden the _gloriette_ was a sort of
arbour, or trellis-like summer-house, garnished with vines and often
perched upon a natural or artificial eminence. Other fast developing
details of the French garden were tree-bordered alleys and the planting
of more or less regularly set-out beds of flowering plants.

Vine trellises and vine-clad pavilions and groves were a speedy
development of these details, and played parts of considerable
importance in gardening under the French Renaissance.

In this same connection there is a very precise record in an account of
the gardens of the Louvre under Charles V concerning the contribution of
one, Jean Baril, maker of Arlors, to this form of the landscape
architect's art.

"Ornamental birds--peacocks, pheasants and swans now came in as adjuncts
to the French land and water garden." This was the way a certain
pertinent comment was made by a writer of the fifteenth century. From
the "Ménagier de Paris," a work of the end of the fourteenth century,
one learns that behind a dwelling of a prince or noble of the time was
usually to be found a "_beau jardin tout planté d'arbres à fruits, de
legumes, de rosiers, orné de volières et tapisé de gazon sur lesquels se
promènent les paons_."

French gardens of various epochs are readily distinguished by the width
of their alleys. In the moyen-age the paths which separated the garden
plots were very narrow; in the early Renaissance period they were
somewhat wider, taking on a supreme maximum in the gardens of Le Notre.

Trimmed trees entered into the general scheme in France towards the end
of the fifteenth century. Under Henri IV and under Louis XII trees were
often trimmed in ungainly, fantastic forms, but with the advent of Le
Notre the good taste which he propagated so widely promptly rejected
these grotesques, which, for a fact, were an importation from Flanders,
like the _gloriettes_. Not by the remotest suggestion could a clipped
yew in the form of a peacock or a giraffe be called French. Le Notre
eliminated the menagerie and the aviary, but kept certain geometrical
forms, particularly with respect to hedges, where niches were frequently
trimmed out for the placing of statues, columns surmounted with golden
balls, etc.

The most famous of the frankly Renaissance gardens developed as a result
of the migrations of the French monarchs in Italy were those surrounding
such palaces and chateaux as Fontainebleau, Amboise, and Blois. Often
these manifestly French gardens, though of Italian inspiration in the
first instance, were actually the work of Italian craftsmen. Pucello
Marceliano at four hundred _livres_ and Edme Marceliano at two hundred
_livres_ were in the employ of Henri II. It was the former who laid out
the magnificent _Parterre de Diane_ at Chenonceaux, where Catherine de
Médici later, being smitten with the skill of the Florentines, gave the
further commission of the _Jardin Vert_, which was intended to complete
this _parterre_, to Henri le Calabrese and Jean Collo.

The later Renaissance gardens divided themselves into various classes,
_jardins de plaisir_, _jardins de plaisance_, _jardins de propreté_,
etc. _Parterres_ now became of two sorts, _parterres à compartiments_
and _parterres de broderies_, names sufficiently explicit not to need
further comment.

[Illustration: _"Parterre de Diane," Chenonceaux_]

It is difficult to determine just how garden _broderies_ came into
being. They may have been indirectly due to woman's love of embroidery
and the garden alike. The making of these garden _broderies_ was a
highly cultivated art. Pierre Vallet, embroiderer to Henri IV, created
much in his line of distinction and note, and acquired an extensive
clientele for his flowers and models. Often these gardens, with their
_parterres_ and _broderies_ were mere additions to an already existing
architectural scheme, but with respect to the gardens of the Luxembourg
and Saint Germain-en-Laye they came into being with the edifices
themselves, or at least those portions which they were supposed to
embellish. Harmony was then first struck between the works of the
horticulturist--the garden-maker--and those of the architect--the
builder in stone and wood. This was the prelude to those majestic
ensembles of which Le Notre was to be the composer.

Of the celebrated French palace and chateau gardens which are not
centered upon the actual edifices with which they are more or less
intimately connected, but are distinct and apart from the gardens which
in most cases actually surround a dwelling, may be mentioned those of
Montargis, Saint Germain, Amboise, Villers-Cotterets and Fontainebleau.
These are rather parks, like the "home-parks," so called, in England,
which, while adjuncts to the dwellings, are complete in themselves and
are possessed of a separate identity, or reason for being. Chiefly
these, and indeed most French gardens of the same epoch, differ greatly
from contemporary works in Italy in that the latter were often built and
terraced up and down the hillsides, whereas the French garden was laid
out, in the majority of instances, on the level, though each made use of
interpolated architectural accessories such as balustrades, statuary,
fountains, etc.

Mollet was one of the most famous gardeners of the time of Louis XIV. He
was the gardener of the Duc d'Aumale, who built the gardens of the
Chateau d'Anet while it was occupied by Diane de Poitiers, and for their
time they were considered the most celebrated in France for their upkeep
and the profusion and variety of their flowers. This was the highest
development of the French garden up to this time.

It is possible that this Claude Mollet was the creator of the
_parterres_ and _broderies_ so largely used in his time, and after.
Mollet's formula was derived chiefly from flower and plant forms,
resembling in design oriental embroideries. He made equal use of the
labyrinth and the sunken garden. His idea was to develop the simple
_parquet_ into the elaborate _parterre_. He began his career under Henri
III and ultimately became the gardener of Henri IV. His elaborate work
"Theatre des Plans et Jardinage" was written towards 1610-1612, but was
only published a half a century later. It was only in the sixteenth
century that gardens in Paris were planned and developed on a scale
which was the equal of many which had previously been designed in the
provinces.

[Illustration: PLAN of SUNKEN GARDEN (_JARDIN CREUX_)]

The chief names in French gardening--before the days of Le Notre--were
those of the two Mollets, the brothers Boyceau, de la Barauderie and
Jacques de Menours, and all successively held the post of Superintendent
of the Garden of the King.

In these royal gardens there was always a distinctly notable feature,
the _grand roiales_, the principal avenues, or alleys, which were here
found on a more ambitious scale than in any of the private gardens of
the nobility. The central avenue was always of the most generous
proportions, the nomenclature coming from royal--the _grand roial_ being
the equivalent of _Allée Royale_, that is, Avenue Royal.

By the end of the sixteenth century the Garden of the Tuileries, which
was later to be entirely transformed by Le Notre, offered an interesting
aspect of the _parquet_ at its best. In "_Paris à Travers les Ages_" one
reads that from the windows of the palace the garden resembled a great
checker-board containing more than a hundred uniform _carreaux_. There
were six wide longitudinal alleys or avenues cut across by eight or ten
smaller alleys which produced this rectangular effect. Within some of
the squares were single, or grouped trees; in others the conventional
_quincunx_; others were mere expanses of lawn, and still others had
flowers arranged in symmetrical patterns. In one of these squares was a
design which showed the escutcheons of the arms of France and those of
the Médici. These gardens of the Tuileries were first modified by a
project of Bernard Palissy, the porcelainiste. He let his fancy have
full sway and the criss-cross alleys and avenues were set out at their
junctures with moulded ornaments, enamelled miniatures, turtles in
faience and frogs in porcelain. It was this, perhaps, which gave the
impetus to the French for their fondness to-day for similar effects, but
Bernard Palissy doubtless never went so far as plaster cats on a
ridgepole, as one may see to-day on many a pretty villa in northern
France. This certainly lent an element of picturesqueness to the
Renaissance Garden of the Louvre, a development of the same spirit which
inspired this artist in his collaboration at Chenonceaux. This was the
formula which produced the _jardin délectable_, an exaggeration of the
taste of the epoch, but still critical of its time.

The gardens of the Renaissance readily divided themselves into two
classes, those of the _parterres à compartiments_ and those of the
_parterres de broderies_. The former, under Francis I and Henri II, were
divided into geometrical compartments thoroughly in the taste of the
Renaissance, but bordered frequently with representations of designs
taken from Venetian lace and various other contemporary stuffs. There
were other _parterres_, where the compartments were planned on a more
utilitarian scale; in other words, they were the _potagers_ which
rendered the garden, said Olivier de Serres, one of "profitable
beauty." Some of the compartments were devoted entirely to herbs and
medicinal plants while others were entirely given over to flowers. In
general the compartments were renewed twice a year, in May and August.

[Illustration: _A Parterre_]

The _Grand Parterre_ at Fontainebleau, called in other days the
_Parterre de Tiber_, offered as remarkable an example of the terrace
garden as was to be found in France, the terraces rising a metre or more
above the actual garden plot and enclosing a sort of horticultural
arena.

It was in the sixteenth century that architectural motives came to be
incorporated into the gardens in the form of square, round or octagonal
pavilions, and here and there were added considerable areas of tiled
pavements, features which were found at their best in the gardens of the
Chateau de Gaillon and at Langeais.

One special and distinct feature of the French Renaissance garden was
the labyrinth, of which three forms were known. The first was composed
of merely low borders, the second of hedges shoulder high, or even
taller, and the third was practically a roofed-over grove. The latter
invention was due, it is said, to the discreet Louis XIV. In the
Tuileries garden, in the time of Catherine de Médici, there was a
labyrinth greatly in vogue with the Parisian nobles who "found much
pleasure in amusing themselves therein."

In that garden the labyrinth was sometimes called the "Road of
Jerusalem" and it was presumably of eastern origin.

In the seventeenth century grottos came to be added to the garden,
though this is seemingly an Italian tradition of much earlier date.
Among the notable grottos of this time were that of the _Jardin des
Pins_ at Fontainebleau, and that of the Chateau de Meudon, built by
Philibert Delorme, of which Ronsard celebrated its beauties in verse.
The art was not confined to the gardens of royalties and the nobility,
for the _bourgeoisie_ speedily took up with the puerile idea (said to
have come from Holland, by the way), and built themselves grottos of
shells, plaster and boulders. It was then that the _chiens de faience_,
which the smug Paris suburbanite of to-day so loves, were born.

By the seventeenth century the equalized _carreaux_ of the early
geometrically disposed gardens were often replaced with the oblongs,
circles and, somewhat timidly introduced, more bizarre forms, the idea
being to give variety to the ensemble. There was less fear for the
artistic effect of great open spaces than had formerly existed, and the
avenues and alleys were considerably enlarged, and such architectural
and sculptural accessories as fountains, balustrades and perrons were
designed on a more extensive scale. Basins and canals and other
restrained surfaces of water began to appear on a larger scale, and
greater insistence was put upon their proportions with regard to the
decorative part which they were to play in the ensemble.

This was the preparatory period of the coming into being of the works of
Le Notre and Mansart.

The _Grand Siècle_ lent a profound majesty to royal and noble dwellings,
and its effect is no less to be remarked upon than the character of
their gardens. The moving spirit which ordained all these things was the
will of the _Roi Soleil_.

_Parterres_ and _broderies_ were designed on even a grander scale than
before. They were frequently grouped into four equal parts with a
circular basin in the centre, and mirror-like basins of water sprang up
on all sides.

Close to the royal dwelling was the fore-court, as often dressed out
with flowers and lawn as with tiles and flags. From it radiated long
alleys and avenues, stretching out almost to infinity. At this time the
grass-plots were developed to high order, and there were groves,
rest-houses, bowers, and _theatres de verdure_ at each turning.
Tennis-courts came to be a regularly installed accessory, and the basins
and "mirrors" of water were frequently supplemented by cascades, and
some of the canals were so large that barges of state floated thereon.
Over some of the canals bridges were built as fantastic in design as
those of the Japanese, and again others as monumental as the Pont Neuf.

In their majestic regularity the French gardens of the seventeenth
century possessed an admirable solemnity, albeit their amplitude and
majesty give rise to justifiable criticism. It is this criticism that
qualifies the values of such gardens as those of Versailles and Vaux,
but one must admit that the scale on which they were planned has much to
do with this, and certainly if they had been attached to less majestic
edifices the comment would have been even more justifiable. As it is,
the criticism must be qualified.

The aspect of the garden by this time had been greatly modified. Aside
from such great ensembles as those of Versailles was now to be
considered a taste for something smaller, but often overcrowded with
accessories of the same nature, which compared so well with the vastness
of Versailles, but which, on the other hand, looked so out of place in
miniature.

It was not long now before the "style pompadour" began to make itself
shown with regard to garden design--the exaggeration of an undeniable
grace by an affected mannerism. All the rococco details which had been
applied to architecture now began to find their duplication in the
garden rockeries--weird fantasies built of plaster and even shells of
the sea.

By later years of the eighteenth century there came on the scene as a
designer of gardens one, De Neufforge. His work was a prelude to the
classicism of the style of Louis XVI which was to come. There was, too,
at this time a disposition towards the English garden, but only a slight
tendency, though towards 1780 the conventional French garden had been
practically abandoned. The revolution in the art of garden-making
therefore preceded that of the world of politics by some years.

There are three or four works which give specific details on these
questions. They are "_De la Distribution des Maisons de Plaisance_," by
Blondel (1773), his "_Cours d'Architecture_" of the same date, and
Panseron's volume entitled "_Recueil de Jardinage_," published in 1783.

The following brief résumé shows the various steps through which the
French formal garden passed. In the moyen-age the garden was a thing
quite apart from the dwelling, and was but a diminutive dooryard sort of
a garden. The garden of the Renaissance amplified the regular lines
which existed in the moyen-age, but was often quite as little in accord
with the dwelling that it surrounded as its predecessor.

The union of the garden and the dwelling and its dependencies was
clearly marked under Louis XIV, while the gardens of Louis XV tended
somewhat to modify the grand lines and the majestic presence of those of
his elder. These gardens of Louis XV were more fantastic, and followed
less the lines of traditional good taste. Shapes and forms were
complicated and indeed inexplicably mixed into a mélange that one could
hardly recognize for one thing or another, certainly not as examples of
any well-meaning styles which have lasted until to-day. The straight
line now disappeared in favour of the most dissolute and irrational
curves imaginable, and the sober majesty of the gardens of Louis XIV
became a tangle of warring elements, fine in parts and not
uninteresting, effective, even, here and there, but as a whole an
aggravation.

Finally the reaction came for something more simple and more in harmony
with rational taste.

The best example remaining of the Louis XV garden is that which
surrounds the _Pavillon de Musique_ of the Petit Trianon, an addition
to the garden which Louis XIV had given to the Grand Trianon. By
comparison with the big garden of Le Notre this latter conception is as
a boudoir to a reception hall.

The garden of Louis XVI was a composite, with interpolations from across
the Rhine, from Holland and Belgium and from England even; features
which got no great hold, however, but which, for a time, gave it an air
less French than anything which had gone before.

From the beginning of the nineteenth century the formal garden was
practically abandoned in France. It was the period of the real decadence
of the formal garden. This came not from one cause alone but from many.
To the straight lines and gentle curves of former generations upon
generations of French gardens were added sinuosities as varied and
complicated as those of the Vale of Cashmere, and again, with tiny stars
and crescents and what not, the ground resembled an ornamental ceiling
more than it did a garden. The sentimentalism of the epoch did its part,
and accentuated the desire to carry out personal tastes rather than
build on traditionally accepted lines. The taste for the English garden
grew apace in France, and many a noble plantation was remodelled on
these lines, or rooted up altogether. Immediately neighbouring upon the
dwelling the garden still bore some resemblance to its former outlines,
but, as it drew farther away, it became a park, a wildwood or a
preserve.

Isabey Père, a miniaturist, under Napoleonic stimulus, designed a number
of French gardens in the early years of the nineteenth century,
following more or less the conventional lines of the best work of the
seventeenth century, and succeeded admirably in a small way in
resuscitating the fallen taste. Isabey's gardens may have lacked much
that was remarkable in the best work of Le Notre, but they were
considerably better than anything of a similar nature, so far as
indicating a commendable desire to return to better ideals.

Under the Second Empire a great impulse was given to garden design and
making in Paris itself. It was then that the parks and squares came
really to enter into the artistic conception of what a city beautiful
should be.

Leaving the gardens of the Tuileries and the Luxembourg out of the
question, the Parc Monceau and that of the Buttes Chaumont of to-day,
the descendants of these first Paris gardens show plainly how thoroughly
good they were in design and execution.

The majority of professional gardeners of renown in France made their
first successes with the gardens of the city of Paris, reproducing the
best of the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth century work, which
had endured without the competition of later years having dulled its
beauty, though perhaps the _parterres_ of to-day are rather more warm in
colouring, even cruder, than those of a former time.

The _jardin fleuriste_ and the _parterre horticole_ of the nineteenth
century appealed however quite as much in their general arrangement and
the modification of their details and their rainbow colours, as any
since the time of Louis XVI. According to the expert definition the
_jardin fleuriste_ was a "garden reserved exclusively to the culture and
ornamental disposition of plants giving forth rich leaves and beautiful
flowers." The above quoted description is decidedly apt.

The seventeenth century French garden formed a superb framing for the
animated fêtes and reunions in which took part such a brilliant array of
lords and ladies of the court as may have been invited to taste the
delicacies of a fête amid such luxurious appointments.

The fashionable and courtly life of the day, so far as its open-air
aspect was concerned, centered around these gardens and parks of the
great houses of royalty and the nobility. The costume of the folk of the
time, with cloak and sword and robes of silk and velvet and gilded
carriages and _chaises-à-porteurs_, had little in common with the
out-of-door garden-party life of to-day, where the guests arrive in
automobiles, be-rugged and be-goggled and somewhat the worse for a dusty
journey. It is for this reason that Versailles and Vaux-le-Vicomte, in
spite of the suggestion of sumptuousness which they still retain, are,
from all points of view, more or less out of scale with the life of our
times.

The modern garden, whether laid out in regular lines, or on an
ornamental scale, as a flower garden purely, or in a composite style, is
usually but an adjunct to the modern chateau, villa or cottage. It is
more intimate than the vast, more theatrically disposed area of old, and
is more nearly an indication of the personal tastes of the owner because
of its restrained proportions.

[Illustration: _Bassin de la Couronne, Vaux-le-Vicomte_]



CHAPTER III

THE ROYAL HUNT IN FRANCE


Just how great a part the royal hunt played in the open-air life of the
French court all who know their French history and have any familiarity
with the great forests of France well recognize.

The echo of French country architecture as evinced in the "_maisons de
plaisance_" and "_rendezvous de chasse_" scattered up and down the
France of monarchial times lives until to-day, scarcely fainter than
when the note was originally sounded. Often these establishments were
something more than a mere hunting-lodge, or shooting-box, indeed they
generally aspired to the proportions of what may readily be accepted as
a country-house. They established a specious type of architecture which
in many cases grew, in later years, into a chateau or palace of
manifestly magnificent appointments.

At the great hunting exposition recently held at Vienna the _clou_ of
the display was a French royal hunting-lodge in the style of Louis XVI,
hung with veritable Gobelin tapestries, loaned by the French government
and picturing "The Hunt in France." It was called by the critics a
unique painting in a beautiful frame.

In the days of Francis I and his sons, the royal hunt was given a great
impetus by Catherine de Médici, wife of Henri II.

Francis, in company with his sons, had gone to Marseilles to meet the
Médici bride, who was on her way to make her home at the Paris Louvre,
and when he found her possessed of so lively manners and such great
intelligence he became so charmed with her that, it is said, he danced
with her all of the first evening. What pleased the monarch even more,
and perhaps not less his sons, was that she shot with an arquebuse like
a sharpshooter, and could ride to hounds like a natural-born Amazon. She
was more than a rival, as it afterwards proved, of that arch-huntress,
Diane de Poitiers.

History recounts in detail that last royal hunt of Francis I at
Rambouillet, when he was lying near to death, the guest of his old
friend, d'Angennes.

The old manor, half hunting-lodge, half fortress, and very nearly royal
in all its appointments, proved a comfortable enough rest-house, and on
the day after his arrival, in March, 1547, the monarch commanded the
preparations for a royal hunt to commence at daybreak in the
neighbouring forest.

The equipage started forth in full ceremonial on the quest of stag and
boar. The bugles blew and a sort of stimulated courage once more entered
the king's breast, courage born of the excitement around him, the baying
of the hounds and the tramping and neighing of impatient horses. He had
forced himself from his bed and on horseback and started off with the
rest, defying the better counsel of his retainers.

His strength proved to be born of a fictitious enthusiasm, and, speedily
losing interest, he was brought back to the manor where he had his
apartments, and put speechless and half dead to bed, actually dying the
next day from this last over-exertion, scarce half a century of the span
of his life accomplished.

Henri de Navarre also was a true lover of the open. Born in a mountain
town in the Pyrenees he would rather camp on a bed of pine needles in
the forest than lie on a tuft of down. He preferred his beloved Bayonne
ham, spiced with garlic, to a sumptuous dinner in _Jarnet_ house, a
famous Paris tavern of the day; and had rather quench his thirst with a
quaff of the wine of Jurançon than the finest _cru_ in Paris cellars.

He hated the parade of courts, was dirty, unkempt and careless, a
genuine son of the soil, heedless of fate, and an excellent huntsman.

Up to the seventeenth century the ladies of the French court showed a
keener interest for falconry than for the hunt by horse and hounds.

The heroines of the Fronde, and the generation which followed, seemed to
lose interest in this form of sport, and gave their favour to packs of
hounds, and followed with equal interest the hunt for deer, wolves,
boars, foxes and hares as they were tracked through forests and over
arid wastes.

The old hunting horn, the winding horn of romance, still exists at the
hunts of France, a relic of the days of Louis XIV. It sounds the
conventional comings and goings of the huntsmen in the same classic
phraseology as of old--the _lancer_, the _bien allée_, the _vue_, the
_changement de forêt_, the _accompagné_, the _bat l'eau_, the _hallali
par terre_, and the _curée_.

The "_Curée aux Flambeaux_" was one of the most picturesque ceremonies
connected with the royal hunt in France. It began in the gallant days,
and lived even until the time of the Second Empire.

[Illustration: _A "Curée aux Flambeaux"_]

The _curée_, that is the giving up to the hounds the remains of an
animal slain in chase, does not always take place at night, but when
it does the torches play the part of impressive and picturesque
accessories. When a _curée_ takes place at the spot where the animal is
actually killed the French sporting term for the ceremony is "_forcé et
abattu_." This, however, is usually preceded by another called "_le
pied_," which consists in cutting off one of the feet of the dead animal
and offering it to the person in whose honor the hunt was held.

When the _curée_ takes place by torchlight the body of the animal is
carried beneath the windows of the chateau, a circle is formed by the
"_piqueurs_," or head hunters, and all who have participated in the
pursuit; and, to the sound of a trumpet, loaned by the sportsmen, one of
the _valets de venérie_ cuts up the stag. The _meutes_, that is to say,
the hounds which are let slip last of all, and which terminates the
chase--are then brought by the _valet des chiens_, who has great
difficulty in keeping them from breaking loose. When the entrails have
been cut away the valet sits astride the animal, holding up the _nappe_,
or head and neck, shaking it at the already furious hounds. It is the
care of the valet during this interval to conceal the pieces of flesh
which are still under the body. The hounds are then loosened, but are
kept within bounds by the whips of the _piqueurs_ and the _valet des
chiens_. When the dogs are sufficiently exasperated the brutes are
allowed to rush upon the remains of their victim; only, however, to be
driven back again by whipping. When their docility has thus been proven
the definite signal, "_lachez tout_," is given, and the hounds rush
towards the stag.

The _curée_ then presents a savage spectacle: the air is filled with
growling, barking and yelling, while the ground is covered with
scrambling dogs, their mouths reeking with blood.

The feminine costume for the hunt in the time of Louis XIII was of
broadcloth or velvet, with a great feather-ornamented "picture" hat.
Only now and again a lady on horseback after 1650 dared borrow doublet
and jacket, and mount astride.

The ladies followed the hunt of Louis XIV on horseback, seldom, if ever,
in the older manner of sitting behind their cavalier on the same steed.
From the time of Catherine de Médici, indeed, the Italian side-saddle
had become the fashion for women.

Under Louis XV the ladies sought a little more comfort, and followed the
equipage sitting in a sort of hamper-like, diminutive basket, hung from
the broad back of a sturdy quadruped. Dresses became more fanciful,
both in materials and colours. From this it was but a step to even more
elaborate toilettes which necessitated a conveyance of some sort on
wheels, but the most intrepid still clung to the traditionally classic
methods. Marie Antoinette had her _equipage de chasse_, and Madame
Durfort was constantly abroad in the forests of Montmorency and Boissy,
directing the operation of eight or ten professional huntsmen. Among her
guests were frequently the ambassadors of Prussia, Russia and Austria.

In the time of Louis XIV the Comtesse de Lude devoted herself to the
hunt with a frenzy born of an inordinate enthusiasm. At the head of a
pack of hounds she knew no obstacle, and, on one occasion, penetrated on
horseback, followed by her dogs, into the oratory of the nuns of the
Convent of Estival.

By the end of the seventeenth century the hunt in France had become no
more a sport for ladies. Hunting was still a noble sport, but it was
more for men than for women. The court hunted not only in royal company,
but accepted invitations from any seigneur who possessed an ample
preserve and who could put up a good kill; magistrates, financiers and
bishops, indeed all classes, became followers of the hunt.

Montgaillard tells of a hunt in which he took part on the feast day of
Saint Bernard, with the monks of the Bernardin Convent in Languedoc. In
the episcopal domain of Saverne six hundred beaters were employed on one
occasion to provide sport for an assembled company of lords and ladies.
These were the days when the bishops were in truth _Grand Seigneurs_.

The women of the court, while they played the game, ceded nothing to the
men in bravery. Neither rain, hail nor snow frightened them. On the 28th
of June, 1713, Louis XIV was hunting the deer at Rambouillet when a
terrific, cyclonic storm fell upon the equipage, but not a man nor woman
in the monarch's party quit. The Duchesse de Berry was "wet to the
skin," but her ardour for the hunt was not in the least cooled.

To-day at Fontainebleau or Rambouillet the echo is sounded from the
hunting horn of Labaudy, the sugar-king, who pulls off at least two
"hunts," with his spectacular equipage, each year, and it is a sight
too; a French hunting party was ever picturesque, and if to-day not as
practical as the more blood-loving Englishman's hunt, is at least
traditionally sentimental, even artificial to the extent, at any rate,
that it seems stagy, even to the inclusion of the automobiles which
bring and carry away the participants. "Other days, other ways" never
had a more strict application than to _la chasse a courre_ in France.

Two accounts are here given of two comparatively modern figures in the
French hunting field, which show the great store set by the sport in
France.

In the annals of the Chateau de Grosbois, belonging to-day to the Prince
de Wagram, are the accounts of an early nineteenth century hunt, which
shows that the game cost dear. The "Grand Veneur" of the Napoleonic
reign was a master sportsman, indeed, and to-day, in a gallery of the
chateau, are preserved the guns of the master, his hunting crop and
saddle, his "colours" and his hunting horn.

From the registers of the chateau, under date of December 10, 1809, the
following, which concerned a hunting party given by the chatelain, is
extracted verbatim.

   Note of the Maitre d'Hotel for collations for the guests   8,226 francs

   Illuminations                                              1,080 francs

   Gratifications to the beaters                              1,000 francs

   Eau de Cologne for the ladies                                 30 francs

   Gun-bearers                                                  148 francs

   Helpers (150)                                                600 francs

   Aids (200)                                                    315 francs

Another hunt was given in 1811, in honour of Napoleon, when such items
as three thousand francs for an orchestra, a like sum for bouquets for
the ladies, a thousand or two for bonbons and fans, and twelve thousand
for hired furniture, etc., to say nothing of the expenses of the hunt
itself, made the bag somewhat costly. It was not always easy for the
master of the hunt to get justice when it came to paying for his
supplies, and in these same records a mention of a dozen leather
breeches at a hundred and forty francs each was crossed off and a
marginal note, _Non_, added in the hand of Maréchal Berthier, Prince de
Wagram, himself.

The chief figure in the French hunting world of to-day is another
descendant of the Napoleonic portrait gallery, Prince Murat. At the age
of twelve the young Prince Joachim had already followed the hounds at
Fontainebleau and Compiègne. In his double quality of relative and
companion of the Prince Imperial he was one of the chiefs of the
equipment of the Imperial Hunt. To-day, though well past the span of
life, he is as active and as enduring in his participation in the
strenuous sport as many a younger man and his knowledge of the grand art
of _vénerie_, and his ardour for being always ahead with the hounds, is
noted by all who may happen to see him while jaunting through the
Fôret de Compiègne, keeping well up with the traditions of his worthy
elder, the "Premier Cavalier" of the First Empire, the King of Naples.

[Illustration: _An Imperial Hunt at Fontainebleau_]

He won his first stripes in the hunting field at Compiègne in 1868, at a
hunt given in honour of the Prince de Hohenzollern and the Princesse,
who was the sister of the King of Portugal. It was a most moving event,
so much so that it just escaped being turned into a drama, for one of
the ladies of the court had a leg broken, and the minister, Fould, was
almost mortally injured. A "_dix cors_," a stag with antlers of ten
branches, had been run down at the Rond Royal where it had taken refuge
in a near-by copse, and after an hour's hard chase was finally cornered
in the courtyard of some farm buildings of the Hameau d'Orillets. A
troop of cows was entering the courtyard at the same moment, and a most
confused melée ensued. The Inspector of Forests saved the situation and
the cows of the farmer, and the stag fell to the carabine of Prince de
la Moskowa, with the young Prince Murat on his pony in the very front
rank.

Thus early initiated in the chivalrous sport of the hunt the young man
followed every hunt, big or little, which was held in the environs of
Paris for many years, and by the time that he came to possess the
epaulettes of an Officier de Cuirassiers he was known to all the hunts
from the Ardennes to Anjou.

For the past generation he has been retired to civil life by a
Republican decree, and since that time has lived in his suburban Paris
property, devoting himself to the raising of hunters. Here he lives
almost on the borders of that great extent of forest which occupies the
northern section of the Ile de France, occasionally organizing a hunt,
which takes on not a little of the noble aspect of a former time, the
prince following always within sound of the hunting horn and the baying
of the hounds, if not actually always within sight of the quarry.

It is here, in his Villa Normande, near which Saint Ouen gave Dagobert
that famous counsel which has gone down in history, that the Prince and
Princesse Murat come to pass two or three months each year with their
children, their allied parents and the "great guns" of the old régime
who still gather about the master of the hunt as courtiers gather around
their king.

At Chamblay there have been held magnificent gun shoots under the
organization of the prince and his equipage. His kennels contain
forty-eight of the finest bred hounds in France, and are guarded by
three caretakers, the goader, Carl, whose fame has reached every
hunting court of Europe and a couple of _valets des chiens_. The
prince's colours are distributed as follows: a huzzar jacket of blue,
with collar, plaquettes, and vest of grenadine and breeches of a darker
blue.

Formerly Prince Murat hunted the roe-deer in the valley of the Oise, but
many enclosures of private property having made this exceedingly
difficult in later years he is to-day obliged to go farther afield. In
the spring the equipage goes to Rosny, near Mantes, and perhaps during
the same season occasionally to Rambouillet.

The hunts at Chamblay are the perfection of the practice of the art.
Seldom is the quarry wanting. The refrain of the Ode to Saint Hubert
lauds the prowess of this great "Maitre d'Equipage."

   "Par Saint Hubert mon patron
   C'est quelque due de haut renom
        *       *       *
   Sonnez: écuyers et piqueux
   Un Murat vien en ces lieux."

Chamblay fortunately being neither populous nor near a great town there
is no throng of curious spectators hovering about to get in the way and
scare the game and the hounds and their followers out of their wits. The
Chasse de Chamblay is the devotion of the _vrais veneurs_; the Prince
Murat and his son, the Prince Joachim, (to-day at the military school at
Saint Cyr), the Prince Eugene Murat, the Comte de Vallon, the Baron de
Neuflize and a few famous _veneurs_ in gay uniforms come from afar to
give éclat to the hunt of the master. And the ladies: the following
names are of those devoted to the prowess of the Prince Murat--Madame la
Princesse, la Princesse Marguerite Murat, Mademoiselle d'Elchingen, the
Duchesse and the Marquise d'Albufera, the Duchesse de Camestra, and
Madame Kraft.

From this one sees that romance is not all smouldering. If other proof
were wanting a perusal of that most complete and interesting account of
the hunt in France in modern times, "_Les Chasses de Rambouillet_"
(_Ouvrage offert par Monsieur Felix Faure_) would soon establish it.
This was not a work destined for the public at large. The hunt was ever
a sport of kings in France, and though France has become Republican its
_Chasse Nationale_ at Rambouillet partakes not a little of the aspect of
those courtly days when there was less up-to-dateness and more
sentiment.

[Illustration: _Rendezvous de Chasse, Rambouillet_]

There were but one hundred copies of this work printed for the friends
of the late president of the Republic--"Other Sovereigns," as the
dedication reads, "Princes, Grand Dukes, Ambassadors."

Rambouillet was the theatre of the most splendid hunts of the sixteenth
century, and down through the ages it has ever held a preëminent place;
holds it to-day even. Louis XVI in the Revolutionary torment even
regretted the cutting off of his prerogative of the royal hunt, but he
had no choice in the matter. In his journal of 1789 one reads: "the cerf
runs alone in the Parc en Bas" (Rambouillet), and again in 1790: "Séance
of the National Assembly at noon; Audience of a deputation in the
afternoon. The deer plentiful at Gambayseuil."

The Revolution felled many French institutions; low, great,
ecclesiastical and monarchial monuments, the trees of the forest, and
the royal game, by a system of poaching, had become greatly diminished
in quantity.

The nineteenth century, so frankly democratic in its latter years, was
less favourable to the hunt than the monarchial days which had gone
before. It had a considerable prominence under Charles X, more perhaps
than it ever had under Napoleon, who in his infancy and laborious
adolescence had few opportunities of following it; and in the later
years of his life he was too busy.

Napoleon III was not really a "good hunter," though he was something of
a marksman and took a considerable pride in his skill in that
accomplishment.

Entering the democratic era, Jules Grévy seems to have been only a
pot-hunter of the _bourgeoisie_, who practiced the art only because he
wanted a jugged hare for his dinner, or again simply to kill time.

Sadi-Carnot was still less a hunter of the romantic school, but assisted
frequently at the ceremonial shootings which were arranged for visiting
monarchs. On one occasion he was put down on the record-sheet of a hunt
at Rambouillet as responsible only for the death of eighteen heads,
whilst a visiting Grand Duke pulled down a hundred and fifty.

It was notably during the presidency of Felix Faure that Rambouillet
again took on its animation of former times. The chateau had been
furbished up once more after a long sleep, and, to the great
satisfaction of the inhabitants of the town, there were more comings and
goings than there had been for a quarter of a century.

In the summer and autumn the president made Rambouillet his preferred
residence, and there received many visiting sovereigns and notables of
all ranks. In one year a score of "Official Hunts" were held, to which
all the members of the diplomatic corps were invited, while there were
two or three affairs of an "International" character in honour of
visiting sovereigns.

All was under the control of the Grand Veneur of the Third Republic, the
Comte de Girardin, and while a truly royal flavour may have been lacking
the general aspect was much the same as it might have been in the days
of the monarchy. The Captain of the Hunt under Felix Faure was the
Inspector of Forests, Leddet, and the Premier Veneur was the Commandant
Lagarenne.

The president himself was a marksman of the first rank, and never was
there a reckoning up of the _tableau_ but that he was near the head of
the list. So accomplished was he with the rifle that on more than one
occasion he was obliged to practically efface himself in favour of some
visiting monarch, as it was said he did in the case of the King of
Portugal in 1895, the Grand Ducs Vladimir and Nicolas in 1896.

Huntsmen not royal by virtue of title, or alliance, the Republican
president beat to a stand-still. He had no pity nor favour for a mere
ambassador, whether he hailed from England or Germany, nor for members
of the Institute, Senators nor Deputies. With Prince Albert of Monaco
he held himself equal, and for every bird shot on the wing by the head
of the house of Grimaldi the "longshoreman" of Havre brought down
another.

_La chasse à courre_ before the law in France to-day may be practiced
only under strictly laid down conditions. The huntsman must legally have
his dogs under such control, and keep sufficiently close to them, as to
be able to recover the quarry immediately after it has been closed in
upon by the hounds.

Like shooting, since the Decrée of 1844, hunting with hounds may only be
undertaken under authority of a _permis de chasse_, and in open season,
during the daytime, and with the consent of the owners over whose
properties the hunt is to be held.

The ceremony of the hunt in France now follows the traditions of the
classic hunt of the monarchy. The _veneur_ decides on the rendezvous,
whether the quarry be stag or chevreuil, fox or hare. The _piqueur_
follows close up with the dogs, sets them on or calls them off, and
recalls them if they go off on a false scent.



CHAPTER IV

THE PALAIS DE LA CITÉ AND TOURNELLES


Not every one assumes the Paris Palais de Justice to ever have been the
home of kings and queens. It has not, however, always been a tilting
ground for lawyers and criminals, though, no doubt, when one comes to
think of it, it is in that rôle that it has acted its most thrilling
episodes.

The Saint Chapelle, the Conciergerie and the great clock of the Tour de
l'Horloge mark the Palais de Justice down in the books of most folk as
one of the chief Paris "sights," but it was as a royal residence that it
first came into prominence.

This palace, not the conglomerate half-secular, half-religious pile of
to-day, but an edifice of some considerable importance, existed from the
earliest days of the Frankish invasion, and when occupied by Clotilde,
the wife of Clovis, was known as the Palais de la Cité.

Under the last of the kings of the First Race this palace took on really
splendid proportions. When Hugues Capet arrived on the throne he
abandoned the kingly residence formerly occupied by the Frankish rulers,
the Palais des Thermes, and installed his goods and chattels in this
Palais de la Cité, which his son Robert had rebuilt under the direction
of Enguerrand de Marigny.

Up to the time of Francis I it remained the preferred residence of the
French monarchs, regardless of the grander, more luxuriously disposed
Louvre, which had come into being.

Philippe Auguste, by a contrary caprice, would transact no kingly
business elsewhere, and it was within the walls of this palace that he
married Denmark's daughter. His successors, Saint Louis,
Philippe-le-Hardi, and Philippe-le-Bel did their part in enlarging and
beautifying the structure, and Saint Louis laid the foundations of that
peerless Gothic gem--La Saint Chapelle.

From the windows of the Palais de la Cité another Charles assisted at an
official massacre, differing little from that of Saint Bartholemew's,
which was conducted from the Louvre.

On the first floor of the Palais de Justice of to-day is the apartment
paved in a mosaic of black and white marble, with a painted and gilded
wooden vaulting, where Charles V received the Emperor Charles IV and the
"Roi des Romains." The three monarchs, accompanied by their families,
here supped together around a great round marble table, a secret supper
prolific of an _entente cordiale_ which must have been the forerunner of
recent ceremonies of a similar nature in France.

Known as the Salle de Marbre, this great chamber came later to be the
Tribunal where the courts sat. It was only after the death of Charles
VI, at the beginning of the fifteenth century, that the Palais de la
Cité was given over wholly to the disciples of Saint Yves, the judges,
advocates and notaries. It became also the definite seat of the
Parliament and took the nomenclature of Palais de Justice, though still
inhabited at intermittent intervals by French royalties. One such
notable occasion was that when Henry V of England was here married to
Catherine de France, and when Henry VI of England took up his temporary
residence here as king to the French.

In the fourteenth century the precincts of the Palais de la Cité--the
open courtyard one assumes is meant--were invaded by the stalls of small
shopkeepers, some of which actually took root in wood and stone and
became fixtures to such an extent that the courtyard was known as the
Galerie des Merciers.

The great marble chamber after becoming the meeting place of the
Tribunal played a part at times dignified and at others banal. An
incident is recorded where the clerks and minor court officials danced
on the famous marble table and "played farces" with the judicial bench
serving as a stage. It was said that, on account of the immoralities
which they represented, the authorities were obliged to suppress the
performances by law, as they have in recent years the flagrant freedom
of the "Quat'z Arts."

Up to the times of Francis I but few events of importance unrolled
themselves within the Palais de la Cité, but in 1618 a violent
conflagration broke out leaving only the round towers of the
Conciergerie, the tower and the church, and that part of the main
structure which housed the great Salle de Marbre, unharmed. Apropos of
this, a joyous rhymester of the time made the following quatrain:

   "Certes ce fut un triste jeu
   Quand a Paris Dame Justice
   Pour avoir mangé trop d'épice
   Se mit le Palais tout en feu."

Jacques Debrosse was charged with rebuilding the edifice after the fire
and refitted first the Grand Salle, to-day the famous Salle des Pas
Perdus, crowded with the shuffling coming and going crowd of men and
women whose business, or no business at all, brings them to this central
point for the dissemination of legal gossip. It is a magnificent
apartment, and, to no great extent, differs from what it was before the
conflagration.

This Salle consists of two parallel naves separated by a range of
arcades and lighted by two great circular openings with four
round-headed windows at either end. Its attributes are practically the
same as they were in 1622. The structure, take it as a whole, may be
said to date only from the seventeenth century, but certain it is that
the old Palais de la Cité is incorporated therein, every stone of it,
and if its career was humdrum that was the fault of circumstances rather
than from any inherent faults of its own.

The Conciergerie, that inelegant, inconsistent architectural mixture of
the ancient and modern, considered apart, though it properly enough is
usually considered with the Palais de Justice, was formerly the dwelling
or guardhouse of the Concierge of the Palais de la Cité. His post was
not merely that of the keeper of the gates; he was a personage at court
and was as autocratic as his more plebeian contemporaries of to-day, for
the Paris concierge, as we, who have for years lived under their
despotism well know, is a very dreadful person.

In addition to being the governor of the royal dwelling this concierge
was the guardian of the royal prisoners. In 1348 he was further invested
with the official title of Bailli and the post was, at times, occupied
by the highest and the most noble in the land, among others Philippe de
Savoie, the friend of Charles VI, and Juvenal des Oursins, the historian
of this prince. The first to combine the two functions, that of Bailli
and Concierge, was Jacques Coictier, the doctor of Louis XI.

As a virtual prison the Conciergerie only came to be transformed when
Charles V quitted the residence of the Palais de la Cité, and the
Conciergerie, as such, only figures on the Tournelles registers under
date of 1391.

The fire of the latter part of the eighteenth century destroyed a large
part of the building, but enough remained to patch together the most
serviceable of Revolutionary prisons, for at one time it held at least
twelve hundred poor souls, of whom two hundred and eighty-eight were
killed off at one fell blow.

But one woman among them all actually came to her death within the
prison walls. This was La Belle Bouquetière of the Palais Royal who, in
an access of jealous furor, horribly mutilated a royal guardsman, and
for this met a most cruel death by being transfixed to a post and
submitting to a trial of "_le fer et le feu_." In just what manner the
punishment was applied one can best imagine for himself.

The Revolutionary rôle of the Conciergerie is a thing apart from the
purport of this book, hence is not further referred to.

Going back to the time of Francis I, among the famous prisoners of state
were Louis de Berquin, the Comte de Mongomere, the regicides Ravaillac
and Damiens, the Maréchal d'Ancre, Cartouche, Mandrin and others.
To-day, as a prison, the Conciergerie still performs its functions
acceptably, safeguarding those up for the assizes, and those condemned
to death before being sent on their long journey.

The three great flanking towers of the Conciergerie are its chief
architectural distinction to-day. That of the left, the largest, is the
Tour d'Argent, that of the middle, the Tour Bonchet, and the third, the
Tour de César or the Tour de l'Horloge. This last is the only one which
has preserved its mediæval crenulated battlements aloft. The great clock
has been commonly considered the largest timepiece of its kind extant,
but it is doubtful if this now holds good with railways and insurance
companies vying with each other to furnish the hour so legibly that he
who runs may read.

Across the Pont au Change, from the Palais de la Cité, by the Louvre and
out into the Faubourg Saint Antoine, one comes to the Place des Vosges,
the old Place Royale, which occupies almost the same area as was covered
by the courtyard of the Palais des Tournelles, so called from its many
towers.

All around the Palais des Tournelles was located a series of splendid
_hotels privés_ of the nobility. In one of these, the Hotel de Saint
Pol, the king once lodged twenty-two visiting princes of the quality of
Dauphin (the eldest son of a ruling monarch), their suites and
domestics.

Charles V in his time amalgamated with his royal palace three of these
magnificent private dwellings, the Hotel du Petit Musc, the Hotel de
l'Abbé de Saint Maur and the Hotel du Comte d'Étampes.

The palace proper really faced on what is now the Rue Saint Antoine,
opposite the Hotel Saint Pol. Its historic and romantic memories of the
sword and cloak period of gallantry were many, but the edifice was
demolished by the order of Catherine de Médici.

In the palace Charles VI was confined, during the period of his
insanity, by order of the cruel Isabeau de Bavière. The Duke of Bedford,
when regent for the minor Henry VI, lodged here, and upon the expulsion
of the English it became the residence of Charles VII. Louis XI and
Louis XII each inhabited it, and the latter died within its walls.

The Palais des Tournelles will go down to history chiefly because of
that celebrated jousting bout held in its courtyard on the marriage day
of the two princesses, Elizabeth and Marguerite.

Henri II and the elder princes, his sons, were to ride forth in
tournament and break lances, if possible, with all comers. The court,
including Catherine de Médici and the princess Elizabeth, wife of
Philippe II, the late husband of Mary Tudor, the two Marguerites and
other high personages were seated on a dais upholstered in damascened
silk and ornamented with many-coloured streamers.

The time was July and the morning. At a signal from Catherine music
burst forth and the bouts began.

The king rode forth at the head of his chevaliers, wearing a suit of
golden armour, his sword handle set with jewels, and, in spite of the
presence of his wife, his lance flying black and white streamers, the
colours of Diane de Poitiers, who had lately turned her affections from
father unto son.

A herald proclaimed the opening of the combat, and before night the king
had broken the lances of the Ducs de Ferrare, de Guise, and de Nemours,
and was just about disarming when a masked knight approached from the
Faubourg Saint Antoine and challenged the king, who, in spite of being
implored to desist by his queen, entered the lists again and was
ultimately wounded unto death by the sable knight.

Henri II expired the same night in a bedchamber of the Palais des
Tournelles, whither he had been carried, at the age of forty-one, the
victim of chance, or the wile of the Sieur de Montgomeri, the ancestor
of England's present Earl of Eglinton. The captain of the Scotch Guards,
Montgomeri, was not immediately pursued (he meantime had fled the
court), but Catherine de Médici harboured for him a most bitter rancour.
Pro and con ran his cause, for he had his partisans, but the Maréchal de
Matignon finally caught up with him in Normandy and he was tortured and
condemned to death for the crime of _lèse majesté_--beating the king at
his own game.

The widowed queen angrily ordered Diane de Poitiers from the court, and
caused the Palais des Tournelles to be razed. This was her only means of
showing her contempt for the woman who had played her royal spouse to
his death as the Romans played the gladiators of old; and Tournelles, as
a palatial monument of its time, blotted out the rest when it
disappeared from view.

A forest of spirelets soared aloft from the gables and rooftrees of the
Palais des Tournelles. There was no spectacle of the time more imposing
than this sky-line silhouette of a Paris palace; not at Chambord nor
Chenonceaux was the spectacle more fine. It was like a fairy castle,
albeit that it was in the heart of a great city.

To the right of the Palais des Tournelles, beyond the Porte Saint
Antoine, was the ink-black, frowning donjon of the Bastille, its
severity in strong contrast with the more luxurious palaces of the
princes which surrounded it not far away.

The charming Place des Vosges, which occupies the site of Tournelles
to-day, is another of Paris's breathing spaces. Well may it be called a
royal garden--a park virtually on a diminutive scale--since it was
originally known as the Place Royale, under Henri IV.

With the advent of the gascon Henri de Béarn this delightful little
unspoiled corner of old Paris took on the aspect which it now has.
Within this enclosure were the usual garden or park attributes, more or
less artificially disposed, but making an ideal open-air playground for
the court, shut in from outside surroundings by the outlines of the old
palace walls, and not too far away from the royal palace of the Louvre.

The first and greatest historic souvenir of this garden was a Carrousel
given in 1612, by Marie de Médici, two years after the tragic death of
Henri IV, celebrating the alliance between France and Spain. Under
Richelieu the square became known as the Place des Vosges, and, in spite
of the law against duelling, which had by this time come into force, it
became a celebrated meeting place for duellists like Ivry, the "Grand'
Roué" or the "Vel' Hiver" of to-day.

It was on May 12, 1627, that the Comte des Chappell killed Bussy
d'Amboise on this spot, and left a bloody souvenir, which was only
forgotten by the historians when they had to recount another meeting,
this time between the Catholic Duc de Guise and the Protestant Coligny
d'Andelot.

"Monsieur," said the duke, "we will now proceed to settle that little
account between our illustrious houses," and with that he drew his
sword and killed Coligny, as if he were but stamping the life out of a
caterpillar.

Now, with all this bloody memory behind, the Place became one of the
most elegant residential quarters of the capital, preferred above all by
the nobility, the Rohans, the Alègres and Rotroux.

At No. 21 lived Victor Hugo, just before the Coup d'État, in the house
first made famous as the habitation of the somewhat infamous Marion
Delorme.

Among other illustrious names who have given a brilliance to these
alleyed walks and corridors are to be recalled Corneille, Condé, Saint
Vincent de Paul, Molière, Turenne, Madame de Longueville, De Thou,
Cinq-Mars, Richelieu, D'Ormesson, the Prince de Talmon, the Marquis de
Tessé and the Comte de Chabanne.

It is possible that this charming Paris square will remain as ever it
has been, for a recent attempt of the owner of one of the houses which
borders upon it to change the disposition of the façade brought about a
law-suit which compelled him to respect the procedure which obtained in
1605 when it was ordained the Place Royale.

To prove their rights the civic authorities had recourse to the original
plans still preserved in the national archives. This is a demonstration
of how carefully European nations preserve the written records of their
pasts.

The decision finally arrived at by the courts--that the Place des Vosges
must be kept intact as originally planned--gave joy to the hearts of all
true Parisians and archeologists alike.

[Illustration: BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF OLD PARIS]



CHAPTER V

THE OLD LOUVRE AND ITS HISTORY


A stroll by the banks of the Seine will review much of the history of
the capital, as much of it as was bound up with Notre Dame, the Louvre
and the Palais de la Cité (now the Palais de Justice), and that was a
great deal, even in mediæval and Renaissance times.

The life of the Louvre was Paris; the life of Paris that of the nation;
and the life of the nation that of the people. This even the Parisians
of to-day will tell you. It is scant acknowledgment of the provinces to
be sure, but what would you? The French capital is much more the capital
of France than London is of England, or Washington of America--leaving
politics out of the question.

Paris before the conquest by the Franks was practically only the
Seine-surrounded isle known as Lutetia, and later as "La Cité," and the
slight overflow which crept up the slopes of the Montagne de la Sainte
Genevieve. From the Chatelet to the Louvre was a damp, murky swamp
called, even in the moyen-age, Les Champeaux, meaning the Little Fields,
but swampy ones, as inferred by studying the evolution of the name still
further.

A rapid rivulet descended from Menilmontant and mingled with the Seine
somewhere near the Garden of the Tuileries.

Clovis and his Franks attacked the city opposite the isle, and, upon the
actual achievement of their conquest, threw up an entrenched camp on the
approved Roman plan in what is now the courtyard of the old Louvre, and
filled the moat with the waters of this rivulet. The ensemble was,
according to certain authorities, baptized the Louvre, or Lower, meaning
a fortified camp. This entrenchment was made necessary in order that the
Franks might sustain themselves against the Gallo-Roman occupants of
Lutetia, and in time enabled them to acquire the whole surrounding
region for their own dominion. This the Lower, or Louvre, made possible,
and it is well deserved that its name should be thus perpetuated, though
actually the origin of the name is in debate, as will be seen by a
further explanation which follows.

Little by little this half-barbaric camp--in contradistinction to the
more solid works of the Romans--became a _placefort_, then a château,
then a palace and, finally, as the young lady tourist said, an art
museum. Well, at any rate, it was a dignified evolution.

Two Louvres disappeared before the crystallization of the present rather
irregularly cut gem. From the Merovingians dates the Louvre des Champs,
the hostile, militant Louvre, with its high wood and stone tower,
familiar only in old engravings. After this the moyen-age Louvre,
attributable to Saint Louis and Charles V, with its great tower, its
thick walls of stone and its deep-dug moats, came into being. With
Francis I came a more sympathetic, a more subtle era of architectural
display, a softening of outlines and an interpolation of flowering
gables. It was thus that was born that noble monument known as the New
Louvre, which combined all the arts and graces of a fastidious ambition.

Nothing remains of the old Louverie (to which the name had become
corrupted) which Philippe Auguste early in the thirteenth century caused
to be turned into an ambitious quadrangular castle from a somewhat more
humble establishment which had evolved itself on the site of the
Frankish camp, save the white marble outline sunken in the pavement of
the courtyard of the palace of to-day. By destiny this palace, set down
in the very heart of Paris, was to dominate everything round about.
From the date of its birth, and since that time, it has had no rivals
among Paris or suburban palaces. Its very situation compelled the
playing of an auspicious part, and the Seine flowing swiftly by its
ramparts added no small charm to the fêtes and ceremonies of both the
Louvre and the Tuileries.

Never was a great river so allied with the life of a royal capital;
never a stream so in harmony with other civic beauties as is the Seine
with Paris. When Henri II entered Paris after his Sacrament he
contemplated a water-festival on the Seine, which was to extend from the
walls of the Louvre to the towers of Notre Dame, a festival with such
elaborate decorations as had never been known in the French capital.

The kings of France after their Sacrament entered the Louvre by the
quay-side entrance, followed by their cortège of gayly caparisoned
cavaliers and gilded coaches with personages of all ranks in doublet and
robe, cape and doublet. The scintillating of gold lace and burnished
coats gave a brilliance which rivalled that of the sun.

No sooner had the cavalcade entered the gates of the Louvre than it came
out again to participate in the day and night festival, which had the
bosom of the Seine for its stage and its bridges and banks for the act
drop and the wings.

The receptions of Ambassadors, the baptisms of royalties, royal
marriages and celebrations of victories, or treaties, were all fêted in
the same manner.

Napoleon glorified the Peace of Amiens under similar conditions, and
there is scarce a chronicler of any reign but that recounts the part
played by the Seine in the ceremonies of the court of the New and Old
Louvre.

It was amid a setting which lent itself so readily to all this that the
Old Louvre, which was rebuilt by Francis I, first came to its glory.

The origin of the name Louvre has still other interpretation from that
previously given. It seems to be a question of grave doubt among the
savants, but because the note is an interesting one it is here
reproduced. The name may have been derived as well from the word
_oeuvre_, from the Latin _opus_; it may have been evolved from
_lupara_, or _louverie_ (place of wolves), which seems improbable. It
may have had its evolution from either one of these origins, or it may
not.

Anglo-Saxons may be proud of the fact that certain French savants have
acknowledged that the name of the most celebrated of all Paris palaces
is a derivation from a word belonging to their tongue and meaning
habitation. This, then, is another version and one may choose that which
is most to his liking, or may go back and show his preference for
_lower_, meaning a fortified place.

A palace--something more elaborate than a mere habitation--stood on the
same site in the twelfth century, a work which, under the energies of
Philippe Auguste, in 1204 began to grow to still more splendid
proportions, though infinitesimal one may well conclude as compared with
the mass which all Paris knows to-day under the inclusive appellation of
"The Louvre."

The Paris of Philippe Auguste was already a city of a hundred and twenty
thousand inhabitants, with mean houses on every side and little pretense
at even primitive comforts or conveniences. This far-seeing monarch laid
hand first on the great citadel tower of the fortified _lower_, added to
its flanking walls and built a circling rampart around the capital
itself. It is recounted that the rumbling carts, sinking deep in mud and
plowing through foot-deep dust beneath the palace windows, annoyed the
monarch so much that he instituted what must have been the first city
paving work on record, and commanded that all the chief thoroughfares
passing near the Louvre should be paved with cobbles. This was real
municipal improvement. He was a Solon among his kind for, since that
day, it has been a _sine qua non_ that for the well-keeping of city
streets they must be paved, and, though cobblestones have since gone out
of fashion, it was this monarch who first showed us how to do it.

The Louvre of Philippe Auguste was the most imposing edifice of the
Paris of its time. To no little extent was this imposing outline due to
its great central tower, the _maitresse_, which was surrounded by
twenty-three _dames d'honneur_, without counting numberless _tourelles_.
This hydra-towered giant palace was the real guardian of the Paris of
mediævalism, as its successor is indeed the real centre of the Paris of
to-day.

The city was but an immense mass of low-lying gable-roofed houses, whose
crowning apex was the sky-line of the Louvre, with that of Tournelles
only less prominent to the north, and that of La Cité hard by on the
island where the Palais de Justice and Notre Dame now stand.

Before the hand of Francis fell upon the Louvre it was but an isolated
stronghold--a combined castle, prison and palace, gloomy, foreboding and
surrounded by moats and ramparts almost impassable. Philippe Auguste
built well and made of it an admirable and imposing castle and a place
of defence, and a defence it was, and not much more.

For its time it was of great proportions and of an ideal situation from
a strategic point of view; far more so than the isolated Palais de la
Cité in the middle of the Seine.

Four gates led out from the inner courtyard of the Old Louvre: one to
the Seine; one to the south, facing Saint Germain l'Auxerrois; another
towards the site of the later Tuileries; and the other to about where
the Rue Marengo cuts the Rue de Rivoli of to-day.

With the endorsement given it by Philippe Auguste the Louvre now became
the official residence of the kings of the Capetian race, whereas
previously they had dwelt but intermittently at Paris, chiefly in the
Palais de la Cité.

The monarch, as if to test the efficiency of his new residence as a
stronghold, made a dungeon tower, his greatest constructive achievement
until he built the castle of Gisors, and in the tower imprisoned the
Comte de Flandre, whom he had taken prisoner at Bouvines. Louis IX
(Saint Louis), in his turn, built a spacious annex to Philippe Auguste's
Louvre, to which he attached his name.

[Illustration: THE XIV CENTURY LOUVRE]


Charles V totally changed the aspect of the palace from what it had
formerly been--half-fortress, half-residence--and made of it a veritable
palace in truth as well as in name, by the addition of numerous
dependencies.

Within a tower which was built during the reign of this monarch, called
the Tour de la Librairie, he assembled his royal bibelots and founded
what was afterwards known as the Bibliothèque du Louvre, the egg from
which was hatched the present magnificently endowed _Bibliothèque
Nationale_ in the Rue Richelieu.

It is related that in 1373 the valet-de-chambre of Charles V made a
catalogue of the nine hundred and ten volumes which formed this
collection, an immense number for the time when it is known that his
predecessor, Jean-le-Bon, possessed but seven volumes of history and
four devotional books as his entire literary treasure.

This seems to be a bibliographical note of interest which has hitherto
been overlooked. Charles V was evidently a man of taste, or he would not
have built so well, though all is hearsay, as not a fragment remains of
the work upon which he spent his talents and energies.

From the death of Charles V, in 1364, until 1557 the Louvre by some
caprice ceased to be a permanent royal residence. At the latter epoch
the ambitious, art-loving Francis I conceived the idea that here was a
wealth of scaffolding upon which to graft some of his Renaissance
luxuries and, by a process of "restoration" (perhaps an unfortunate word
for him to have employed, since it meant the razing of the fine tower
built by Charles V), added somewhat to the splendours thereof, though in
a fickle moment, as was his wont, allowed a gap of a dozen years to
intervene between the outlining of his project and the terrifically
earnest work which finally resulted in the magnificent structure
accredited to him, though indeed it meant the demolition of the original
edifice.

It was at this period that Charles V entered into the ambitious part
which Francis was to henceforth play in the Louvre, so perhaps the
interruption was pardonable.



CHAPTER VI

THE LOUVRE OF FRANCIS I AND ITS SUCCESSORS


One can attribute the demise of the Old Louvre to the coming of Charles
V to Paris in 1539. This royal residence, hastily put in order to
receive his august presence, seemed so coldly inconvenient and
inhospitable to his host, Francis I, that that monarch decided forthwith
upon its complete reconstruction and enlargement. Owing to various
combinations of circumstances the actual work of reconstruction was put
off until 1546, thus the New Louvre as properly belongs to the reign of
Henri II as to that of his father.

Francis I, more than any other European monarch of his time, or, indeed,
before or since, left his mark as an architect of supreme tastes over
every edifice with which he came into personal contact. His mania was
for building--when it was not for affairs of the heart--and so daring
was he that when he could not get an old fabric to remodel he would
brave all, as did Louis XIV at Versailles, and erect a dream palace in
the midst of a desert. This he did at Chambord in the Sologne. At Paris
his difficulties were perhaps no less, but he had his materials and his
workmen ready at hand.

Francis's repairs and embellishments to the Old Louvre were by no means
perfunctory, but he saw possibilities greater than he was able to
perform with the means at hand. He first razed the central tower, or
_donjon_, and scarce before the departure of his royal guest, was
already dreaming of replacing the entire fabric with another which
should bear the same name. One has read of the monarch's thoughts when
he was awaiting the coming to Paris of his old enemy in the peninsula;
how he regretted the moment when he should sally out to meet him and
leave his new-found friend, the Duchesse d'Étampes, in spite of her
pleadings for him to remain by her. All this is mere historic incident,
and has little to do with Francis's art instincts and ambitions. He
probably thought this very thing himself when he replied to the
importunate lady: "Duchesse, I must tear myself away without more ado; I
go to meet my brother monarch at Amboise on the Loire."

It was Francis I, the passionate lover of art, who collected the first
pictures which formed the foundation of the present collections of the
Musée National du Louvre. He bought many in foreign parts, and many
others were brought from Italy by Italian artists, whom he had commanded
to the capital: Primaticcio brought with him, upon his arrival, more
than a hundred antique statues. These art objects were first assembled
at Fontainebleau and ornamented the apartments of the king. Among them
were Da Vinci's "La Joconde" and Raphael's "Holy Family and Saint
Michael."

Henri II, Henri IV, and Louis XIII did little to enrich the art
collections of the palace, but Louis XIV charged his minister, Colbert,
with numerous purchases. In 1661 he bought the fine collection left by
Cardinal Mazarin, and ten years later purchased the contents of the
celebrated gallery belonging to the banker Jacob of Cologne. The state
expended for these acquisitions nearly six hundred thousand _livres_,
and received for this sum six hundred paintings and six thousand
drawings.

It was at this period that the royal collections were transferred to
Paris, a little before the death of Colbert, when they were placed in
the galleries of the Louvre; though it was a hundred years later that a
national museum was actually created. This was virtually brought about
from the fact that the royal collections were transported in a great
part to Versailles, only to be returned to Paris in 1750, transferred
again to Versailles, and ultimately to be returned to Paris under the
sheltering wing of the grand old Louvre.

The Museum of the Louvre, the Museum National et Central des Arts, is
the outgrowth of a Decree of the Convention, dated July 27, 1793. It was
aided and enriched considerably under Napoleon I, that passionate lover
of the beautiful, who, none too scrupulously, would even seek to "make a
campaign" in order to acquire art works for the museum of his capital.

Many of these abducted art treasures (like the horses of Saint Marc, for
instance) were afterwards returned to their original owners, but the
nucleus of this unrivaled art museum was chiefly due to the consul and
emperor.

As soon as Charles V had left the Louvre demolition was at once begun by
Francis, and in 1541 an Italian, Serlio, was bidden prepare a set of
plans for the Renaissance glory that was to be. Serlio, refusing, or
debating the price, was cast aside for the Frenchman, Lescot, whose plan
was adopted.

The work can in no way be said to have suffered by the change of plans,
for though Pierre Lescot was as yet a name unknown in the world of
architecture his talents were sufficiently great, magistrate and
parliamentary counsellor though he was, to give to Paris what has ever
been accounted its chief Renaissance glory.

Work was begun at once, a work which was not interrupted by intrigues of
court, of love, of war, nor by the deaths of Francis I nor his
successor, Henri II.

Although the work was begun in an energetic manner it was 1555 before
the western wing was ready for the hand of the sculptors, but from this
time on, judging from the interpolated monograms of Charles IX and Henri
IV on the south wing, work progressed less hurriedly. The two other
constructions, which were to enclose the quadrangle to the north and
east, were completed under such circumstances that there has never been
a question as to their period.

For fifteen years the work went on, when suddenly it was abandoned as
were the plans of Lescot. A sole wing, that following the Seine and
abutting at right angles against the Pavilion de l'Horloge, had
resulted.

The sculptures of its south façade, as well as certain of its interior
decorations, were entrusted to Jean Goujon (1520-1572), who became a
victim of the horrible night of Saint Bartholomew, planned in the same
Louvre by the wily Médici.

Henri II often dwelt over Lescot's plans and devices, and, on one
occasion, when the poet Ronsard was present, demanded of the architect
the meaning of the decorations surrounding a great _oeil-de-boeuf_
window, two kneeling figures, one blowing a trumpet, and the other
extending a palm branch. "Victory and Fame," replied Lescot. And, in
honour of the architect and his sentiment, Ronsard composed his
"Franciade." The detail was actually by Goujon, whose design it was,
under the oversight of the master architect. One may see this _chef
d'oeuvre_ to-day just above the courtyard portal to the west.

At the death of Henri II, Catherine de Médici came here to live alone,
and built the great extension, which stands to-day and joins the Old
Louvre with that portion along the banks of the Seine by the double
arch, through which swing the autobusses coming from the Rive Gauche
with such a Juggernaut grind that fears for the foundation of the palace
are ever uppermost in the minds of those responsible for its
preservation.

[Illustration: _The Louvre_]

It is in this Catherine de Médici portion of the Louvre (1578) that the
present Galerie des Antiques is installed, and which is usually
thronged, in season and out, with globe-trotting sight-seers who give
seldom a thought to its constructive elegance and its association with
the Médici.

With the first years of the reign of Charles IX, there is to be remarked
a notable slowness of procedure with regard to the construction of the
New Louvre. This was brought about chiefly by the conception of the
Tuileries and the work which was actually begun thereon. Soon a gigantic
idea radiated from the ambitious mind of Catherine de Médici. In this
connection it must be remembered, however, that Catherine, so commonly
reviled as "the Italian," was not all Italian; French blood flowed
through her veins through that of her mother, Madeleine de la Tour
d'Auvergne. She came first to France, landing at Marseilles, whence she
arrived from Leghorn, and forthwith commenced her journey Parisward,
arriving finally at the Louvre as the bride of Prince Henri in the guise
of a simple, clever girl, though indeed she was twenty years the elder.

Now she dreamed of uniting her chateau of the Tuileries with that of the
king by a long, connecting gallery. She put action to the thought and
under Pierre (II) Chambiges, a relative of the Chambiges of
Fontainebleau and Saint Germain, the Petite Galerie, a mere means of
communication between the two chateaux, and not the least to be likened
to a defensive structure, was begun and work thereon carried out between
1564 and 1571, though it remained for Thibaut Metezeau, in 1595-1596, to
carry it on a stage further under Henri IV.

This architect introduced the notorious mezzanine, which has so
intrigued historians of the Louvre because of the unequal elevations of
the various floors, a procedure which was unavoidable save by recourse
to a substitution less to be objected to than the existing fault.
Actually the connection with the Tuileries was made by the prolongation
of this gallery by the Ducerceau brothers in 1595. The work existing
to-day, but only in its reconstructed form, is the same as that
completed by Napoleon III (1863-1868).

Charles IX and Henri III, though making the Louvre their residence,
practically had no hand in its embellishment. The former gave his
energies and ideals full play in the Saint Bartholomew massacres and
shot at poor unfortunates who fled beneath the windows of his apartments
on the quay-side of the Louvre. This, if not the chief incident of his
association with the fabric, is at least the best remembered one. Henri
III, too, led a scandalous life within the walls of the Louvre and fled
on horseback, smuggled out a back door, as it were, on a certain May
evening in 1588, never more to return, for the Dominican monk Jacques
Clément killed him with a knife-thrust before he had got beyond Saint
Cloud.

The accepted tale of the part played by the famous window of the Louvre
in the drama of Saint Bartholomew's night is as follows: As the signal
tolled from the belfry of Saint Germain l'Auxerrois it was answered by
another peal from the great bell of the Palais de Justice, where, within
a small apartment over the watergate of the Louvre, the queen and her
two sons were huddled together not knowing what might happen next. The
multitude streamed by on the quay before the palace, and, finally, amid
all the horror of Coligny's murder, and the throwing of his body from a
window of the Louvre to the street below, Charles IX stood at his window
regarding the fleeing Huguenots as so much small game, shooting away at
them with an arquebuse as they went by, and with an unholy glee, even
boasting that he had killed a score of heretics in a quarter of an hour.

Historians of those exciting times were perhaps none too faithful
chroniclers and Charles's "excellent shots" in his "royal hunt," and
hideous oaths and threats such as: "We'll have them all, even the women
and children," are not details as well authenticated as we would like to
have them. Like Rizzio's blood stains they lack conviction.

The ambitious white-plumed Henri de Navarre, when he became Henri IV of
France, set about to connect the tentacle which stretched southward from
the Old Louvre with the Tuileries (a continuation of the project of
Catherine de Médici), and, by the end of the sixteenth century, had
built a long façade under the advice of the brothers Ducerceau. This
work was added to on the courtyard side under the Second Empire, when a
reconstruction, more likely a strengthening of underpinning and walls
because of their proximity to the swift-flowing waters of the Seine, of
the work of Henri IV was undertaken.

Joining the Tuileries and this work of Ducerceau was the celebrated
Pavilion de Flore, a work of the Henri IV period rather than that of
Catherine de Médici.

From the Pavilion de Flore to the Pavilion de Lesdiguières ran this long
gallery of the Ducerceau and numerous interstices and unfinished vaults
and arches leading towards the Old Louvre were, at this epoch, completed
by Metezeau and Dupaira. The chief apartment of this structure became
known as the _Galerie Henri IV_, and was completed in 1608.

At the death of Henri IV, Richelieu, who at times builded so well, and
who at others was a base destroyer of monuments, demolished that portion
which remained of the edifice of Charles V. The work of Pierre Lescot
was preserved, however, and to give symmetry and an additional extent of
available space the rectangle facing Saint Germain l'Auxerrois to-day
was completed, thus enclosing in one corner of its ample courtyard the
foundations of the earlier work whose outlines are plainly traced in the
pavement that those who view may build anew--if they can--the old
structure of Philippe Auguste. In mere magnitude the present quadrangle
is something more than four times the extent of the Louvre of the time
of Charles V.

This courtyard of the Louvre is perhaps that spot in all Paris which
presents the greatest array of Renaissance art treasures. From ground to
sky-line the façades are embroidered by the works from the magic hand of
the _Siècle Italien_. Jean Goujon himself has left his brilliant
souvenirs on all sides, caryatides, festoons, bas-reliefs, statues and
colonnades.

Enthusiasm and devotion knew no bounds among those old craftsmen, but
all is well-ordered, regular and correct. "He who mentions the Louvre to
a Frenchman gives a greater pleasure than that of Méhémet-Ali when one
praises the pyramids." In a way the Louvre is the most magnificent
edifice in the universe; "four palaces one piled up on another, _une
ville entière_." And when the Louvre was linked with the Tuileries in
the real, what a splendour it must have been for former generations to
marvel at! "_La plus belle et la plus grande chose sous le soleil._"

This work of aggrandizement of the quadrangle was carried out by the
architect Lemercier on the basis of a project adopted in 1642, and, to a
great extent, completed before the arrival of Anne d'Autriche, twenty
years later.

This queenly personage had ideas of her own as to what sort of a
residence she would have in Paris, and beyond her personal needs little
was done for the moment towards actually linking up the various loose
ends, each more or less complete in itself, which now composed the Paris
palace of the French monarchs.

Her son, the king in person if not in power, was not likely to be
endowed with instincts which would put him in the rank of the
traditional castle or palace builders of his race; it was literature,
music and painting which more particularly flourished during his reign,
and so the Austrian contented herself at first with merely putting the
former apartments of Catherine de Médici into condition for her personal
use and building a Salle-de-Spectacle, and--happy thought--a
Salle-des-Bains.

Louis XIV, as he found time, after the war of the Fronde, actually did
bethink himself of completing, in a way, the work of his elders, and
charged the architect Levau to finish off the north wing, which was done
in 1660. A year later the Galerie Henri IV was practically destroyed by
fire and rebuilt by Levau, who gave the commission for its interior
decoration to Lebrun.

Soon the south wing was completed, leaving only the gap for the eastern
façade which was intended to be the chief entrance to the mass of
buildings, which still bore the comprehensive name of "The Louvre."

For the accomplishment of this façade, the demolition of certain
dwellings of the nobility which had clustered around the royal fabric
was necessary, and the Hotels du Petit Bourbon, de Villequier, de
Chaumont, La Force, De Créquy, de Longueville, and de Choisy fell before
the picks of the house-breakers. Levau commenced work on the façade at
once, and made rapid progress until 1664, when an abrupt order came for
him to stop all work. Political conspiracy, graft, if you like, was at
work, and Colbert, little favourable towards Levau, made a proposition
to the king to open a competition for the design and execution of the
façade. Willingly enough, his mind doubtless more occupied with other
things, Louis XIV agreed, and a general call was sent out to all French
architects to enter the lists. Confusion reigned, and Levau was about to
be recalled when Colbert spied an unrolled parchment in the corner and
pounced upon it eagerly as the means of saving him from the dubious
efforts of the former incumbent.

It was the "non-professional" plan submitted by a doctor in medicine,
one Charles Perrault. Jealous competitors made all sorts of criticisms
and objections, the chief contention being that if by any chance an
architectural design by a "pill-roller" proved pleasing to the eye it
was bound to be impracticable from an economic or constructive point of
view, or both. This is often enough true, and it proved to be so in this
case, for in spite of a certain amount of advice from an expert Italian
builder, who had come to Paris to help the good doctor with his
difficult task (for he actually received a commission for the work and
completed it in 1674), the façade did not fit the rest of the fabric
with which it was intended to join up, and to-day it may be observed by
the curious as being several feet out of line with the structure which
faces on the Rue de Rivoli.

Louis XIV practically had no regard for the Louvre and its architectural
traditions; his palatial garden-city idea, worked out at Versailles,
shows what an innovator he was. He allowed the Louvre to be filled up
with all sorts of riffraff, who were often given a lodging there in
place of a money payment for some service rendered. The Louvre thus
became a sort of genteel poor-house, while king and court spent their
time in the more ample country-house behind the Meudon hills.

By 1750 the Louvre had become little more than an immense ruin, humbled
and desecrated; a veritable orphan. The Marquis de Marigny, Surintendant
des Batiments Royaux, obtained the authorization to chase out the
parasites and clean up the Augean stable and put things in order as best
pleased his esthetic fancy, but only with the early years of the
nineteenth century did the Louvre become a real palace again and worthy
of its traditions.

From 1803 to 1813 the architects Fontaine and Percier were constantly
engaged in the work of repairs and additions, and built (for Napoleon I)
the gallery which extends from what is now the Place Jeanne d'Arc to the
Pavillon de Rohan, along the Rue de Rivoli. This detached portion (bound
only to the Tuileries) was finally joined to the seventeenth century
work of Lemercier under Louis Napoleon in 1852. This gallery, the work
of "moderns," is no mean example of palace-building, either. It was the
work of Visconti and Lefuel, and with the adoption of this plan was
finally accomplished the interpolation of that range of pavilions which
gives the architecture of the Louvre one of its principal distinctions.
Named after the principal ministers of former administrations--Donon,
Mollien, Daru, Richelieu, Colbert, Turgot, etc., these pavilions break
up what would otherwise be monotonous, elongated façades.

The inauguration of this last built portion of the palace was held on
August 14, 1857, the occasion being celebrated by a banquet given by
Napoleon III to all the architects, artists and labourers who had been
engaged upon the work. In the same Salle, two years later, which took
the name of Salle des États, the emperor gave a _diner de gala_ to the
generals returning from the Italian campaign.

Still further résumé of fact with regard to the main body of the Louvre,
as well as with respect to its individual components, will open
never-ending vistas and pageants. It is not possible in a chapter, a
book or a five-foot shelf to limn all that is even of cursory interest.
The well-known, the little-known and the comparatively unknown mingle in
varying proportions, according to the individual mood or attitude. To
some the appeal will lie in the vastness of the fabric, to others in the
varied casts of characters which have played upon its stage, still
others will be impressed with the dramatic incidents, and many more will
retain only present-day memories of what they have themselves seen. The
Louvre is a study of a lifetime.

To resume a none too complete chronology, it is easy to recall the
following important events which have taken place in the Louvre since
the days of Henri III, the period at which only the barest beginnings of
the present structure had been projected.

In 1591 a ghastly procedure took place when four members of the Conseil
des Seize were hung in the Salle des Caryatides by orders of the Duc de
Mayenne.

Like the horoscope which foretold the death of Henri III, another royal
prophecy was cast in 1610 that reminds one of that which perhaps had
not a little to do with the making away with the last of the Valois
princes.

The Duc de Vendome, the son of Henri IV by Gabrielle d'Estrées, handed
the king a documentary horoscope signed by an astrologer calling himself
La Brosse, which warned the king that he would run a great danger on May
14 in case he went abroad.

"La Brosse is an ass," cried the king, and crumpled the paper beneath
his feet.

On the day in question the king started out to visit his minister,
Sully, at the Arsenal. It was then in turning from the Rue Saint Honoré
into the Rue de la Ferronière that the royal coach, frequently blocked
by crowds, offered the opportunity to the assassin Ravaillac, who,
jumping upon the footboard, stabbed the king twice in the breast.

After having been wounded the king was brought dying to the Louvre. His
royal coach drew up beneath the vault through which throngs all Paris
to-day searching for a "short cut" from the river to Saint Honoré. It
was but a short, brief journey to the royal apartments above in the
Pavilion de l'Horloge, but it must have been an interminable calvary to
the gallant Henri de Navarre. The body was received by Marie de Médici
in tears, and the Ducs de Guise and d'Epernon clattered out the
courtyard on horseback to spread the false news that the king had
suffered no harm. Fearing the results of too precipitate publishing of
the disaster no other course was open.

A gruesome memory is that the Swiss Guard at the Louvre surreptitiously
acquired a "_quartier_" of the dismembered body of the regicide and
roasted it in a fire set alight beneath the balcony of Marie de Médici
as an indication of their faithfulness and loyalty.

It was Sully, the king's minister, who ran first up the stairs to
acquaint the queen of the tragedy--faithful ever to the interests of his
royal master. In spite of this, one of the first acts of Marie de Médici
as regent was to drive the Baron de Rosny and Duc de Sully away. Such is
virtue's reward--sometimes.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Lying on his bed, his face uncovered, clad in white satin and a bonnet
of red velvet embroidered with gold, was all that remained of Henri IV
of France and Navarre. Around the bed were nuns and monks from all the
monasteries of Paris to keep vigil of his soul."

So ends the chronicle closing the chapter of the relations of Henri IV
with his Paris palace.

No particularly tragic event took place here for some years. Henriette
de France, widow of Charles I of England, taking refuge in France from
the troublous revolt at home, lived in the Louvre in 1644. She had at
first been graciously received by Mazarin, but was finally accorded only
the most strict necessities of life, a mere lodging in the Louvre, a
modest budget and a restricted entourage.

In 1662, under Louis XIV, Molière and his troup, in a theatre installed
in the Salle des Caryatides, gave the first "command" performance on
record. The plays produced were, "Nicodeme" and "Le Docteur Amoureux."

An "art note" of interest is that Sylvain Bailly, the first curator of
the Musée du Louvre, was born within its precincts in 1736.

In the dark days of July, 1830, the populace attempted to pillage and
sack the palace, but after a bloody reprisal retired, leaving hundreds
of dead on the field. The _parterre_ beneath the famous colonnade was
their burial place, though a decade later the bodies were exhumed and
again interred under the Colonne de Juillet in the Place de la Bastille.

Le Notre, the gardener of kings, laid out the first horticultural
embellishments of the palace surroundings under Louis XIV, and with
little change his scheme of decoration lasted until the time of Louis
Philippe, who made away with much that was distinctive and excellent.

Napoleon III came to the front with an improved decorative scheme, but
the hard flags of to-day, the dusty gravel and the too sparse
architectural embellishments do not mark the gardens of the Louvre as
being anything remarkable save as a desirable breathing spot for Paris
nursemaids and their charges.

The iron gates of the north, south and east sides were put into place
only in 1855, and at the Commune served their purpose fairly well in
holding the rabble at bay, a rabble to whose credit is the fact that it
respected the artistic inheritance enclosed by the Louvre's walls. No
work of art in the museums was stolen or destroyed, though the library
disappeared.



CHAPTER VII

THE TUILERIES AND ITS GARDENS


[Illustration: ORIGINAL PLAN of the TUILERIES]

No more sentimental interest ever attached itself to a royal French
palace than that which surrounded the Tuileries from its inception by
Charles IX in the mid-sixteenth century to its extinction by the Commune
in 1871.

The Palace of the Tuileries is no more, the Commune did for it as it did
for the Hotel de Ville and many another noble monument of the capital,
and all that remains are the gardens set about with a few marble
columns and gilt balls--themselves fragments of former decorative
elements of the palace--to suggest what once was the heritage bequeathed
the French by the Médici who was the queen of Saint Bartholomew's night.

It was a palace of giddy gayety that drew its devotees to it only to
destroy them. "Crowned fools who wished to be called kings, and others."
Even its stones were chiselled as if with a certain malignancy and
fatalism, for they have all disappeared, and their history, even, has
not been written as large as that of those of many contemporary
structures.

Of the last five kings to which the Tuileries gave shelter--not counting
the Second Emperor--only one went straightway to the tomb; one went to
the scaffold and three others to exile. A sorry dowry, this, for an
inheritor of a palace at once so noble and admirable in spite of its
unluckiness.

With the court followers and the nobility of the last days of the
monarchy it was the same thing; the Tuileries was but a temporary
shelter. The scaffold accounted for many and banishment engulfed others
to forgetfulness.

It was a commonplace at the time to repeat the warning: "O! Tuileries!
O! Tuileries! Mad indeed are those who enter thy walls, for like Louis
XVI, Napoleon, Charles X and Louis Philippe you shall make your exit by
another door."

The origin of the name Tuileries is somewhat ignominiously traced from
that of a tile factory which existed here in the heart of Paris, on the
banks of the Seine, in the sixteenth century. The property, which
comprised a manor-house as well as the tile fields, was known by the
name of La Sablonnière, and came to the Marquis Neuville de Villeroy,
Superintendent of Finances, who built on the spot a sort of fortified
chateau, which, if not of palatial dimensions, was of a palatial
prodigality of luxury.

Louise de Savoie, mother of Francis I, acquired the property in 1518 and
nine years later gave it to Jean Tiercelin, the Maitre d'Hotel of the
dauphin, who later was to become Henri II.

The lodge, or manor-house, had, by 1564, fallen into so ruinous a state
that Catherine de Médici, the widow of Henri II, set about to lay the
foundations of a new royal palace.

Catherine never resided in her projected palace, and in 1566 Charles IX,
her son, gave the commission to Philibert Delorme to build a palace,
"neighbouring upon the Louvre, but not to be connected therewith, on the
site of the Tuileries."

On July 11, work was begun, and the central pavilion and the two
extremes were carried up two stories within a year. The central
structure was a great circular-domed edifice, enclosing a marvellous
Escalier d'Honneur. The façade, preceded by two terraced porticos, was
on the courtyard, or garden, between the edifice and the Louvre. It sat
back to the present Rue des Tuileries.

The Tuileries did not become a royal residence for some time after its
completion, for Charles IX clung tenaciously to his well-guarded
apartments in the Louvre; for the central structure of the Tuileries,
because of its lack of comparative height, was hardly as much of a
stronghold as he would have liked.

A contemporary note in connection with Charles IX and the Tuileries is
found in Ronsard's "_Épitre à Charles IX_."

   "J'ay veu trop de maçons
   Bastir les Tuileries,
   Et en trop de façons
   Faire les momeries."

Work on the edifice so auspiciously planned by Delorme was practically
discontinued during the reign of Henri III, owing to lack of funds.

The Renaissance of Delorme, Bullant, Lescot, each of whom had a hand in
the building of the Tuileries, expressed certain characteristic phases
of architectural art in the reigns of Francis I and Henri II. The reign
of Charles IX was only another phase of that long reign of Catherine de
Médici, and architectural influences continued to follow along the same
reminiscent Italian lines, particularly with reference to such edifices
as the Médici herself caused to be built. In the dedication of Philibert
Delorme's "_Traite d'Architecture_" he expressed himself thus with
regard to the Tuileries:

"Madame, I see from day to day with an increasing pleasure the interest
that your Majesty takes in architecture. The palace which you have built
at Paris near the Pont Neuf and the Louvre is, according to its
disposition, excellent and admirable to the extent that it pleases me
beyond measure."

After Delorme considerable changes were made and successfully carried
out under the architects Ducerceau, Duperac, Levau and Dorbay.

A distinct feature of the work of Delorme was his use of the column
ornamented throughout its length, which, as he says in his written
works, he first employed in the "_Palais de la Majesté de la Royne-Mere
à Paris_."

Of the ability of Delorme there is no diversity of opinion to-day, nor
was there in his time. Besides the Tuileries he has to his credit the
Chateau d'Anet, the Chateau de Saint Maur, that of Meudon--built for the
Cardinal de Lorraine,--and his important additions to the Chateau de la
Muette and the Chateaux of Saint Germain, Madrid and Fontainebleau.

As might be supposed Catherine de Médici professed a great admiration
for Delorme and recompensed his talents with a royal generosity, even
nominating him as Abbé of the Convent of Saint Eloi de Noyon, a fact
which caused the poet Ronsard to evolve a political satire: "La Truelle
Crossée."

At the same time that she was building the Tuileries Catherine de Médici
caused additions to be made to the Louvre; at least she undertook the
completion of the unfinished portion, which had been left for other
hands to do.

The first historic souvenir which stands out prominently with regard to
the Palais des Tuileries is the fête given four days before the fateful
Saint Bartholomew's night. It was the marriage fête of the gallant Henri
de Béarn, King of Navarre, and the wise and witty Marguerite de Valois.

Henri IV, coming to the throne a quarter of a century after the
admirable first year's work on the Tuileries had been completed, found
that little had been done towards making it a really habitable place. It
had been hurriedly finished off to the second story, and had served well
enough for a temporary residence, or as an overflow establishment where
balls and fêtes might be given without crowding, but to the ambitious
Henri IV nothing would do but that the pavilions should be bound
together with a more imposing ligature, and that the Pavillon de Flore
should in turn be linked up with the Louvre by a gallery.

Under Louis XIII this latter really came to a conclusion according to
the plans of the architect Ducerceau, but the inspiration of making the
Louvre and the Tuileries one was due to Henri IV.

Under Louis XIV and Louis XV the palace in its still attenuated form was
scarcely more than a rambling lodging, utterly lacking any of the noble
apartments with which it was afterwards endowed. The court at this time
practically made Versailles its headquarters. Neither of the
above-mentioned monarchs made aught but cursory visits to the Tuileries
and left its occupancy to officers of the household and ministers of
state.

It was in the reign of Louis XV that the Florentine artist, Servandoni,
who was at the same time an eminent architect, a remarkable painter and
a _maestro_ of a musician, organized in the Palais des Tuileries the
Theatre des Machines, the first installed at Paris, and there came the
Comédie Française, the Opera and the Bouffes (the _Comédie Italienne_)
and gave command performances before the court.

When the French resolved that Louis XVI should live in Paris, the Palais
des Tuileries was actually offered him, but it was a rather shabby place
of royal residence so far as its interior appointments were concerned,
though in all ways appealing when viewed from without. Considerable
repairs and embellishments were made, but warring factions did much to
make difficult any real artistic progress.

With the advent of Louis XVI there came a contrast to gayety and freedom
from care in royal hearts and heads. On October 5 Louis XVI and the
royal family hid themselves behind barred doors, the convention taking
up its sittings under the same roof and forthwith passing an act which
allowed the completion of the palace according to the plans of Vignon at
an expense of three hundred thousand _livres_. An almost entire
transformation took place, the money being seemingly well spent, and the
structure now first took its proper place among the monumental art
treasures of the capital.

A dramatic incident took place at the great gate of the Tuileries, which
faced the courtyard, when, on May 28, 1795, the populace surged in waves
against its sturdy barrier. The Deputy Féraud met them at the steps.
"You may enter only over my dead body," he said. No reply was made but
to crack his skull, behead the trunk and carry the head aloft on a pike
to the very Tribune where Boissy d'Anglas was presiding.

The Salle de Spectacle of the Tuileries was, even at this period, the
largest auditorium of its kind in Europe, having eight thousand stalls
and boxes, which gave a seating capacity of considerably more than that
number of persons.

In 1793 this playhouse, of which the parquet occupied the ground floor
of the Pavillon de Marsan, underwent a strange metamorphosis when it
became the legislative hall for the National Convention. All the names
and emblems showing forth in its decorations and indicative of its
ancient rule were changed into Republican devices and symbols. The
Pavillon de Marsan was called the Pavillon de l'Egalité, the Pavillon du
Centre became the Pavillon de l'Unité and the Pavillon de Flore the
Pavillon de la Liberté, where was lodged the Committee of Public
Safety.

The Hall of the Convention, according to reports of the time, was an
appalling mixture of grandeur and effeminacy with respect to its
architectural lines. Surrounding that portion where the legislators
actually sat was the great amphitheatre which for three years was
occupied by a curious, vociferous public, more demonstrative, even, than
those that had attended the former theatrical representations in the
same apartment.

From the opening of the National Convention to the reaction of
"Thermidor" it is estimated that more than three million people assisted
at what they rightly, or wrongly, considered as a "spectacle" staged
only for their amusement.

By the time Napoleon had come into power the Tuileries was hardly
habitable, and before taking up his residence he was obliged to make
immediate and extensive transformations.

On February 19, 1800, Napoleon, still First Consul, left the Palais de
Luxembourg and took up his residence in the Tuileries, the Third Consul,
Lebrun, being lodged in the Pavillon de Flore, in the "Petite
Appartement," which Marie Antoinette had fitted up for her temporary
accommodation when in town. Lebrun, however, gave up his lodging to the
Pope when the Pontiff came to Paris at Napoleon's orders. Consul
Cambacères, however, refused to shelter himself beneath the roof of the
Tuileries, and indicated a preference for the magnificent Hotel
d'Elboeuf, which was accommodatingly put at his disposition.

Napoleon entered the Tuileries in state, preceded and followed by an
imposing cortège. At the gate of the Carrousel the consuls alighted from
their carriages, and were received by the Consular Guard. On their
arrival the consuls read the following inscription posted at the
entrance: "On August 10th monarchy in France was forever abolished; it
will never be restored." By the 20th of February the inscription had
disappeared. Besides, orders were given to cut down the two liberty
trees which had been planted in the courtyard. On August 10 a large
quantity of cannon shot had been lodged in the façade of the Tuileries,
and around the shot were written these words: "Tenth of August." The
cannon balls disappeared, as well as the inscriptions, when the Arc de
Triomphe was erected on the Place du Carrousel.

This alteration gave great satisfaction. It was important for the
tranquillity of France that the new government should inherit rather the
sword of Charlemagne than the guillotine of Marat.

[Illustration: _Salle des Marechaux, Tuileries_]

The imperial court soon displayed its splendour and magnificence in
the Palais des Tuileries, as a foregone conclusion anticipated.

In a gorgeous and imposing Salle du Trone one might have seen in the
deep casement of the central window, standing up, their hats off, the
group of the Corps Diplomatique, the members of which, loaded with
decorations, ensigns, and diamonds, trembled in the presence of the
Little Corporal of other days; on the other side, the host of the
Princes of the Rhine Confederation--all the personages that Germany,
Russia, Poland, Italy, Denmark, Spain, all Europe, in one word, England
excepted, had sent to Paris.

It is needless to say that the wedding reception of Napoleon and Marie
Louise at the Tuileries was celebrated with unusual magnificence.
Another event, on account of its peculiar moment, strongly excited the
enthusiasm of the French. On March 20, 1811, at seven o'clock in the
morning, the first salute of cannon announced that the empress had given
birth to a child, the future Aiglon, the King of Rome.

After Napoleon's occupancy of the Tuileries it again served the monarch
under the Empire, the Restoration, under Louis Philippe and under the
Second Empire. The palace of unhappy memory saw successively the fall of
Napoleon, the entry of Louis XVIII, the file-by of the Allies, the
flight of Louis XVIII, of Charles X, Louis Philippe and Napoleon III.

Up to the time of the Second Empire the Tuileries preserved, more or
less, its original interior arrangement, and, to a great extent, the
decorations with which it had been embellished under Louis XIV, Louis
XVI, and Napoleon I.

The Pavilion de Flore, at the juncture of the Tuileries and the Louvre
of Henri IV, was practically rebuilt during the Second Empire, but it
followed closely the contemporary designs of the adjoining building.
Here are quartered executive offices of the Préfecture de la Seine. That
portion facing the Pont Royal contains a series of fine sculptures by
Carpeaux, the sole modern embellishments of this nature to be seen in or
on a Paris palace.

As the Commune mob was fleeing before the army of Versailles a
conflagration broke out in the Tuileries and soon the whole edifice was
in flames. Within what may have been the briefest interval on record for
a conflagration of its size the Tuileries was but a smoking pile of
half-calcined stones.

The Tuileries had another brief day of glory when the Prince President,
Louis Napoleon, entered its gates, coming straight from his inauguration
at Notre Dame.

The cannon at the Hotel des Invalides blazed out a welcome and every
patriot Republican shouted: "Vive Napoleon!" They little knew, little
cared perhaps, that he would some day become the Second Emperor.

The throng poured forth from the cathedral after the _Domine Salvum_ and
the benediction, the clergy leading the way, followed by the president
and his attendants. The orchestra played a lively march, and the great
bell in the tower boomed forth a glorious peal.

       *       *       *       *       *

The president's carriage drew up before the gates of the Tuileries and
he entered the great apartment where a reception was given to various
public and military bodies. Between seven and eight thousand naval and
military officers paid their respects, and about half a battalion of the
army saluted, among them two Mamelukes. While this ceremony was going
on, the Place du Carrousel was occupied by several squadrons of cavalry
and the inner courtyards were practically infantry camps. The government
was taking no chances at the beginning of its career. The reception
lasted until well on towards evening, when a banquet of four hundred
covers was laid and partaken of by the invited guests.

The last days of the Tuileries may be said to have commenced with that
eventful September 3, 1870, at five o'clock in the afternoon, when the
Empress Eugenie received a telegraphic despatch from Napoleon III
announcing his captivity and the defeat of Sedan. It was the overthrow.

The evening and the night were calm; the masses, as yet, were unaware of
the fatal news the journals would publish on the morrow. The following
day was Sunday; the weather superb; the disaster was finally announced
and the masses thronged from all parts to the Place de la Concorde,
where a squadron of Cuirassiers barred the bridge leading to the Palais
Bourbon where the deputies were in session.

On the arrival of the news the empress had called in General Trochu, the
Military Governor of Paris, and asked him if he could guarantee order.
He replied in the affirmative. Some hours later a group of deputies came
to the empress and counselled her to sign, not an abdication, but a
momentary renunciation of her powers as regent. Eugenie refused
point-blank.

The throng, passing by the left bank, had arrived at the Chamber of
Deputies, and the formal sitting became a revolutionary one. At three
o'clock the imperial dynasty was proclaimed as at an end, and a
provisionary government installed. Henri Rochefort, the present editor
of the "_Intransingeant_," was delivered from the prison of Sainte
Pélagie and made a member of the government.

By this time the mob which had invaded the Place de la Concorde became
menacing. The cry, "Aux Tuileries," first launched by the street gamins,
soon became the slogan of the crowd. To say it was to do it; the great
iron gates were closed, but in default of a protecting force of arms it
was an easy matter to scale them.

Behind the curtained windows of the palace the empress witnessed the
assault and murmured to her ladies-in-waiting: "It is then finished."
She turned towards the Prince de Metternich and the Chevalier Nigra,
and, in the voice of a suppliant, demanded: "_Que me consillez vous?_"

"You must leave at once, Madame; in a moment the palace will be
invaded."

The empress became resigned and accompanied by Madame Le Breton,
Metternich and Nigra started for the Pavilion de Flore, passing through
the Galerie de Musée and the Galerie d'Apollon, finally leaving by the
gate of the Louvre, which is opposite Saint Germain l'Auxerrois.

The empress was at last out of the palace, but not yet out of danger. A
band of manifestants, making for the Hotel de Ville and shouting; "Vive
la Republique," recognized the empress, but she mounted an empty fiacre
with Madame Le Breton, and giving the driver the first address that
entered her mind thus escaped further indignities, and perhaps danger.
Finally she found a refuge with Doctor Evans, the American dentist
living in the Avenue Malakoff, from whose house she left for England on
the following day.

This is the Frenchman's point of view of one of the picturesque
incidents of history. It disposes of the legend that the empress left
the Tuileries in the carriage of Doctor Evans, but this cannot be
helped, with due regard for the consensus of French opinion. Doctor
Evans was a family friend, besides being the dentist who cared for the
imperial teeth, and it is not going beyond the truth to state that the
fortunate American acquired not a little of his vogue and wealth by his
association with Napoleon III and his family.

By this time the populace had invaded the palace and cursed with
indignities unmentionable the marble halls, and the furnishings in
general, and pillaged such portable property as pleased the individual
fancies of the spoilsmen.

After the signing of the Peace Treaty by the Bordeaux Assembly, which
now represented the governmental head, and Thiers had become president,
that worthy would do away with the cannon of which the National Guard
still held possession in their garrison on the Butte of Montmartre. The
orders which he sent forth came to be the signal for another outbreak on
the part of the populace. On March 18 the Commune was proclaimed and
Citoyen Dardelle, an old African hunter, was appointed military governor
of the Tuileries. Whatever this individual's military qualifications may
have been, he delivered himself to the enjoyment of a high and dissolute
life in his luxurious apartments in the palace; a fact which was
speedily made note of by the still restless populace.

The Citoyen Rousselle, a member of the Communal Government, had the idea
of organizing a series of popular concerts in the gardens of the
Tuileries for the profit of the wounded in the late friction.

Hung on the walls, at the entrance of each apartment was a placard which
read: "Fellow men, the gold with which these walls were built was earned
by your sweat." "To-day you are coming to your own." "Remain faithful to
your trust and see to it that the tyrants enter never more."

During one of these public concerts a poem of Hégésippe Moreau was read
which terminated as follows, and set the populace aflame.

          *       *       *
   "Et moi j'applaudirai; ma jeuneusse engourdie
   Se réchauffera a ce grand incendie."

He referred to the burning of the former abode of emperors and kings as
a sort of sacrifice to the common good. The public had held itself in
hand very well up to this moment, but applauded the verses vociferously.
The last of the concerts was held on May 21, the same day as the Army of
Versailles entered Paris. Night came, and with it the raging, red flames
springing skywards from the roof of the Tuileries.

In a few moments the flames had enveloped the entire building. All the
forces that it was possible to gather had been ordered upon the scene,
but they were unable to save the old palace, and by one o'clock in the
morning it was but a mass of smoking ruins. The Communards had done
their work well. Before leaving its precincts they had sprinkled coal
oil over every square metre of carpet, window-hangings and tapestries,
and the slow-match was not long in passing the fire to its inflammable
timber. The library of the Louvre was destroyed, but the museums,
galleries and their famous collections fortunately escaped.

For a dozen years the lamentable ruins of the old palace of the
Tuileries reared their singed walls, a witness and a reproach to the
tempestuosity of a people. Finally, in 1882, Monsieur Achille Picard
undertook their removal for thirty-three thousand francs, and within a
year not a vestige, not an unturned stone remained in its original place
as a witness to this chapter of Paris history.

Two porticos of the Pavillon de l'Horloge, originally forming a part of
the Tuileries, have been re-erected on the terrace of the Orangerie,
facing the Place de la Concorde.

There remain but two survivors of the late imperial sway in France, the
Empress Eugenie who lives in England, and Emile Olivier, "_l'homme au
coeur lèger_," who lives at Saint Tropez in the Midi.

A Paris journalist a year or more ago, while sitting among a little
coterie of literary and artistic folk at Lavenue's famous terrace-café,
recounted the following incident clothed in most discreet language, and
since it bears upon the Tuileries and its last occupants it is repeated
here.

"Last night beneath the glamour of a September moon I saw a black shadow
silently creep out from beneath the gloom of the arcades of the Rue de
Rivoli just below the Hotel Continental. It crossed the pavement and
passed within the railings of the gardens opposite, one of the gates to
which, by chance or prearranged design, was still open. It moved slowly
here and there upon the gravelled walks and seated itself upon a
solitary bench as if it were meditating upon the splendid though sad
hours that had passed. Was it a wraith; was it Eugenie, late empress of
the French?"

To have remembered such a dream of fancy for forty long years one must
have been endowed with superhuman courage, or an inexplicable
conscience.

The Rue des Pyramides, which has been prolonged to the banks of the
Seine, will give those of the present generation who have never seen the
Tuileries an exact idea of its location. If it still existed the façade
of the palace would front upon this street.

The most moving history of the detailed horrors of the Commune,
particularly with reference to the part played by the Tuileries therein,
is to be found in Maxime Ducamp's "_Les Derniers Convulsions de Paris_."

One relic of the Tuileries left unharmed found a purchaser in a
Roumanian prince, at a public sale held as late as 1889. This was the
ornately beautiful iron gate which separated the Cour du Carrousel from
the Cour des Tuileries. Roumanian by birth, French at heart and Parisian
by adoption, this wealthy amateur, for a trifle over eight thousand
francs, became the owner of a royal souvenir which must have cost five
hundred times that sum.

The eastern front of the Tuileries opened into a courtyard formed under
the direction of the first Napoleon. It was separated from the Place du
Carrousel by a handsome iron railing with gilt spear-heads extending the
whole range of the palace. From this court there were three entrances
into the Place du Carrousel, the central gate corresponding with the
central pavilion of the palace, the other two having their piers
surmounted by colossal figures of victory, peace, history and France. A
gateway under each of the lateral galleries also communicated on the
north with the Rue de Rivoli, and on the south with the Quai du Louvre.
The Place du Carrousel was named in honour of a tournament held upon the
spot by Louis XIV in 1662. It communicated on the north with the Rue
Richelieu and the Rue de l'Echelle, and on the south with the Pont Royal
and the Pont du Carrousel. To-day in the square stands the triumphal
arch erected by Napoleon in 1806, after the designs of Percier and
Fontaine.

The newly laid-out and furbished-up gardens make the Place du Carrousel
even more attractive than it was when set about with flagged areas,
gravelled walks and paved road ways, and, while the monumental and
architectural accessories excel the horticultural embellishments in
quantity, the general effect is incomparably finer at present than
anything known before.

Plans for rebuilding the Place du Carrousel provide for a division into
three distinct parts, three grand _pelouses_, _à boulingrins à la
Français_, or lawns of a circumscribed area, according to the best
traditions of Le Notre, a border of flowers and a few decoratively
disposed clumps of flowering shrubs, the whole combined in such a way
that the perspective and vista down the Champs Elysées will in no manner
suffer. The architect-landscapist, M. Redon, who has been charged with
the work, has drawn his inspiration from a series of unexecuted designs
of Le Notre which have recently been brought to light from the innermost
depths of the national archives. It was a safe way of avoiding an
anachronism, and this time a government architect has chosen well his
plan of execution.

In later years the question of the reëmbellishment of the Garden of the
Tuileries has ever been before the public, but little has actually been
changed save the remaking of certain garden plots, the planting of a few
shrubs or the placing of a few statues.

The Garden of the Tuileries has a superficial area of 232,632 square
metres. It is the most popular of all open spaces in the capital to the
Parisian who would take his walks abroad not too far from the centre of
things. The chief curiosity of the garden is the celebrated chestnut
tree which burst into flower on the day of Napoleon's arrival from
Elba--March 20. The precocious tree has ever been revered by the
Bonapartists since, though the tree has never performed the trick the
second time.

Statues innumerable are scattered here and there through the garden and
give a certain sense of liveliness to the area. Some are by famous
names, others by those less renowned, but as a whole they make little
impression on one, chiefly, perhaps, because one does not come to the
Garden of the Tuileries to see statues.

To the left and right are the terraces, first laid out by the celebrated
Le Notre. Like the hanging gardens of Babylon, they overlook a lower
level of _parterres_, gravelled walks and ornamental waters. Along the
Rue de Rivoli is the Terrasse de l'Orangerie, and on the side of the
river is the Terrasse de la Marine.

According to the original plans of Le Notre the garden was set down as
five hundred _toises_ in length, and one hundred and sixty-eight
_toises_ in width, the latter dimension corresponding to that of the
façade of the palace.

Along the shady avenues of this admirable city garden of to-day an
enterprising _concessionaire_ has won a fortune by renting out
rush-bottomed chairs to nursemaids, retired old gentlemen with red
ribbons in their buttonholes, and trippers from across the channel. It
is a perfectly legitimate enterprise and a profitable one it would seem,
and has been in operation considerably more than half a century.

It was from the Gardens of the Tuileries in 1784 that took place
Blanchard's celebrated ascension in Montgolfier's balloon and brought
forth the encomium from the British Royal Society that the body was not
in the least surprised that a Frenchman should have solved the problem
of "volatability." The French monarch, more practical, was so mightily
pleased with the success of the experiment that he bestowed upon the
author the sum of four hundred thousand francs from his treasury to be
used for the perfection of the art.



CHAPTER VIII

THE PALAIS CARDINAL AND THE PALAIS ROYAL


With the Louvre and the Tuileries the Palais Royal shares the popular
interest of the traveller among all the monuments of Paris. No other
edifice evokes more vivid souvenirs of its historic past than this
hybrid palace of Richelieu. One dreams even to-day, of its
sumptuousness, its legends, its amusing and extravagant incidents which
cast a halo of romantic interest over so many illustrious personages. So
thoroughly Parisian is the Palais Royal in all things that it has been
called "the Capital of Paris."

Not far from the walled and turreted stronghold of the old Louvre rose
the private palaces, only a little less royal, of the Rambouillets, the
Mercoeurs and other nobles of the courtly train. They lived, too, in
almost regal state until Armand du Plessis de Richelieu came to humble
their pride, by fair means or foul, by buying up or destroying their
sumptuous dwellings, levelling off a vast area of land, and, in 1629,
commencing work on that imposing pile which was first known as the
Palais Cardinal, later the Palais d'Orleans, then as the Palais de la
Revolution and finally as the Palais Royal.

It was near, yet far enough away from the royal residence of the Louvre
not to be overshadowed by it. The edifice enclosed a great square of
ground laid out with symmetrically planted trees and adorned with
fountains and statues.

From the great central square four smaller courts opened out to each of
the principal points of the compass; there were also, besides the living
rooms, a chapel, two theatres, ballrooms, boudoirs and picture
galleries, all of a luxury never before dreamed of but by kings.

The main entrance was in the Rue Saint Honoré, and over its portal were
the graven arms of Richelieu, surmounted by the cardinal's hat and the
inscription: "Palais Cardinal." Like his English compeer, Wolsey,
Richelieu's ardour for building knew no restraint. He added block upon
block of buildings and yard upon yard to garden walls until all was a
veritable labyrinth. Finally the usually subservient Louis saw the
condition of things; he liked it not that his minister should dwell in
marble halls more gorgeous than his own. As a matter of policy the
Cardinal ceased to build more and at his death, as if to atone, willed
the entire property to his king.

As the Palais Cardinal, the edifice was subjected to many impertinent
railleries from the public which, as a whole, was ever antagonistic to
the "_Homme Rouge_." They did not admit the right of an apostolic
prelate of the church to lodge himself so luxuriously when the very
precepts of his religion recommended modesty and humility. Richelieu's
contemporaries did not hesitate to admire wonderingly all this luxury of
life and its accessories, and Corneille, in the "_Menteur_" (1642),
makes one of the principal characters say:

   "Non, l'univers ne peut rien voir d'égal
   Aux superbes dehors du Palais Cardinal;
   Toute une ville entière avec pompe bâtie,
   Semble d'un vieux fossé par miracle sortie,
   Et nous fais présumer à ses superbes toits
   Que tous ses habitants sont des dieux ou des rois."

The ground plan of the Palais Cardinal was something unique among city
palaces. In the beginning ground values were not what they are to-day in
Paris. There were acres upon acres of greensward set about and cut up
with gravelled walks, great alleyed rows of trees, groves without number
and galleries and colonnades innumerable. Without roared the traffic of
a great city, a less noisy traffic than that of to-day, perhaps, but
still a contrasting maelstrom of bustle and furor as compared with the
tranquillity within.

After the edifice was finished it actually fell into disuse, except for
the periodical intervals when the Cardinal visited the capital. At other
times it was as quiet as a cemetery. Moss grew on the flags, grass on
the gravelled walks and tangled shrubbery killed off the budding flowers
of the gardens.

Richelieu's last home-coming, after the execution of Cinq-Mars at Lyons,
was a tragic one. The despot of France, once again under his own
rooftree, threw himself upon his bed surrounded by his choicest pictures
and tapestries, and paid the price of his merciless arrogance towards
all men--and women--by folding his wan hands upon his breast and
exclaiming, somewhat unconvincingly: "Thus do I give myself to God." As
if recalling himself to the stern reality of things he added: "I have no
enemies but those of State."

In a robe of purple silk, supported by pillows of the finest down and
covered with the rarest of laces, he rigidly straightened himself out
and expired without a shudder, with the feeling that he was well beyond
the reach of invisible foes. But before he died Richelieu received a
visit from his king in person. This was another token of his invincible
power.

Thus the Palais Royal was evolved from the Palais Cardinal of Richelieu.
Richelieu gave the orders for its construction to Jacques Lemercier
immediately after he had dispossessed the Rambouillets and the
Mercoeurs, intending at first to erect only a comparatively modest
town dwelling with an ample garden. Vanity, or some other passion,
finally caused to grow up the magnificently proportioned edifice which
was called the Palais Cardinal instead of that which was to be known
more modestly as the Hotel de Richelieu.

Vast and imposing, but not without a certain graceful symmetry, the
Palais Royal of to-day is a composition of many separate edifices
divided by a series of courts and gardens and connected by arcaded
galleries. The right wing enclosed an elaborate Salle de Spectacle while
that to the left enclosed an equally imposing chamber with a ceiling by
Philippe de Champaigne, known as the Galerie des Hommes Illustrés, and
further ornamented with portraits of most of the court favourites of
both sexes of the time. The architectural ornamentation of this gallery
was of the Doric order, most daringly interspersed with moulded ships'
prows, anchors, cables and what not of a marine significance.

In 1636, divining the attitude of envy of many of the nobility who
frequented his palace, Richelieu--great man of politics that he
was--made a present of the entire lot of curios to Louis XIII, but
undertaking to house them for him, which he did until his death in 1642.

At the death of Louis XIII the Palais Cardinal, which had been left to
him in its entirety by the will of Richelieu, came to Anne d'Autriche,
the regent, who, with the infant Louis XIV and the royal family,
installed herself therein, and from now on (October 7, 1642), the
edifice became known as the Palais Royal.

Now commenced the political rôle of this sumptuous palace which hitherto
had been but the Cardinal's caprice. Mazarin had succeeded Richelieu,
and to escape the anger of the Frondeurs, he, with the regent and the
two princes, Louis XIV and the Duc d'Anjou, fled to the refuge of Saint
Germain-en-Laye.

In company with Mademoiselle de Montpensier, who had been rudely
awakened from her slumbers in the Luxembourg, they took a coach in the
dead of night for Saint Germain. It was a long and weary ride; the _Pavi
du Roi_ was then, as now, the most execrable suburban highroad in
existence.

When calm was reëstablished Mazarin refused to allow the regent to take
up her residence again in the old abode of Richelieu and turned it over
to Henriette de France, the widow of Charles I, who had been banished
from England by Cromwell.

Thirty odd years later Louis XIV, when he was dreaming of his Versailles
project, made a gift of the property to his nephew, Philippe d'Orleans,
Duc de Chartres. Important reconstructions and rearrangements had been
carried on from time to time, but nothing so radical as to change the
specious aspect of the palace of the Cardinal's time, though it had been
considerably enlarged by extending it rearward and annexing the Hotel
Danville in the present Rue Richelieu. Mansart on one occasion was
called in and built a new gallery that Coypel decorated with fourteen
compositions after the Ænid of Virgil.

Under the regency the Salon d'Entrée was redecorated by Oppenard, and a
series of magnificent fêtes was organized by the pleasure-loving queen
from the Austrian court. Richelieu's theatre was made into an
opera-house, and masked balls of an unparalleled magnificence were
frequently given, not forgetting to mention--without emphasis
however--suppers of a Pantagruelian opulence and lavish orgies at which
the chronicles only hint.

In 1661, Monsieur, brother of the king, took up his official residence
in the palace, enlarged it in various directions and in many ways
transformed and improved it. Having become the sole proprietor of the
edifice and its gardens, by Letters Patent of February, 1692, the Duc
d'Orleans left this superb property, in 1701, to his son the too famous
regent, Philippe d'Orleans, whose orgies and extravagances rendered the
Palais Royal notorious to the utmost corners of Europe.

The first years of the eighteenth century were indeed notorious. It was
then that Palais Royal became the head-centre for debauch and abandon.
It is from this epoch, too, that date the actual structures which to-day
form this vast square of buildings, at all events their general outline
is little changed to-day from what it was at that time.

If the regent's policy was to carry the freedom and luxury of
Richelieu's time to excess, replacing even the edifices of the Cardinal
with more elaborate structures, his son Louis (1723-1752) sought in his
turn to surround them with an atmosphere more austere.

A disastrous fire in 1763 caused the Palais Royal to be rebuilt by order
of Louis Philippe d'Orleans, the future Philippe-Egalité, by the
architect Moreau, who carried out the old traditions as to form and
outline, and considerably increased the extent and number of the arcades
from one hundred and eighty to two hundred and seven. These the astute
duke immediately rented out to shopkeepers at an annual rental of more
than ten millions. This section was known characteristically enough as
the Palais Marchand, and thus the garden came to be surrounded by a
monumental and classic arcade of shops which has ever remained a
distinct feature of the palace.

A second fire burned out the National Opera, which now sought shelter in
the Palais Royal, and in 1781 the Theatre des Varietés Amusantes was
constructed, and which has since been made over into the home of the
Comédie Française.

The transformations imposed by Philippe-Egalité were considerable, and
the famous chestnut trees, which had been planted within the courtyard
in the seventeenth century by Richelieu, were cut down. He built also
the three transverse galleries which have cut the gardens of to-day into
much smaller plots than they were in Richelieu's time. In spite of this
there is still that pleasurable tranquillity to be had therein to-day,
scarcely a stone's throw from the rush and turmoil of the whirlpool of
wheeled traffic which centres around the junction of the Rue Richelieu
with the Avenue de l'Opera. It is as an oasis in a turbulent sandstorm,
a beneficent shelf of rock in a whirlpool of rapids. The only thing to
be feared therein is that a toy aeroplane of some child will put an eye
out, or that the more devilish _diabolo_ will crack one's skull.

Under the regency of the Duc Philippe d'Orleans the various apartments
of the palace were the scenes of scandalous goings-on, which were
related at great length in the chronicles of the time. It was a very
mixed world which now frequented the _purlieus_ of the Palais Royal. Men
and women about town jostled with men of affairs, financiers,
speculators and agitators of all ranks and of questionable
respectability. Milords, as strangers from across the Manche came first
to be known here, delivered themselves to questionable society and still
more questionable pleasures. It was at a little later period that the
Duc de Chartres authorized the establishment of the cafés and
restaurants which for a couple of generations became the most celebrated
rendezvous in Paris--the Café de Foy, the Café de la Paix, the Café
Carrazzo and various other places of reunion whose very names, to say
nothing of the incidents connected therewith, have come down to history.

It was the establishment of these public rendezvous which contributed
so largely to the events which unrolled themselves in the Palais Royal
in 1789. This "Eden de l'Enfer," as it was known, has in late years been
entirely reconstructed; the old haunts of the Empire have gone and
nothing has come to take their place.

Then came another class of establishments which burned brilliantly in
the second rank and were, in a way, political rendezvous also--the Café
de Chartres and the Café de Valois. Of all these Palais Royal cafés of
the early nineteenth century the most gorgeous and brilliant was the
Café des Mille Colonnes, though its popularity was seemingly due to the
charms of the _maitresse de la maison_, a Madame Romain, whose husband
was a dried-up, dwarfed little man of no account whatever. Madame
Romain, however, lived well up to her reputation as being
"_incontestablement la plus jolie femme de Paris_." By 1824 the fame of
the establishment had begun to wane and in 1826 it expired, though the
"_Almanach des Gourmands_" of the latter year said that the proprietor
was the Véry of _limonadiers_, that his ices were superb, his salons
magnificent--and his prices exorbitant. Perhaps it was the latter that
did it!

Another establishment, founded in 1817, was domiciled here, the clients
being served by "_odalisques en costume oriental, très seduisantes_."
This is quoted from the advertisements of the day. The café was called
the Café des Circassiennes, and there was a _sultane_, who was the
presiding genius of the place. It met with but an indifferent success
and soon closed its doors despite its supposedly all-compelling
attractions.

In the mid-nineteenth century a revolution came over the cafés of Paris.
Tobacco had invaded their precincts; previously one smoked only in the
_estaminets_. Three cafés of the Palais Royal resisted the innovation,
the Café de la Galerie d'Orleans, the Café de Foy and the Café de la
Rotonde. To-day, well, to-day things are different.

The Theatre du Palais Royal of to-day was the Theatre des Marionettes of
the Comte de Beaujolais, which had for contemporaries the Fantoches
Italiens, the Ombres Chinoises and the Musée Curtius, perhaps the first
of the wax-works shows that in later generations became so popular. The
Palais Royal had now become a vast amusement enterprise, with side-shows
of all sorts, theatres, concerts, cafés, restaurants, clubs,
gambling-houses and what not--all paying rents, and high ones, to the
proprietor.

In the centre of the garden, where is now the fountain and its basin,
was a circus, half underground and half above, and there were
innumerable booths and kiosks for the sale of foolish trifles, all
paying tribute to the ground landlord.

Gaming at the Palais Royal was not wholly confined to the public
gambling houses. During the carnival season of 1777 the gambling which
went on in the royal apartments became notorious for even that
profligate time: in one night the Duc de Chartres lost eight thousand
_livres_. Louis XVI, honest man, took all due precautions to reduce this
extravagance, but was impotent.

Between the courtyard fountain and the northern arcade of the inner
palace was placed the famous Cannon du Palais Royal, which, by an
ingenious disposition, was fired each day at midday by the action of the
sun's rays. All the world stood around awaiting the moment when watches
might be regulated for another twenty-four hours.

The celebrated Abbé Delille, to whom the beauties of the gardens were
being shown, deplored the lack of good manners on the part of the
habitués and delivered himself of the following appropriate quatrain:

   "Dans ce jardin tout se rencontrée
   Exceptê l'ombrage et les fleurs;
   Si l'on y dêregle ses moeurs
   Du moins on y règle sa montre."

The Galerie de Bois was perhaps the most disreputable of all the palace
confines. It was a long, double row of booths which only disappeared
when Louis-Philippe built the glass-covered Galerie d'Orleans.

Up to the eve of the Revolution the Palais Royal enjoyed the same
privileges as the Temple and the Luxembourg, and became a sort of refuge
whereby those who sought to escape from the police might lose themselves
in the throng. The monarch himself was obliged to ask permission of the
Duc d'Orleans that his officials might pursue their police methods
within the outer walls.

It was July 12, 1789. The evening before, Louis XVI had dismissed his
minister, Neckar, but only on Sunday, the 12th, did the news get abroad.
At the same time it was learned that the regiment known as the Royal
Allemand, under the orders of the Prince de Lambesc, had charged the
multitude gathered before the gates of the Tuileries. Cries of "A Mort!"
"Aux Armes!" "Vengeance!" were hurled in air from all sides.

At high noon in the gardens of the Palais Royal, on the 13th, as the
midday sun was scorching the flagstones to a grilling temperature, the
sound of a tiny cannon shot smote the still summer air with an echo
which did not cease reverberating for months. The careless, unthinking
promenaders suddenly grew grave, then violently agitated and finally
raving, heedlessly mad. A young unknown limb of the law, Camille
Desmoulins, rushed bareheaded and shrieking out of the Café de Foy,
parted the crowd as a ship parts the waves, sprang upon a chair and
harangued the multitude with such a vehemence and conviction that they
were with him as one man.

"Citizens," he said, "I come from Versailles * * * It only remains for
us to choose our colours. _Quelle couleur voulez vous?_ Green, the
colour of hope; or the blue of Cincinnati, the colour of American
liberty and democracy."

_"Nous avons assez déliberé!_ Deliberate further with our hands not our
hearts! We are the party the most numerous: To arms!"

On the morrow, the now famous 14th of July, the Frenchman's "glorious
fourteenth," the people rose and the Bastille fell.

Revolutionary decree, in 1793, converted the palace and its garden into
the Palais et Jardin de la Révolution, and appropriated them as national
property. Napoleon granted the palace to the Tribunal for its seat, and
during the Hundred Days Lucien Bonaparte took up his residence there. In
1830 Louis Philippe d'Orleans gave a great fête here in honour of the
King of Naples who had come to the capital to pay his respects to the
French king. Charles X, assisting at the ceremony as an invited guest,
was also present and a month later came again to actually inhabit the
palace and make it royal once more.

[Illustration: The Galleries of the Palais-Royal under Napoleon First.]

The table herewith showing the ramifications of the Bourbon Orleans
family in modern times is interesting--all collateral branches of the
genealogical tree sprouting from that of Louis Philippe. The heraldic
embellishments of this family tree offer a particular interest in that
the armorial blazonings are in accord with a decree of the French
Tribunal, handed down a few years since, which establishes the right to
the head of the house to bear the _écu plein de France--d'azur a trois
fleurs de lys d'or_, thus establishing the Orleans legitimacy.

[Illustration]

The Republic of 1848 made the palace the headquarters of the Cour des
Comptes and of the État Major of the National Guard. Under Napoleon III
the Palais Royal became the dwelling of Prince Jerome, the uncle of the
emperor. Later it served the same purpose for the son of Prince
Napoleon. It was at this epoch that the desecration of scraping out the
blazoned _lys_ and the chipping off the graven Bourbon _armoiries_ took
place. Whenever one or the other hated Bourbon symbol was found, eagles,
phoenix-like, sprang up in their place, only in their turn to
disappear when the Republican device of '48 (now brought to light
again), _Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité_--replaced them.

During the Commune of 1870 a part of the left wing and the central
pavilion suffered by fire, but restorations under the architect,
Chabrol, brought them back again to much their original outlines.
Through all its changes of tenure and political vicissitudes little
transformation took place as to the ground plan, or sky-line silhouette,
of the chameleon palace of cardinal, king and emperor, and while in no
sense is it architecturally imposing or luxurious, it is now, as ever in
the past, one of the most distinctive of Paris's public monuments.

To-day the Palais Royal proper may be said to face on Place du Palais
Royal, with its principal entrance at the end of a shallow courtyard
separated from the street by an iron grille and flanked by two
unimposing pavilions. The principal façade hides the lodging of the
Conseil d'État and is composed of but the ground floor, a story above
and an attic.

The Aile Montpensier, which follows on from the edifice which houses the
Comédie Française, was, until recently, occupied by the Cour des
Comptes. The Aile de Valois fronts the street of that name, and here the
Princes d'Orleans and King Jerome made their residence. To-day the same
wing is devoted to the uses of the Under Secretary for the Beaux Arts.

It is not necessary to insist on, nor reiterate, the decadence of the
Palais Royal. It is no longer the "capitol of Paris," and whatever its
charms may be they are mostly equivocal. It is more a desert than an
oasis or a _temple de la volupté_, and it was each of these things in
other days. Its priestesses and its gambling houses are gone, and who
shall say this of itself is not a good thing in spite of the admitted
void.

The mediocrity of the Palais Royal is apparent to all who have the
slightest acquaintance with the architectural orders, but for all that
its transition from the Palais du Cardinal, Palais Egalité, Palais de
la Revolution and Palais du Tribunat to the Palais Royal lends to it an
interest that many more gloriously artistic Paris edifices quite lack.

There is a movement on foot to-day to resurrect the Palais Royal to some
approach to its former distinction, which is decidedly what it has not
been for the past quarter of a century. Satirical persons have demanded
as to what should be made of it, a _vélodrome_ or a skating-rink, but
this is apart from a real consideration of the question for certain it
is that much of its former charm can be restored to it without turning
it into a Luna Park. It is one of the too few Paris breathing-spots, and
as such should be made more attractive than it is at the present time.

It was sixty years ago, when Louis Philippe was the legitimate owner of
the Palais Royal, its galleries, its shops, its theatre and its gardens,
that it came to its first debasement. "One went there on tip-toe, and
spoke in a whisper," said a writer of the time, and one does not need to
be particularly astute to see the significance of the remark.

It was Alphonse Karr, the _écrivain-jardinier_, who set the new vogue
for the Palais Royal, but his interest and enthusiasm was not enough to
resurrect it, and so in later years it has sunk lower and lower. The
solitude of the Palais Royal has become a mockery and a solecism. It is
virtually a _campo santo_, or could readily be made one, and this in
spite of the fact that it occupies one of the busiest and noisiest
quarters of the capital, a quadrangle bounded by the Rues Valois,
Beaujolais, Montpensier and the Place du Palais Royal.

The moment one enters its portal the simile accentuates and the hybrid
shops which sell such equivocal bric-a-brac to clients of no taste and
worse affectations carry out the idea of a cloister still further, for
actually the clients are few, and those mostly strangers. One holds his
breath and ambles through the corridors glad enough to escape the bustle
of the narrow streets which surround it, but, on the other hand, glad
enough to get out into the open again.



CHAPTER IX

THE LUXEMBOURG, THE ELYSÉE AND THE PALAIS BOURBON


The kings and queens of France were not only rulers of the nation, but
they dominated the life of the capital as well. Upon their crowning or
entry into Paris it was the custom to command a gift by right from the
inhabitants. In 1389 Isabeau de Bavière, of dire memory, got sixty
thousand _couronnes d'or_, and in 1501, and again in 1504, was presented
with six thousand and ten thousand _livres parisis_ respectively.

The king levied personal taxes on the inhabitants, who were thus forced
to pay for the privilege of having him live among them, those of the
professions and craftsmen, who might from time to time serve the royal
household, paying the highest fees.

It was during the period of Richelieu's ministry that Paris flowered the
most profusely. The constructions of this epoch were so numerous and
imposing that Corneille in his comedy "Le Menteur," first produced in
1642, made his characters speak thus:

   Dorante: Paris semble à mes yeux un pays de roman
          *       *       *
   En superbes palais a changé ses buissons
          *       *       *
   Aux superbes dehors du palais Cardinal
   Tout la ville entière, avec pomp bâtie
          *       *       *

In 1701, Louis XIV divided the capital into twenty _quartiers_, or
wards, and in 1726-1728 Louis XV built a new city wall; but it was only
with Louis XVI that the faubourgs were at last brought within the city
limits. Under the Empire and the Restoration but few changes were made,
and with the piercing of the new boulevards under Napoleon III and Baron
Haussmann the city came to be of much the same general plan that it is
to-day.

In the olden time, between the Palais de la Cité and the Louvre and the
Palais des Tournelles, extending even to the walls of Charenton, was a
gigantic garden, a carpet embroidered with as varied a colouring as the
_tapis d'orient_ of the poets, and cut here and there by alleys which
separated it into little checker-board squares.

Within this maze was the celebrated Jardin Dedalus that Louis XI gave to
Coictier, and above it rose the observatory of the savant like a signal
tower of the Romans. This centered upon what is now the Place des
Vosges, formerly the Place Royale.

To-day, how changed is all this "intermediate, indeterminate" region!
How changed, indeed! There is nothing vague and indeterminate about it
to-day.

The earliest of the little known Paris palaces was the Palais des
Thermes. It may be dismissed almost in a word from any consideration of
the royal dwellings of Paris, though it was the residence of several
Roman emperors and two queens of France. A single apartment of the old
palace of the Romans exists to-day--the old Roman Baths--but nothing of
the days of the Emperor Constantius Chlorus, who founded the palace in
honour of Julian who was proclaimed Emperor by his soldiers in 360 A.D.
The Frankish monarchs, if they ever resided here at all, soon
transferred their headquarters to the Palais de la Cité, the ruins
falling into the possession of the monks of Cluny, who built the present
Hotel de Cluny on the site.

Of all the minor French palaces the Luxembourg and the Elysée are the
most often heard of in connection with the life of modern times. The
first is something a good deal more than an art museum, and the latter
more than the residence for the Republican president, though the
guide-book makers hardly think it worth while to write down the facts.

The Palais du Luxembourg has been called an imitation of the Pitti
Palace at Florence, but, beyond the fact that it was an Italian
conception of Marie de Médici's, it is difficult to follow the
suggestion, as the architect, Jacques Debrosse, one of the ablest of
Frenchmen in his line, simply carried out the work on the general plan
of the time of its building, the early seventeenth century.

Its three not very extensive pavilions are joined together by a
colonnade which encloses a rather foreboding flagged courtyard, a
conception, or elaboration, of the original edifice by Chalgrin, in
1804, under the orders of Napoleon. The garden front, though a
restoration of Louis Philippe, is more in keeping with the original
Médici plan; that, at any rate, is to its credit.

To-day the Luxembourg, the Republican Palais du Sénat, is but an echo of
the four centuries of aristocratic existence which upheld the name and
fame of its first proprietor, the Duc de Piney-Luxembourg, Prince de
Tigry, who built it in the sixteenth century. From 1733 to 1736 the
palace underwent important restorations and the last persons to inhabit
it before the Revolution were the Duchesse de Brunswick, the Queen
Dowager of Spain and the Comte de Provence, brother of Louis XVI, to
whom it had been given by Letters Patent in 1779.

[Illustration: _Palais du Luxembourg_]

In 1791 the Convention thought so little of it that they made it a
prison, and a few years later it was called again the Palais du
Directoire, and, before the end of the century, the Palais du Consulat.
This was but a brief glory, as Napoleon transferred his residence in
accordance with his augmenting ambitions, to the Tuileries in the
following year.

By 1870 the edifice had become known as the Palais du Sénat, then as the
headquarters of the Préfecture of the Seine, and finally, as to-day, the
Palais du Luxembourg, the seat of the French Senate and the residence of
the president of that body.

The principal public apartments are the Library, the "Salle des
Séances," the "Buvette"--formerly Napoleon's "Cabinet de Travail," the
"Salle des Pas Perdus"--formerly the "Salle du Trone," the Grand Gallery
and the apartments of Marie de Médici. The chapel is modern and dates
only from 1844.

The Palais du Petit Luxembourg is the official residence of the
president of the Senate and dates also from the time of Marie de Médici.
The picture gallery is housed in a modern structure to the west of the
Petit Luxembourg.

[Illustration]

The façade of the Palais du Sénat is not altogether lovely and has
little suggestion of the daintiness of the Petit Luxembourg, but,
for all that, it presents a certain dignified pose and the edifice
serves its purpose well as the legislative hall of the upper house.

[Illustration: _The Petit Luxembourg_]

The gardens of the Luxembourg form another of those favourite Paris
playgrounds for nursemaids and their charges. It is claimed that the
children are all little Legitimists in the Luxembourg gardens, whereas
they are all Red Republicans at the Tuileries. One has no means of
knowing this with certainty, but it is assumed; at any rate the
Legitimists are a very numerous class in the neighbourhood. Another
class of childhood to be seen here is that composed of the offsprings of
artists and professors of the Latin quarter, and of the active tradesmen
of the neighbourhood. They come here, like the others, for the fresh
air, to see a bit of greenery, to hear the band play, to sail their
boats in the basins of the great fountain and enjoy themselves
generally.

One notes a distinct difference in the dress and manners of the children
of the gardens of the Luxembourg from those of the Tuileries and wonders
if the breach will be widened further as they grow up.

The Jardin du Luxembourg is all that a great city garden should be,
ample, commodious, decorative and as thoroughly typical of Paris as the
Pont Neuf. Innumerable, but rather mediocre, statues are posed here and
there between the palace and the observatory at the end of the long,
tree-lined avenue which stretches off to the south, the only really
historical monument of this nature being the celebrated Fontaine de
Médicis by Debrosse, the architect of the palace. It was a memorial to
Marie de Médici.

While one is in this quarter of Paris he has an opportunity to recall a
royal memory now somewhat dimmed by time, but still in evidence if one
would delve deep.

As a matter of fact, royalty never had much to do with this hybrid
quarter of Paris, though, indeed, its past was romantic enough,
bordering as it does upon the real Latin Quarter of the students.
Bounded on one side by the immense domain of the Luxembourg, it
stretched away indefinitely beyond Vaugiraud, almost to Clamart and
Sceaux.

[Illustration: _The Luxembourg Gardens_]

At No. 27 Boulevard Montparnasse is an elaborate seventeenth house-front
half hidden by the "modern style" flats of twentieth century Paris. This
relic of the _grand siècle_, with its profusion of sculptured details,
was the house bought by Louis XIV about 1672 and given to the "widow
Scarron," the "young and beautiful widow of the court," as a
recompense for the devotion with which she had educated the three
children of the Marquise de Montespan, who, in 1673, were legitimatized
as princes of the royal house--the Duc de Maine, the Comte de Vexin and
Mademoiselle de Mantes.

Madame Scarron, who became in time Madame de Maintenon, the "_vraie
reine du roi_," died in 1719, and the house passed to La Tour
d'Auvergne.

On this same side of the river are the Palais de l'Institut and the
Palais Bourbon. The Palais de l'Institut, or Palais Mazarin, is hardly
to be considered one of the domestic establishments, the dwellings of
kings, with which contemporary Paris was graced. It was but a creation
of Mazarin, the minister, on the site of the Hôtel de Nesle, and was
first known as the Palais des Quatre Nations, where were educated, at
the expense of the Cardinal, sixty young men of various nationalities.

The old chapel has since been transformed into the "Salle des Séances"
of the Institut de France, the Five French Academies. The black, gloomy
façade of the edifice, to-day, in spite of the cupola which gives a
certain inspiring dignity, is not lovely, and tradition and sentiment
alone give it its present interest, though it is undeniably
picturesque.

An inscription used to be on the pedestal of one of the fountains
opposite the entrance which read:

   "Superbe habitant du desert
   En ce lieu, dis moi, que fais tu
   --Tu le vois à mon habit vert
   Je suis membre de l'institut."

If the inscription were still there it would save the asking of a lot of
silly questions by strangers who pass this way for the first time. The
Palais de l'Institut is one of the sights of Paris, and its functions
are notable, though hardly belonging to the romantic school of past
days, for at present poets often make their entrée via Montmartre's
"Chat Noir," or are elected simply because some other candidate has been
"_blackbouled_."

Still following along the left bank of the Seine one comes to the Palais
Bourbon, the Chambre des Deputés, as it is better known. This edifice,
where now sit the French deputies, was built by Girardini for the
Dowager Duchesse de Bourbon in 1722, and, though much changed during
various successive eras, is still a unique variety of architectural
embellishment which is not uncouth, nor yet wholly appealing. Napoleon
remade the heavily imposing façade, so familiar to all who cross the
river by the Pont de la Concorde, but its grimness is its charm rather
than its grace.

The structure cost its first proprietor twenty million or more francs,
and since it has become national property the outlay has been constant.
Everything considered it makes a poor showing; but its pseudo-Greek
façade, were it removed, would certainly be missed in this section of
Paris.

The principal apartments are the "Salle des Pas Perdus," the "Salle des
Séances," and the "Salle des Conferences"--where, in 1830, the Duc
d'Orleans took the oath as king of France.

A recent discovery has been made in the lumber room of this old Palais
Bourbon, where deputies howl and shout and make laws as noisily as in
any other of the world's parliaments.

[Illustration: The THRONE of the PALAIS-BOURBON]

This particular "find" was the throne constructed in 1816 for Louis
XVIII, with its upholstering of velvet embroidered with the golden
fleur-de-lis. The records tell that this throne also served Louis
Philippe under the Second Empire, and also was used under the Monarchy
of July. It was after the momentous "Quatre Setembre" that it was
finally relegated to the garret, but now, as a historical souvenir of
the first rank, it has been placed prominently where all who visit the
Palais Bourbon may see it.

The history of the Palais de l'Elysée has not been particularly vivid,
though for two centuries it has played a most important part in the life
of the capital. In later years it has served well enough the
presidential dignity of the chief magistrate of the French Republic and
is thus classed as a national property. Actually, since its
construction, it has changed its name as often as it has changed its
occupants. Its first occupant was its builder, Louis d'Auvergne, Comte
d'Evreux, who built himself this great town house on a plot of land
which had been given him by Louis XV. Apparently the young man had no
means of his own for the construction of his luxurious city dwelling,
for he refilled his coffers by marriage with the rich daughter of the
financier Crozat.

The new-made countess's mother-in-law apparently never had much respect
for her son's choice as she forever referred to her as "the little gold
ingot."

"The ingot" served to construct the palace, however, though at the death
of its builder, soon after, it came into the proprietorship of La
Pompadour, who spent the sum of six hundred and fifty thousand _livres_
in aggrandizing it. It became her town house, whither she removed when
she grew tired of Versailles or Bagatelle.

History tells of an incident in connection with a fête given at the
Palais de l'Elysée by La Pompadour. It was at the epoch of the
"_bergeries à la Watteau_." The blond Pompadour had the idea of
introducing into the salons a troop of living, sad-eyed sheep, combed
and curled like the poodles in the carriages of the fashionables in the
Bois to-day. The quadrupeds, greatly frightened by the flood of light,
fell into a panic, and the largest ram among them, seeing his duplicate
in a mirror, made for it in the traditional ram-like manner. He raged
for an hour or more from one apartment to another, followed by the whole
flock, which committed incalculable damage before it could be turned
into the gardens. Such was one of the costly caprices of La Pompadour.
She had many.

La Pompadour's brother, the Marquis de Menars et de Marigny, continued
the work of embellishment of the property up to the day when Louis XV
bought it as a dwelling for the ambassadors to his court. Its somewhat
restricted park, ornamented with a grotto and a cascade, was at this
time one of the curiosities of the capital.

In 1773, the financier Beaujon bought the property from the king and
added considerably to it under the direction of the architect Boullée,
who also re-designed the gardens. Thanks to Beaujon, the wonderful
Gobelins of to-day were hung upon the walls, and many paintings by
Rubens, Poissin, Van Loo, Von Ostade, Murillo, Paul Potter and Joseph
Vernet were added.

The death of the financier brought the property into the hands of the
Duchesse de Bourbon, the sister of Louis Philippe, and the mother of the
Duc d' Enghien, who died so tragically at Vincennes a short time after.
The duchess renamed her new possession Elysée-Bourbon and there led a
very retired and sad life among surroundings so splendid that they
merited a more gay existence.

At the Revolution the palace became a national property, and, under the
Consulate, was the scene of many popular fêtes, it having been rented to
a concern which arranged balls and other entertainments for the pleasure
of all who could afford to pay. Its name was now the Hameau de
Chantilly, and, considering that the entrance tickets cost but fifteen
sous--including a drink--it must have proved a cheap, satisfying and
splendid amusement for the people.

This state of affairs lasted until 1805, when Murat bought it and here
held his little court up to his departure for Naples, when, in
gratefulness for past favours, he gave it to Napoleon. The emperor
greatly loved this new abode, which he rechristened the Elysée-Napoleon.

After his defeat at Waterloo Napoleon, limping lamely Parisward, down
through the Forests of Compiègne and Villers-Cotterets, sought in the
Elysée-Napoleon the repose and rest which he so much needed, the throng
meanwhile promenading before the palace windows, shouting at the tops of
their voices "Vive l'Empereur!" though, as the world well knew, his
power had waned forever; the eagle's wings were broken. The throng still
crowded the precincts of the palace, but the emperor fled secretly by
the garden gate.

On the return of the Duchesse de Bourbon from Spain the magnificent
structure became again the Elysée-Bourbon. The duchess ceded the palace
to the Duc and Duchesse de Berry but, at the duke's death, in 1820, his
widow abandoned it.

Some time after it was occupied by the Duc de Bordeaux, and, in 1830,
it became one of the long list of establishments whose maintenance
devolved upon the Civil List, though it remained practically uninhabited
all through the reign of Louis Philippe.

In 1848, the National Assembly designated the palace as the official
residence for the presidents of the French Republic. Three years after,
on the night of the first of December, as the last preparations were
being made by Louis Bonaparte for the Coup d' État and the final
strangling of the young republic, the residence of the president was
transferred to the Tuileries, and the palace of the Faubourg Saint
Honoré was again left without a tenant, and served only to give
hospitality from time to time to passing notables.

After the burning of the Tuileries, and the coming of the Third
Republic, the Elysée Palace again became the presidential residence, and
so it remains to-day.

One of the most notable of modern events connected with the Elysée
Palace was the _diner de ceremonie_ offered by the president of the
Republic and Madame Fallières to Mr. and Mrs. Roosevelt in April, 1910.
The dinner was served in the "Grand Salle des Fêtes" and the music which
accompanied the repast was furnished by the band of the _Garde
Republicain_, beginning with the national anthem of America and
finishing with that of France. Never had a private citizen, a foreigner,
been so received by the first magistrate of France. The toast of
President Fallières was as follows: "Before this repast terminates I
wish to profit by the occasion offered to drink the health of Monsieur
Theodore Roosevelt, an illustrious man, a great citizen and a good
friend of France and the cause of peace. I raise my glass to Madame
Roosevelt who may be assured of our respectful and sympathetic homage,
and I am very glad to be able to say to our guests that we count
ourselves very fortunate in being allowed to meet them in person and
show them this mark of respect."



CHAPTER X

VINCENNES AND CONFLANS

[Illustration: VINCENNES UNDER CHARLES V]


Vincennes is to-day little more than a dull, dirty Paris suburb; if
anything its complexion is a deeper drab than that of Saint Denis, and
to call the Bois de Vincennes a park "somewhat resembling the Bois de
Boulogne," as do the guidebooks, is ridiculous.

In reality Vincennes is nothing at all except a memory. There is to-day
little suggestion of royal origin about the smug and murky surroundings
of the Chateau de Vincennes; but nevertheless, it once was a royal
residence, and the drama which unrolled itself within its walls was most
vividly presented. A book might be written upon it, with the following
as the chapter headings: "The Royal Residence," "The Minimes of the
Bois de Vincennes," "Mazarin at Vincennes," "The Prisoners of the
Donjon," "The Fêtes of the Revolution," "The Death of the Duc
d'Enghien," "The Transformation of the Chateau and the Bois."

Its plots are ready-made, but one has to take them on hearsay, for the
old chateau does not open its doors readily to the stranger for the
reason that it to-day ranks only as a military fortress, and an
artillery camp is laid out in the quadrangle, intended, if need be, to
aid in the defence of Paris. This is one of the things one hears about,
but of which one may not have any personal knowledge.

The first reference to the name of Vincennes is in a ninth century
charter, where it appears as _Vilcenna_. The foundation of the original
chateau-fort on the present site is attributed to Louis VII, who, in
1164, having alienated a part of the neighbouring forest in favour of a
body of monks, built himself a suburban rest-house under shelter of the
pious walls of their convent.

Philippe Auguste, too, has been credited with being the founder of
Vincennes; but, at all events, the chateau took on no royal importance
until the reign of Saint Louis, who acquired the habit of dispensing
justice to all comers seated beneath an oak in the near-by Forest of
Joinville.

The erection of the later chateau was begun by Charles, Comte de Valois,
brother of Philippe-le-Bel; and it was completed by Philippe VI of
Valois, and his successor, Jean-le-Bon, between the years 1337 and 1370,
when it became an entirely new manner of edifice from what it had been
before. It was in this chateau that was born Charles V, to whom indeed
it owes its completion in the form best known.

To-day, the outlines of the mass of the Chateau de Vincennes are
considerably abbreviated from their former state. Originally it was
quite regular in outline, its walls forming a rectangle flanked by nine
towers, the great donjon which one sees to-day occupying the centre of
one side. The chapel was begun in the reign of François I and terminated
in that of Henri II. Its coloured glass, painted by Jean Cousin from the
designs of Raphael, is notable.

The chapel at Vincennes, with the Saint Chapelle of the Palais de
Justice at Paris, ranks as one of the most exquisite examples extant of
French Gothic architecture. It was begun in 1379, but chiefly it is of
the sixteenth century, since it was only completed in 1552. This chapel
of the sixteenth century, and the two side wings flanking the tower of
the reign of Louis XIV, make the Chateau de Vincennes a most precious
specimen of mediæval ecclesiastical and military architecture. If
Napoleon had not cut down the height of the surrounding walls the
comparison would be still more favourable. In the reproduction of the
miniature from the Book of Hours of the Duc de Berry given herein one
sees the perfect outlines of the fourteenth century edifice.

In later years, Louis XIII added considerably to the existing structure,
but little is now to be seen of that edifice save the great tower and
the chapel.

Charles IX, whose royal edict brought forth the bloody night of Saint
Bartholomew in 1572, fell sick two years later in the Chateau de
Vincennes. Calling his surgeon, Ambroise Paré, to his side he exclaimed:
"My body burns with fever; I see the mangled Huguenots all about me;
Holy Virgin, how they mock me; I wish, Paré, I had spared them." And
thus he died, abhorring the mother who had counselled him to commit this
horrible deed.

The donjon of Vincennes was carried to its comparatively great height
that it might serve as a tower of observation as well as a place of last
retreat if in an attack the outer walls of the fortress should give way.
Here at Vincennes a certain massiveness is noted in connection with the
donjon, though the actual ground area which it covers is not very
great; it was not like many donjons of the time, which were virtually
smaller chateaux or fortresses enclosed within a greater.

Vincennes, in comparison with many other contemporary edifices,
possessed a certain regularity of outline which was made possible by its
favourable situation. When others were of fantastic form, they were
usually so built because of the configuration of the land, or the nature
of the soil. But here the land was flat, and, though the edifice and its
dependencies covered no very extended area, they followed rectangular
lines with absolute precision.

As its walls were of a thickness of three metres, it was a work easy of
accomplishment for Louis XI to turn the chateau into a Prison of State,
a use to which the first chateau had actually been put by the shutting
up in it of Enguerrand de Marigny. Henri IV, in 1574, passed some
solitary hours and days within its walls, and Mirabeau did the same in
1777. The Duc d'Enghien, under the First Empire, before his actual death
by shooting, suffered sorely herein, while resting under an unjust
suspicion.

[Illustration: _Chateau de Vincennes_]

In 1814-1815 the chateau became a great arsenal and general storehouse
for the army. It was attacked by the Allies and besieged twice, but in
vain. It was defended against the armies of Blucher by the Baron
Daumesnil. Summoned to surrender his charge, "Jambe de Bois" (so called
because he had lost a leg the year before) replied: "I will surrender
when you surrender to me my leg." A statue to this brave warrior is
within the chateau, and commemorates further the fact that he
capitulated only on terms laid down by himself out of his humane regard
for the lives of friends and foes.

The ministers of Charles X, in 1830, had cause to regret the strength of
the chateau walls; and Barbés, Blanqui and Raspail, in 1848, and various
Republicans, who had been seized as dangerous elements of society after
the Coup d'État of 1851, also here found an enforced hospitality. The
Chateau de Vincennes had become a second Bastille.

The incident of the arrest and death of the Duc d'Enghien is one of the
most dramatic in Napoleonic history. The scene was Vincennes. Louis
Antoine Henri de Bourbon, son of the Prince de Condé, born at Chantilly
in 1772, became, without just reason, suspected in connection with the
Cadoudal-Pichegreu plot, and was seized by a squadron of cavalry at the
Schloss Ettenheim in the Duchy of Baden and conducted to Vincennes.
Here, after a summary judgment, he was shot at night in the moat behind
the guardhouse. The obscurity of the night was so great that a lighted
lantern was hung around the neck of the unfortunate man that the
soldiers might the better see the mark at which they were to shoot.

Napoleon confided to Josephine, who repeated the secret to Madame de
Remusat, that his political future demanded a _coup d'État_. On the
morning of the execution, the emperor, awakening at five o'clock, said
to Josephine: "By this time the Duc d'Enghien has passed from this
life."

The rest is history--of that apologetic kind which is not often
recorded.

In the chapel at Vincennes a commemorative tablet was placed, by the
orders of Louis XVIII, in 1816, to mark the death of the young duke.

The Bois de Vincennes is not the fashionable parade ground of the Bois
de Boulogne. On the whole it is a sad sort of a public park, and not at
all fashionable, and not particularly attractive, though of a vast
extent and possessed of a profoundly historic past of far more
significance than that of its sweet sister by the opposite gates of
Paris.

[Illustration: _A Hunt under the Walls of Vincennes_

_From a Fourteenth Century Print_]

It contains ten hundred and sixty-nine hectares and was due originally
to Louis XV, who sought to have a sylvan gateway to the city from the
east. Under the Second Empire the park was considerably transformed, new
roads and alleys traced, and an effort made to have it equal more
nearly the beauty of the more popular Bois de Boulogne. It occupies the
plateau lying between the Seine and the bend in the Marne, just above
the junction of the two rivers.

There are some forty kilometres of roadway within the limits of the Bois
de Vincennes, and a dozen kilometres or more of footpaths; but, since
the military authorities have taken a portion for their own uses as a
training ground, a shooting range and for the Batteries of La
Faisanderie and Gravelle, it has been bereft of no small part of its
former charm. There are three lakes in the Bois, the Lac de Sainte
Mandé, the Lac Daumesnil and the Lac de Gravelle.

A near neighbour of Vincennes is Conflans, another poor, rent relic of
monarchial majesty. The Chateau de Conflans was situated at the juncture
of the Seine and Marne, but, to-day, the immediate neighbourhood is so
very unlovely and depressing that one can hardly believe that it ever
pleased any one's fancy, least of all that of a kingly castle builder.

Banal dwellings on all sides are Conflans' chief characteristics to-day;
but the old royal abode still lifts a long length of roof and wall to
mark the spot where once stood the Chateau de Conflans in all its
glory.

Conflans was at first the country residence of the Archbishops of Paris,
and Saint Louis frequently went into retreat here. When Philippe-le-Bel
acquired the property, he promptly gave it to the Comtesse d'Artois who
made of it one of the "_plus beaux castels du temps_." She decorated its
long gallery, the portion of the edifice which exists to-day in the
humble, emasculated form of a warehouse of some sort, in memory of her
husband Othon. Here the countess held many historic receptions and
ceremonies during which kings and princes frequently partook of her
hospitality.

[Illustration: CONFLANS from an OLD PRINT.]

After the death of the countess, the French king made his residence at
Conflans, and Charles VI, when dauphin, was also lodged here that he
might be near the capital in case of events which might require his
presence. A contemporary account mentions the fact that his _valet de
chambre_ was killed by lightning at Conflans while serving his royal
master.

Conflans was the preferred suburban residence of the Princes and the
Ducs de Bourgogne, and Philippe-le-Hardi there organized his tourneys
and his _passes d'armes_ with great éclat, on one occasion alone
offering one hundred and fifteen thousand _livres_ in prizes to the
participants.

This castle, for it was more castle than palace, was reputed one of the
most magnificent in the neighbourhood of the Paris of its time,
surrounded as it was with a resplendent garden and a forest in
miniature, really a part of the Bois de Vincennes of to-day, where
roamed wild boar and wolves which furnished sport of a kingly kind.

The view from the terrace of the chateau must have been wonderfully
fine, the towers and roof-tops of old Paris being silhouetted against
the setting sun, its windows dominating the swift-flowing current of the
two rivers at the foot of the fortress walls.

The greatest event of history enacted under the walls of Conflans was
the battle and the treaty which followed after, between Louis XI and the
Comte de Charolais, in 1405.

Commynes recounts the battle as follows: "Four thousand archers were
sent out from Paris by the king, who fired upon the castle from the
river bank on both sides."

Bows and arrows were hardly effective weapons with which to shoot down
castle walls, but stragglers who left themselves unprotected were from
time to time picked off on both sides and much carnage actually ensued.
Finally a treaty of peace was arranged, by which, at the death of
Charles-le-Téméraire, according to usage, Louis XI absorbed the
proprietary rights in the castle and made it a _Maison Royale_,
bestowing it upon one of his favourites, Dame Gillette Hennequin.

The kings of France about this time developed a predilection for the
chateaux on the banks of the Loire, and Conflans was offered for sale in
1554. Divers personages occupied it from that time on, the Maréchal de
Villeroy, the Connetable de Montmorency and, for a brief time, Cardinal
Richelieu.

It was in the Chateau de Conflans that was planned the foundation of the
French Academy; here Molière and his players first presented "La
Critique de l'Ecole des Femmes"; and here, also, was held the marriage
of La Grande Mademoiselle with the unhappy Lauzan.

At the end of the reign of Louis XIV Fr. de Harlay-Chauvallon,
Archbishop of Paris, bought the property of Richelieu, and, with the
aid of Mansart and Le Notre, considerably embellished it within and
without. Madame de Sévigné, in one of her many published letters, writes
of the splendours which she saw at Conflans at this epoch.

Saint-Simon, the court chronicler, mentions that the gardens were so
immaculately kept that when the Archbishop and "La Belle" Duchesse de
Lesdiguières used to promenade therein they were followed by a gardener
who, with a rake, sought to remove the traces of each footprint as soon
as made.

Later, the Cardinal de Beaumont, the persecutor of the Jansenists,
resided here.

   "Notre archeveque est à Conflans
      C'est un grand solitaire
         C'est un grand so
         C'est un grand so
       C'est un grand solitaire."

The above verse is certainly banal enough, but the cardinal himself was
a _drôle_, so perhaps it is appropriate. At any rate it is contemporary
with the churchman's sojourn at Conflans.



CHAPTER XI

FONTAINEBLEAU AND ITS FOREST

[Illustration: ORIGINAL PLAN OF FONTAINEBLEAU]


Of all the French royal palaces Fontainebleau is certainly the most
interesting, despite the popularity and accessibility of Versailles. It
is moreover the cradle of the French Renaissance. Napoleon called it the
Maison des Siècles, and the simile was just.

After Versailles, Fontainebleau has ever held the first place among the
suburban royal palaces. The celebrated "Route de Fontainebleau" of
history was as much a _Chemin du Roi_ as that which led from the capital
to Versailles. Versailles was gorgeous, even splendid, if you will;
but it had not the unique characteristics, nor winsomeness of
Fontainebleau, nor ever will have, in the minds of those who know and
love the France of monarchial days.

[Illustration: From Paris to Fontainebleau]

Not the least of the charm of Fontainebleau is the neighbouring forest
so close at hand, a few garden railings, not more, separating the palace
from one of the wildest forest tracts of modern France.

The Forest of Fontainebleau is full of memories of royal rendezvous, the
carnage of wild beasts, the "_vraie image de la guerre_," of which the
Renaissance kings were so inordinately fond.

It was from the Palace of Fontainebleau, too, that bloomed forth the
best and most wholesome of the French Renaissance architecture. It was
the model of all other later residences of its kind. It took the best
that Italy had to offer and developed something so very French that even
the Italian workmen, under the orders of François I, all but lost their
nationality. Vasari said of it that it "rivalled the best work to be
found in the Rome of its time."

A charter of Louis-le-Jeune (Louis VII), dated at Fontainebleau in 1169,
attests that the spot was already occupied by a _maison royale_ which,
according to the Latin name given in the document was called Fontene
Bleaudi, an etymology not difficult to trace when what we know of its
earlier and later history is considered.

Actually this _fontaine belle eau_ is found to-day in the centre of the
Jardin Anglais, its basin and outlet being surrounded by the
conventional stone rim or border. After its discovery, according to
legend, this fountain became the rendezvous of the gallants and the
poets and painters and the "sweet ladies" so often referred to in the
chronicles of the Renaissance. Rosso, the painter, perpetuated one of
the most celebrated of these reunions in his decorations in the Galerie
François I in the palace, and Cellini represented the fair huntress
Diana, amid the same surroundings.

Under Louis-le-Jeune in 1169 was erected, in the Cour du Donjon, the
chapel Saint-Saturnin, which was consecrated by Saint Thomas à Becket,
then a refugee in France.

Philippe Auguste and Saint Louis inhabited the palace and
Philippe-le-Bel died here in 1314. From a letter of Charles VII it
appears that Isabeau de Bavière had the intention of greatly adding to
the existing chateau because of the extreme healthfulness of the
neighbourhood. The work was actually begun but seemingly not carried to
any great length.

Such was the state of things when François I came into his own and,
because of the supreme beauty of the site, became enamoured of it and
began to erect an edifice which was to outrank all others of its class.
The king and court made of Fontainebleau a second capital. It was a
model residence of its kind, and gave the first great impetus to the
Renaissance wave which rose so rapidly that it speedily engulfed all
France.

Aside from its palace and its forest, Fontainebleau early became a noble
and a gracious town, thanks to the proximity of the royal dwelling. In
spite of the mighty scenes enacted within its walls, the palace has ever
posed as one of the most placid and tranquil places of royal residence
in the kingdom.

All this is true to-day, in spite of the coming of tourists in
automobiles, and the recent establishment of a golf club with the usual
appurtenances. Fontainebleau, the town, has a complexion quite its own.
Its garrison and its little court of officialdom give it a character
which even to-day marks it as one of the principal places where the
stranger may observe the French dragoon, with _casque_ and breastplate
and boots and spurs, at quite his romantic best, though it is apparent
to all that the cumbersome, if picturesque, uniform is an unwieldy
fighting costume. There was talk long ago of suppressing the corps, but
all Fontainebleau rose up in protest. As the popular _chanson_ has it:
"_Laissez les dragons a leur Maire_." This has become the battle cry and
so they remain at Fontainebleau to-day, the envy of their fellows in the
service, and the glory of the young misses of the boarding schools, who
each Saturday are brought out in droves to see the sights.

Many descriptions of Fontainebleau have been written, but the works of
Poirson, Pfnor and Champollion-Figèac are generally followed by most
makers of guidebooks, and, though useful, they have perpetuated many
errors which were known to have been doubtful even before their day.

The best account of Fontainebleau under François I is given in the
manuscript memoir of Abbé Guilbert. Apparently an error crept into this
admirable work, too, for it gives the date of the commencement of the
constructions of François as 1514, whereas that monarch only ascended
the throne in 1515. The date of the first works under this monarch was
1528, according to a letter of the king himself, which began: "We, the
court, intend to live in this palace and hunt the _'betes rousses et
noirs qui sont dans la forêt.'_"

An account of François I and his "young Italian friends" makes mention
of the visit of the king, in company with the Duchesse d'Étampes, to the
studio of Serlio who was working desperately on the portico of the Cour
Ovale. He found the artist producing a "melody of plastic beauty, garbed
as a simple workman, his hair matted with pasty clay." He was standing
on a scaffolding high above the ground when the monarch mounted the
ladder. Up aloft François held a conference with his beloved workman
and, descending, shouted back the words: "You understand, Maître Serlio;
let it be as you suggest." After the porticos, Serlio decorated the
Galerie d'Ulysse which has since disappeared owing to the indifference
of Louis XV and the imbecility of his friends; and always it was with
François: "You understand, Maître Serlio; it is as you wish." The
_motif_ may have been Italian, but the impetus for the work was given by
the _esprit_ of the French.

The defeated monarch was not able to bring away from Padua any trophies
of war; but he brought plans of chateaux, and gardens as well. He did
more: he took the very artists and craftsmen who had produced many of
the Italian masterpieces of the time.

The tracing of the gardens at Fontainebleau, practically as they exist
to-day, was one of François I's greatest pleasures. In their midst, on
the shores of the Étang aux Carpes, was erected a tiny rest-house where
the royal mistresses might come to repose and laugh at the jests of
Triboulet.

The edifice of François I is of modest proportions and of perfect unity;
but it is with difficulty that it presents its best appearance,
overpowered as it is by the heavier masses of the time of Henri IV, and
suffering as it does because of the eliminations of Louis XIV and Louis
XV when they made their additions to the palace.

Under the Convention, later on, Fontainebleau's palace again suffered.
Under the Consulate it became a barracks and a prison, and finally, not
less terrible, were the restorations of Napoleon and Louis Philippe. A
castle may sometimes suffer less from a siege than from a restoration.

From every point of view, however, Fontainebleau remains an
architectural document of the most profound interest and value, and,
from the tourists' point of view, it is the most appealing of all
European palaces of this or any other age. The expert, the artist and
the mere curiosity-seeker all unite in their admiration in spite of the
fact that the fabric has been denuded of many of its original beauties.

[Illustration: _Palais de Fontainebleau_]

First, this royal dwelling is of the most ample and effective
proportions; second, it possesses a remarkable series of luxurious
apartments; third, it still contains some of the finest examples of
furniture and furnishings of Renaissance and Napoleonic times; and, in
addition, there is also to be seen that admirable series of paintings
which represent the School of Fontainebleau. With such an array of
charms what does it matter if the unity of the Renaissance masterpiece
of François I is qualified by later interpolations? General impression
is the standard by which one judges the workmanship of a noble monument,
and here it is good to an extraordinary degree.

The palace of to-day sits at one end of the aristocratic little town of
Fontainebleau. Beyond is the forest and opposite are many hotels which
depend upon the palace as the source from which they draw their
livelihood.

The principal entrance to the palace opens out from the Place Solferino
and gives access immediately to the Cour du Cheval Blanc of Chambiges,
which, since that eventful day in Napoleonic history nearly a hundred
years ago, has become better known as the Cour des Adieux. At the rear
rises the famous horseshoe stair, certainly much better expressed in
French as the _Escalier en Fer à Cheval_, from which the emperor took
his farewell of his "Vieux Grognards" lined up before him, biting
savagely at their moustaches to keep down their emotions.

This Cour du Cheval Blanc acquired its name from a plaster cast of
Marcus Aurelius's celebrated steed which was originally placed here
under a canopy or baldaquin held aloft by colonnettes. The moulds for
this work were brought from Venice by Primaticcio and Vignole, but it
was never cast in bronze and the statue itself disappeared in 1626. The
courtyard, however, still kept the name until the last of Napoleonic
days.

As a Napoleonic memory this Cour des Adieux shares popularity with the
famous Cabinet of the Empire suite of apartments where Napoleon signed
his abdication. Certainly most visitors will carry away the memory of
these words as among the most vivid souvenirs of Fontainebleau.

     "_Le 5 Avril, 1814, Napoleon Bonaparte signa son abdication sur
     cette table dans le cabinet de travail du Roi, le deuxieme après la
     chambre à coucher à Fontainebleau._"

The abdication itself (the document) is now exposed in the Galerie de
Diane, transformed lately into the Library.

On the right is the Aile Neuf, built by Louis XV, for the housing of his
officers, on the site of the Galerie de Ulysse, originally one of the
most notable features of the palace of François I. Opposite is the sober
alignment of the Aile des Ministres, and still farther to the rear are
the Pavillon des Aumoniers, or de l'Horloge; the Chapelle de la Trinité;
the Pavillon des Armes; the Pavillon des Peintres; the Pavillon des
Poëls; the Galerie des Fresques; and, finally, the Pavillon des
Reines-Meres. All of these details are of the period of François I save
the last, which was an interpolation of Louis XIV.

The Fer à Cheval stairway, however, most curious because of the
difficulties of its construction, dates from the time of Louis XIII, and
replaces the stairs built by Philibert Delorme. The tennis court, just
before the Pavillon de l'Horloge, dates only from Louis XV.

The imposing entrance court is a hundred and twelve metres in width by a
hundred and fifty-two metres in length, and to see it as it was
originally, before the destruction of the Galerie d'Ulysse, one must
imagine it as closed in by a series of small pavilions with their
frontons of colonnettes preceded only by a staircase and two drawbridges
crossing the moat, which at that time surrounded the entire confines of
the palace. The moat is to-day surrounded, where it still exists, by a
balustrade, due to the rather shabby taste of Louis XV.

An inner courtyard, known as the Cour de la Fontaine, is incomparably of
finer general design than the entrance court, and the Cour Ovale,
absolutely as Henri IV left it, is finer still. At the foot of this
latter court is the Baptistry where were baptised, in 1606, the three
"Enfants de France," the dauphin, afterwards Louis XIII; the Princesse
Elizabeth, afterwards the Queen of Spain; and the Princesse de Savoie.

The Cour Ovale is practically of the proportions of the ancient Manor of
Fontaine Belle Eau, built by Robert le Pieux. There, too, Philippe
Auguste, Saint Louis, Philippe-le-Bel, Charles V and Charles VII
frequently resided. François I had no wish that this old manor should
entirely disappear and preserved its old donjon, a relic which has since
gone the way of many another noble fane. There are several other notable
courts or gardens, the Cour des Offices, the Jardin de Diane, the
Orangerie, the Cour des Princes, etc.

All the original gardens were laid out anew by Louis XIV, and that of
Diane underwent a considerable change at the hands of Napoleon, who also
laid out a Jardin Anglais on the site of the ancient Jardin des Pins,
where originally sprang into being the rippling Fontaine Beleau, or
Belle Eau, which gave its name to the palace, the forest and the town.

[Illustration: _Salle du Throne, Fontainebleau_]

The park, as distinct from the great expanse of surrounding forest, is a
finely shaded range of alleys, due chiefly to Henri IV, who cut the
great canal of ornamental water and ordained the general arrangement of
its details.

The principal curiosity of the park is the famous Treille du Roy, or the
King's Grape Vine, which, good seasons and bad, can be counted on to
give three thousand kilos of authentic _chasselas_, grapes of the finest
quality. One wonders who gets them: _Ou s'en vont les raisins du roi?_
This is an interrogation that has been raised more than once in the
French parliament.

In general, the aspect of the exterior of the Palais de Fontainebleau,
the walls themselves, the Cours, the alleyed walks are chiefly
reminiscent of the early art of the Renaissance. François I is, after
all, more in evidence than the Henris or the Napoleons. Within, the same
is true in general, though to a less degree. The Renaissance is
_maitresse_ within and without; the other moods are wholly subservient
to her grace.

There is hardly an apartment in all the world of palaces in France, or
beyond the frontiers, to rank with the great Galerie François I at
Fontainebleau, though indeed its proportions are modest and its lighting
defective to-day, for Louis XV blocked up all the windows on one side.
It remains, however, one of the richest examples of the Franco-Italian
decoration of its era, though somewhat tarnished by the heedlessness of
Charles X.

Never were there before, nor since, its era such mythological
wall-paintings as are here to be seen. The aspirants for the Prix de
Rome protest each year against such subjects being set them for their
_concours_, but their judges, recalling how effective such examples are,
are insistent. The best examples of the School of Fontainebleau are a
distinct variety of French painting. The veriest dabbler in art can say
with Michelet: "There is no reminiscence of anything Italian therein."

Frankly, these works were the product of secondary artists and their
pupils. Leonardo da Vinci, too old to do anything more than direct, saw
himself succeeded by Del Sarto, Rosso and Primaticcio. Cellini may have
contributed, too, but his labours were doubtless blotted out to a great
extent by the orders of the all-powerful Duchesse d'Étampes who feared
his competition with her protegé, Primaticcio. One of the masters of
this coterie was Nicolo dell' Abbate, better known, perhaps, for his
works painted at Bologna than for his frescoes at Fontainebleau.

[Illustration]

The Galerie Henri II is notable also for its decorations, the harmonious
juxtaposition of sculpture and painting, and, although "restored" in
late years, presents an astonishing pristine vigour. This apartment
ranks with the Galerie François I, all things considered, as one of the
chief show apartments of the palace. Its length is thirty metres, its
breadth ten, with five ample round-headed windows letting in a flood of
light on either side, one set giving on the Cour Ovale, and the other on
the Parterre and the magnificent façade of the Porte Dorée. The ceiling
is broken up into octagonal _caissons_, their depths alternately laid
with gold or silver, bearing the monogram of the monarch and his
_devise_. The parquet is laid in divisions reproducing the design of the
ceiling. On either side the walls are wainscoted in oak similarly
emblazoned in gold and silver, with the initials of Diane de Poitiers,
and of her admirer, Henri, everywhere interlaced. Again, a colossal
monogram reproduces itself in the chimney-piece with the frescoes of
Nicolo dell' Abbate, and fifty figures of mythological gods and heroes
decorate the window casings.

The chapel dates chiefly from the time of Henri IV, the altar and
numerous embellishments belonging to later reigns.

A certain sentiment, not a little real beauty, and much unauthenticated
history attach themselves to the Salon Louis XIII, the Salle du Trone,
the Apartment of Madame de Maintenon, those of Napoleon I, of Pope Pius
VII and of Marie Antoinette.

The Galerie de Diane is little reminiscent of the day of the huntress,
being a reconstitution under the First Empire, though its decorations
date from the Restoration, and the ceiling, and furniture, apparently of
the best of Renaissance times, are merely copies made by Louis Philippe,
who did not hesitate, on another occasion, to blue-wash the Salon de
Saint Louis, and who hung worthless third-rate paintings, which even
provincial museums of the meanest rank have since refused to house, in
the admirably decorated apartments of the period of François and Henri.

Fontainebleau, to-day, is but a memory of what it was, a memory by no
means fragmentary, by no means complete; but all sufficient.

Of later years there is actually little to single out in the way of
remarkable additions or restorations. Under the Second Empire the
Galerie François I was repainted, some false antiquities added as
furnishings, and various ranges of books were stored away in the Galerie
de Diane, having been brought from the chapel which had ceased to serve
as the Library. This apartment was now refitted as a chapel, and, to
supplant six wall paintings which had been removed, Napoleon III ordered
seven canvases from the painter Schopin, illustrating the life of Saint
Saturnin.

[Illustration]

Finally, the Salle de Spectacle completes the modern additions, and,
while gaudily striking, is scarcely above the taste of a gilded café in
some pompous Préfecture.

Henri IV was the creator of the park of the palace, which extended as
far as the village of Avon and absorbed all the Seigneurie de Montceau,
of which Mi-Voie (the dairy of Catherine de Médici) occupied a part. The
acquisition of the Seigneurie was made in 1609. Across it was cut a
"grand canal" in imitation of that already possessed by the Chateau de
Fleury. It was a great rarity as a garden accessory, and was more than a
quarter of a league long and forty metres wide. Bassompierre said in his
memoirs that Henri IV made him a wager that it could be filled with
water in two days. It actually took eight.

To the north of the park, Henri IV built, under the name of La
Menagerie, what he called a _maison de plaisance_, but which was really
the forerunner of the animal house at Versailles.

To all these works of Henri IV in the gardens at Fontainebleau is
attached the name of Francine. There were two brothers of the name,
Thomas and Alexandre, and it was the latter who chiefly occupied himself
with the Parterre, the Chaussée and the Grand Canal at Fontainebleau. In
the Jardin de la Reine he erected the celebrated Fontaine de Diane which
finally gave its name to the garden itself. The fountain was designed by
Barthélemy Prieur, and was cast in 1603. The original bronzes are now in
the Louvre, those seen at Fontainebleau to-day being later works (1684).

The Forest of Fontainebleau is a dozen leagues in circumference, and of
an area of nearly thirty-five thousand acres. Its beauty, its natural
beauty, is unrivalled. Rocks, ravines, valleys, patriarchal oaks and
beeches, plains, woods, glades, meadows, lawns and cliffs, all are here.
Its population of stag and deer was practically exterminated during the
Revolution of 1830, but nevertheless it sustained its reputation as a
great hunting-ground for long afterwards.

The Royal Hunt invariably centered at La Croix du Grand Veneur, a
notable landmark of the forest even now, at the intersection of four
magnificent forest roads. Its name comes from a legend of a spectral
black huntsman who was supposed to haunt the forest, and who appeared
for the last time, in reality or imagination, to Henri IV shortly before
his assassination.

In 1854, one of the last and most gorgeous of Fontainebleau hunts was
given by Louis Napoleon. The emperor spent lavishly for the equipment of
the hunt, and granted liberal stipends to the attendants that they might
caparison themselves with some semblance of picturesque dignity; horses
and dogs were furnished and cared for on the same liberal scale.

The costuming of a hunting party under such conditions was not the least
appealing of its picturesque elements. Three-cornered hats, gold lace,
knee breeches, silk stockings and other costly properties, when provided
for a single special occasion, as they were in this case, were apt to
suggest the life of centuries long gone by rather than that of modern
times.

The Forest of Fontainebleau can best be briefly described as a
rendezvous for tourists and "trippers," and as a vast open-air studio
for the youthful emulators of "the men of Barbison."

Historic, romantic and artistic memories and realities are on every
hand; the march of time and progress has not dimmed them, nor thinned
them out; the Forest of Fontainebleau remains to-day the best known and
most delightful extent of wildwood in all the world.

The chief of the well-known names associated with the Forest of
Fontainebleau, and one which will never die, is that of Denecourt,
called also the "Sylvain de la Forêt," a mythological appellation which
came from his abounding knowledge of its devious ways and byways. It was
in 1841 that Denecourt began his original studies and catalogued its
every stone and tree. He invented names and gave a historical setting to
many a picturesque and romantic site which might not have been known at
all had it not been for his enthusiasm.

After the vogue of Denecourt all the world followed in his footsteps
until the Parisian knew as well the Longue Rocher, the Gorges d'Apremont
and the Gorge de Franchard as he did the Rue de la Paix or the Champs
Elysées. Denecourt's great work, "_Promenades dans la Forêt de
Fontainebleau_" appeared in 1845, and if he is to be criticised for
letting his fancy run away with him now and then, and for the opera
bouffe nomenclature of many of the _caves_ and _mares_ and _chènes_ and
"fairy-bowers" and "tables of kings," he at least has enabled a curious
public to become better acquainted with this great forest.

The flora of the Forest of Fontainebleau is remarkably varied; Denecourt
gives seventy varieties of plants and flowers which grow and propagate
here naturally, to which are to be added a great number of nondescript
vines, lichens and vegetable mosses.

Of the trees the list extends from the imposing and sometimes gigantic
oaks, elms, beeches, and willows to shrubs and heather growth of the
most humble species.

A score or more of the most commonly known feathered tribes people the
forest to-day with almost the same freedom of life and abundance as in
monarchial times. The songsters are all there, from the robin to the
nightingale; as well as the partridge and the celebrated indigenous
grouse.

Previous to 1830 the forest was well supplied with big game, deer and
wild boar without number; but, in later times, as was but natural, these
have been greatly thinned out. Rabbits and hares, to say nothing of
foxes and the like, were formerly so abundant that, under Louis
Philippe, it was necessary to carry out what was practically a war of
extermination. To-day they exist, of course, but in no great numbers.

Another sort of publicity has been given the Forest of Fontainebleau by
its association with the painters of the thirties. Theodore Rousseau,
in 1836, lived at Barbison, which at that time was but a hamlet of a few
houses, with no encumbering hotels, garages and merry-go-rounds as
to-day.

A certain Père Ganne kept a sort of a lodging house where artists were
made welcome at an exceedingly modest price. Not only the really famous
and much exploited painters of the time gained fortunes here, but those
of a more conservative school, who never rose to really great
distinction, also drew much of their inspiration from the neighbourhood,
among them Hamon, Boulanger and Célestin Nanteuil.

Without having to go far to hunt up their subjects, the Forest of
Fontainebleau lying near Barbison offered to painters much that was not
available within so small a radius elsewhere.

Diaz was here already when, in 1849, Jacque and Millet arrived upon the
scene, and at more or less frequent intervals, and for more or less
lengthy stays, there came Corot, Dupré and Daubigny.

Just what the Barbison school produced in the way of painting all the
world knows to-day, but these men were originally the target of every
prejudiced critic of the Boulevards and the Faubourgs. The present day
has brought its reward and appreciation, though it is the dealers who
have profited--the men are dead.

[Illustration: _Monument to Rousseau and Millet at Barbison_]

In memory of the fame brought to this little corner of the forest in
general, and to Barbison in particular, there was placed (in 1894), at
the entrance to the village, a bronze medallion showing the heads of
Millet and Rousseau. It was a delicate way of showing appreciation for
the talents of those two great men who actually founded a new school of
painting.

At the other end of the forest is the little village of Marlotte, also a
haven for many painters of a former day, and no less so for those of
to-day. The old forest in three quarters of a century has seen itself
reproduced on canvas in all its moods. No painter ever lived, nor could
all the painters that ever lived, exhaust its infinite variety. Hebert
in his "_Dictionnaire de la Forêt de Fontainebleau_" says, rightly
enough, that, with the coming of the men of Fontainebleau and its
"_artist-villages_" the classic type of "Paysage d'Italie" has
disappeared from the Salon Catalogues.

Art amateurs and the common people alike made the reputation of
Fontainebleau; the mere "trippers" were brought thither by Denecourt,
but the real forest lovers were those who were attracted by the
masterpieces of the painters. The town of Fontainebleau has changed
somewhat under this double influence. At Fontainebleau itself are two
monuments in memory of painters who have passed away. One of these is to
the memory of Decamps, who was killed by a fall from his horse while
riding in the forest; it is a simple bust, the work of Carrier-Belleuse.
The other is of Rosa Bonheur who died at Thomery, a little village on
the southern border of the forest, in 1902; it is an almost life-size
bull from a small model by the artist herself and surmounts a pedestal
which also bears a medallion of the artist.



CHAPTER XII

BY THE BANKS OF THE SEINE


On the highroad to Saint Germain one passes innumerable historic
monuments which suggest the generous part that many minor chateaux
played in the court life of the capital of old.

To-day, Maisons, La Muette and Bagatelle are mere names which serve the
tram lines for roof signs and scarcely one in a thousand strangers gives
them a thought.

The famous Bois de Boulogne and its immediate environment have for
centuries formed a delicious verdant framing for a species of French
country-house which could not have existed within the fortifications.
These luxurious, bijou dwellings, some of them, at least, the caprices
of kings, others the property of the new nobility, and still others of
mere plebeian kings of finance, are in a class quite by themselves.

Perhaps the most famous of these is the celebrated Bagatelle, within the
confines of the Bois itself. The Chateau de Bagatelle was built in a
month, thus meriting its name, by the Comte d'Artois, the future
Charles X, as a result of a wager with Marie Antoinette. On its façade
it originally bore the inscription: "_Parva sed apta_"--"small but
convenient."

[Illustration]

Bagatelle occupied a corner of the royal domain and, after its
completion, was sold to the Marquise de Monconseil, in 1747, who gave to
this princely suburban residence a dignity worthy of its origin. Then
came La Pompadour on the scene, the _petite bourgeoise_ who, by the
nobility acquired by the donning of a court costume and marriage with
the Sieur Normand d'Étioles, usurped the right to sit beside duchesses
and be presented to the queen, if not as an equal, at least as the
_maitresse_ of her spouse, the king.

There is a legend about a meeting between La Pompadour and the king at
Bagatelle, a meeting in which she established herself so firmly in the
graces of the monarch that on the morrow she formed a part of the
entourage at Versailles.

After having come into the possession of the heirs of Sir Richard
Wallace, Bagatelle finally became the property of the State.

It is in the Chateau de Bagatelle that is to be installed the "Musée de
la Parole"--"The Museum of Speech." The French, innovators ever, plan
that Bagatelle shall become a sort of conservatory of the human voice,
and here will be classed methodically the cylinders and disks which have
recorded the spoken words of all sorts and conditions of men.

In this Musée de la Parole will be kept phonographic records of all
current dialects in France, the argot of the Parisian lower classes,
etc., etc.

Up to the present the evolution of the speech of man has ever been an
enigma. No one knows to-day how Homer or Virgil pronounced their words,
and Racine and Corneille, though of a time less remote, have left no
tangible record of their speech. Monsieur Got of the Comédie Française
believes that Louis XIV pronounced "_Moi_," "_le Roi_" as "_Moué_" "_le
Roué_"; and thus he pronounced it in a speech which has been recorded in
wax and is to form a part of the collection at Bagatelle.

The Polo Grounds of Bagatelle, between the chateau and the Seine as it
swirls around the Ile de la Folie, are to-day better known than this
dainty little Paris palace; but Bagatelle will some day come to its own
again.

Neuilly bounds the Bois de Boulogne on the north, and has little of a
royal appearance to-day, save its straight, broad streets.

There is a royal incident connected with the Pont de Neuilly which
should not be forgotten. It came about in connection with the return of
Henri IV from Saint Germain in company with the queen and the Duc de
Vendome. They were in a great coach drawn by four horses which insisted
on drinking from the river in spite of the efforts of the coachman to
prevent them.

The carriage was overturned and the royal party barely escaped being
drowned. One of the aids who accompanied them recounted the fact that
the impromptu bath had cured the king's toothache which he had acquired
over a rather hasty meal just before leaving the palace. "Had I
witnessed the adventure," said the Marquis de Verneuil, "I should have
proposed the toast: 'Le Roi Boit!" As a result of this incident a new
bridge was constructed, though it was afterwards replaced by the present
stone structure over which a ceaseless traffic rushes in and out of
Paris to-day. It was this present bridge over which Louis XV was the
first to pass on September 22, 1772.

The Chateau de Neuilly was a favourite suburban residence of Louis
Philippe. It was here that a delegation came to offer him the crown,
and, after he had become king, he was pleased to still inhabit it and
actually spent considerable sums upon its maintenance. When the
Revolution of 1848 broke out, the sovereign took refuge at Neuilly and,
when besieged by the multitude, took flight in the night of February 26
and left his chateau in the hands of a band of ruffians who pillaged it
from cellar to garret, finally setting it on fire. It burned like a pile
of brushwood, and it is said that more than a hundred drunken desperados
perished when its walls fell in. This was the tragic end of the Chateau
de Neuilly.

By a decree of the president of the later Republic the Orleans princes
were obliged to sell all their French properties and the park of the
Chateau de Neuilly was cut up into morsels and lots were sold to all
comers. Thus was born that delightful Paris suburb, with the broad,
shady avenues and comfortable houses, with which one is familiar to-day.
The aristocratic Parc de Neuilly, with Saint James, is the only tract
near Paris where one finds such lovely gardens and such fresh, shady
avenues.

Another quarter of Neuilly possesses a history worthy of being
recounted. The district known as Saint James derived its name from a
great suburban property which in 1775 belonged to Baudart de Saint
James. He created a property almost royal in its appointments, its
gardens having acquired an extraordinary renown. When he became a
bankrupt a throng of persons visited the property not so much with a
view to purchase as out of curiosity. A writer of the time says of this
Lucullus that he was the envy of all Paris. He died soon after his ruin,
from chagrin, and in apparent poverty, which seemingly established his
good faith with his creditors. Under the First Empire the domain was
bought by, or for, the Princesse Borghese, who here gave many brilliant
fêtes at which the emperor himself frequently assisted. On the occasion
of the marriage of Napoleon to Marie Louise a series of fêtes took place
here which evoked the especially expressed encomiums of the emperor.

In 1815 Wellington made it his headquarters and here had his first
conference with Blucher. Upon Wellington quitting Saint James the
property was pillaged by the Iron Duke's own troops and actually
demolished by the picks and axes of the soldiery.

Near the Passy entrance of the Bois is La Muette, a relic of a royal
hunting-lodge which took its name from the royal pack of hounds
(_meute_) which was formerly kept here.

The Chateau de la Muette was the caprice of François I, who, when he
came to Paris, wished to have his pleasures near at hand, and, being the
chief partisan of the hunt among French monarchs, built La Muette for
this purpose.

The Chateau de la Muette is thus classed as one of the royal dwellings
of France though hardly ever is it mentioned in the annals of to-day.

Rebuilt by Charles IX, from his father's more modest shooting box, La
Muette became the centre of the court of Marguerite de Navarre, the
first wife of Henri IV; after which it served as the habitation of the
dauphin, who became Louis XIII.

During the regency, Philippe d'Orleans took possession of the chateau
until the enthronement of Louis XV. The latter here established a little
court within a court, best described by the French as: "_ses plaisirs
privés_." It was this monarch who rebuilt, or at least restored, the
chateau, and brought it to the state in which one sees it to-day.

In 1783 Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette and the court took up a brief
residence here to assist at the aerostatic experiences of De Rosier, and
in 1787, ceasing to be a royal residence, La Muette was offered for sale
after first having been stripped of its precious wainscotings, its
marbles and the artistic curiosities of all sorts with which it had been
decorated. The chateau itself now became the property of Sebastian
Erard, who bought it for the modest price of two hundred and sixty
thousand francs.

Somewhat farther from Paris, crossing the peninsula formed by the first
of the great bends of the Seine below the capital, is Chatou which has a
royal reminder in its Pavilion Henri IV, or Pavillon Gabrielle, which
the gallant, love-making monarch built for Gabrielle d'Estrées. Formerly
it was surrounded by a vast park and must have been almost ideal, but
to-day it is surrounded by stucco, doll-house villas, and unappealing
apartments, until only a Gothic portal, jutting from a row of dull house
fronts, suggests the once cosy little retreat of the lovely Gabrielle.

The height of Louveciennes, above Bougival, closes the neck of the
peninsula and from it a vast panorama of the silvery Seine and its
_coteaux_ stretches out from the towers of Notre Dame on one hand to the
dense forest of Saint Germain on the other.

The original Chateau de Louveciennes was the property of Madame la
Princesse de Conti, but popular interest lies entirely with the Pavilion
du Barry, built by the architect Ledoux under the orders of Louis XV.

Du Barry, having received the chateau as a gift from the king, sought to
decorate it and reëmbellish it anew. Through the ministrations of a
certain Drouais, Fragonard was commissioned to decorate a special
pavilion outside the chateau proper, destined for the "_collations du
Roi_."

The subject chosen was the "Progres de l'Amour dans le Coeur des
Jeunes Filles." Just where these panels are to-day no one seems to know,
but sooner or later they will doubtless be discovered.

Fragonard's famous "Escalade," or "Rendezvous," the first of the series
of five proposed panels, depicted the passion of Louis XV for du Barry.
The shepherdess had the form and features of that none too scrupulous
feminine beauty, and the "_berger gallant_" was manifestly a portrait of
the king.

Perhaps these decorations at Louveciennes were elaborations of these
smaller canvases. It seems quite probable.

Sheltered snugly against the banked-up Forest of Saint Germain, on the
banks of the Seine, is Maisons-Laffitte. Maisons is scarcely ever
mentioned by Parisians save as they comment on the sporting columns of
the newspapers, for horse-racing now gives its distinction to the
neighbourhood, and the old Chateau de Maisons (with its later suffix of
Laffitte) is all but forgotten.

François Mansart built the first Chateau de Maisons on a magnificent
scale for René de Longueil, the Superintendent of Finance. In a later
century it made a most effectual appeal to another financier, Laffitte,
the banker, who parcelled out the park and stripped the chateau.

For a century, though, the chateau belonged to the family of its
founder, and in 1658 the surrounding lands were made into a Marquisate.
In 1671, on the day of the death of Philippe, Duc d'Anjou, Maisons may
be said to have become royal for the court there took up its residence.
Later, the Marquis de Soyecourt became the owner and Voltaire stayed
here for a time; in fact he nearly died here from an attack of smallpox.

In 1778 the property was acquired by the Comte d'Artois and the royal
family of the time were frequent guests. The king, the queen and each
of the princes all had their special apartments, and if Louis XVI had
not been too busy with other projects, more ambitious ones, there is
little doubt but that he would have given Maisons an éclat which during
all of its career it had just missed. At the Revolution it was sold as
National Property and the proceeds turned into public coffers.

With the Empire the chateau became more royalist than ever. Maréchal
Lannes became its proprietor, then the Maréchal de Montebello, who here
received Napoleon on many occasions. With the invasion of 1815 the
village was devastated, but the chateau escaped, owing to its having
been made the headquarters of the invading allies. After this, in 1818,
the banker Laffitte came into possession. He exercised a great
hospitality and lived the life of an opulent bourgeois, but he destroyed
most of the outbuildings and the stables built by Mansart, and cut up
the great expanse of park which originally consisted of five hundred
hectares. His ideas were purely commercial, not the least esthetic.

The scheme of decoration within, as without, is distinctly unique. Doric
pilasters and columns support massive cornices and round-cornered
ceilings, with here and there antique motives and even Napoleonic
eagles as decorative features. To-day all the apartments are deserted
and sad. The finest, from all points of view, is that of the
Salle-à-Manger, though indeed some of the motives are but plaster
reproductions of the originals. The chimney-piece, however, is left, a
pure bijou, a model of grace, more like a pagan altar than a
comparatively modern mantel. The oratory is in the pure style of the
Empire, and the stairway, lighted up by a curiously arranged
dome-lantern, gives a most startling effect to the entrance vestibule.

In general the design of Maisons is gracious, not at all outré, though
undeniably grandiose; too much so for a structure covering so small an
area. The Cour d'Honneur gives it its chief exterior distinction and the
two pavilions have a certain grace of charm, when considered separately,
which the ensemble somewhat lacks. The surroundings, had they not been
ruthlessly cut up into building lots for over-ambitious Paris
shopkeepers, would have added greatly to the present appearance of the
property. As it is, the near-by race-course absorbed the orchard, the
_pelouse_ and many of the garden plots.



CHAPTER XIII

MALMAISON AND MARLY


Out from Paris, by the cobbly Pavé du Roi, which a parental
administration is only just now digging up and burying under, just
beyond the little suburban townlet of Rueil (where the Empress Josephine
and her daughter Hortense lie buried in the parish church), one comes to
Malmaison of unhappy memory. It is not imposing, palatial, nor,
architecturally, very worthy, but it is one of the most sentimentally
historic of all French monuments of its class.

Since no very definite outlines remain of any royal historical monument
at Rueil to-day the tourist bound towards Versailles by train, tram or
road, gives little thought to the snug little suburb through which he
shuffles along, hoping every minute to leave the noise, bustle and
cobblestones of Paris behind.

Rueil is deserving of more consideration than this. According to Gregory
of Tours the first race of kings had a "pleasure house" here, and called
the neighbourhood Rotolajum. Not always did these old kings stay cooped
up in a fortress in the Isle of Lutetia. Sometimes they went afield for
a day in the country like the rest of us, and to them, with their slow
means of communication and the bad roads of their day, Rueil, scarce a
dozen miles from Notre Dame, seemed far away.

Childerbert I, son of Clovis, is mentioned as having made a protracted
sojourn at Rueil, and whatever may have existed then in the way of a
royal residence soon after passed to the monks of Saint Denis, who here
fished and hunted and lived a life of comfort and ease such as they
could hardly do in their fortress-abbey. They, too, required change and
rest from time to time, and, apparently, when they could, took it.

The Black Prince burned the town and all its dependencies in 1346, and
only an unimportant village existed when Richelieu thought to build a
country-house here on this same charming site which had so pleased the
first French monarchs. Richelieu did his work well, as always, and built
an immense chateau, surrounded by a deep moat into which were turned the
swift-flowing waters of the Seine. A vast park was laid out, in part in
the formal manner and in part as a natural preserve, and the
neighbourhood once more became frequented by royalty and the nobles of
the court.

Richelieu bequeathed the property to his niece, the Duchesse
d'Aiguillon, and Louis XIV became a frequent dweller there--as a
visitor, but he did not mind that. Louis XIV was sometimes a monarch,
sometimes a master, and sometimes a "family friend," to put it in a
noncommittal manner.

The Revolution nearly made way with the property and the Duc de Massena,
a few years afterwards, reëstablished it after a fashion, but
speculating land-boomers came along in turn and royal memories meaning
nothing to them the property was cut up into streets, avenues and house
lots.

The Chateau de Malmaison, which is very near Rueil, is in quite a
different class. Its history comes very nearly down to modern times. The
memory of Malmaison is purely Napoleonic. Its historical souvenirs are
many, but its actual ruins have taken on a plebeian aspect of little
appeal in these later days.

In 1792 Malmaison was sold as a piece of national merchandise to be
turned into _écus_, and a certain Monsieur Lecouteux de Canteleu, having
the ready cash and a disposition to live under its roof, took over the
proprietorship for a time. It was he who sold it to Josephine
Beauharnais, and it was she who gave it a glory and splendour which it
had never before possessed, gave it its complete fame, in fact.

Napoleon himself, as First Consul, was passionately fond of the place,
but by the time he had become emperor, because of unhappy memories,
perhaps, for he had them at times, came rarely to this charming suburban
chateau.

It was at Malmaison that began the good fortune of Josephine, and it was
at Malmaison that it flickered out like the dying flame of a candle.

In a beating rain, on Saturday, December 16, 1809, Josephine quitted the
Tuileries, her eyes still red with the tears from that last brief
interview. She arrived at Malmaison at the end of a lugubrious day, when
the whole place was enveloped in a thick fog. She passed the night
almost alone in this great house where she had previously been so happy.
She could hardly, however, have been more sad than Napoleon was that
same night. He had shut himself up in his cabinet, remorseful and alone.

The Sunday following was hardly less melancholy, for it was then
Josephine learned that Malmaison had been endowed with an income of two
millions for its upkeep, and that her personal belongings and the
furnishings of her favourite apartments were already on the way thither
from the Tuileries. The wound was not even then allowed to heal, for
she learned that Napoleon had ordained that she was to receive the
visits of the court as if she were still empress.

[Illustration: _Chateau de Malmaison_]

Napoleon had already written his former spouse to the effect that he
would give much to see her, but that he did not feel sufficiently sure
of himself to permit of it. This historic letter closed thus; "_Adieu,
Josephine, bonne nuit, si tu doutais de moi, tout sera bien indigne_."

On the 17th of December Napoleon actually did come to Malmaison to see
her from whom he was officially separated. Josephine had confided to
Madame de Remusat, her lady-in-waiting, "It almost seems as if I were
dead, and only possessed of the faculty of remembering the past."

In this Malmaison, so full of souvenirs of other days, Josephine was
obliged to content herself, for on January 12, 1810, the religious
marriage of Josephine and Napoleon was annulled automatically because,
as was claimed, it had not been celebrated with the necessary
formalities.

Here at Malmaison Josephine even surrounded herself with the most
intimate souvenirs of Napoleon: a lounging chair that he was wont to
occupy stood in its accustomed place; his bed was always made; his sword
hung upon the wall; his pen was in his inkwell; a book was open on his
desk and his geographical globe--his famous _mappemond_--was in its
accustomed place.

Princes passing through Paris came to Malmaison to salute the former
empress, and she allowed herself to become absorbed in her greenhouses
and her dairy, the direction of her house, her receptions and her
_petite cour_.

In time all came to an end. When Napoleon returned to Paris in 1815 he
interrogated the doctor who had cared for Josephine during the illness
which terminated in her death the year before and asked him: "Did she
speak of me at the last?" The doctor replied: "Often, very often." With
emotion Napoleon replied simply: "_Bonne femme: bonne Josephine elle
m'aimeit vraiment_."

After Waterloo Napoleon himself retired to Malmaison, which had become
the property of Josephine's children, Eugene and Hortense, and closed
himself up in the room where she died, the library which he occupied
when triumphant First Consul.

Here he lived five mortal days of anguish preceding his departure for
Rochefort on that agonizing exile from which he never returned.

After the divorce Josephine preserved the property as her own particular
residence, and in 1814 received there the celebrated visit of the
allied sovereigns. History tells of a certain boat ride which she took
on a neighbouring lake in company with the Emperor Alexander which is
fraught with much historic sentiment. It was this imprudent excursion,
in the cool of a May evening, that caused the death of the former
empress three days later. It was from this bijou of a once royal abode
that Napoleon launched his famous proclamation to the army which the
arrogant Fouché refused to have printed in the "_Moniteur Officiel_."
Upon this Napoleon sent the Duc de Rovigo to Paris for his passports and
the necessary orders which would enable him to depart in peace. The next
moment he had changed his mind, and he changed it again a few moments
afterwards. As the result of the Prussians' advance on Paris by the left
bank of the Seine Napoleon was obliged to accept the inevitable, and
with the words of General Becker ringing in his ears: "_Sire, tout est
pret_," he crossed the vestibule and entered the gardens amid a painful
calm on his part, and an audible weeping by his former fellows in arms
who were lined up to do him honour. He embraced Hortense passionately,
and saluted all the personages of his party with a sympathy and emotion
unbelievable. With an eternal adieu and a rapid step down the garden
walk to the driveway, he at last entered the carriage which was
awaiting him and was driven rapidly away. Some days after the Allies
pillaged and sacked Malmaison. Its chief glory may be said to have
departed with the Corsican.

Under the Restoration, Prince Eugene had a sort of "rag sale" of what
was left. The lands which Josephine had bought of Lecouteaux were sold
to the highest bidder and the exotic shrubs and plants to any who would
buy, the pictures to such connoisseurs as had the price, those that were
left being sent to Munich. A Swedish banker now came on the scene (1826)
and bought the property--the chateau and the park--which he preserved
until his death twenty years later. Then it went to Queen Christina, and
was ultimately purchased by Napoleon III.

In October, 1870, during the siege of Paris, General Ducrot sought to
make a reconnaissance by way of Malmaison, and so weak was his project
that the equipages of the King of Prussia and his État Major invested
the environs and made the property their official headquarters.

Near by is a fine property called "Les Bruyeres," a royal estate of
Napoleon III. It was created and developed by the emperor and was always
referred to as a Parc Impérial.

Perhaps the most banal of all the royal souvenirs around Paris is that
gigantic mill-wheel known as the Machine de Marly, down by the Seine a
few miles beyond Malmaison, just where that awful cobblestoned roadway
begins to climb up to the plateau on which sits the chateau of Saint
Germain and its park.

Because it is of unesthetic aspect is no reason for ignoring the famous
Machine de Marly, the great water-hoisting apparatus first established
in the reign of Louis XIV to carry the waters of the Seine to the ponds
and fountains of Versailles.

It was a creation of a Liègois, named Rennequin Sualem, who knew not how
to read or write, but who had a very clear idea of what was wanted to
perform the work which Louis XIV demanded. For a fact the expense of the
erection of the "Machine," and the cost of keeping its great wheels
turning, were so great that it is doubtful if it was ever a paying
proposition, but that was not a _sine qua non_ so far as the king's
command was concerned. It had cost millions of _livres_ before its
wheels first turned in 1682, and, if the carpenter Brunet had not come
to the rescue to considerably augment the volume of water raised (by
means of compressed air), it is doubtful if there would ever have been
enough water for the fountains of Versailles to play even one day a
year, as they do now every happy Sunday, to the delight of the
middle-class Parisian and the droves of Cookites who gaze on them with
wonder-opened eyes.

The water was led from the Machine de Marly to Versailles by a conduit
of thirty-six arches where, upon reaching a higher level than the
gardens, it flowed by gravity to the fountains and basins below. This
aqueduct was six hundred and forty-three metres long, and twenty-three
metres high. It was a work which would have done credit to the Romans.

A far greater romantic sentiment attaches itself to the royal chateau of
Marly-le-Roi than to the utilitarian "Machine," by which the suburb is
best known to-day.

The history of Marly-le-Roi appears from the chronicles the most
complicated to unravel of that of any of the kingly suburbs of old
Paris, though in the days of the old locomotion a townlet twenty-six
kilometres from the capital was hardly to be thought of as a suburb.

Marly-le-Roi, at any rate, with Marly-le-Bourg and Marly-le-Chatel, was
a royal dwelling from the days of Thierry III (678). The neighbouring
region had been made into a countship by the early seventeenth
century, and Louis XIV acquired it as his right in exchange for
Neuphle-le-Chateau in 1693, incorporating it into the domain of
Versailles.

By this time it had become known as Marly-le-Roi, in distinction to the
other bourgs, and the king built a chateau-royal, variously known as the
Palais and the Ermitage. For a fact it was neither one thing nor the
other, according to accepted definition, but rather a group of a dozen
dependent pavilions distributed around a central edifice, the whole
straggling off into infinite and manifestly unlovely proportions. It was
as the sun surrounded by the zodiac.

Isolated on a monticule by the river bank the chateau overlooked its
brood of small pavilions, which in a way formed an _entresol_, or foyer,
leading to the Pavilion Royal. All were connected by iron trellises, _en
berceau_, and the effect must have been exceedingly bizarre; certainly
theatrical.

The four faces of these pavilions were frescoed, and balustrades and
vases at the corners were the chief architectural decorations.

The royal pavilion consisted within of four vestibules on the ground
floor, each leading to a grand apartment in the centre. In each of the
four angles was a "self-contained" apartment of three or four rooms.
What this royal abode lacked in beauty it made up for in convenience.

Each of the satellite pavilions was occupied by a high personage at
court. The Chapel and the Corps de Garde were detached from the chateau
proper, and occupied two flanking wings.

The plans of the "Palais-Chateau-Ermitage" of Marly-le-Roi were from the
fertile brain of Mansart, and were arranged with considerable ingenuity,
if not taste, generously interspersed with lindens and truly magnificent
garden plots. There was even a cascade, or rather a tumbling river
(according to the French expression), for it fell softly over
sixty-three marble steps, forming a sort of wrinkled sheet of water,
which must indeed have been a very charming feature. It cost a hundred
thousand _écus_ to merely lead the water up to it. The expenses of the
Pavilion de Marly, in the ten years from 1680 to 1690, amounted to
4501279 _livres_, 12 _sols_, 3 _deniers_. From this one may well judge
that it was no mean thing.

The honour of being accounted a person of Marly in those times was
accredited as a great distinction, for it went without saying in that
case one had something to do with affairs of court, though one might
only have been a "furnisher." To be a courtier of Louis XIV, or to be a
_pensionnaire_ at Versailles, could hardly have carried more
distinction.

The court usually resided at Marly from Wednesday until Saturday, and as
"the game" was the thing it is obvious that the stakes were high.

The vogue of the day was gaming at table, and Marly, of all other
suburban Paris palaces, was an ideal and discreet place for it. "High
play and midnight suppers were the rule at Marly." This, one reads in
the court chronicle, and further that: "The royal family usually lost a
hundred thousand _écus_ at play at each visit." One "gentleman croupier"
gained as much as three thousand _louis_ at a single sitting.

Madame de Maintenon was the real ruler of Marly in those days; she had
appropriated the apartments originally intended for the queen, from
which there was a private means of communication to the apartments of
the king, and another forming a sort of private box, overlooking the
royal chapel.

Little frequented by Louis XV, and practically abandoned by Louis XVI,
the palace at Marly was sold during the Revolution, after which it was
stripped of its art treasures, many of which adorn the gardens of the
Tuileries to-day; the great group of horses at the entrance to the
Champs Elysées came from the watering place of Marly.

Actually, the royal pavilion at Marly has been destroyed, and there
remain but the most fragmentary, unformed heaps of stones to tell the
tale of its ample proportions in the days of Louis XIV and de Maintenon.

The park is to-day the chief attraction of the neighbourhood, like the
one at Saint Cloud, which it greatly resembles. Across the park lies the
great highway from the capital to Versailles, over which so many joyous
cavalcades were wont to amble or gallop in the days of gallantry. The
pace is not more sober to-day, but gaily caparisoned horses and gaudy
coaches have given way to red and yellow "Rois des Belges," the balance
lying distinctly in favour of the former mode of conveyance, so far as
picturesqueness is concerned.

The Forêt de Marly is very picturesque, but of no great extent. Formerly
it enclosed many shooting-boxes belonging to the nobles of the court, of
which those of Montjoie and Desert de Retz were perhaps the most
splendid.

On the Versailles road was the Chateau de Clagny, a royal _maison de
plaisance_, of an attractive, but trivial, aspect, though its
architecture was actually of a certain massiveness. Its gardens and the
disposition of its apartments pleased the king's fancy when he chose to
pass this way, which was often. He is said to have personally spent over
two million francs on the property. It must have been of some
pretensions, this little heard of Chateau de Clagny, for in a single
year ten thousand _livres_ were expended on keeping the gardens. To-day
it is non-existent.



CHAPTER XIV

SAINT CLOUD AND ITS PARK


The historic souvenirs of Saint Cloud and its royal palace are many and
varied, though scarcely anything tangible remains to-day of the fabric
so loved by Francis I and Henri II, and which was, for a fact, but a
magnificent country-house, originally belonging to the Archbishops of
Paris.

To-day the rapid slopes of the hillsides of Saint Cloud are peopled with
a heterogeneous mass of villas of what the Parisian calls the "coquette"
order, but which breathe little of the spirit of romance and gallantry
of Renaissance times. Saint Cloud is simply a "discreet" Paris suburb,
and the least said about it, its villas and their occupants to-day, the
better.

The little village of Saint Cloud which is half-hidden in the Forest of
Rouvray, was sacked and burned by the English after the battle of
Poitiers, and then built up anew and occupied by the French monarchs in
the reign of Charles VI. It was he who built the first _chateau de
plaisance_ here in which the royal family might live near Paris and yet
amid a sylvan environment.

After this came the country-house of the Archbishops of Paris that Henri
II, when he tired of it, tore down and erected a villa in the
pseudo-Italian manner of the day, and built a fourteen-arch stone bridge
across the Seine, which was a wonder of its time.

The banker Gondi, after huddling close to royalty, turned over an
establishment which he had built to Catherine de Médici, who made use of
it whenever she wished to give a country fête or garden party. By this
time the whole aspect of Saint Cloud was royal.

It was within this house that the unhappy, and equally unpopular, Henri
III was cut down by the three-bladed knife of the monk Jacques Clément.
The incident is worth recounting briefly here because of the rapidity
with which history was made by a mere fanatical knife-thrust. With the
death of Henri III came the extinction of the House of Valois.

As the king sat in the long gallery of the palace playing at cards, on
August 1, 1589, his cloak hanging over his shoulder, a little cap with a
flower stuck in it perched over one ear, and suspended from his neck by
a broad blue ribbon a basketful of puppies, an astrologer by the name of
Osman was introduced to amuse the royal party.

"They tell me you draw horoscopes," remarked the king.

"Sire, I will tell yours, if you will, but the heavens are
unpropitious."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Just over Meudon is a star which shines very brightly," continued the
astrologer, "it is that of Henri de Navarre. But look, your Majesty,
another star burns brilliantly for a moment and then disappears, mayhap
it is your own."

"If ever a man had a voice hoarse with blood it is that astrologer,"
said the king. "Away with him."

"If the Valois Henri doesn't die before the setting of another sun, I'll
never cast horoscope more," said the astrologer as he was hustled across
the courtyard and out into the highroad.

As he left, a man in a monk's garb begged to be admitted to the king's
presence. It was Jacques Clément, the murderous monk, a wily Dominican,
bent on a mission which had for its object the extinction of the Valois
race.

While the king was reading a letter which the monk had presented the
latter stabbed him deep in the stomach.

Swooning, the king had just time to cry out: "_Ha! le mechant moine: Il
m'a tué, qu'on le tue._"

The murderer in turn was struck down forthwith and his body, thrown from
the windows of the palace, was _écartelé_ by four white horses, which is
the neat French way of saying "drawn and quartered."

It was an imposing cortège which wound down from the heights of Saint
Cloud and followed the river bank to Saint Germain, Poissy and thence to
Compiègne, conveying all that was mortal of Henri III, the least popular
of all the race of Valois. Following close behind the bier were Henri IV
and his suite, the favourites d'Epernon, Laschant, Dugastz and an
impressive soldiery.

After the death of Henri III, Henri de Navarre, who played a not
unpicturesque part in the funeral ceremonies, installed himself in a
neighbouring property known as the Maison du Tillet. Thus it is seen
that the royal stamp of the little bourg of Saint Cloud was never
wanting--not until the later palace and most of the town were drenched
with kerosene and set on fire by the Prussians in 1871.

The "Maison de Gondi" came, by a process of acquisition, and
development, in time, to be the royal palace of Saint Cloud. Its
overloaded details of Italian architecture were brightened up a bit by
the surroundings planned and executed by the landscapist Le Notre and
the life of the court in its suburban retreat took on a real and genuine
brilliance which under the restraint of the gloomy walls of the Louvre
and Paris streets could hardly have been.

The brightest light shining over Saint Cloud at this time was the
radiance shed by the brilliant Henriette d'Angleterre. Her reign as a
social and witty queen of the court was brief. She died at the age of
twenty-six, poisoned at the instigation of the Chevalier de Lorraine
whom she had caused to be exiled. This was the common supposition, but
Louis XIV was afterwards able to prove (?) his brother innocent of the
crime.

The gazettes of the seventeenth century recount many of the fêtes given
at Saint Cloud by Monsieur on the occasion of his marriage to the
Princesse Palatine in 1671. One of the most notable of these was that
given for Louis XIV, wherein the celebrated cascades--an innovation of
Le Notre--were first brought to view.

Mansart was called in and a great gallery intended for fêtes and
ceremonies was constructed, and Mignard was given the commission for its
decorations.

Monsieur died within the walls of the palace to which he had added so
many embellishments, as also did his second wife. Three royalties dead
of ambition, one might well say, for their lives were neither tranquil
nor healthful. They went the pace.

The regent journeyed out from Paris to this riverside retreat to receive
the Tzar Peter in 1717, and in 1752 Louis Philippe d'Orleans set about
to give a fête which should obscure the memory of all former events of a
like nature into oblivion. How well he succeeded may be a matter of
varying opinion, for the French have ever been prodigally lavish in the
conduct of such affairs. At all events the occasion was a notable one.

The predilection of royalty for Saint Cloud was perhaps not remarkable,
all things considered, for it was, and is, delightfully environed, and
about this time the Duc d'Orleans secretly married the Marquise de
Montesson and installed her in a habitation the "_plus simple_," a mere
shack, one fancies, costing six millions. The _nouveau riche_ of to-day
could scarcely do the thing with more _éclat_.

The Revolution took over the park of Saint Cloud and its appurtenances
and donated them to the democracy--"for the pleasure of the people,"
read the decree.

On the eighteenth Brumaire, the First Republic blinked itself out in
the Palais de Saint Cloud, and the Conseil de Cinq Cents installed
itself therein under the Directoire. Bonaparte, returning from Egypt,
arrived at Saint Cloud just as Lemercier was dissolving the Conseil.
Seeing trouble ahead he commanded Murat to clear the chamber by drawn
bayonets. He kept his light shining just a bit ahead of the others, did
Napoleon. His watchword was initiative. Deputies clambered over each
other in their haste to escape by stairway, door and window, and
Bonaparte saw himself Consul without opposition--for ten years--for
life.

The royal residences were put at Napoleon's disposition and he wisely
chose Saint Cloud for summer; Saint Cloud the cradle of his powers. As a
restorer and rebuilder of crumbling monuments Napoleon was a master, as
he was in the destructive sense when he was in the mood, and changes and
additions were made at Saint Cloud which for comfort and convenience put
it in the very front rank of French royal residences.

In March, 1805, Pope Pius VII baptised, amid a grand pomp and ceremony,
in the chapel of the palace, the son of Louis Bonaparte, and five years
afterwards (April 1, 1810), the same edifice saw the religious marriage
of Napoleon with Marie Louise.

On March 31, 1810, a strange animation dominated all the confines of the
palace. It was the occasion of the celebration of Napoleon's civil
marriage with Marie Louise. They did not enter the capital until three
days later for the ceremonial which united the daughter of the emperors
who were descendants of the Roman Cæsars, to the "Usurper," who was now
for the first time to rank with the other crowned heads of Europe.

The cortège which accompanied their majesties from Saint Cloud to Paris
was a pageant which would take pages to describe. The reader of these
lines is referred to the impassioned pages of the works of Frederic
Masson for ample details.

A hundred thousand curiosity seekers had come out from Paris and filled
the alleys of the park to overflowing. Music and dancing were on every
hand. Mingled with the crowd were soldiers of all ranks brilliantly clad
in red, blue and gold. "These warriors were a picturesque, obtrusive
lot," said a chronicler; "after having invaded Austria they acclaim the
Austrian."

In 1815 the capitulation of Paris was signed at Saint Cloud. The gardens
were invaded by a throng which gave them more the aspect of an
intrenched camp than a playground of princes. A brutal victor had
climbed booted and spurred into the bed of the great Napoleon and on
arising pulled the bee-embroidered draperies down with him and trampled
them under foot. Was this a proper manifestation of victory?

[Illustration: _The Gardens of Saint Cloud_]

At this period another great fête was given in the leafy park of Saint
Cloud, a fête which French historians have chiefly passed over silently.
The host on this occasion was the Prince of Schwartzenburg; the
principal guests the foreign sovereigns, gloating over the downfall of
the capital.

Louis XVIII, after removing the traces of this desolate invasion, took
up his residence here on June 18, 1817, and in the following year built
the stables and the lodgings of the Gardes du Corps. In 1820 the chapel
begun by Marie Antoinette was finished and the Jardin du Trocadero
constructed.

Charles X in his brief reign built, on the site of an old Ursulin
convent, further quarters intended for the personnel of the court. The
ensemble ever took on an increasing importance. At this time were laid
out the gardens between the cascades and the river, which, to some
slight extent, to-day, suggest the former ample magnificence of the park
as it faced upon the river. Leading through this lower garden was the
Avenue Royale extending to the chateau.

Saint Cloud for Charles X, in spite of his first interest therein, could
have been but an unhappy memory for here he signed the abdication which
brought about his fall. He left his palace at Saint Cloud on July 30,
1830, at three o'clock in the morning, just as day was breaking through
the mists of the valley. He succumbed, the last of the Bourbons, on the
same spot on which Henri IV, as chief of the house, had first been
saluted as king.

Louis Philippe divided his time between Neuilly and Saint Cloud, and
lent his purse and his enthusiasm to elaborating to a very considerable
extent both the palace and its surroundings.

Napoleon III made Saint Cloud his preferred summer residence, and was
actually beneath the palace roof when the Prussian horde commenced its
march on the capital of Clovis. He left Saint Cloud on July 27, to take
personal command of the Army of the Rhine at Metz.

As did Charles X, Napoleon III ceased to be sovereign of the French by
enacting the final scene in his royal career in the Palais de Saint
Cloud. Never again was the palace to give shelter to a French monarch.
The empress left precipitately after the disaster of Woerth, and two
months after the torch of arson made a ruin of all the splendour of the
palace and its dependencies. The inhabitants of the little city, which
had grown up around the confines of the palace, fled in refuge to
Versailles during the armistice. Scarcely an old house was preserved in
all the town.

Among the _chefs d'oeuvres_ of art which perished in the flames were
the fine works of Mignard--above all, the magnificent Galerie
d'Apollon--the paintings of LeMoyne, Nacret, Leloir, the marines of
Joseph Vernet and innumerable objects of art which had been gathered
together for the embellishment of Saint Cloud by the later monarchs.
Some few treasures were saved by the care of the Crown Prince of
Prussia, and some vases, chairs and statues were appropriated and packed
off across the Rhine as the plunder of war.

The park of Saint Cloud to-day contains nearly four hundred hectares,
the public park and the "preserve." From it spreads out one of the
loveliest panoramas in the neighbourhood of Paris, alleyed vistas
leading seemingly to infinity, with a sprinkling of statues still
flanking the Jardin du Trocadero.

From the town one enters the park through a great iron gate from the
Place Royale, or by the Avenue du Chateau, which lands one on the
terraces where once stood the royal palace.

From Ville d'Avray and from Sevres there are also entrances to the great
park, while to the latter runs an avenue connecting the "preserve" of
Saint Cloud with the wilder, more rugged Bois de Meudon.

Actually the surroundings of Saint Cloud's great park are the least bit
tawdry. Here and there are booths and tents selling trashy souvenirs,
and even more unpleasant-looking articles of food and drink, while
fringing the river, and some of the principal avenues approaching the
cascade, are more pretentious restaurants and eating houses which are
royal in name and their prices if nothing else.

The cascades are for the masses the chief sight of Saint Cloud to-day.
Historical souvenir plays little part in the minds of those who only
visit a monumental shrine to be amused, and so the falling waters of
Saint Cloud's cascade, like the gushing torrents of Versailles'
fountains, are the chief incentives to a holiday for tens of thousands
of small Paris shopkeepers who do not know that a royal palace was ever
here, much less that it had a history.

There is an upper and a lower cascade, an artificial water ingeniously
tumbled about according to the conception of one Lepaute, an architect
of the time of the reign of Louis XIV.

[Illustration: _The Cascades at Saint Cloud_]

Mansart designed the architectural attributes of the lower cascade and
scores considerably over his colleague. Circular basins and canals
finally lead the water off to a still larger basin lower down where it
spouts up into the air to a height of some forty odd metres at a high
pressure. This is the official description, but it is hard to get up any
sympathy or enthusiasm over the thing, either considered as a work of
art or as a diversion. Frankly, then, Saint Cloud's chief charm is its
site and its dead and half-forgotten history. The "Tramp Abroad" and
"Rollo" and "Uncle George" knew it better than we, because in those days
the palace existed in the real, whereas we take it all on faith and
regret (sometimes) that we did not live a couple of generations ago.

Bellevue, on the banks of the Seine, just before reaching Saint Cloud,
owes its origin (a fact which the great restaurant of the Pavillon Bleu
has made the most of in its advertisements), to a caprice of Madame de
Pompadour. She liked the point of view (as do so many diners on the
restaurant terrace to-day), and built a "_rendezvous-chateau_" on the
hillside, a half-way house, as it were, where Louis XV might be at his
ease on his journeyings to and from the capital.

The Pompadour was able to borrow a force of eight hundred workmen from
the king for as long as was necessary to carry out her ambitious
projects at Bellevue and on November 25, 1750, she had a house-warming
in her modest villa (demolished in 1794) and _pendit la cremaillère_
with a ceremony whose chief entertainment was the dancing of a ballet
significantly entitled "L'Amour Architect."

Neighbouring upon Saint Cloud is a whole battery of hallowed, historical
spots associated with the more or less royal dwellings of the French
monarchs and their favourites. It was but a comparatively short distance
to Versailles, to Saint Germain, to Maintenon and to Rambouillet, and
the near-by Louveciennes was literally strewn with the most charming
country-houses, which, in many cases, kings paid for and made free use
of, though indeed the accounts for the same may not have appeared in the
public budgets, at least not under their proper names.

At the summit of the hill which gives the town its name was a chateau
belonging originally to Madame la Princesse de Conti, and opposite the
railway station of to-day, with its prosaic and unlovely surroundings,
was a magnificent property belonging to Maréchal Magnan, and the
Pavillon du Barry, built by the architect Ledoux to the orders of Louis
XV, who would provide a convenient nest in the neighbourhood of Saint
Cloud for his latest favourite. To-day the pavilion exists in name,
somewhat disfigured to be sure, but still reminiscent of its former
rather garish outlines, so on the whole it cannot be said to have
suffered greatly from an esthetic point of view. The property came
finally to be included as a part of the estate of Pierre Laffitte,
though still known, as it always has been, as the Pavillon du Barry.



CHAPTER XV

VERSAILLES: THE GLORY OF FRANCE

   "_Glorieuse, monumentale et monotone
   La façade de pierre effrite, au vent qui passe
   Son chapiteau friable et sa guirlande lasse
   En face du parc jaune ou s'accoude l'automne._
          *       *       *
   _Mais le soleil, aux vitres d'or qu'il incendie
   Y semble rallumer interieurement
   Le sursaut, chaque soir de la Gloire engourdi._"


These lines of Henri de Régnier explain the aspect of the Versailles of
to-day better than any others ever written.

Versailles is a medley of verdure, a hierarchy of bronze and a forest of
marble. This is an expression full of anomalies, but it is strictly
applicable to Versailles. Its waters, jets and cascades, its monsters,
its Tritons and Valhalla of marble statues set off the artificial
background in a manner only to be compared to a stage setting--a
magnificent stage setting, but still palpably unreal.

Yes, Versailles is sad and grim to-day; one hardly knows why, for its
memories still live, and the tangible evidences of most of its great
splendour still stand.

   "_Voici tes ifs en cone et tes tritons joufflus
   Tes jardins composés où Louis ne vient plus,
   Et ta pompe arborant les plumes et les casques._"

It is not possible to give here either an architectural review or a
historical chronology of Versailles; either could be made the _raison
d'être_ for a weighty volume.

The writer has confined himself merely to a more or less correlated
series of patent facts and incidents which, of itself, shows well the
futility of any other treatment being given of a subject so vast within
the single chapter of a book.

The history of Versailles is a story of the people and events that
reflected the glory and grandeur of the Grand Monarque of the Bourbons
and made his palace and its environs a more sublime expression of
earthly pomp than anything which had gone before, or has come to pass
since.

Versailles, after its completion, became the perfect expression of the
decadence and demoralization of the old régime. It can only be compared
to the relations between du Barry and the young Marie Antoinette, who
was all that was contrary to all for which the former stood.

That the court of Louis XV was artificially brilliant there is no doubt.
It was this that made it stand out from the sombre background of the
masses of the time. It was a dazzling, human spectacle, and Versailles,
with its extravagant, superficial charms, carried it very near to the
brink of ruin, though even in its most banal vulgarities there was a
certain sense of ambitious sincerity. The people of the peasant class
lived as animals, "black, livid and scorched by the sun." The sense of
all this penetrated readily even to Versailles, so that La Pompadour or
Louis, one or the other of them, or was it both together, cried out
instinctively: "_Apres nous le deluge._"

The intricacies of the etiquette of the daily life of the king, his
follies and fancies, made the history of Versailles the most brilliant
of that of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries--certainly it was
the most opulent. The manners of the time were better than the morals,
and if good taste in art and architecture had somewhat fallen there is
no doubt but that a charming fantasy often made up for a lack of
estheticism.

The story of the palace, the park, the king and his court are so
interwoven that no _résumé_ of the story of one can ignore that of any
of the others. The king and court present themselves against this
background with an intimacy and a clearness which is remarkable for its
appeal to one's curiosity. It is a long, long day of life which begins
with the _petit lever_ and only ends with the _grand coucher_.

If there was ever a Castle of Indolence and Profligacy it was
Versailles, though indeed it is regarded as the monarchy's brilliant
zenith. The picture is an unforgetable one to any who have ever read its
history or seen its stones.

In the year 1650, Martial de Lomenci, one of the ministers of Charles
IX, was the Seigneur of Versailles, but at the will of Catherine de
Médici he was summarily strangled that she might get possession of the
property and make a present of it to her favourite, Albert de Gondi,
Maréchal de Retz.

About 1625 Louis XIII had caused a small hunting pavilion to be built
near by and, by degrees, acquiring more land took it into his head to
erect something more magnificent in the way of a country-house, though
the real conception of a suburban Paris palace only came with Louis XIV.

Levau, the latter's architect, made the necessary alterations to the
structure already existing, and little by little the more magnificent
project known in its completed form to-day was evolved. War not being
actually in progress, or imminent, great bodies of soldiery were set at
work with pick and shovel, and at one time thirty thousand had laid
aside their sabres and muskets for the more peaceful art of
garden-making under the direction of Le Notre.

In three decades the sum total of the chief roll of expenses of the
palace and its dependencies reached eighty-one million, one hundred and
fifty-one thousand, four hundred and fourteen _livres_, nine _sols_ and
two _deniers_. It is perhaps even more interesting to know that of this
vast sum more than three millions went for marble, twenty-one millions
for masonry, two and a half millions for the rougher woodwork and a like
sum for marquetry. Other additional "trifling" embellishments of
Versailles and the Trianon during the same period counted up another six
million and a half.

The expense of these works was enormous on all sides. Water being
required for the purpose of supplying the fountains it was proposed that
the waters of the Eure should be turned from their original bed and made
to pass through Versailles, and the enterprise was actually begun.
Beyond the gardens was formed the Little Park, about four leagues
around, and beyond this lay the Great Park, measuring twenty leagues
around and enclosing several forest villages. The total expenses of
these works may never have been exactly known, but they must have been
immense, that is certain, and have even been estimated at as much as one
billion francs. The works were so far completed in 1664 that the first
Versailles fête was given to consecrate the palace. In honour of this
event Molière composed "La Princesse d'Elide."

The improvements, however, were continued, and in 1670, Levau, dying,
was succeeded by his nephew, Jules Hardouin Mansart, who wished to
destroy the chateau of Louis XIII and erect one uniform building. Louis
XIV, out of respect to his father, would not allow Mansart's project to
be carried out and therefore alterations were only made in the court by
surrounding it on the western side with the magnificent buildings now
forming the garden front. The southern wing was subsequently added for
the accommodation of the younger members of the royal family. In 1685
the northern wing was erected to meet the requirements of the attachés
of the court. The chapel was commenced in 1699 and finished in 1710.

Louis XIV took up his residence in the palace in 1681 with Madame de
Montespan, and, thirty-five years afterwards, died there, the reigning
favourite then being Madame de Maintenon. During this time Versailles
was the theatre of many extraordinary scenes. Louis XV was born here
but did not take up his residence here until after he was of age. Here
it was that his favourites Madame de Chateauroux, Madame de Pompadour
and Madame du Barry found themselves most at home. It was under the
direction of this monarch that the theatre was built in the northern
wing, and was formally opened on the occasion of the marriage of the
dauphin, Louis XVI, in 1770.

Towards the end of the reign of Louis XV a new wing and pavilion were
added on the northern side of the principal court, and it was proposed
to build across the court a new front in the same uniform style. The
idea could not be carried out in consequence of the troublous times of
Louis XVI and the enormous estimated expense. The Revolution intervened
and Versailles remained closed until it was reopened by the first
Napoleon, who, however, was unable to take up his residence in it on
account of his frequent campaigns afield.

At the Restoration Louis XVIII, as the representative of the ancient
monarchy, wished to make Versailles the seat of the court, but was
deterred from doing so by the appalling previous expense. During the
reigns of both Napoleon and Louis XVIII considerable sums were expended
in its refurbishing so that it was not wholly a bygone when finally the
French authorities made of it, if not the chief, at least the most
popular _monument historique_ of all France.

And yet the aspect of Versailles is sadly wearying. To-day Versailles is
lonely; one is haunted by the silence and the bareness, if not actual
emptiness. Only once in seven years does the old palace take on any air
of the official life of the Republic, and that is when the two
legislative bodies join forces and come to Versailles to vote for the
new president. For the rest of the time it is deserted, save for the
guardians and visitors, a memory only of the splendours imagined and
ordained by Louis XIV.

For nearly a century the master craftsmen of a nation conspired to its
beatification, and certainly for gorgeousness and extravagance
Versailles has merited any encomiums which have ever been expended upon
it. It was made and remade by five generations of the cleverest workers
who ever lived, until it took supreme rank as the greatest storehouse of
luxurious trifles in all the world.

One wearies though of the straight lines and long vistas of Versailles,
the endless repetition of classical motives, which, while excellent,
each in its way, do pall upon one in an inexplicable fashion. It
possesses, however, a certain dignity and grace in every line. This is a
fact which one can not deny. It is expressive of--well, of nothing but
Versailles, and the part it played in the life of its time.

The millions for Versailles were obtained in ways too devious and
lengthy to follow up here. Even Louis XIV began to see before the end
the condition into which he had led the nation, though he punished every
one who so much as hinted at his follies. Vauban, "the hero of a hundred
sieges," published a book on the relations between the king and court
and the tax-paying masses and was disgraced forever after, dying within
a few months of a broken heart that he should have been so impotent in
attempting to bring about a reform.

The life of the king at Versailles had little of privacy in it. From his
rising to his going to bed he was constantly in the hands of his valets
and courtiers, even receiving ambassadors of state while he was still
half hidden by the heavy curtains of his great four-poster. They had
probably been waiting hours in the Salon de l'OEl de Boeuf before
being admitted to the kingly presence.

It was at this period that Michael Chamillard, the Minister of War,
introduced billiards into France by the way of Versailles. He played
with Louis XIV and pleased him greatly, but Chamillard was no
statesman, as history and the following lines from his epitaph point
out.

   "_Ci git le fameux Chamillard
   De son Roy le pronotaire
   Qui fut un heros au billard
   Un zero dans le Ministère._"

This apartment of the OEil de Boeuf was the ancient Cabi du Conseil.
It is a wonderfully decorated apartment, and its furnishings, beyond
those which are actually built into the fabric, are likewise of a
splendour and good taste which it is to be regretted is not everywhere
to be noted in the vast palace of Louis XIV. The garnishings of the
chimney-piece alone would make any great room interesting and well
furnished, and the great golden clock, finely chiselled and brilliantly
burnished, is about the most satisfactory French clock one ever saw,
marking, as it does, in its style, the transition between that of Louis
XIV and Louis XV.

Versailles, in many respects, falls far short to-day of the ideal; its
very bigness and bareness greatly detract from the value of the historic
souvenir which has come down to us. Changes could undoubtedly be made to
advantage, and to this point much agitation has lately been directed,
particularly in cutting out some of the recently grown up trees which
have spoiled the classic vistas of the park, and the removal of those
ugly equestrian statues which the Monarchy of July erected.

Versailles only came under Napoleon's cursory regard for a brief moment.
He hardly knew whether he would care to make his home here or not, but
ordered his architects to make estimates for certain projects which he
had conceived and when he got them was so staggered at their magnitude
that he at once threw over any idea that he may have had of making it
his dwelling.

The Revolution had stripped the palace quite bare; no wonder that the
emperor balked at the cost of putting it in order. Napoleon may have had
his regrets for he made various allusions to Versailles while exiled at
Saint Helena, but then it was too late.

Louis Philippe took a matter-of-fact view of the possible service that
the vast pile might render to his family and accordingly spent much
money in a great expanse of gaudy wall decorations which are there
to-day, thinking to make of it a show place over which might preside the
genius of his sons.

These acres of meaningless battle-pieces, Algerian warfare and what not
are characteristic of the "Citizen-King" whose fondness for red plush,
green repp and horsehair sofas was notable. What he did at Versailles
was almost as great a vandalism against art as that wrought by the
Revolution.

Last scene of all:--Under Lebrun's magnificent canopied ceiling, where
the effigy of Louis XIV is being crowned by the Goddess of Glory, and
the German eagle sits on a denuded tree trunk screaming in agony and
beating his wings in despair, William of Prussia was proclaimed Emperor
of United Germany. It was almost as great an indignity as France ever
suffered; the only greater was when the Prussians marched through the
Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile. That was, and is, the Frenchman's--the
Parisian's, at all events--culminating grief.

The apartment referred to is the Grand Galerie des Glaces (or Galerie
Louis XIV), which is accredited as one of the most magnificently
appointed rooms of its class in all the world. It is nearly two hundred
and fifty feet in length, nearly forty feet in width, and forty-three
feet in height. It is lighted by seventeen large arched windows, which
correspond with arched niches on the opposite wall filled with
mirrors--hence the name.

Sixty Corinthian columns of red marble with bases and capitals of gilt
bronze fill up the intervening wall spaces. The vaulted ceiling by
Lebrun is divided into eighteen small compartments and nine of much
larger dimensions, in which are allegorically represented the principal
events in the history of Louis XIV, from the Peace of the Pyrenees to
that of Nymeguen.

It was in this splendid apartment that Louis XIV displayed the grandeur
of royalty in its highest phase and such was the luxury of the times,
such the splendour of the court, that its immense size could hardly
contain the crowd of courtiers that pressed around the monarch.

Several splendid fêtes took place in this great room, of which those of
the marriage of the Duc de Bourgogne in 1697 and that given on the
arrival of Marie Antoinette were the most brilliant.

Following are three pen-pictures of this historic palace.

THE VERSAILLES OF LONG AGO. It was to Versailles that the _Grand Roi_
repaired after his stern chase of the Spaniards across Flanders; through
the wood of Saint Germain and over those awful cobblestones which
Parisians know so well to-day rolled the gilded _carrosse_ of the king.
He had already been announced by a runner who had also brought news of
the latest victory. Courtiers and populace alike crowded the streets of
the town in an effort to acquire a good place from which to see the
arrival of the king. Intendants and servitors were giving orders on all
sides, frequently contradictory, and gardeners were furbishing up the
alleyed walks and flower beds in readiness for _Sa Majesté Louis
Quatorze_ and all his little world of satellites. A majestic
effervescence bubbled over all, and the _bourgeoisie_ enjoyed itself
hugely, climbing even on roof-tops and gables in the town without the
palace gates.

The _Roi Soleil_ came at last to his "well-beloved city of Versailles."
"He arrived in a cloud of golden dust," said a writer of the time, and
any who have seen Versailles blazing and treeless in the middle of a
long, hot summer, will know what it was like on that occasion.

Cannons roared, and the sound of revelry and welcoming joy was
everywhere to be heard.

THE VERSAILLES OF YESTERDAY. The lugubrious booming of cannons came
rolling over the meanderings of the Seine from the capital. The
hard-heads of Paris would understand nothing; they would make flow
never-ceasing rivers of blood. The national troops were well-nigh
impotent; it was difficult to shoot down your own flesh and blood at any
time; doubly so when your native land has not yet been evacuated by a
venturesome enemy. It was the time of the Commune. Traffic at
Versailles was of that intensity that circulation was almost impossible.
In spite of a dismal April rain the town was full of all sorts and
conditions of men. The animation of the crowd was feverish, but it was
without joy. A convoy of prisoners passed between two lines of soldiers
with drawn bayonets. They were Frenchmen, but they were Communards. It
was but a moment before they were behind the barred doors of the
barracks which was to be their prison, packed like a troop of sheep for
the slaughter. Versailles itself, the palace and the town, were still
sad. The rain still fell in torrents.

THE VERSAILLES OF TO-DAY. Roses, begonias, geraniums, the last of a long
hot summer, still shed their fragrant memories over the park of
Versailles. In the long, sober alleys a few leaves had already dropped
from the trees above, marking the greensward and the gravel like a
_tapis d'orient_, red and green and gold.

Flora and Bacchus in their fountains seemed less real than ever before,
more sombre under the pale, trickling light through the trees. A few
scattered visitors were about, sidling furtively around the Trianon, the
Colonnade and the _Bosquet d'Apollon_; and the birds of the wood were
even now bethinking of their winter pilgrimage. Versailles was still
sad. The last rays of the setting sun shot forth reflected gold from the
windows of the chateau and soon the silver blue veil of a September
twilight came down like a curtain of gauze.

Versailles, the Versailles of other days, is gone forever. Who will
awaken its echoes in after years? When will the Trianon again awake with
the coquetries of a queen? When will the city of the _Roi Soleil_ come
again into its own proud splendour?

The sun has set, the great iron gates of the courtyard are closed, the
palace and all therein sleeps.

"_Allon nous en d'ici: laissons la place aux ombres._"



CHAPTER XVI

THE GARDENS OF VERSAILLES AND THE TRIANONS


Versailles without its court of marble, its fountains, its gardens and
its park, and the attendant Grand and Petit Trianons, would hardly have
the attraction that it has to-day.

The ensemble is something of more vast and varied extent than is to be
seen elsewhere, though its aspect has somewhat changed from what it was
of old, and the crowds of Sunday and holiday visitors give the courts
and alleyed walks somewhat the aspect of a modern amusement resort.

The gardens of Versailles were but the framing of a princely dwelling
created to respond to the requirements of a court which was attempting
to do things on a grand scale. Everything was designed with most
magnificent outlines; everything was royal, in all verity--architecture,
garden-making, fêtes, receptions and promenades. What setting, then,
could have been more appropriate to the life of the times?

Versailles, the town, had never prospered, and has never proved
sufficiently attractive to become a popular suburb; and, though to-day
it passed the mark of half a hundred thousand population, it never would
have existed at all had it not been for the palace of Louis XIV.

Were it not for the palace and its attributes, Versailles would have
absolutely no memories for visitors, except such as may have lunched
well at the Hotel des Reservoirs or the Hotel du Trianon. That is not
everything, to be sure; but it is something, even when one is on an
historic pilgrimage.

Even in the day of Louis XVI the popular taste was changing and
Versailles was contemptuously referred to as a world of automota, of
cold, unfeeling statuary and of Noah's Ark trees and forests. There was
always a certain air of self-satisfaction about it, as there is, to-day,
when the Parisian hordes come out to see the waters play, and the
sight-seers marvel at the mock splendour and the scraps of history doled
out for their delectation by none-too-painstaking guardians.

In spite of all this, no sober-minded student of art or history will
ever consider Versailles, the palace and the park, as other than a
superb and a spectacular demonstration of the taste of the times in
which it was planned, built and lived in.

Versailles was begun in 1624 by Louis XIII, who built here a humble
hunting-lodge for the disciples of Saint Hubert of whom he was the royal
head. So humble an erection was it that the monarch referred to it
simply as a "_petite maison_" and paid for it out of his own pocket, a
rare enough proceeding at that epoch.

The critical Bassompierre called it a "_chetif chateau_," and
Saint-Simon referred to it as a "house of cards." Manifestly, then, it
was no great thing. It was, however, a comfortable country-house,
surrounded by a garden and a more ample park.

It was not Lemercier, the presiding genius of the Louvre at this time,
but an unknown by the name of Le Roy, whom Louis XIII chose as his
architect.

Boyceau traced the original _parterres_ with a central basin at a
crossroads of two wide avenues. Each of the four compartments thus made
was ornamented with _broderies_ and trimmed hedges, and the open spaces
were ingeniously filled with parti-coloured sands, or earth. A
_parterre_ of flowers immediately adjoined the palace and rudimentary
alleys and avenues stretched off towards the wood. Although designed by
Boyceau, this work was actually executed by his nephew, Jacques de
Menours, who, with difficulty, collected his pay. His books of account
showed that in five years, from 1631 to 1636, he had drawn but once a
year a sum varying from fifteen hundred to four thousand _livres_ while
in the same period the king had spent on the rest of the work at
Versailles two hundred and thirty-eight thousand _livres_, thirty-two
_sols_, six _deniers_, nearly one million one hundred thousand francs of
the money of to-day.

The first of the outdoor embellishments of the palace at Versailles is
the great Cour Royale, or the Cour d'Honneur, which opens out behind the
long range of iron gates facing upon the Place d'Armes. At the foot of
this entrance court is an extension called the Cour de Marbre. This Cour
de Marbre, on January 5, 1757, was the scene of the infamous attack on
Louis XV by Damiens, just as the king was starting out for the Trianon.

A thick redingote saved the king's life; but for "this mere pin-prick,"
according to Voltaire, the monarch went immediately to bed, and five
times in succession sought absolution for his sins. Sins lay heavy even
on royal heads in those days.

Damiens was but a thick-witted, superstitious valet, who, more or less
persecuted by the noble employers with whom he had been in service at
various times, sought to avenge himself, not on them, but on their king,
as the figurehead of all that was rotten in the social hierarchy. Louis,
heretofore known as the "Bien Aimé," had become suddenly unpopular
because of the disastrous war against England and Germany, and his
prodigal dissipation of public moneys.

Stretching out behind the palace are the famous gardens, the
_parterres_, the _tapis vert_, the fountains and the grand canal, with
the park of the Trianons off to the right.

Good fortune came to Louis XIV when he found André Le Notre, for it was
he and no other who traced the general lines of the garden of the
Versailles which was to be. He laid a generous hand upon the park and
forest which had surrounded the manor of Louis XIII, and extended the
garden to the furthermost limits of his ingenuity. Modifications were
rapid, and from 1664 the _parterres_ and the greensward took on entirely
new forms and effects. The Parterre des Reservoirs became the Parterre
du Nord, and an alley of four rows of lindens enclosed the park on all
sides. The Parterre à Fleurs, or the Jardin du Roy, between the chateau
and the Orangerie, was laid out anew.

By the following year the park began to take on the homogeneity which
it had hitherto lacked. The great Rondeau, as it was called, and which
became later the Bassin du Dragon, was excavated, and the Jardin Bas, or
the Nouveau Parterre, with an oval depression, was also planned.

[Illustration: _Cour de Marbre, Versailles_]

At one end of the park was the celebrated Menagerie du Roy, where the
rare and exotic animals collected by the monarch had "a palace more
magnificent than the home of any other dumb animals in the world." This
was the first period of formal garden construction at Versailles, and it
was also the period when the first great impetus was given to sculptural
decoration.

In 1679, following a journey in Italy, Le Notre took up again the work
on the gardens at Versailles, devoting himself to the region south of
the palace which hitherto had been ignored. This was Le Notre's most
prolific period.

The creations at Versailles can be divided into two distinct epochs,
that before 1670 and that coming after. After Le Notre's generous
design, the king and queen were seemingly never satisfied with the
endless plotting and planting which was carried on beneath the windows
of the palace, and in many instances changed the colour schemes and even
the outlines of Le Notre's original conceptions.

The Versailles of to-day is no longer the Versailles of Louis XIII, so
far as the actual disposition of details goes. Then there was very
little green grass and much sand and gravel, a scheme of decoration
which entered largely into the seventeenth century garden. This refers
principally to the general effect, for Le Notre made much use of the
enclosing battery of lindens, chestnuts and elms of a majestic and
patriarchal grandeur which have since been cut and replaced by smaller
species of trees, or not replaced at all.

No sooner were the ornamental gardens planned at Versailles than the
Potager du Roy, or fruit and vegetable garden, was created. This same
garden exists to-day with almost its former outlines. Here a soil
sufficiently humid, and yet sufficiently well drained, contributed not a
little towards the success of this most celebrated of all kitchen
gardens the world has known.

The work of installing a further system of artificial drainage was
immediately begun, and the Eaux des Suisses was created, to take the
place of a former stagnant pool near by. Undoubtedly it was a stupendous
work, like all the projects launched with regard to Versailles, but,
like the others, it was brought to a speedy and successful conclusion.
The details of the history of this royal vegetable garden are fully set
forth in a work published in 1690 by the son of the designer, the Abbé
Michel de la Quintinye, in two bulky volumes. "It was meet that a royal
vegetable garden should have been designed by a 'Gentleman Gardener,'"
said the faithful biographer in his foreword, and as such the man and
the work are to be considered here.

The work was accomplished by the combined efforts of a gracious talent
and the expenditure of much money, put at La Quintinye's disposition by
his royal master, who had but to put his hand deep into the coffers of
the royal treasury to draw it forth filled with gold. Critics have said
that La Quintinye's ability stopped with the preparation of the soil,
and with the design of the garden, rather than with the actual
cultivation, but at all events it was he who made the garden possible.

La Quintinye adopted Arnauld d'Andilly's method of planting fruit trees
_en espalier_ by training them against a wall-like background, and to
accomplish this divided the garden plot, which covered an area of eight
hectares (twenty acres), into a great number of subdivisions enclosed by
walls, in order to multiply to as great an extent as possible the
available space to be used for the _espaliers_. Again, these same walls
served to shelter certain varieties which were planted close against
them. If this Potager du Roy was not actually the first garden of its
class so laid out, it was certainly one of the most extensive and the
most successful up to that time.

The great terraces of at least two metres in width surrounded the
central garden, leaving a free area for the latter which approximated
three hectares.

These terraces were divided into twenty-eight compartments, forming nine
distinct varieties of gardens.

The celebrated gardener of Louis XIV sought not only to obtain fruits
and vegetables of a superior quality and an abundant quantity, but was
the first among his kind to produce early vegetables, or _primeurs_, in
any considerable quantity, and, by a process of forced culture, he was
able to put upon the table of the monarch asparagus in December, lettuce
in January, cauliflower in March and strawberries in April. All these
may be found at the Paris markets to-day, and at these seasons, but the
growing of _primeurs_ for the Paris markets has become a great industry
since the time it was first begun at Versailles.

Of asparagus La Quintinye said, "It is a vegetable that only kings can
ever hope to eat."

The Potager du Roy was begun in 1678, and completed in 1683. It cost,
all told, one million one hundred and seventy thousand nine hundred and
eighty-three _livres_ of which four hundred and sixty-seven thousand
three hundred and sixty-four went for constructions in brick and stone,
walls, enclosures and drains. Its annual maintenance (1685) amounted to
twenty thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine _livres_. The effort proved
one of great benefit to its creator, for La Quintinye, at the completion
of this work, received further commissions of a like nature from the
Prince de Condé, the Duc de Montansier, Colbert, Fouquet and others.

So great a marvel was this vegetable garden at Versailles that it was
the object of a pilgrimage of the Doge of Venice in 1685, and of the
Siamese ambassadors in the following year. The garden has been preserved
as an adjunct to Versailles up to the present day. For two centuries its
product went to the "Service de Bouche" of the chief of state, that is,
the royal dinner table; but in 1875 the Minister of Agriculture
installed there the French National Horticultural College, which to-day,
with a widened scope, has admitted ornamental plants and trees to this
famous garden. Nevertheless the general outlines have been preserved,
though certain of the terraces have disappeared, as well as many of the
walls of the original enclosure, thus reducing the number of garden
plots; in fact but sixteen distinctly defined gardens remain, including
the Clos aux Asperges.

The general lines of the garden design of Le Notre and Boyceau at
Versailles are to be noted to-day, but if anything the maintenance of
the gardens is hardly the equal of what it was in the time of Louis XIV
and a seeming disaster has fallen upon Versailles as these lines are
being written.

The military authorities have set aside, as a site for an aerostation
camp, some twenty-five acres of the park near Rocquencourt. This is one
of the loveliest parts, shaded by magnificent trees which, presumably,
will have to be sacrificed, since, if left standing, they would
certainly interfere with maneuvering with military aeroplanes,
dirigibles and balloons.

At a time when deforestation is recognized to be one of the greatest
dangers that menace a country's prosperity, one of its consequences
being such inundations as those which recently devastated Paris and the
Seine valley, it is regrettable that the forest surrounding Versailles
should be depleted.

[Illustration: _The Potager du Roy, Versailles_]

Furthermore, the realization of the project means a loss of revenue to
the state which at present derives some sixty thousand francs a year
from the farming lease of this portion of the park.

Therefore, for material considerations, as well as because Versailles
and its surroundings should be preserved intact as a noble relic of one
of the grandest periods of French history, one of the most beautiful
creations of French genius, the project attributed to the military
authorities is short-sighted. To diminish the attractions of Versailles
would certainly prove an unwise policy, as the stream of tourists, which
is the chief source of profit to Versailles and its population, would
inevitably be diverted to some other channel.

Only a short time ago a Société des Amis de Versailles was created for
the purpose of safeguarding its artistic and natural beauties. The
government gave the organization its approbation and there is something
delightfully ironical in the fact that the military authorities of the
same government are planning to destroy what the society, fathered by
the Ministère des Beaux Arts, was formed to preserve.

Another modern aspect of the park of Versailles was noted during the
late winter when, after a sharp freeze, all the youth of Paris had
seemingly gone out to Versailles for the skating only to be met by a
freshly-posted notice which read:

   Defense
   De Patiner Par
   Arrêté du 17 Decembre, 1849


These signs were posted here and there about the park, in the courtyard,
on the postern gate, on trees, everywhere. The authorities were bound
that there should be no flagrant violation of the order of 1849.

"You see," said one of the park guardians, "_c'est defendu_; but as we
are only two and the crowd is very large we can do nothing." This was
evident. Thousands overran the Grand Canal, which at its greatest depth
was scarcely more than a yard to the bottom, and so, despite of
monarchial decree, Republican France still skates on the ornamental
waters of Versailles when occasion offers.

"_N'oubliez pas le petit balayeur, s'il vous plait_," was as often heard
as "_Allez vous-en_."

On the whole it was rather a picturesque sight. A thick haze hung over
the now white "Tapis Vert," and the nude figures of the Bassin d'Apollon
were clothed in a mantle of snow, while the white-robed statues of the
Allée Royale, one could well believe, shivered as one passed.

[Illustration: _The Bassin de Latone, Versailles_]

The fountains of Versailles, the "Grands Eaux" and "Petits Eaux," which
shoot their jets in air "semi-occasionally" for the benefit of Paris's
"good papas" and their children, are distinctly popular features, and of
an artistic worth neither less nor greater than most garden accessories
of the artificial order. The fact that it costs something like ten
thousand francs to "play" these fountains seems to be the chief memory
which one retains of them in operation, unless it be the crowds which
make the going and coming so uncomfortable.

The Orangerie lies just below the terrace of the Parterre du Midi, and a
thousand or more non-bearing orange trees are scattered about. They are
descendants of fifteenth century ancestors, it is claimed--but
doubtfully.

The great basin of water known as the Eaux des Suisses was excavated by
the Swiss Guard of Louis XIV to serve the useful purpose of irrigating
the Potager du Roy, and as a decorative effect of great value to that
part of the garden upon which faces the fourteen-hundred-foot front of
the palace.

Still farther off towards the Bois de Satory, after crossing the Tapis
Vert, lie the famous Bassins de Latone and Apollon, the Bassin du
Miroir and, finally, the Grand Canal, with one transverse branch leading
to the Menagerie (now the government stud-farm) and the other to the
Trianons.

The satellite palaces known as the Grand and Petit Trianons are, like
the Palace of Versailles itself, of such an abounding historical
interest that it were futile to attempt more than a mere intimation of
their comparative rank and aspect.

The rather sprawling, one-story, horseshoe-shaped villa built by Louis
XIV for Madame de Maintenon, and known as the Grand Trianon, was an
architectural conception of Mansart's.

It is worth remarking that the Grand Trianon, to-day, is in a more
nearly perfect state than it has been for long past, for the
restorations lately made have removed certain interpolations manifestly
out of place.

It is due to M. de Nolhac, the Conservateur du Musée de Versailles, that
this happy amelioration has been brought about and that Mansart's
admirable work is again as it was in the days of Madame de Maintenon and
those of the later Napoleon I.

[Illustration: _The Fountain of Neptune, Versailles_]

In spite of all this the Trianon of to-day is not what it was in the
eighteenth century. "Madame de Maintenon," said de Musset, "made of
Versailles an oratory, but La Pompadour turned it into a boudoir." He
also called the Trianon: "a tiny chateau of porcelain." It was, too, the
boudoir of Madame de Montespan.

Louis XV, too, built, or furnished, discreet boudoirs of this order on
every hand. More than one great gallery in which his elders had done big
things he divided and subdivided into minute apartments and papered the
walls, or painted them, all colours of the rainbow, or hung them with
silks or velvets.

"Don't you think my little apartment shows good taste," he asked one day
of the Comtesse de Séran at Versailles.

"Not at all," she replied, "I would much rather that the walls were hung
in blue."

That particular apartment was in rose, but, since blue was the favourite
colour of the monarch, the reply was but flattering. The next time that
his friend, the Comtesse, appeared on the scene the apartment had all
been done over in blue.

The monarch soon began to turn his attention to the gardens. Bowers,
labyrinths and vases and statues were inexplicably mixed as in a maze.
He began to have the "_gout pastoral_," his biographer has said, a vogue
that Madame du Barry and Marie Antoinette came in time to push to its
limits.

The king was too ready to admire all that was suggested, all that was
offered, and the ultimate effect was--well, it was the opposite of what
he hoped it to be, though doubtless he did not realize it.

In the garden of the Grand Trianon is a great basin with a cascade
flowing down over a sort of a high altar arrangement in red and white
marble called the Buffet de l'Architecture, and evolved by Mansart. This
architect certainly succeeded much better with his purely architectural
conceptions than he did with interpolated decorative elements intended
to relieve a formal landscape.

The Petit Trianon, the pride of Louis XV, was designed by the architect
Gabriel, and its reigning goddess was Marie Antoinette. Souvenirs of the
unhappy queen are many, but the caretakers are evidently bored with
their duties and hustle you through the apartments with scant ceremony
that they may doze again undisturbed in their corners.

[Illustration: _Petit Trianon_]

The garden of the Petit Trianon is a veritable _Jardin Anglais_, that
is, the decorative portion, where sweeps and curves, as meaningless as
those one sees on banknotes and no more decorative, are found in
place of the majestic lines of the formal garden when laid out after the
French manner.

[Illustration: _La Laiterie de la Reine PETIT TRIANON_]

The _Hameau_, where is the dairy where the queen played housewife and
shepherdess, is just to the rear of this bijou palace and looks stagy
and unreal enough to be the wings and back-drop of a pastoral play.

Near Versailles was the Chateau de Clagny, with a garden laid out by Le
Notre, quite the rival of many better known. Of it Madame de Sévigné
wrote: "It is the Palais d'Armide; you know the manner of Le Notre; here
he has done his best."

The Couvent des Recollettes, just across the Bois de Satory, was built
by Louis XIV out of regard for the _religieux_ whom he displaced from
an edifice which stood upon a plot which was actually needed for the
palace gardens. The Chateaux of Noisy and Molineaux were also affiliated
with Versailles.

The rest of the surroundings and accessories of Versailles are mere
adjunctive details of those chief features here mentioned. To catalogue
them even would be useless since they are all set down in the
guidebooks.



CHAPTER XVII

SAINT GERMAIN-EN-LAYE


Saint Germain has not the popularity of Versailles, nor the charm of
Fontainebleau, but it is more accessible than either, and, if less known
and less visited by the general mass of tourists, it is all the more
delightful for that.

Saint Germain, the chateau, the town and the forest, possess a
magnificent site. Behind is a wooded background, and before one are the
meanderings of the Seine which in the summer sunlight is a panorama
which is to be likened to no other on earth. Across the river bottom run
the great tree-lined roadways, straight as the proverbial flight of the
arrow, while on the horizon, looking from the celebrated terrace, one
sees to-day the silhouetted outline of Paris with the Tour Eiffel and
the dome of the Sacré Coeur as the culminating points.

The town itself is ugly and ill-paved, and heavy-booted dragoons make a
hideous noise as they clank along to and from the cavalry barracks all
through the day and night. Neither are scorching automobiles making
their ways to Trouville and Dieppe over the "Route des Quarante Sous" a
pleasant feature. One can ignore all these things, however, for what is
left is of a superlative charm.

[Illustration: SAINT GERMAIN]

Saint Germain-en-Laye in the first stages of French history was but a
vast extent of forest which under Charlemagne came to the possession of
the monks of the Abbaye de Saint Germain-des-Prés. The first royal
palace here was built by King Robert in the tenth century, practically
upon the site of the present edifice. In the eleventh century there came
into being another royal dwelling, and in the twelfth century
Louis-le-Gros built a chateau-fort as a protection to the royal
residence and monastery. This did not prevent the Black Prince from very
nearly burning them down on one of his bold raids, but by 1367, Charles
V re-erected the "_castel_" of Saint Germain-en-Laye.

The English, by coercion, induced a monk of a neighbouring establishment
at Nanterre to deliver up a set of false keys by which the great gates
of the castle were surreptitiously opened, and, for a time, the
descendants of the Conqueror held possession.

The establishment of Charles V in no way satisfying the artistic
ambitions of Francis I, that monarch gave the task of reconstruction to
the architect Pierre Chambiges, in 1539, preserving only the Saint
Chapelle of Saint Louis and the donjon.

The building must have gone forward with an extreme rapidity for at the
architect's death, in 1544, it had reached nearly the level of the
rooftop.

Chambiges' successor was his son-in-law, Guillaume Guillain, who,
without changing the primitive plan, completed the work in 1548.

Saint Germain, above the first story, is essentially a construction of
bricks, but the effect is even now, as Chambiges originally intended, an
edifice with its main constructive elements of lower sustaining walls
and buttresses of stone binding together the slighter fabric, or
filling, above. Although it is Renaissance through and through, Saint
Germain shows not the slightest reminiscence of anything Italian and
must be considered entirely as an achievement of French genius.

This edifice of Francis I was more a fortress than a palace in spite of
its decorative features, and Henri II, desiring something more of a
luxurious royal residence, began what the historians and savants know as
the Chateau Neuf--the palace of to-day which stands high on the hill
overlooking the winding Seine, to which seducing stream the gardens
originally descended in terraces.

Chiefly it is to Henri IV that this structure owes its distinction, for
previously work went on but intermittently, and very slowly. Henri IV
brought the work to completion and made the chateau his preferred and
most prolonged place of residence, as indeed did his successor.

It is the Chateau Neuf of the time of Henri IV which is to-day known as
the Palais de Saint Germain-en-Laye. Of the Vieux Chateau only some
fragmentary walls and piles of débris, the Pavillon Henri IV, and, in
part, the old royal chapel remain.

Actually the structure of to-day includes that part of the Hotel du
Pavillon Henri IV which is used as a restaurant.

Henri IV and Louis XIII gave Saint Germain its first great _éclat_ as a
suburban place of sojourn, and from the comings and goings of the court
of that time there gradually grew up the present city of twenty thousand
inhabitants; not all of them of courtly manners, as one learns from a
recollection of certain facts of contemporary modern history.

During the days when Mazarin actually held the reins of state the court
was frequently at Saint Germain. Louis XIV was born here, and until
Versailles and Marly came into being he made it his principal dwelling.

It was in one of the magnificent apartments, too, midway between the
angle turrets of the façade, Louis XIII ended his unhappy existence in
1642. His own private band of musicians played a "De Profundis" of his
own composition to waft his soul on its long journey.

The chroniclers describe one of the monarch's last conversations as
follows: "When they transport my body to Paris after my soul has flown,
Laporte, remember that place where the road turns under the hill; it is
a rough road, Laporte, and will surely shake my bones sadly if the
driver does not go slowly."

Those who have journeyed out from Paris to Saint Germain by road in this
later century will appreciate the necessity for the admonition.

Louis XIV, unlike Louis XIII, detested Saint Germain beyond words,
because the towers of the Abbaye de Saint Denis, where he was destined
one day to be buried, were visible from the terrace. Louis XV was not so
particular for he was so morbid that he even loved, as he claimed
himself, the scent of new-made graves.

The arrival of Anne d'Autriche and the royal family at Saint Germain
during the war of the Fronde was one of the most dramatic incidents of
the period. They had travelled half the night, coming from the Palais
Royal only to find a palace awaiting them which was unheated and
unfurnished though the time was mid-January. Always drear and gaunt it
was immeasurably so on this occasion. Mazarin had made no provision for
the queen's arrival; there, were neither beds, tables nor linen in their
proper places, no servants, no attendants of any kind, only the
guardians of the palace. The queen was obliged to take rest from her
fatigue on a folding camp bedstead, without covering of any kind. The
princes fared no better, actually sleeping on the floor.

There were plenty of mirrors and much gold gingerbread on the walls and
ceilings, but no furniture. The personal belongings which the court had
brought with them were few. No one had a change of clothing even; those
worn one day were washed the next. However the queen good-naturedly
smiled through it all. She called it "an escapade which can hardly last
a week."

All Paris was by this time crying "_Vive la Fronde_": "_Mort à
Mazarin_": but it proved to be something more than a little affair of a
week, as we now know.

At this period, when Anne d'Autriche was practically a prisoner at Saint
Germain, the picture made by the old chateau against its forest
background was undeniably more imposing than that which one sees to-day.
The glorious forest was not then hidden by rows of banal roof-tops, and
the dull drabs of barracks and prisons.

In the warm spring mornings the glittering façade of the chateau was
brilliant as a diamond against its setting, and the radiating avenues of
the park leading from the famous terrace stretched out into infinite
vistas that were most alluring. This effect, fortunately, is not wholly
lost to-day.

At night things were as idyllic as by day. The queen and her ladies,
relieved of the dreary presence of the king who still remained at Paris,
revelled in an unwonted freedom. Concerts, suppers and dances were the
rule and moonlight cavalcades to the heart of the forest, or promenades
on foot the length of the terrace, and by some romantically disposed
couples far beyond, gave a genuine "begone, dull care" aspect to court
life which was not at all possible in the capital.

The following picture, taken from a court chronicle, might apply as well
to-day if one makes due allowance for a refulgence of myriad lamps
gleaming out Parisward as night draws in.

"It is a rare moonlight night. The queen and her ladies have emerged
late on the stately terrace of Henri IV which borders upon the forest
and extends for nearly a league along the edge of the height upon which
stands the chateau.

"The queen and her brother-in-law, Gaston, Duc d'Orleans, have seated
themselves somewhat apart from the rest beside the stone balustrade
which overlooks the steep descent to the plain below. Vineyards line the
hillside and the Seine flows far beneath, the fertile river-bottom rich
with groves and orchards, villas and gardens. Still more distant sweeps
away the great plain wrapped in dark shadows punctuated here and there
with great splotches of moonlight. Of the great city beyond (the Paris
of to-day, whose myriad glow-worm lights actually do lend an additional
charm) not a vestige is to be seen. Scarcely a lantern marks the
existence of a living soul in the vast expanse below, but the moon, high
in the heavens, plots out the entire landscape with a wonderful
impressiveness, and the stars topping the forest trees to the rear and
the heights which rise on the distant horizon lend their quota of
romanticism, and, as if by their scintillations, mark the almost
indiscernible towers of the old Abbey of Saint Denis to the left.

"'Oh, what a lovely night,' said the queen to her companion. Again it is
the old chronicler who speaks. 'Can the world ever appear so calm and
peaceful elsewhere?'"

This Terrasse de Henri IV, so called, is one of the most splendid and
best-known terraces in Europe, and is noted for its extent as well as
for its marvellous point of view, the whole panorama Parisward being
spread out before one as if on a map, a view which extends from the
Chateau de Maisons on the left to the Aqueduct de Marly and the heights
of Louveciennes on the right, including the Bois de Vesinet, Mont
Valerian, Montmartre and the whole Parisian panorama as far as the
Coteaux de Montmorency.

This terrace, too, was the project and construction of Le Notre in 1672.
It is two and a half kilometres in length and thirty metres in width,
upheld by a stone retaining wall which is surmounted by a balustrade. It
extends from the Pavillon Henri IV to a gun battery well within the
confines of the forest. Entrance from the precincts of the palace is by
the great ornamental iron gateway known as the Grille Royale, from which
an alleyed row of lindens leads to the heart of the forest.

The record of another merry party at Saint Germain is that which
recounts that summer evening when the king and court scuttled about the
park enjoying themselves as only royalty can--when some one else pays
the bills. The terrace, the gravelled walks and the alleyed paths of the
forest all led to charming and discreet rendezvous.

[Illustration: _The Valley of the Seine, from the Terrace at Saint
Germain_]

So preoccupied was every one on this particular occasion that the
merry-makers had hardly a thought for their king, who, left to his own
devices, sought out four maids of honour gossiping in a bower, and,
taking the mischief-loving Lauzan into his confidence, pried upon them
in the ambush of the night. They were gossiping over the dancers at the
ball of the night before when one of them proclaimed her fancy for the
agility and grace of the king above all others. It was the first
expression of "La Vallière" since she had come timidly to court. The
rest is an idyll which is found set forth in all the history books at
considerable length, and at this particular moment it was a genuine
idyll, for the king had not then become the debauched roué that he was
in later life.

After Anne d'Autriche, Henriette, the widow of Charles I of England,
found at Saint Germain a comfortable and luxurious refuge.

From 1661 onward Louis XIV made frequent visits to Saint Germain and was
so taken with the charms of the neighbourhood and the immediate site
that he conjured six and a half million francs out of his Civil List, in
addition to his regular stipend, for the upkeep of this palace alone.
This was robbery: modern graft pales before this; candelabra by the
pound and writing tables by the square yard were known before the days
of machine politicians.

James II of England, in 1688, found a hospitable refuge at Saint
Germain, thanks to Louis XIV, and died within the palace walls in 1701,
as did his wife, Maria d'Este, in 1718.

Louis XV and Louis XVI gave Saint Germain scarce a thought, and under
the Empire it became a cavalry school, and later, under the Restoration,
sinking lower still, it merited only the denomination of a barracks. Its
culminating fall arrived when it was turned into a penitentiary.

Napoleon III, with finer instincts, here installed a museum, and
restorations and rebuilding having gone on intermittently since that
time the palace has now taken on a certain pretence to glory.
Practically the palace in its present form is a restoration, not
entirely a new building, but a rebuilding of an old one, first begun
under the competent efforts of the architect Eugene Millet, who sought
to reëstablish the edifice as it was under Francis I. The great tower
has been preserved but the corner pavilions of the period of Louis XIV
have been demolished in accord with the carrying out of this plan.

For forty years Saint Germain has been in a state of restoration, and
like the restoration of Pierrefonds it has swallowed up fantastic sums.
The western façade has been rebuilt from the chapel to the entrance
portal and the last of Mansart's pavilions, which he built to please
either his own fancy or that of Louis XIV, have been demolished. Mansart
himself made way with the old _tourelles_ and the balustrade which
rounded off the angles of the walls of the main buildings and
substituted a series of heavy, ugly _maisonettes_, more like the
bastions of a fortress than any adjunct to a princely dwelling.

The courtyard of the chateau is curiously disposed; "so that it may
receive the sun at all times," was the claim of its designer. It, too,
has been brought back to the state in which it was originally conceived
and shorn of its encumbering outhouses and odds and ends which served
their purposes well enough when it was a barracks or a prison, but which
were a desecration to anything called by so dignified a name as a
chateau or a palace. This courtyard is to-day as it was when the lords
and ladies in the train of Charles IX strolled and even gambolled
therein.

The Chapelle de Saint Louis (1240) is in every way remarkable,
especially with respect to its great rose-window, which was found by
Millet to have been walled up by Louis XIV.

The military museum of to-day, which is enclosed by the palace walls,
possesses a remarkable collection of its kind, but has no intimate lien
upon the history of the palace.

The _parterre_ before the palace is cut off from the forest of Saint
Germain by three ornate iron gates. It was relaid, a transformation from
designs originally conceived in 1676, by Le Notre, modified in 1750 and
much reduced in size and beauty in the nineteenth century, though later
enlarged by taking three hectares of ground from the forest and turning
them into the accepted form of an English garden.

A peninsula of a superficial area of over ten thousand acres snugly
enfolded in one of the great horseshoe bends of the Seine contains the
Forêt de Saint Germain. A line drawn across the neck of the peninsula
from Saint Germain to Poissy, following the Route de Poissy, completely
cuts off this tongue of land which is as wild and wooded to-day as in
the times of Francis, the Henris and the Louis.

The _routes_ and _allées_ of the forest are traced with regularity and
precision, and historians have written them down as of a length of
nearly four hundred leagues, a statement which a glance at any map of
the forest will well substantiate.

High upon its plateau sits this historic wildwood, for the most part of
a soil dry and sandy, with here and there some great _mamelon_
(Druidical or Pagan, as the case may be) rising somewhat above the
average level. Francis I, huntsman and lover of art and nature, did
much to preserve this great forest, and Louis XIV in his time developed
its system of roads and paths, "chiefly to make hunting easy," says
history, though it is difficult to follow this. At all events the forest
remains to-day the most extensive unspoiled breathing-spot of its class
near Paris.

Within this maze of paths and alleys are many famed historic spots, the
Chêne Saint Fiacre, the Croix de Noailles, the Croix Saint Simon, the
Croix du Main (erected in 1709 in honour of the son of Louis XIV), the
Étoile des Amazones, the Patte d'Oie, the Chêne du Capitaine and many
more which are continually referred to in the history of the palace, the
forest of Saint Germain-en-Laye, and of the Abbaye de Poissy.

The forest is not wholly separated from the mundane world for
occasionally a faint echo of the Rouen railway is heard, a toot from a
river tug-boat bringing coal up-river to Paris, the strident notes of
automobile horns, or that of a hooting steam-tram which scorches along
the principal roadway over which state coaches of kings and courtiers
formerly rolled. The contrast is not particularly offensive, but the
railway threatens to make further inroads, so one hardly knows the
future that may be in store for the patriarch oaks and elms and
chestnuts which make up this secular wildwood. Their ages may not in
all cases approach those of the great Fontainebleau trees, and in point
of fact the forest is by no means as solitary, nor ever was. One of the
most celebrated, certainly one of the most spectacular, duels of history
took place in the park at Saint Germain-en-Laye.

Gui Chabot de Jarnac lived a prodigal and profligate life at the
expense--it was said--of the favours of the Duchesse d'Étampes. The
dauphin, Henri, making an accusation, deemed wholly uncalled for, a
"_duel judiciaire_" took place, with La Châtaigneraie as the dauphin's
substitute as adversary of de Jarnac who sought no apology but combat.

It was because Henri meantime had become king and issued his first
Letters Patent to his council concerning the "_duel judiciaire_,"
whereby he absolved himself of the right to partake, that he appointed
his dear friend François de Vivonne, "Seigneur de la Châtaigneraie," to
play the rôle for him.

Unfortunately the young man could not justify by victory the honour of
his king and before the monarch and the assembled court he was laid low
by his adversary.

This was one of the last of the "_duels judiciaires_" in France. What
Saint Louis and Philippe-le-Bel had vainly sought to suppress, the
procedure having cost at least a hundred thousand _livres_, was
practically accomplished by Henri II by a stroke of the pen.



CHAPTER XVIII

MAINTENON


Out from Paris, on the old Route d'Espagne, running from the capital to
the frontier, down which rolled the royal cortèges of old, lie Maintenon
and its famous chateau, some sixty odd kilometres from Paris and twenty
from Rambouillet.

Just beyond Versailles, on the road to Maintenon, lies the trim little
townlet of Saint Cyr, known to-day as the West Point of France, the
military school founded by Napoleon I giving it its chief distinction.

Going back into the remote past one learns that the village grew up from
a foundation of Louis XIV, who bought for ninety-one thousand _livres_
"a chateau and a convent for women," that Madame de Maintenon might
establish a girls' school therein. She reserved an apartment for
herself, and one suspects indeed that it was simply another project of
the Widow Scarron to have a place of rendezvous near the capital.
Certainly under the circumstances, taking into consideration the good
that she was doing for orphaned girls, she might at least have been
allowed the right of a roof to shelter her when she wished. She was
absolutely dominant within, though never actually in residence for any
length of time. It was here that "Esther" and "Athalie," which Racine
had composed expressly for Madame de Maintenon's pensionnaires, were
produced for the first time.

[Illustration: Fauteuil _of_ Mme. _de_ Maintenon _Worked by the_
Demoiselles _of_ Saint Cyr]

When not actually living at Saint Cyr it was Madame de Maintenon's
custom to come hither from Paris each day, arriving between seven and
eight in the morning, passing the day and returning to town for the
evening, much as a celebrated American millionaire journalist, whose
country-house overlooks the famous convent garden, does to-day.

Madame de Maintenon actually went into retirement at Saint Cyr upon the
death of Louis XIV, and for four years, until her death, never left it.
She died from old age, rather than from any grave malady, in this
"Maison d'Education," which she had inaugurated, and was buried in the
chapel, beneath an elaborate tomb which the Duc de Noailles, who married
her niece, caused to be erected. The tomb was destroyed during the
Revolution and the "Maison Royale de Saint Cyr," of which nothing had
been changed since its foundation, was suppressed, the edifice itself
being pillaged and the remains of Madame de Maintenon sadly profaned,
finally to be recovered and deposited again in the chapel where a simple
black marble slab marks them in these graven words:

   Cy-Git Madame De Maintenon
   1635-1719-1836

Napoleon I established the École Militaire at Saint Cyr, from which are
graduated each year more than four hundred subaltern officers.

The ancient gardens of Madame de Maintenon's time now form the "Champs
de Mars," or drill ground, of the military school.

South from Saint Cyr runs the great international highroad, the old
Route Royale of the monarchy. It rises and falls, but mostly straight as
the flight of the crow, until it crosses the great National Forest of
Rambouillet. Following the valley of the Eure almost to its headwaters
it finally comes to Maintenon, a town of a couple of thousand souls,
whose most illustrious inhabitant was that granddaughter of
Theodore-Agrippa d'Aubigné, named Françoise, and who came in time to be
the Marquise de Maintenon.

The Chateau de Maintenon was royal in all but name. The Tresorier des
Finances under Louis XI, Jean Cottereau (a public official who made good
it seems, since he also served in the same capacity for Charles VIII,
Louis XII, and Francis I), had a single daughter, Isabeau, who, in 1526,
married Jacques d'Angennes, who at the time was already Seigneur de
Rambouillet.

As a dot this daughter acquired the lands of Maintenon. The property was
afterwards sold to the Marquis de Villeray, from whom Louis XIV bought
it in 1674 and disposed of it as a royal gift to Françoise d'Aubigné,
the fascinator of kings, who was afterwards to become (in 1688) Madame
La Marquise de Maintenon.

This ambitious woman subsequently married her niece to the Duc d'Ayen,
son of the Maréchal de Noailles, and as a marriage portion--or possibly
to avoid unpleasant consequences--turned over the property of Maintenon
to the young bride and her husband to whose family, the Noailles, it has
ever since belonged.

To-day the Duc and Duchesse de Noailles make lengthy stays in this
delightful seigneurial dwelling, and since the apartments are full to
overflowing of historical souvenirs of their family it may be truly said
that their twentieth century life is to some considerable extent in
accord with the traditions of other days.

The existence of this princely residence is an agreeable reminder of the
life of luxury of the olden time albeit certain modernities which we
to-day think necessities are lacking.

Maintenon is certainly one of the most beautiful so-called royal
chateaux of France, if not by its actual importance at least by many of
the attributes of its architecture, the extent of the domain and the
history connected therewith. It bridges the span between the private
chateau and those which may properly be called royal.

In the moyen-age Maintenon was a veritable chateau-fort, forming a
quadrilateral edifice flanked by round towers at three of its angles,
and at the fourth by a great square mass of a donjon, all of which was
united by a vast expanse of solidly built wall which possessed all the
classic attributes of the best military architecture of its time.
Entrance was only over a deep moat spanned by a drawbridge.

[Illustration: _Chateau de Maintenon_]

Jean Cottereau made his acquisition of the domain towards 1490 and
immediately planned a new scheme of being for the old fortress which,
according to a more esthetic conception, would thus be brought into the
class of a luxurious residential chateau. He destroyed the _courtines_
which attached the great donjon to the rest of the building, and opened
up the courtyard so that it faced directly upon the park. He ornamented
sumptuously the window framings, the dormer windows, and the turrets,
and framed in the entrance portal with a series of sculptured motives
which he also added to the entrance to the great inner stairway. In
short it was an enlargement and embellishment that was undertaken, but
so thoroughly was it done that the edifice quite lost its original
character in the process. Like all the chateaux built at this epoch
Maintenon was no longer a mere fortress, but a palatial retreat,
luxurious in all its appointments, and shorn of all the manifest
militant attributes which it had formerly possessed.

The shell was there, following closely the original outlines, but the
added ornamentation had effectually disguised its primordial existence.
Living rooms needed light and air, while a fortress or quarters for
troops might well be ordained on other lines. The Renaissance livened up
considerably the severe lines of the Gothic chateaux of France, and
though invariably the marks of the transition are visible to the expert
eye it is also true, as in the case of Maintenon, that there is
frequently a homogeneousness which is sufficiently pleasing to
effectually cover up any discrepancies which might otherwise be
apparent. The warrior aspect is invariably lost in the transition, and
thus a Renaissance residential chateau enters at once into a different
class from that of the feudal fortress regardless of the fact that such
may have been its original status.

The armorial device of Jean Cottereau--three unlovely lizards blazoned
on a field of silver--is still to be seen sculptured on the two towers
flanking the entrance portal which to-day lacks its old drawbridge
before mentioned. Surrounding the edifice is a deep, unhealthful,
mosquito-breeding moat which is all a mediæval moat should be, but which
is actually no great attribute to the place considering its
disadvantages. One wonders that it is allowed to exist in so stagnant a
condition, as the running waters of the near-by Eure might readily be
made use of to change all this. The site of the chateau at the
confluence of the Eure and the Voise is altogether charming.

Madame de Maintenon did much to make the property more commodious and
convenient and built the great right wing which binds the donjon to the
main _corps de logis_. Her own apartments were situated in the new part
of the palace. She also built the gallery which leads from the Tour de
Machicoulis to the pointed chapel, which was a construction of the time
of Cottereau, an accessory which every self-respecting country-house of
the time was bound to have. It was by this gallery that the open tribune
in the little chapel was reached, thus enabling Louis XIV to pass
readily to mass while he was so frequent a visitor at that period when,
at Maintenon, he was overseeing the construction of his famous aqueduct.

Maintenon has had the honour, too, to count among its illustrious guests
Racine, who came at the request of Madame de Maintenon, and here wrote
"Esther" and "Athalie" which were later produced at Saint Cyr by Madame
de Maintenon's celebrated band of "Demoiselles."

Louis XIV was not the last of royal race to accept the Chateau de
Maintenon's hospitality for the unhappy Charles X was obliged to ask
shelter of its chatelain for himself and fleeing family. They arrived a
little after midnight of a hot August night, slept as well as possible
in the former apartments of Madame de Maintenon, and attended mass in
the chapel on the following morning. The monarch then discharged the
royal guard and the "hundred Swiss" and gave up, defeated at the game of
playing monarch against the will of the people.

One enters the _Cour d'Honneur_ by a great portal of the time of Louis
XIV. Immediately before one is the principal façade, with its towers of
brick and its slender little turrets framing in so admirably the
entrance door. This façade is of the fifteenth century and on the tympan
of the dormer windows one may still see the monogram of its builder,
Cottereau. The drawbridge has been made way with, and the turrets over
the portal have been bound together by a diminutive balcony of stone,
which, while a manifest superfluity, is in no way objectionable.

Under the entrance vault are doors on either side giving access to the
living apartments of the _rez-de-chaussée_. In the inner courtyard is to
be found the most exquisite architectural detail of the whole fabric,
the tower which encloses the monumental stairway, to which entrance is
had by a portal which is a veritable Gothic jewel. In the tympan of this
portal, as in the dormer windows, is the device of Jean Cottereau,
except in this case it is much more elaborate--a Saint Michel and the
dragon, surrounded by a "_semis de coquilles_" bearing the escutcheons
of the chatelain--_d'argent à lezards de sable_.

At the left of this stairway tower is the principal courtyard façade,
supported by four arcades, pierced with great windows and surmounted by
two fine dormer windows, all in the style of Louis XII, of which the
same effects to be observed at Blois and in the Hotel d'Alluye are
contemporary.

At the left of the inner court is the wing built by Cottereau which
terminates in a great round tower, while to the right is that erected by
Madame de Maintenon ending at the donjon. Directly opposite is a
magnificent vista over the canal of ornamental water framed on either
side by patriarchal trees and having as a background the silhouette of
the arches of the famous aqueduct which was to lead the waters of the
Eure to Versailles.

The interior of the chateau is not less remarkable than the exterior.
Entering by the tower portal one comes at once to that magnificent
_grand escalier_ which is accounted one of the wonders of the French
Renaissance.

The Salle à Manger of to-day was the old-time Salle des Gardes. It is
garnished with a fine wainscoting and panels of Cordovan leather. The
Chambre à Coucher of Louis XIV, to the left, is to-day the Salon, and
here are to be seen portraits of Louis XIV, Louis XII, Francis I, Henri
IV, and Louis XIII.

A tiny rotunda contains a statue of Henri IV as a child, and portraits
of Madame de Maintenon and Louis XIV in their youth. A portrait gallery
of restrained proportions contains effigies of Madame de Maintenon and
her niece Mademoiselle d'Aubigné, the Duc de Penthièvre, the Comtesse de
Toulouse, the Duc de Noailles, the Duchesse de Villars and the Duchesse
de Chaumont.

The show-piece of the chateau, albeit of recent construction, is known
variously as the "Grand Galerie" and the "Longue Galerie." Its
decorations are due to the Duc de Noailles, the father of the present
proprietor. Virtually it is a portrait gallery of the Noailles family,
going back to the times of the Crusaders and coming down to the
twentieth century.

The apartments of Madame de Maintenon form that portion of the chateau
which has the chief sentimental interest. In an ante-chamber is a
_chaise à porteurs_ once having belonged to the Marquise, and her
portrait by Mignard. Cordovan leather is hung upon the walls, and the
restored sleeping-room is hung with a canopy and separated from the rest
of the apartment by a balustrade in _bois doré_. Above the
chimney-piece is a portrait of Louis XIV, after Rigaud, and, finally,
the oratory is ornamented by a series of elegant sculptures in wood and
a magnificent Boule coffer.

[Illustration: _Aqueduct of Louis XIV at Maintenon_]

In the left wing is found a beautiful chapel of the fifteenth century,
which is very pure in style. It is decorated with a series of
Renaissance wood panels of the finest workmanship. The coloured glass of
the windows is of the sixteenth century.

The rebuilt monumental stairway connects directly with a passage leading
to the entrance portico which opens on the garden terrace before the
_parterre_.

The park of Maintenon is in every way admirable, with its _pelouse_, its
great border of trees, its waterways and more than thirty bridges. Jean
Cottereau himself planned the first vegetable and fruit garden, or
_potager_, the same whose successor is the delight of the dwellers at
Maintenon to-day.

The _parterre_, the Grand Canal and the two avenues of majestic trees
were due to the conception of Le Notre, and their effect, as set off by
the alleyed forest background and the pillars of the aqueduct of Louis
XIV, is something unique.

The gardens at Maintenon were perhaps not Le Notre's most famous work
but they followed the best traditions of their time, and because of
their vast expanse of ornamental water were, in a way, quite unequalled.

Ambling off towards the forest is a great avenue flanked with high
overhanging shade trees known as the Allée Racine. It gets its name from
the fact that the dramatist was wont to take his walks abroad in this
direction and woo the muse while he was a guest of Madame de Maintenon.



CHAPTER XIX

RAMBOUILLET AND ITS FOREST

[Illustration: Château de Rambouillet]


Rambouillet is one of the most famous of the minor royal chateaux of
France. Built under the first of the monarchies, in the midst of the
vast forest of Yveline, it has always formed a part of the national
domain. Even now, under Republican France, it is still the scene of the
hunts organized for visiting monarchs, and, within the last half dozen
years alone, the monarchs of Spain and Belgium, Italy and England have
shot hares and stags and pheasants in company with a Republican
president.

The occasions have lacked the picturesque costumes of the disciples of
Saint Hubert in other times; but the huntsman still winds his horn to
the same traditional tune and the banquets given in the chateau on such
occasions are, in no small measure, an echo of what has gone before.

It was in the old chateau of Rambouillet that Francis I died. In the
month of March, 1547, Francis, coming from Chambord in the south,
crossed the "accursed bridge" and arrived at the foot of the ivy-grown
donjon which one sees to-day, the last remaining relic of the mediæval
fortress. For a year the monarch had led a wandering life, revisiting
all the favourite haunts of his kingdom, and, though scarce turned
fifty, was prematurely aged and gray.

He was lifted tenderly from his royal coach, and by the winding stair,
carried slowly to his apartments on the second floor, overlooking the
three canals and the "accursed bridge" and the tangled forest beyond.

Jacques d'Angennes, to whose ancestors Rambouillet one day belonged,
acted as host to his royal master and cared for him as a brother, but
Francis was dispirited, and growing weaker every moment. He complained
bitterly of the death of his favourite son from the plague, and of that
of the gay monarch across the channel, his old friend, Henry VIII of
England.

He was restless and wished to move on to Saint Germain, but his
condition made that impossible. After a feeble attempt to rouse himself
for a hunt in the forest, he took to his bed again, with the admonition
to his friend d'Angennes, who never left him: "I am dying, send for my
son, Henri."

The prince joined the mourners around the royal bedside and heard his
father's confession thus: "My son, I have sinned greatly; I have been
led away by my passions; follow that which I have done that is
accredited good, and ignore the evil; above all, cherish France; be good
to my people."

That was all except the final counsel to "beware of the Guises; they are
traitors." After that he spoke no more. Francis I, the gallant,
art-loving monarch, the father of the Renaissance in France, was dead.

In 1562, Catherine de Médici, accompanied by her son Charles IX, here
awaited the results of the momentous battle of Dreux. In 1588, Henri
III, fleeing Paris after the "_journée des barricades_" came here to
rest, and so fatigued was he on his arrival that he went to bed "_tout
botté_."

The son of Louis XIV and Madame de Montespan came into possession of
"the palace and lands" and in his honour the property was made, in spite
of its limited area, a Duché-Pairie.

Louis XIV and Madame de Maintenon, as was but natural, because of its
proximity to Maintenon and to Paris, frequently honoured Rambouillet
with their presence; and, a little later, Louis XV and the beautiful
Comtesse de Toulouse followed suit.

The Duc de Penthièvre, to whom the property had by this time descended,
at the instance of Louis XVI, ceded to that monarch the domain of
Rambouillet.

Louis XVI built vast commons and outbuildings, all with some
architectural pretence, to house the appanage of the royal hunt, and
also built the Laiterie de la Reine and the model farm where, in 1786,
he established the first national sheepfold.

[Illustration: _Laiterie de la Reine, Rambouillet_]

To-day this is the famous École de Bergers, where is quartered the
largest flock of _moutons à laine_ (merino sheep) in France, they
having been brought chiefly from Spain.

The Laiterie de la Reine was a tiny sandstone temple with interior
fittings chiefly of white marble, and with a great, round centre-table,
and smaller tables in each corner, equally of marble, as becomes a
hygienically fitted dairy. It was restored by Louis Napoleon during the
Second Empire, and is still to be seen in all its pristine glory.

In addition, Louis XVI had at Rambouillet a private domain of a
considerable extent which only the Constitution of 1791 united to the
Civil List. This property, except the palace, the park and the forest,
was sold later by the State. The Imperial Civil List, formed in 1805 by
Napoleon, included these dependencies specifically, and the emperor
frequently hunted in the neighbouring forest, though, compared to his
predecessors, he had little time to devote to that form of sport. Here,
too, was signed, in 1810, the decree which united Holland with the
Empire.

Rambouillet has fallen sadly since the Revolution. A decree of the
_Representants du Peuple_, of October 14, 1793, provided that "the
furnishings of this palace, heretofore royal, shall be sold." Under the
Consulate and Empire a certain citizen, Trepsat by name, received an
injury in protecting Napoleon in an attack and, as recompense, was made
the official Architect and Conservator of the Palace of Rambouillet.

Hardly had Trepsat entered upon his functions when he suggested the
demolition of the chateau. Napoleon hesitated, but finally partially
agreed, insisting, however, that enough should be left to form a
comfortable hunting-lodge. Trepsat would have torn down all and rebuilt
anew. Napoleon made an appointment with his architect to visit the
property and discuss the matter in detail the following year (1805), but
at that moment he was campaigning in Austria, so the interview was not
held. This was Trepsat's chance, and he found a pretext to overthrow the
entire east wing, but was stopped before he was able to further carry
out his ignorant act of vandalism. Trepsat was severely reprimanded by
the emperor himself, and was ordered to put things back as he found
them. "Even the most battered and sickly architect who ever lived could
hardly have had a worse inspiration," said Napoleon. Trepsat, be it
recalled, had lost a leg.

The restoration was commenced, but Trepsat, committing one fault after
another, and finally juggling with the accounts, was obliged to take on
a collaborator by the name of Famin, a young _pensionnaire_ of the
Académie des Beaux Arts, recently returned from Rome. It was he who
saved Rambouillet from utter destruction.

The apartments of Napoleon, which were those given over to public
functions in the time of the Comte de Toulouse, had been, and were, most
luxuriously appointed. That which shows most clearly the imprint of the
imperial régime is the curious Salle de Bains which was in direct
communication with the study, or Cabinet de Travail.

It might have been a room in a Pompeian house so classic were its lines
and decorations. There was a series of medallions painted on the wall
representing portraits of members of the imperial family. These were
chiefly portraits of the female sex, and Napoleon, the first time he
entered his bath, in an excess of modesty and fury cried out: "Who is
the ass that did this thing?" Immediately they were painted out, and,
for the sum of nine hundred and fifty francs, another artist was found
who filled the frames of the medallions with sights and scenes
associated less intimately with Napoleonic history.

Under the Empire the architect Famin was commissioned to furnish a
series of architectural embellishments to the gardens of Rambouillet.
Various stone statues were added and an octagon pavilion on the Ile des
Roches was restored and redecorated. Two great avenues were cut through
the _parterre_, and, as if fearing indiscretions on the part of his
entourage, the emperor caused to be planted long rows of lindens and
tulip trees, which were again masked by two rows of poplars. The
_peloux_ of the Jardin Français were reëstablished and the curves and
sweeps of the paths of the Jardin Anglais laid out anew.

This ancient government property, arisen anew from its ruins, now bore
the name of the Pavillon du Roi de Rome, after the son of Napoleon. The
Écuries, or stables, which had been built by Louis XVI, were transformed
into kennels, and various "posts," or miniature shooting-boxes, were
distributed here and there through the park.

Under the Restoration the transformation of the chateau, which had been
projected ever since the time of Louis XVI, undertaken and then
abandoned by Napoleon, was again commenced, but on a less ambitious
scale than formerly. Chiefly this transformation consisted of opening up
windows, thus making practically a new façade. It was not wholly a happy
thought, and the spirit of economy of Louis XVIII, no less, perhaps,
than other motives, arrested this mutilation and the architect was
discharged from his functions.

[Illustration: _Chateau de Rambouillet_]

Again the hand of fate fell hard upon Rambouillet and its definite
eclipse as a royal abode came with the abdication of Charles X. The
abdication was actually signed at Rambouillet, and here, in the same
Salle du Conseil, the dauphin renounced the throne in favour of the
young Duc de Bordeaux.

It was at Rambouillet that Charles X passed those solemn last days
before the abdication. He had been unmercifully harassed at Paris and
sought a quiet retreat, "not too far from the Tuileries," where he might
repose a moment and take counsel. In view of later events this was
significant; perhaps it was significant at the time, for the king
speedily repented his abdication. It was too late, for he had classed as
rebels all the royalists who would have accepted the "infant king" as
their monarch, even though the following Revolution prevented this.

It was on the third of August that the commissioners, deputies of the
Provisionary Government, were brought before the king at Rambouillet.
They announced that twenty-five thousand armed Parisians were marching
on the chateau to compel him to quit his kingdom. It was not a matter
for debate, and at nine o'clock on the same night the monarch gave
assent to being conducted to Cherbourg, where he embarked upon his fatal
exile.

After 1830, with a business-like instinct, the authorities rented the
property for twelve years to the Baron Schickler, and, at the end of the
Revolution of 1848, its career became more plebeian still; it was rented
to a man who converted the palace into an elaborately appointed
road-house, and the lawns and groves into open-air restaurants and
dancing places.

Under the Gouvernement du Juillet the chateau, the park and the forest
were removed from the Civil List, and entered upon the inventory of the
Administration des Domaines.

Under the Second Empire Rambouillet appeared again on the monarchial
Civil List. Napoleon III came here at times to hunt, but not to live,
and of his rare appearances at the chateau but little record exists.
Since 1870 Rambouillet has belonged to the Republican Government, and,
since royalties no longer exist in France, Republican chiefs of state
now take the lead in Rambouillet's national hunts.

The property, as it stands to-day, is divided readily into four distinct
parts, the palace, the _parterre_, the _Jardin Anglais_ and the park.
The grove of lindens is remarkable in every respect, the ornamental
waters are gracious and of vast extent, and the _Laiterie_ and the
_Ferme_ are decidedly models of their kind; but the Chaumière des
Coquillages, a rustic summer-house of rocks and shells and questionable
débris of all sorts, is hideous and unworthy.

Not the least of the charming features of the park is the great alley of
Louisiana cypresses, one of the real sights, indeed, perfecting the
charm of the great body of water to the left of the chateau.

Of the structure which existed in the fourteenth century, the chateau of
Rambouillet retains to-day only a great battlemented tower, and some
low-lying buildings attached to it. Successive enlargements,
restorations and mutilations have changed much of the original aspect of
the edifice, and modern structures flank and half envelop that which, to
all eyes, is manifestly ancient. The débris of the old fortress, which
was the foundation of all, adds its bit to the conglomerate mass of
which the chief and most imposing elements are the two tall _corps de
logis_ in the centre.

Within, a rather banal Salle de Bal is shown as the chief feature, but
it is conventionally unlovely enough to be passed without emotion, save
that its easterly portion takes in the _cabinet_, or private apartment,
where Charles X signed his abdication. Adjoining this is the bedroom
occupied by that monarch, and a dining-room which also served His
Majesty, and which is still used by the head of the government on
ceremonious occasions. Its decorative scheme is of the period of Louis
XV.

The Salle de Conseil is of the period of Charles X, and has some fairly
imposing carved wainscotings showing in places the monograms of Marie
Sophie and the Comtesse de Toulouse.

A great map, or plan, of the Forest of Rambouillet covers the end wall,
and, if not esthetically beautiful, is at least useful and very
interesting.

It was executed under Louis XVI and doubtless served its purpose well
when the hunters gathered after a day afield and recounted anecdotes of
their adventures.

There is another apartment on the ground floor which is known as the
_Salle à Manger des Rendezvous de Chasse_, whose very name explains well
its functions.

The Cabinet de Travail of Marie Antoinette and the Salle de Bain of
Napoleon have something more than a mere sentimental interest; they were
decidedly practical adjuncts to the royal palace.

Napoleon's bath took the form of a rather short, deep pool. Its fresco
decorations, as seen to-day--replacing that family portrait gallery
which Napoleon caused to be painted out--are after the pseudo-antique
manner and represent bird's-eye views of various French cities and
towns, while a series of painted armorial trophies decorates the
ceiling.

On the second floor are the apartments occupied by the Duchesse de Berry
and those of the Duchesse d'Angouleme.

In the great round tower is the circular apartment where Francis I
breathed his last. It is this great truss-vaulted room that most
interests the visitor to Rambouillet.

On the ground floor is another Salle de Bain, quite as theatrically
disposed as that of Napoleon. Its construction was due to the Comte de
Toulouse whose taste ran to Delft tiles and polychrome panels, framing
two imposing marines, also worked out in tiles.

The _parterre_, extending before the main building, is of an ampleness
scarcely conceivable until once viewed. It is purely French in design
and is of the epoch of the tenancy of the Comte de Toulouse. Before the
admirably grouped lindens was a boathouse, and off in every direction
ran alleys of acacias, while here and there tulip beds, rose gardens and
hedges of rhododendrons flanked the very considerable ornamental waters.
This body of water, in the form of a trapezoid, is divided by four
grass-grown islets and separates the Jardin Anglais from the Jardin
Français. One of the islets is known as the Ile des Roches and contains
the Grotte de Rabelais, so named in honour of the Curé of Meudon, when
he was presented at Rambouillet by the Cardinal du Bellay. It was on
this isle that were given those famous fêtes in honour of the "_beaux
esprits_" who formed the assiduous cortège of Catherine de Vivonne,
mythological, pagan and _outré_.

The Jardin Anglais at Rambouillet is the final expression of the species
in France. Designed under the Duc de Penthièvre, it was restored and
considerably enlarged by Napoleon and, following the contours of an
artificial rivulet, it fulfils the description that its name implies.

More remote, and half hidden from the precincts of the chateau, are the
Chaumière and the Ermitage and they recall the background of a Fragonard
or a Watteau. It is all very "stagy"--but, since it exists, can hardly
be called unreal.

The park proper, containing more than twelve hundred hectares, is one of
the largest and most thickly wooded in France. Between the _parterre_
and the French and English garden and the park lie the Farm and the
Laiterie de la Reine, the caprice of Louis XVI when he would content
Marie Antoinette and give her something to think about besides her
troubles. Napoleon stripped it of its furnishings to install them, for
a great part, at Malmaison, for that other unhappy woman--Josephine.
Later, to give pleasure to Marie Louise, he ordered them brought back
again to Rambouillet, but it was to Napoleon III that the restoration of
this charming conceit was due.

In the neighbourhood of Rambouillet was the famous Chateau de Chasse, or
royal shooting-box, which Louis XV was fond of making a place of
rendezvous.

On the banks of the Étang de Pourras stood this Chateau de Saint Hubert,
named for the patron saint of huntsmen, and within its walls was passed
many a happy evening by king and courtiers after a busy day with stag
and hound.

The hunt in France was perhaps at the most picturesque phase of its
existence at this time. The hunt of to-day is but a pale, though bloody,
imitation of the real sport of the days when monarchs and their
seigneurs in slashed doublet and hose and velvet cloaks pursued the deer
of the forest to his death, and knew not the _maitre d'equipage_ of
to-day.



CHAPTER XX

CHANTILLY


Chantilly, because of its royal associations, properly finds its place
in every traveller's French itinerary. Not only did Chantilly come to
its great glory through royal favour, but in later years the French
government has taken it under its wing, the chateau, the stables and the
vast park and forest, until the ensemble is to-day as much of a national
show place as Versailles or Saint Germain. It is here in the marble
halls, where once dwelt the Condés and the Montmorencys, that are held
each year the examinations of the French Académie des Beaux Arts. And
besides this it is a place of pilgrimage for thousands of tourists who,
as a class, for a couple of generations previously, never got farther
away from the capital than Saint Cloud.

Many charters of the tenth century make mention of the estates of
Chantilly, which at that time belonged to the Seigneurs of Senlis. The
chateau was an evolution from a block-house, or fortress, erected by
Catulus in Gallo-Roman times and four centuries later it remained
practically of the same rank. In the fourteenth century the chateau was
chiefly a vast fortress surrounded by a water defence in the form of an
enlarged moat by means of which it was able to resist the Bourguignons
and never actually fell until after the taking of Meaux by the English
king, Henry V.

[Illustration: CHANTILLY]

Jean II de Montmorency, by his marriage with Marguerite d'Orgemont, came
to be the possessor of the domain, their son, in turn, becoming the
heir. It was this son, Guillaume, who became one of the most brilliant
servitors of the monarchs Louis XI, Louis XII, and Francis I, and it was
through these friends at court that Chantilly first took on its regal
aspect.

In turn the celebrated Anne de Montmorency, Connetable de France, came
into the succession and finding the old fortress, albeit somewhat
enlarged and furbished up by his predecessor, less of a palatial
residence than he would have, separated the ancient chateau-fort from an
added structure by an ornamental moat, or canal, and laid out the
_pelouse_, _parterres_ and the alleys of greensward leading to the
forest which make one of the great charms of Chantilly to-day.

Here resided, as visitors to be sure, but for more or less extended
periods, and at various times, Charles V, Charles IX and Henri IV, each
of them guests of the hospitable and ambitious Montmorencys.

[Illustration: _Statue of Le Notre, Chantilly_]

Chantilly passed in 1632 to Charlotte, the sister of the last Maréchal
de Montmorency, the wife of Henri II, Prince de Condé, the mother of the
Grand Condé, the Prince de Conti and the Duchesse de Longueville.

With the Grand Condé came the greatest fame, the apotheosis, of
Chantilly. This noble was so enamoured of this admirable residence that
he never left it from his thoughts and decorated it throughout in the
most lavish taste of his time, destroying at this epoch the chateau of
the moyen-age and the fortress. These were the days of gallant warriors
with a taste for pretty things in art, not mere bloodthirsty
slaughterers.

On the foundations of the older structures there now rose an admirable
pile (not that which one sees to-day, however), embellished by the
surroundings which were evolved from the brain of the landscape
gardener, Le Notre. The Revolution made way with this lavish structure
and with the exception of the Chatelet, or the Petit Chateau (designed
by Jean Bullant in 1560, and remodelled within by Mansart) the
present-day work is a creation of the Duc d'Aumale, the heir to the
Condés' name and fame, to whom the National Assembly gave back his
ancestral estates which had in the meantime come into the inventory of
royal belongings through the claims established by the might of the
Second Empire.

Back to the days of the Grand Condé one reads of an extended visit made
by Louis XIV to his principal courtier. It was at an expense of two
hundred thousand _écus_ that the welcoming fête was accomplished. Madame
de Sévigné has recounted the event more graphically than any other
chronicler, and it would be presumption to review it here at length. The
incident of Vatel alone has become classic.

To the coterie of poets at Rambouillet must be added those of Chantilly;
their sojourn here added much of moment to the careers and reputations
of Boileau, Racine, Bourdaloue and Bossuet. It was the latter, who, in
the funeral oration which he delivered on the death of the Prince de
Condé, said:

"Here under his own roof one saw the Grand Condé as if he were at the
head of his armies, a noble always great, as well in action as in
repose. Here you have seen him surrounded by his friends in this
magnificent dwelling, in the shady alleys of the forest or beside the
purling waters of the brooks which are silent neither day nor night."

The Grand Condé died, however, at Fontainebleau. The heir, Henri-Jules
de Bourbon, did his share towards keeping up and embellishing the
property, and to him was due that charming wildwood retreat known as the
Parc de Sylvie.

Louis-Henri de Bourbon, Minister of Louis XV at the commencement of his
reign, had gained a fabulous sum of money in the notorious "Law's Bank"
affair, and, with a profligate and prodigal taste in spending, lived a
life of the grandest of grand seigneurs at Chantilly, to which, as his
donation to its architectural importance, he contributed the famous
Écuries, or stables. To show that he was _persona grata_ at court he
gave a great fête here for Louis XV and the Duchesse du Barry.

The last Prince de Condé but one before the Revolution built the Chateau
d'Enghien in the neighbourhood, and sought to people the Parc de Sylvie
with a rustic colony of thatched _maisonettes_ and install his
favourites therein in a weak imitation of what had been done in the
Petit Trianon. The note was manifestly a false one and did not endure,
not even is its echo plainly audible for all is hearsay to-day and no
very definite record of the circumstance exists.

Chantilly in later times has been a favourite abode with modern
monarchs. The King of Denmark, the Emperor Joseph II and the King of
Sweden were given hospitality here, and much money was spent for their
entertainment, and much red and green fire burned for their amusement
and that of their suites.

The Revolution's fell blow carried off the principal parts of the
Condé's admirable constructions and it is fortunate that the Petit
Chateau escaped the talons of the "Bande Noire." Immediately afterwards
the Chateau d'Enghien and the Écuries were turned over to the uses of
the Minister of War, and the authorities of the Jardin des Plantes were
given permission to transplant and transport anything which pleased
their fancy among the exotics which had been set out by Le Notre in
Chantilly's famous _parterres_.

Under the imperial régime the Forêt de Chantilly was given in fee simple
to Queen Hortense, though all was ultimately returned to the Condé heirs
after the Restoration. It was at this period that Chantilly received the
visit of Alexander, Emperor of Russia, and the historian's account of
that visit makes prominent the fact that during the periods of rain it
was necessary that an umbrella be carried over the imperial head as he
passed through the corridors of the palace from one apartment to
another.

The host of the emperor died here in 1818 and his son, spending perhaps
half of his time here, cared little for restoration and spent all his
waking hours hunting in the forest, returning to the Petit Chateau only
to eat and sleep.

The Duc de Bourbon added to the flanking wings of the Petit Chateau and
cleaned up the débris which was fast becoming moss-grown, weed
encumbered and altogether disgraceful. The moats were cleaned out of
their miasmatic growth and certain of the grass-carpeted _parterres_
resown and given a semblance of their former selves.

Some days after the Revolution of 1830 the Prince de Condé died in a
most dramatic fashion, and his son, the Duc d'Enghien, having been shot
at Vincennes under the Empire, he willed the Duc d'Aumale and his issue
his legal descendants forever.

Towards 1840 the Duc d'Aumale sought to reconstruct the splendours of
Chantilly, but a decree of January 22, 1852, banished the entire Orleans
family and interrupted the work when the property was sold to the
English bankers, Coutts and Company, for the good round sum of eleven
million francs, not by any means an extravagant price for this estate
of royal aspect and proportions. The National Assembly of 1872 did the
only thing it could do in justice to tradition--bought the property in
and decreed that it be restored to its legitimate proprietor.

It was as late as 1876 that the Duc d'Aumale undertook the restoration
of the Chatelet and the rebuilding of the new chateau which is seen
to-day. The latter is from the designs of Henri Daumet, member of the
Institut de France.

In general the structure of to-day occupies the site of the moyen-age
chateau but is of quite a different aspect.

The Duc d'Aumale made a present of the chateau and all that was
contained therein to the Institut de France. From a purely sordid point
of view it was a gift valued at something like thirty-five million
francs, not so great as many new-world public legacies of to-day, but in
certain respects of a great deal more artistic worth.

The mass is manifestly imposing, made up as it is, of four distinct
parts, the Eglise, dating from 1692, the Écuries, the Chatelet--or Petit
Chateau, and the Chateau proper--the modern edifice.

Before the celebrated Écuries is a green, velvety _pelouse_ which gives
an admirable approach. The architecture of the Écuries is of a heavy
order and the sculptured decorations actually of little esthetic worth,
representing as they do hunting trophies and the like. Before the great
fountain one deciphers a graven plaque which reads as follows:

   Louis Henri de Bourbon
   Prince de Condé
   Fut Construire Cette Écurie
   1701-1784.

Within the two wings may be stabled nearly two hundred horses. The Grand
Écuries at Chantilly are assuredly one of the finest examples extant of
that luxuriant art of the eighteenth century French builder. Luxurious,
excessively ornate and overpowering it is, and, for that reason, open to
question. The work of the period knew not the discreet middle road. It
was of Chantilly that it was said that the live stock was better lodged
than its masters. The architect of this portion of the chateau was Jean
Aubert, one of the collaborators of Jules Hardouin Mansart.

The characteristics of Chantilly, take it as a whole, the chateau, the
park and the forest, are chiefly theatrical, but with an all-abiding
regard for the proprieties, for beyond a certain heaviness of
architectural style in parts of the chateau everything is of the finely
focussed relative order of which the French architect and landscape
gardener have for ages been past masters.

The real French garden is here to be seen almost at its best, its
squares and ovals of grassy green apportioned off from the mass by
gravelled walks and ornamented waters. The "_tapis d'orient_" effect, so
frequently quoted by the French in writing of such works, is hardly
excelled elsewhere.

All this shocked the mid-eighteenth century English traveller, but it
was because he did not, perhaps could not, understand. Rigby, "the
Norwich alderman" as the French rather contemptuously referred to this
fine old English gentleman, said frankly of Chantilly: "All this has
cost dear and produced a result far from pleasing." He would have been
better pleased doubtless with a privet or box hedge and an imitation
plaster rockery, things which have never agreed with French taste, but
which were the rule in pretentious English gardens of the same period.
Rigby must indeed have been a "_grincheau_," as the French called him,
for this same up-country gentleman said of Versailles: "Lovely
surrounding country but palace and park badly designed." Versailles is
not that, whatever else its faults may be.

Chantilly is more than a palace, it is a museum of nature, a hermitage
of art and of history. The fantasy of its _tourelles_, its _lucarnes_
and its _pignons_ are something one may hardly see elsewhere in such
profusion, and the fact that they are modern is forgotten in the
impression of the general silhouette.

The adventurer who first built a donjon on the Rocher de Chantilly
little knew with what seigneurial splendour the site was ultimately to
be graced. From a bare outpost it was transformed, as if by magic, into
a Renaissance palace of a supreme beauty. The Duc d'Aumale said in his
"Acte de Donation de Chantilly": "It stands complete and varied, a
monument of French art in all its branches, a history of the best epochs
of our glory."

Among all the palatial riches neighbouring upon Paris, not forgetting
Versailles, Compiègne, Fontainebleau, Pierrefonds and Rambouillet,
Chantilly, by the remarkable splendour of its surroundings, its
situation and the artistic treasures which it possesses, is in a class
by itself. It is a class more clearly defined by the historic souvenirs
which surround it than any other contemporary structure of this part of
France.

Its corridors and gravelled walks and the long alleys of the park and
forest may not take on the fête-like aspect which they knew in the
eighteenth century, but they are not solitary like those of
Fontainebleau and Rambouillet, nor noisily overrun like those of
Versailles or Saint Germain.

The ornamental waters which surround the Chateau de Chantilly are of a
grand and nearly unique beauty. It is a question if they are not finer
than the waters of Versailles, indeed they preceded them and may even
have inspired them.

The Chatelet, the chateau proper and the chapel form a group quite
distinct from the Écuries. The Cour d'Honneur is really splendid and one
hardly realizes the juxtaposition of modernity. The pavilion attributed
to Jean Bullant, the western façade, the ancient Petit Chateau, the
Grand Vestibule, the Grand Escalier and the Gallerie des Cerfs and a
dozen other apartments are of a rare and imposing beauty, though losing
somewhat their distinctive aspect by reason of the _objets de musée_
distributed about their walls and floors.

One of the landscape gems of Chantilly is the _Pelouse_, a vast
esplanade of greensward now forming, in part, the celebrated race track
of Chantilly. Sport ever formed a part of the outdoor program at
Chantilly, but that of to-day is just a bit more horsey than that of
old, a good deal less picturesque and assuredly more vulgarly banal as
to its _cachet_ than the hunts, the tourneys and courses of the romantic
age.

[Illustration: _Chateau de Chantilly_]

Thousands come to Chantilly to wager their coin on scrubs and dark
horses ridden by third-rate "warned-off" jockeys from other lands, but
probably not ten in ten thousand of the lookers on at the Grand Prix du
Jockey Club in May ever make the occasion of the spring meeting an
opportunity for visiting the fine old historic monument of the Condés.

The "Races" of Chantilly may be given a further word in that they are an
outgrowth of a foundation by the Duc d'Orleans in 1832. The track forms
a circuit of two thousand metres, and occupies quite the best half of
the Pelouse, closed in on one side by the thick-grown Forêt de Chantilly
and flanked, in part, on the other by the historic Écuries, with the
Tribune, or grand stand, just to the south.

Many tourists arrive at Chantilly by auto, stop brusquely before the
Grande Grille, rush through the galleries of the chateau, do "_cent
pas_" in the park, give a cursory glance at the stables and are off; but
more, many more, with slower steps and saner minds, drink in the charms
which are offered on all sides and consider the time well spent even if
they have paid "Boulevard Prices" at the Restaurant du Grand Condé for
their _dejeuner_.

It has been said that a museum is a reunion of _objets d'art_ brought
about by a methodical grouping, either chronologically or categorically.
The Duc d'Aumale's Musée de Chantilly is more an expression of personal
taste. He collected what he wished and he arranged his collections as
suited his fancy.

The famous Musée de Chantilly, which is the lodestone which draws most
folk thither, so admirably housed, was a gift of the Duc d'Aumale who,
for the glory of his ancestors, and the admiration of the world, to say
nothing of his own personal satisfaction, here gathered together an
eclectic collection of curious and artistic treasures, certainly not the
least interesting or valuable among the great public collections in
France. The effect produced is sometimes startling, a Messonier is cheek
by jowl with a Baron Gros, a Decamps _vis à vis_ to a Veronese, and a
Lancret is bolstered on either hand by a Poussin and a Nattier. Amid all
this disorder there is, however, an undeniable, inexplicable charm.

There are three distinct apartments worth, more than all the others, the
glance of the hurried visitor to the Musée Condé at Chantilly. In the
first, the Santuario, is the Livre d'Heures of Etienne Chevalier, by
Jean Fouquet, considered as the most important relic of primitive French
art extant.

The Cabinet des Gemmes comes second, and here is the celebrated "Diamant
Rose," called the Grand Condé.

Finally there is the Galerie de Psyche, with forty-four coloured glass
windows, executed for the Connetable de Montmorency in 1541-1542.

The great collection of historical and artistic treasures stowed away
within the walls of Chantilly the Duc d'Aumale selected himself in order
to associate his own name with the glorious memory of the Condés, who
were so intimately connected with the chateau.

The Duc sought to recover such of the former furnishings of the chateau
as had been dissipated during the Revolution whenever they could be
heard of and could be had at public or private sale.

In this connection a word on Chantilly lace may not be found inapropos.
The Chantilly lace of to-day, it is well to recall, is a mechanically
produced article of commerce, turned out by the running mile from
Nottingham, England, though in the days when Chantilly's porcelains
rivalled those of Sevres it was purely a local product. One may well
argue therefore that the bulk of the Chantilly lace sold in the shops of
Chantilly to-day is not on a par with the admirable examples to be seen
in the glass cases of the museum.

A wooded alley leading to the great park runs between the main edifice
and the Chateau d'Enghien, a gentle incline descending again to the
sunken gardens in a monumental stairway of easy slope, the whole a
quintessence of much that is best of the art of the landscape gardener
of the time.

To the left extends the vast Jardin Anglais--a veritable French Jardin
Anglais. Let not one overlook the distinction: On conventional lines it
is pretty, dainty and pleasing, but the species lacks the dignified
formality of the Italian garden or the ingenious arrangement of the
French. Its curves and ovals and circles are annoying after the _lignes
droites_ and the right angles and the _broderies_ of the French variety.

The Forêt de Chantilly covers two thousand four hundred and forty-nine
hectares and extends from the Bois de Hérivaux on one side to the Forêt
de Senlis on the other. The _rendezvous-de-chasse_ was, in the old days,
and is to-day on rare occasions, at the Rond Point, to which a dozen
magnificent forest roads lead from all directions, that from the town
being paved with Belgian blocks, the dread of automobilists, but
delightful to ride over in muddy weather. The Route de Connetable, so
called, is well-nigh ideal of its kind. It launches forth opposite the
chateau and at its entrance are two flanking stone lions. It is of a
soft soil suitable for horseback riding, but entirely unsuited for
wheeled traffic of any kind.

Another of the great forest roads leads to the Chateau de la Reine
Blanche, a diminutive edifice in the pointed style, with a pair of
svelte towers coiffed candle-snuffer fashion. Tradition, and very
ancient and somewhat dubious tradition, attributes the edifice as having
belonged to Blanche de Navarre, the wife of Philippe de Valois. Again it
is thought to have been a sort of royal attachment to the Abbaye de
Royaumont, built near by, by Saint Louis. This quaintly charming manor
of minute dimensions was a tangible, habitable abode in 1333, but for
generations after appears to have fallen into desuetude. A mill grew up
on the site, and again the walls of a chateau obliterated the more
mundane, work-a-day mill. The Duc de Bourbon restored the whole place in
1826 that it might serve him and his noble friends as a hunting-lodge.



CHAPTER XXI

COMPIÉGNE AND ITS FOREST


One of the most talked of and the least visited of the minor French
palaces is that of Compiègne. The archeologists coming to Compiègne
first notice that all its churches are "_malorientées_." It is a minor
point with most folk, but when one notes that its five churches have
their high altars turned to all points of the compass, instead of to the
east, it is assuredly a fact to be noticed, even if one is more
romantically inclined than devout.

Through and through, Compiègne, its palace, its hotel-de-ville, its
forest, is delightful. Old and new huddle close together, and the _art
nouveau_ decorations of a branch of a great Parisian department store
flank a butcher's stall which looks as though it might have come down
from the times when all trading was done in the open air.

Compiègne's origin goes back to the antique. It was originally
Compendium, a Roman station situated on the highway between Soissons and
Beauvais. A square tower, Cæsar's Tower, gave a military aspect to the
walled and fortified station, and evidences are not wanting to-day to
suggest with what strength its fortifications were endowed.

[Illustration: Compiègne]

It was here that the first Frankish kings built their dwelling, and here
that Pepin-le-Bref received the gracious gift of an organ from the
Emperor Constantine, and here, in 833, that an assembly of bishops and
nobles deposed Louis-le-Débonnaire.

Charles-le-Chauve received Pope Jean VIII in great pomp in the palace at
Compiègne, and it was this Pope who gave absolution to Louis-le-Begue,
who died here but a year after, 879. The last of the Carlovingians,
Louis V (le-Faineant), died also at Compiègne in 987.

The city is thus shown to have been a favourite place of sojourn for the
kings of the Franks, and those of the first and second races. As was but
obvious many churchly councils were held here, fourteen were recorded in
five centuries, but none of great ecclesiastical or civil purport.

The city first got its charter in 1153, but the Merovingian city having
fallen into a sort of galloping decay Saint Louis gave it to the
Dominicans in 1260, who here founded, by the orders of the king, a Hotel
Dieu which, in part, is the same edifice which performs its original
functions to-day.

The first great love of Compiègne was expressed by Charles V, who
rebuilt the palace of Charles-le-Chauve in a manner which was far from
making it a monumental or artistically disposed edifice. It was
originally called the Louvre, from the Latin word _opus_
(_l'oeuvre_), a word which was applied to all the chateaux-forts of
these parts. The same monarch did better with the country-houses which
he afterwards built at Saint Germain and Vincennes; perhaps by this time
he had grown wise in his dealings with architects.

Like all the little towns of the Valois, Compiègne abounds in souvenirs
of the Guerre de Cent Ans, Jeanne d'Arc, Louis XIV, Louis XV, Napoleon I
and Napoleon III, and as its monuments attest this glory, so its forest,
one of the finest in France, awakens almost as many historical memories.

Wars and rumors of war kept Compiègne in a turmoil for centuries, but
the most theatrical episode was the famous "_sortie_" made by Jeanne
d'Arc when she was attempting to defend the city against the combined
English and Burgundian troops. It was an episode in which faint heart,
perhaps treason, played an unwelcome part, for while the gallant maid
was taking all manner of chances outside the gates the military
governor, Guillaume de Flavy, ordered the barriers of the great portal
closed behind her and her men.

Near the end of the Pont de Saint Louis Jeanne d'Arc fell into the hands
of the besiegers. An archer from Picardy captured her single handed,
and, for a round sum in silver or in kind, turned her over to her
torturer, Jean de Luxembourg. A statue of the maid is found on the
public "Place," and the Tour Jeanne d'Arc, a great circular donjon of
the thirteenth century, is near by. Another souvenir is to be found in
the ancient Hotel de Boeuf, at No. 9 Rue de Paris, where the maid
lodged from the eighteenth to the twenty-third of August, 1429, awaiting
the entry of Charles VII.

With the era of Francis I that gallant and fastidious monarch came to
take up his residence at Compiègne. He here received his "friend and
enemy," Charles V, but strangely enough there is no monument in
Compiègne to-day which is intimately associated with the stay here of
the art-loving Francis. He preferred, after all, his royal manor at
Villers-Cotterets near by. There was more privacy there, and it formed
an admirable retreat for such moments when the king did not wish to bask
in publicity, and these moments were many, though one might not at first
think so when reading of his affairs of state. There were also affairs
of the heart which, to him, in many instances, were quite as important.
This should not be forgotten.

In 1624 a treaty was signed at Compiègne which assured the alliance of
Louis XIII with the United Provinces, and during this reign the court
was frequently in residence here. In 1631 Marie de Médici, then a
prisoner in the palace, made a notable escape and fled, doomed ever
afterwards to a vagabond existence, a terrible fall for her once proud
glory, to her death in a Cologne garret ten years later.

In 1635 the Grand Chancellor of Sweden signed a treaty here which
enabled France to mingle in the affairs of the Thirty Years' War.

During the Fronde, that "Woman's War," which was so entirely
unnecessary, Anne d'Autriche held her court in the Palace of Compiègne
and received Christine de Suede on certain occasions when that royal
lady's costume was of such a grotesque nature, and her speech so
_chevaleresque_, that she caused even a scandal in a profligate court.
Anne d'Autriche, too, left Compiègne practically a prisoner; another
_ménage à trois_ had been broken up.

The most imposing event in the history of Compiègne of which the
chronicles tell was the assembling of sixty thousand men beneath the
walls by Louis XIV, in order to give Madame de Maintenon a realistic
exhibition of "playing soldiers." At all events the demonstration was a
bloodless one, and an immortal page in Saint-Simon's "Memoires"
consecrates this gallantry of a king in a most subtle manner.

Another fair lady, a royal favourite, too, came on the scene at
Compiègne in 1769 when Madame du Barry was the principal _artiste_ in
the great fête given in her honour by Louis XV. She was lodged in a tiny
chateau (built originally for Madame de Pompadour) a short way out of
town on the Soissons road.

Du Barry must have been a good fairy to Compiègne for Louis XV lavished
an abounding care on the chateau and, rather than allow the architect,
Jacques Ange Gabriel, have the free hand that his counsellors advised,
sought to have the ancient outlines of the former structure on the site
preserved and thus present to posterity through the newer work the two
monumental façades which are to be seen to-day. The effort was not
wholly successful, for the architect actually did carry out his fancy
with respect to the decoration in the same manner in which he had
designed the École Militaire at Paris and the two colonnaded edifices
facing upon the Place de la Concorde.

This work was entirely achieved when Louis XVI took possession. This
monarch, in 1780, caused to be fitted up a most elaborate apartment for
the queen (his marriage with Marie Antoinette was consecrated here), but
that indeed was all the hand he had in the work of building at
Compiègne, which has practically endured as his predecessor left it. The
Revolution and Consulate used the chateau as their fancy willed, and
rather harshly, but in 1806 its restoration was begun and Charles IV of
Spain, upon his dethronement by Napoleon, was installed therein a couple
of years later.

The palace, the park and the forest now became a sort of royal appanage
of this Spanish monarch, which Napoleon, in a generous spirit, could
well afford to will him. He lived here some months and then left
precipitately for Marseilles.

Napoleon affected a certain regard for this palatial property, though
only occupying it at odd moments. He embellished its surroundings, above
all its gardens, in a most lavish manner. Virtually, all things
considered, Compiègne is a _Palais Napoleonien_, and if one would study
the style of the Empire at its best the thing may be done at Compiègne.

On July 30, 1814, Louis XVIII and Alexander of Russia met at Compiègne
amid a throng of Paris notabilities who had come thither for the
occasion.

Charles X loved to hunt in the forest of Compiègne. In 1832, one of the
daughters of Louis-Philippe, the Princesse Louise, was married to the
King of the Belgians in this palace.

From 1852 to 1870 the palace and its grounds were the scenes of many
imperial fêtes.

Napoleon III had for Compiègne a particular predilection. The
prince-president, in 1852, installed himself here for the autumn season,
and among his guests was that exquisite blond beauty, Eugenie Montijo,
who, the year after, was to become the empress of the French. Faithful
to the memory of his uncle, by reason of a romantic sentiment, the Third
Napoleon came frequently to Compiègne; or perhaps it was because of the
near-by hunt, for he was a passionate disciple of Saint Hubert. It was
his Versailles!

The palace of Compiègne as seen to-day presents all the classic coldness
of construction of the reign of Louis XV. Its lines were severe and that
the building was inspired by a genius is hard to believe, though in
general it is undeniably impressive. Frankly, it is a mocking, decadent
eighteenth century architecture that presents itself, but of such vast
proportions that one sets it down as something grand if not actually of
surpassing good taste.

In general the architecture of the palace presents at first glance a
coherent unit, though in reality it is of several epochs. Its
furnishings within are of different styles and periods, not all of them
of the best. Slender gold chairs, false reproductions of those of the
time of Louis XV, and some deplorable tapestries huddle close upon
elegant "_bergères_" of Louis XVI, and sofas, tables and bronzes of
master artists and craftsmen are mingled with cheap castings unworthy of
a stage setting in a music hall. A process of adroit eviction will some
day be necessary to bring these furnishings up to a consistent plane of
excellence.

One of the façades is nearly six hundred feet in length, with forty-nine
windows stretching out in a single range. It might be the front of an
automobile factory if it were less ornate, or that of an exposition
building were it more beautiful. In some respects it is reminiscent of
the Palais Royal at Paris, particularly as to the entrance colonnade and
gallery facing the Louvre.

The chief beauty within is undoubtedly the magnificent stairway, with
its balustrade of wrought iron of the period of Louis XVI. The Salle de
Spectacle is of a certain Third Empire-Louis Napoleon distinction, which
is saying that it is neither very lovely nor particularly plain, simply
ordinary, or, to give it a French turn of phrase, vulgar.

One of the most remarkable apartments is the Salle des Cartes, the old
salon of the Aides de Camp, whose walls are ornamented with three great
plans showing the roads and by-paths of the forest, and other decorative
panels representing the hunt of the time of Louis XV.

The Chambre à Coucher of the great Napoleon is perhaps the most
interesting of all the smaller apartments, with its strange bed, which
in form more nearly resembles an oriental divan than anything European.
Doubtless it is not uncomfortable as a bed, but it looks more like a
tent, or camp, in the open, than anything essentially intended for
domestic use within doors. After the great Napoleon, his nephew Napoleon
III was its most notable occupant, though it was last slept in by the
Tzar Nicholas II, when he visited France in 1901.

The sleeping-room of the Empress Eugenie is fitted up after the style of
the early Empire with certain interpolations of the mid-nineteenth
century. The most distinct feature here is the battery of linen coffers
which Marie Louise had had especially designed and built. The Salon des
Dames d'Honneur, with its double rank of nine "scissors chairs," the
famous _tabourets de cour_, lined up rigidly before the _canapé_ on
which the empress rested, is certainly a remarkable apartment. This
was the _decor_ of convention that Madame Sans Gene rendered classic.

[Illustration: _Napoleon's Bedchamber, Compiègne_]

Like all the French national palaces Compiègne has a too abundant
collection of Sevres vases set about in awkward corners which could not
otherwise be filled, and, beginning with the vestibule, this thing is
painfully apparent.

The apartments showing best the Napoleonic style in decorations and
furnishings are the Salon des Huissiers, the Salle des Gardes, the
Escalier d'Apollon, the Salle de Don Quichotte--which contains a series
of designs destined to have served for a series of tapestries intended
to depict scenes in the life of the windmill knight--the Galerie des
Fêtes, the Galerie des Cerfs, the Salle Coypel, the Salle des Stucs and
the Salon des Fleurs, through which latter one approaches the royal
apartments.

In the sixteenth century, or, more exactly, between 1502 and 1510, was
constructed Compiègne's handsome Hotel de Ville, one of the most
delightful architectural mixtures of Gothic and Renaissance extant. It
is an architectural monument of the same class as the Palais de Justice
at Rouen or the Hotel Cluny at Paris. Its frontispiece is marvellous,
the _rez-de-chaussée_ less gracious than the rest perhaps, but with the
first story blooming forth as a gem of magnificent proportions and
setting. Between the four windows of this first story are posed
statuesque effigies of Charles VII, Jeanne d'Arc, Saint Rémy and Louis
IX. In the centre, in a niche, is an equestrian statue of Louis XII, who
reigned when this monument was being built. A _balustrade à jour_
finishes off this story, which, in turn, is overhung with a high, peaked
gable, and above rise the belfry and its spire, of which the great clock
dates from 1303, though only put into place in 1536. The only false note
is sounded by the two insignificant, cold and unlovely wings which flank
the main structure on either side.

It is a sixteenth century construction unrivalled of its kind in all
France, more like a Belgian town-hall belfry than anything elsewhere to
be seen outside Flanders, but it is not of the low Spanish-Renaissance
order as are so many of the imposing edifices of occidental and oriental
Flanders. It is a blend of Gothic and Renaissance, and, what is still
more rare, the best of Gothic and the best of Renaissance. Above its
façade is a civic belfry, flanked by two slender towers. Within the
portal-vestibule rises a monumental stairway which must have been the
inspiration of many a builder of modern opera-houses.

Opposite the Hotel Dieu is the poor, rent relic of the Tour de Jeanne
d'Arc, originally a cylindrical donjon of the twelfth century, wherein
"La Pucelle" was imprisoned in 1430.

Between the palace and the river are to be seen many vestiges of the
mediæval ramparts of the town, and here and there a well-defined base of
a gateway or tower. Mediævalism is rampant throughout Compiègne.

The park surrounding the palace is quite distinct from the wider radius
of the Fôret de Compiègne. It is of the secular, conventional order, and
its perspectives, looking towards the forest from the terrace and vice
versa, are in all ways satisfying to the eye.

One of the most striking of these alleyed vistas was laid out under the
orders of the first Napoleon in 1810. It loses itself in infinity,
almost, its horizon blending with that of the far distant Beaux Monts in
the heart of the forest.

In the immediate neighbourhood of the palace are innumerable statues,
none of great beauty, value or distinction. On the south side runs a
Cours, or Prado, as it would be called in Catalonia. The word Cours is
of Provençal origin, and how it ever came to be transplanted here is a
mystery. Still here it is, a great tree-shaded promenade running to the
river. The climate of Compiègne is never so blazing hot as to make this
Cours so highly appreciated as its namesakes in the Midi, but as an
exotic accessory to the park it is quite a unique delight.

Within the park may still be traced the outlines of the moat which
surrounded the palace of Charles V, as well as some scanty remains of
the same period.

Another distinctive feature is the famous _Berceau en Fer_, an iron
trellis several thousands of feet in length, which was built by Napoleon
I as a reminder to Marie Louise of a similar, but smaller, garden
accessory which she had known at Schoenbrunn. It was a caprice, if you
like, and rather a futile one since it was before the time when
artistically worthless things were the rage just because of their
gigantic proportions. Napoleon III cut it down in part, and pruned it to
more esthetic proportions, and what there is left, vine and flower
grown, is really charming.

The Forêt de Compiègne as a historic wildwood goes back to the Druids
who practiced their mysterious rites under its antique shade centuries
before the coming of the kings, who later called it their own special
hunting preserve. Stone hatchets, not unlike the tomahawks of the red
man, have been found and traced back--well, definitely to the Stone
Age, and supposedly to the time when they served the Druids for their
sacrifices.

[Illustration: _Cours de Compiègne_]

The soldiers of Cæsar came later and their axes were of iron or copper,
and though on the warpath, too, their way was one which was supposed to
lead civilization into the wilderness. Innumerable traces of the Roman
occupation are to be found in the forest by those who know how to read
the signs; twenty-five different localities have been marked down by the
archeologists as having been stations on the path blazed by the Legions
of Rome.

After the Romans came the first of the kings as proprietors of the
forest, and in the moyen-age the monks, the barons and the crown itself
shared equally the rights of the forest.

Legends of most weird purport are connected with various points
scattered here and there throughout the forest, as at the Fosse Dupuis
and the Table Ronde, where a sort of "trial by fire" was held by the
barons whenever a seigneur among them had conspired against another.
Ariosto, gathering many of his legends from the works of the old French
chroniclers, did not disdain to make use of the Forêt de Compiègne as a
stage setting.

During the reign of Clothaire the forest was known as the Forêt de
Cuise, because of a royal palace hidden away among the Druid oaks which
bore the name of Cotia, or Cusia. Until 1346 the palace existed in some
form or other, though shorn of royal dignities. It was at this period
that Philippe VI divided the forests of the Valois into three distinct
parts in order to better regulate their exploitation.

The Frankish kings being, it would seem, inordinately fond of _la
chasse_ the Forêt de Compiègne, in the spring and autumn, became their
favorite rendezvous. Alcuin, the historian, noted this fact in the
eighth century, and described this earliest of royal hunts in some
detail. In 715 the forest was the witness of a great battle between the
Austrasians and the Neustrians.

Before Francis I with his habitual initiative had pierced the eight
great forest roads which come together at the octagon called the Puits
du Roi, the forest was not crossed by any thoroughfare; the nearest
thing thereto was the Chaussée de Brunhaut, a Roman way which bounded it
on the south and east.

Louis XIV and Louis XV, in turn, cut numerous roads and paths, and to
the latter were due the crossroads known as the Grand Octagone and the
Petit Octagone.

It was over one of these great forest roads, that leading to Soissons,
that Marie Louise, accompanied by a cortège of three hundred persons,
eighty conveyances and four hundred and fifty horses, journeyed in a
torrential rain, in March 1807, when she came to France to found a
dynasty.

A marriage had been consummated by procuration at Vienna, and she set
out to actually meet her future spouse for the first time at Soissons.
At the little village of Courcelles, on the edge of the forest between
Soissons and Compiègne, two men enveloped in great protecting cloaks had
arrived post-haste from Compiègne. At the parish church they stopped a
moment and took shelter under the porch, impatiently scanning the
horizon. Finally a lumbering _berlin de voyage_ lurched into view, drawn
by eight white horses. In its depths were ensconced two women richly
dressed, one a beautiful woman of mature years, the other a young girl
scarce eighteen years.

The most agitated of the men, he who was clad in a gray redingote,
sprang hastily to the carriage door. He was introduced by the older
woman as "_Sa Majesté l'Empereur des Françaises, mon frere_." The
speaker was one of the sisters of Napoleon, Caroline, Queen of Naples;
the other was the Archduchess Marie Louise, daughter of Franz II,
Emperor of Austria.

An imposing ceremonial had been planned for Soissons and the court had
been ordered to set out from Compiègne with the emperor, in order to
arrive at Soissons in due time. When the actual signal for the departure
was given the emperor was nowhere to be found. As usual he had
anticipated things.

For weeks before the arrival of the empress to be Napoleon had passed
the majority of his waking hours at Paris in the apartments which he had
caused to be prepared for Marie Louise. He selected the colour of the
furnishings, and superintended the very placing of the furniture. Among
other things he had planned a boudoir which alone represented an
expenditure of nearly half a million francs.

Lejeune, who had accompanied Maréchal Berthier to Vienna to arrange the
marriage, had returned and given his imperial master a glowing
description of the charms of the young archduchess who was to be his
bride. The emperor compared his ideal with her effigy on medals and
miniatures and then worked even more ardently than before that her
apartments should be worthy of her when she arrived.

It was just following upon this fever of excitement that Napoleon and
the court had repaired to Compiègne. So restless was the emperor that
he could hardly bide the time when the archduchess should arrive, and it
was thus that he set out with Murat to meet the approaching cortège.

The pavilion which had been erected for the meeting was left to the
citizens of the neighbourhood, and the marvellous banquet which had been
prepared by Bausset was likewise abandoned. Napoleon had no time to
think of dining.

All the roadside villages between Soissons and Compiègne were hung with
banners, and the populace appeared to be as highly excited as the
contracting parties. It still rained a deluge, but this made no
difference. Two couriers at full gallop came first to Compiègne, crying:
"Place": "Place": The eight white horses and the _berlin de voyage_
followed. Before one had hardly time to realize what was passing,
Napoleon and his bride whisked by in a twinkling.

At nine o'clock an outpost in the park at Compiègne announced the
arrival of the emperor and his train. At ten o'clock a cannon shot rang
out over the park and the emperor and empress passed into the chateau to
proceed with certain indispensable presentations; then to souper, a
_petite souper intime_, we are assured.

On the morrow all the world of the assembled court met the empress and
avowed that she had that specious _beauté du diable_ which has ever
pleased the French connoisseur of beautiful women. They went further,
however, and stated that in spite of this ravishing beauty she lacked
the elegance which should be the possession of an empress of the French.
The faithful Berthier silenced them with the obvious statement that
since she pleased the emperor there was nothing more to be said, or
thought.

Flying northward on the great highroad leading out from Paris to
Chantilly and Compiègne gadabout travellers have never a thought that
just beyond Pont Saint Maxence, almost in plain view from the doorway of
the Inn of the Lion d'Argent of that sleepy little town, is a gabled
wall which represents all that remains of the "Maison de Philippe de
Beaumanoir," called the Cour Basse.

THE END



INDEX


   _Aiguillon_, Duchesse d', 217

   _Alcuin_, 358

   _Alexander_, Emperor, 221, 330, 349

   _Alphonse XIII of Spain_, 7

   Amboise, 26, 28, 86

   _Amboise, Bussy d'_, 72

   _Ancre, Maréchal d'_, 67

   _Andelot, Coligny d'_, 72-73

   _Andilly, Arnauld d'_, 267

   Anet, Chateau d', 29, 111

   _Angennes, Jacques d'_, 44, 299, 311

   Angers, Chateau d', 22

   _Anglas, Boissy d'_, 114

   _Angouleme, Duchesse d'_, 321

   _Anjou, Ducs d'_, 22, 136, 212

   _Anne of Austria_, 96-97, 136-137, 284-287, 289, 347

   _Arc, Jeanne d'_, 345-346, 354

   Ardennes, 54

   Arlors, 25

   _Artois, Comtesse d'_, 176

   _Aubert, Jean_, 333

   _Aubigné, D'_, 299

   _Aumale, Duc d'_, 29, 327, 331-332, 335, 338, 339

   _Auvergne, Louis d'_, 162-163

   _Ayen, Duc d'_, 299


   Bagatelle, Chateau de, 163, 203-206

   _Bailly, Sylvain_, 104

   _Barbés_, 173

   Barbison, 200-201

   _Baril, Jean_, 25

   _Barry, Mme. du_, 211, 242-243, 245, 250, 275, 329, 348

   _Bassompierre_, 195, 262

   Bastille, 71, 145, 173

   _Bausset_, 361

   _Bavière, Isabeau de_, 69, 151, 182

   _Beauharnais, Eugene_, 220, 222

   _Beauharnais, Hortense_, 215, 220, 221

   _Beaujon_, 164

   _Beaumont, Cardinal de_, 179

   Beauvais, Hotel de, 11

   _Becker, General_, 221

   _Becket, Thomas à_, 182

   _Bedford, Duke of_, 69

   _Belleveu_, 241-242

   _Berquin, Louis de_, 67

   _Berry, Duc de_, 165

   _Berry, Duchesse de_, 50, 321

   _Berthier, Maréchal_ (see _Wagram, Prince de_)

   _Blanchard_, 130

   _Blanqui_, 173

   _Blois_, 21, 26, 305

   _Blondel_, 37

   _Blucher_, 173, 209

   _Boileau_, 328

   Boissy, Forest of, 49

   _Bonaparte, Caroline_, 359

   _Bonaparte, Jerome_, 147

   _Bonaparte, Louis_, 235

   _Bonaparte, Lucien_, 145

   _Bonheur, Rosa_, 202

   _Bordeaux, Duc de_, 166

   _Borghese, Princesse_, 208

   _Bossuet_, 328

   _Boulanger_, 200

   _Boullée_, 164

   Boulogne, Bois de, 168, 174, 175, 203, 206, 209

   _Bourbon Family_, 164-165, 329, 331, 341

   Bourbon, Palais, 120, 159-161

   _Bourdaloue_, 328

   Bourg-la-Reine, 3

   _Boyceau_, 30, 262, 270

   _Breton, Mme. de_, 121-122

   _Brunet_, 223

   _Brunswick, Duchesse de_, 154

   _Bullant, Jean_, 109, 327, 336


   _Cadoudal_, 173

   _Cambacères, Consul_, 115-116

   Cardinal, Palais (_see_ Royal, Palais)

   _Carpeaux_, 118

   _Carrier-Belleuse_, 202

   _Cartouche_, 67

   _Cellini_, 182, 192

   _Chabanne, Comte de_, 73

   _Chabrol_, 147

   _Chalgrin_, 154

   _Chambiges, Pierre_, 91, 281-282

   Chamblay, 54-56

   Chambord, 71, 86, 310

   _Chamillard, Michael_, 252-253

   _Champaigne, Philippe de_, 135

   _Champollion-Figèac_, 184

   Chantilly, Chateau and Forest of, 324-340, 362

   _Chappell, Comte des_, 72

   Charenton, 152

   _Charlemagne_, 18, 116, 281

   _Charles II_, 344

   _Charles V_, 22, 23, 25, 62-63, 66, 68, 77, 82-84, 170, 190, 247, 281,
      327, 344, 356

   _Charles VI_, 63, 66, 69, 176-177, 229

   _Charles VII_, 69, 182, 190, 346, 354

   _Charles VIII_, 21, 299

   _Charles IX_, 89, 91-94, 106, 108-110, 171, 209, 291, 312, 327

   _Charles X_, 57, 108, 118, 146, 173, 192, 204, 212, 237-238, 303,
      317, 319-320, 349

   _Charles IV, Emperor_, 63

   _Charles V, Emperor_, 85, 88, 346

   _Charles I, of England_, 104, 137, 289

   _Charles the Bold of Burgundy_ (see _Charolais, Comte de_)

   _Charolais, Comte de_, 177-178

   _Chartres, Ducs de_ (see _Orleans, Ducs de_)

   _Chateauroux, Mme. de_, 250

   _Chatou_, 210

   Chenonceaux, 26, 32, 71

   _Chevalier, Etienne_, 339

   _Childerbert I_, 216

   _Christina, Queen_, 222

   _Cinq-Mars_, 73, 134

   _Clagny, Chateau de_, 228, 277

   _Clément, Jacques_, 93, 230-232

   _Clothaire_, 357

   _Clotilde_, 61

   _Clovis_, 61, 76, 216

   _Coictier, Jacques_, 66, 152

   _Colbert_, 3, 87, 98, 100, 269

   _Coligny, Admiral_, 93

   _Collo, Jean_, 27

   _Commynes_, 177

   Compiègne, Palace and Forest of, 52-53, 165, 232, 335, 342-362

   Conciergerie, 61, 65-68

   _Condé Family_, 73, 269, 324, 327-331, 333, 337, 339

   Conflans, Chateau de, 2, 175-179

   _Constantine, Emperor_, 344

   Consulat, Palais du (_see_ Luxembourg, Palais du)

   _Conti Family_, 211, 242, 327

   _Corneille_, 73, 133, 151

   _Corot_, 200

   _Cottereau, Jean_, 299, 300-305, 307

   Courcelles, 359

   _Cousin, Jean_, 170

   _Coypel_, 137

   _Cromwell_, 137

   _Crozat_, 162

   _Dagobert_, 54

   _Damiens_, 67, 263-264

   _Dante_, 24

   _Dardelle_, 123

   _Daru_, 100

   _Daubigny_, 200

   _Daumesnil, Baron_, 173

   _Daumet, Henri_, 332

   _Debanes_, 22

   _Debrosse, Jacques_, 64, 154, 158

   _Decamps_, 202, 338

   _Delille, Abbé_, 143

   _Delorme, Marion_, 73

   _Delorme, Philibert_, 34, 108-111, 189

   _Denecourt_, 198-199, 201

   Deputés, Chambre des (_see_ Bourbon, Palais)

   _Desmoulins, Camille_, 145

   _Diaz_, 200

   Directoire, Palais du (_see_ Luxembourg, Palais du)

   _Donon_, 100

   _Dorbay_, 110

   _Drouais_, 211

   _Ducamp, Maxine_, 126

   _Ducerceau_, 92, 94, 110, 112

   _Ducrot, General_, 222

   _Dugastz_, 232

   _Dupaira_, 95

   _Duperac_, 110

   _Dupré_, 200

   _Durfort, Madame_, 49


   Egalité, Palais (_see_ Royal, Palais)

   Enghien, Chateau d', 340

   _Enghien, Duc d'_, 169, 172-174, 331

   _Epernon, Ducs d'_, 103, 232

   _Erard, Sebastian_, 210

   _Este, Maria d'_, 290

   Estival, Convent of, 49

   _Estrées, Gabrielle d'_, 102, 210

   _Étampes, Duchesse d'_, 86, 185, 192, 294

   _Étoiles, Normand d'_, 204

   _Eugenie, Empress_, 120-122, 125-126, 238, 350, 352

   _Evans, Dr._, 122


   _Fallières, President_, 166-167

   _Famin_, 314-315

   _Faure, Felix_, 56, 58-59

   _Féraud_, 114

   _Ferrare, Duc de_, 70

   _Flandre, Comte de_, 82

   _Flavy, Guillaume de_, 345

   Fleury, Chateau de, 195

   _Fontaine_, 99, 127

   Fontainebleau, Forest of, 6, 50, 52, 181, 183, 196-202, 279, 294

   Fontainebleau, Palais de, 2, 26, 28, 33, 34, 87, 91, 111, 180-196,
     329, 335, 336

   _Fouché_, 221

   _Fould_, 53

   _Fouquet, Jean_, 339

   _Fouquet, Nicolas_, 269

   _Fragonard_, 211

   _Francine, Thomas and Alexandre_, 196

   _Francis I_, 8, 10, 12, 16, 21, 32, 44-45, 62, 64, 67, 77, 79, 81,
      84-89, 108, 110, 170, 181, 183-187, 189-191, 194, 209, 229, 281-282,
      290, 292, 299, 306, 310-311, 321, 326, 346, 358

   _Franz II_, 359


   _Gabriel_, 276, 348

   Gaillon, Chateau de, 33

   _Ganne, Père_, 200

   _Girardini_, 160

   Gisors, Castle of, 82

   _Gondi_, 230, 232

   _Goujon, Jean_, 89, 90

   Grand Trianon, 39, 248, 258, 259, 260, 263, 264, 274-276

   _Gregory of Tours_, 215

   _Grévy, Jules_, 58

   _Gros, Baron_, 338

   Grosbois, Chateau de, 51

   _Guilbert, Abbé_, 184

   _Guillain, Guillaume_, 282

   _Guise, Ducs de_, 70, 72-73, 103


   _Hamon_, 200

   _Harlay-Crauvallon, Archbishop De_, 178-179

   _Haussmann, Baron_, 3, 13, 152

   _Hebert_, 201

   _Hennequin, Dame Gillette_, 178

   _Henri II_, 26, 32, 44, 69-70, 78, 85, 87, 89, 90, 91, 108, 110, 170,
      193, 229, 230, 282, 294-295, 311, 327

   _Henri III_, 29, 92-93, 101, 109, 230-232, 312

   _Henri IV_, 16, 26, 27, 29, 45-46, 71-72, 87, 89, 92, 94-95, 102-103,
      111-112, 118, 172, 186, 190, 191, 194-197, 206, 209, 210, 231, 232,
      238, 282-283, 306, 327

   _Henrietta of England_, 233, 289

   _Henriette de France_, 104, 137

   _Henry V of England_, 63, 326

   _Henry VI of England_, 63, 69

   _Henry VIII of England_, 311

   Hérivaux, Bois de, 340

   _Hohenzollern, Prince de_, 53

   _Hortense, Queen_, 330

   _Hugo, Victor_, 73

   _Hugues Capet_, 62


   Institut, Palais de l', 159-160

   _Isabey_ (_Père_), 40


   _Jacob of Cologne_, 87

   _Jacque_, 200

   _James II of England_, 290

   _Jarnac, Gui Chabot de_, 294

   _Joachim, Prince_, 52, 56

   _John II of France_, 83, 170

   _John VIII, Pope_, 344

   Joinville, Forest of, 169

   _Josephine, Empress_, 174, 215, 217-222, 323

   Justice, Palais de (_see_ La Cité, Palais de)


   _Karr, Alphonse_, 149


   _La Barauderie, De_, 30

   _Labaudy_, 50

   _La Brosse_, 102

   La Cité, Palais de, 12, 61-68, 75, 81, 82, 93, 152, 153, 170

   _La Châtaigneraie_, 294

   _Laffitte, Pierre_, 212, 213, 243

   _Lambesc, Prince de_, 144

   La Muette, Chateau de, 111, 203, 209-210

   _Lancret_, 338

   Langeais, 33

   _Lannes, Maréchal_, 213

   _Laporte_, 284

   _La Quintinye_, 267-269

   La Reine Blanche, Chateau de, 341

   _Laschant_, 232

   _Latini, Brunetto_, 24

   _Lauzan_, 178, 289

   _La Vallière, Louise de_, 289

   _Lebrun, Charles_, 97, 255, 256

   _Lebrun, Consul_, 115

   _Le Calabrese, Henri_, 27

   _Lecouteux de Canteleu_, 217, 222

   _Ledoux_, 211, 243

   _Lefuel_, 100

   _Lejeune_, 360

   _Leloir_, 239

   L'Elysée, Palais de, 153, 162-167

   _Lemercier, Jacques_, 96, 100, 135, 262

   _Le Moyne_, 239

   _Le Notre_, 16, 22, 25, 26, 28, 30, 31, 35, 39, 40, 104, 128, 129-130,
      179, 233, 248, 264-266, 270, 277, 288, 292, 307-308, 327, 330

   _Lepaute_, 240

   _Le Roy_, 262

   Les Bruyeres, 222

   _Lescot, Pierre_, 88-90, 109

   _Lesdiguières, Duchesse de_, 179

   _Levau_, 97-98, 110, 247, 249

   _Lomenci, Martial de_, 247

   _Longueil, René de_, 212

   _Longueville, Mme. de_, 73, 327

   _Loret_, 11

   _Lorraine, Cardinal de_, 111

   _Lorraine, Chevalier de_, 233

   _Louis I_, 344

   _Louis V_, 344

   _Louis VI_, 281

   _Louis VII_, 169, 181, 182

   _Louis IX_, 23, 62, 77, 169, 176, 182, 190, 281, 295, 341, 344, 354

   _Louis XI_, 21, 66, 69, 152, 172, 177-178, 299, 326

   _Louis XII_, 26, 69, 299, 305, 306, 326, 354

   _Louis XIII_, 16, 48, 87, 96, 112, 132, 134, 136, 171, 189, 190, 194,
      209, 247, 249, 262, 266, 283-284, 306, 347

   _Louis XIV_, 11, 12, 14, 16, 17, 29, 33, 38, 39, 46, 48, 49, 50, 85,
      87, 97-99, 104, 112, 118, 127, 136-137, 152, 158, 170, 178, 186,
      189, 190, 206, 217, 223-224, 226, 233, 240, 245, 247, 249, 251-253,
      255-257, 261, 264, 268, 270, 273, 274, 277, 283, 284, 288-290, 291,
      293, 296, 297, 299, 303-307, 312, 328, 345, 347, 358

   _Louis XV_, 4, 14, 16, 17, 38, 48, 112, 152, 162, 163, 174, 185, 186,
      189, 190, 192, 205, 207, 209, 211, 227, 241, 243, 246, 250, 253,
      263-264, 275-276, 284, 290, 312, 320, 323, 329, 345, 348, 350-352,
      358

   _Louis XVI_, 37, 39, 41, 43, 57, 108, 113, 118, 143, 144, 152, 154,
      210, 213, 227, 250, 261, 235-236, 352, 356, 358-362, 290, 312-313,
      316, 320, 322, 348, 351

   _Louis XVIII_, 118, 161, 174, 237, 250, 316, 349

   _Louis Philippe_, 105, 108, 117-118, 146, 149, 154, 162, 166, 186, 194,
      199, 207, 238, 254-255, 350 (_see also Orleans Family_)

   Louveciennes, Chateau de, 210-212, 242, 288

   Louvre, 4, 12, 13, 22, 25, 32, 44, 62, 68, 75-105, 108, 109, 110, 111,
      112, 118, 124, 131, 132, 152, 233, 351

   _Lude, Comtesse de_, 49

   _Luxembourg, Jean de_, 346

   Luxembourg, Palais de, 28, 40, 115, 136, 144, 153-158


   Machine de Marly, 223-224

   Madrid, Chateau de, 111

   _Magnan, Maréchal_, 242

   _Maine, Duc de_, 159

   Maintenon, Chateau de, 242, 296-308, 312

   _Maintenon, Mme. de_, 158-159, 194, 227, 249, 274, 296-299, 302-303,
      305-308, 312, 347

   Maisons-Laffitte, Chateau de, 203, 212-214, 288

   Malmaison, Chateau de, 215-223, 323

   _Mandrin_, 67

   _Mansart, François_, 212-213

   _Mansart, Jules Hardouin_, 35, 137, 179, 226, 233, 241, 249, 274, 276,
      291, 327, 333

   Mantes, 55

   _Mantes, Mlle. de_, 159

   _Marat_, 116

   _Marceliano, Pucello and Edme_, 26

   _Marie Antoinette_, 49, 115, 194, 204, 210, 237, 245, 256, 276-277, 320,
      322, 349

   _Marie Louise_, 6, 117, 208

   _Marie Sophie_, 320

   _Marie Thérèse_, 11

   _Marigny, Enguerrand de_, 62, 172

   _Marigny, Marquis de_, 99

   Marlotte, 201

   Marly-le-Roi (_or_ -le-Bourg _or_ -le-Chatel), 2, 224-228, 283, 288

   _Mary Tudor, of England_, 69

   Marseilles, 91

   _Massena, Duc de_, 217

   _Masson, Frederic_, 236

   _Matignon, Maréchal de_, 70

   _Mayenne, Duc de_, 101

   _Mazarin, Cardinal_, 87, 104, 136, 159, 169, 283-285

   Mazarin, Palais (_see_ Institut, Palais de l')

   _Médici, Catherine de_, 26, 31, 33, 44, 48, 68, 69-71, 90-91, 93-94,
      97, 107, 108, 110, 111, 171, 195, 230, 247, 311

   _Médici, Marie de_, 72, 103, 154, 155, 158, 206, 347

   _Menars et de Marigny, Marquis de_, 163

   _Menours, Jacques de_, 30, 262-263

   _Mercogliano_, 18

   _Messonier_, 338

   _Metezeau, Thibaut_, 92, 94

   _Metternich, Prince de_, 121

   Meudon, Bois de, 240

   Meudon, Chateau de, 34, 111

   _Michelet_, 192

   _Mignard_, 233, 239, 306

   _Millet, Eugene_, 290, 291

   _Millet, Jean François_, 200, 201

   _Mirabeau_, 172

   _Molière_, 73, 104, 178, 249

   Molineaux, Chateau de, 278

   _Mollet, Claude_, 29, 30

   _Mollien_, 100

   _Monconseil, Marquise de_, 204

   _Mongomere, Comte de_, 67

   _Montansier, Duc de_, 269

   Montargis, 28

   _Montebello, Maréchal de_, 213

   _Montespan, Marquise de_, 159, 249, 275, 312

   _Montesson, Marquise de_, 234

   Montgaillard, 50

   _Montgolfier_, 130

   _Montgomeri, Sieur de_, 70

   Montmartre, 288

   _Montmorency Family_, 178, 324, 326-327, 339

   Montmorency, Forest of, 49, 288

   _Montpensier, Mlle. de_, 136

   _Moreau, Architect_, 138

   _Moreau, Hégésippe_, 123-124

   _Moskowa, Prince de la_, 53

   _Muette, Chateau de la_, 111

   _Murat, Princes de_, 52-56, 165, 235, 361

   _Murillo_, 164

   Musée de Cluny, 12

   _Musset, De_, 274


   _Nacret_, 239

   Nanterre, 281

   _Nanteuil, Célestin_, 200

   _Napoleon I_, 6, 13, 40, 51-52, 57, 79, 88, 100, 108, 115-118, 127,
      129, 145, 154, 155, 160, 165, 171, 173-174, 180, 186, 187-188, 190,
      194, 208, 213, 217-222, 235-237, 250, 254, 274, 296, 298, 313-316,
      320, 321, 322, 345, 349, 352, 355-356, 359-362

   _Napoleon III_, 13, 58, 92, 100, 105, 118-122, 147, 152, 166, 195,
      197, 222, 238, 290, 313, 318, 323, 345, 350-352, 356

   _Nattier_, 338

   _Neckar_, 144

   _Nemours, Duc de_, 70

   _Neufforge, De_, 37

   Neuilly and its Chateau, 206-209, 238

   _Nicholas II_, 352

   _Nicolo dell' abbate_, 193

   _Nigra, Chevalier_, 121

   _Noailles, Ducs de_, 298-300, 306

   Noisy, Chateau de, 278

   _Nolhac, M. de_, 274


   _Olivier, Emile_, 125

   _Oppenard_, 137

   _Orgemont, Marguerite d'_, 326

   _Orleans, Ducs d'_, 137-140, 143, 144-149, 161, 209, 233, 234,
      286-287, 337

   Orleans, Palais d' (_see_ Royal, Palais)

   _Ormesson, D'_, 73

   _Osman_, 230-231

   _Oursins, Juvenal des_, 66


   _Palatine, Princesse_, 233

   _Palissy, Bernard_, 31-32

   _Panseron_, 37

   _Paré, Ambroise_, 171

   _Paul, Saint Vincent de_, 73

   _Penthièvre, Duc de_, 306, 312, 322

   _Pepin-le-Bref_, 343

   _Percier_, 100, 127

   _Perrault, Charles_, 98-99

   Petit Luxembourg, Palais du, 155, 157

   Petit Trianon, 39, 260, 264, 274, 276-277, 329

   _Pfnor_, 184

   _Philippe Auguste_, 12, 62, 77, 80-82, 169, 182, 190

   _Philippe III_, 62, 177

   _Philippe IV_, 62, 170, 176, 182, 190, 295

   _Philippe VI_, 170, 358

   _Philippe II, of Spain_, 69

   _Philippe-Egalité_, 138-139

   _Picard, Achille_, 125

   _Pichegreu_, 173

   Pierrefonds, 290, 335

   _Pisan, Christine de_, 23

   _Pius VII_, 6, 115, 194, 235

   _Poirson_, 184

   _Poissin_, 164

   Poissy, 23, 232, 292, 293

   _Poitiers, Diane de_, 29, 44, 70-71, 193

   _Pompadour, Mme. de_, 163, 204-205, 241-242, 246, 250, 275, 348

   _Potter, Paul_, 164

   _Poussin_, 338

   _Prieur, Barthélemy_, 196

   _Primaticcio_, 87, 188, 192, 193

   _Provence, Comte de_, 154


   Quatre Nations, Palais des (_see_ Institut, Palais de l')


   _Rabelais_, 322

   _Racine_, 297, 303, 308, 328

   Rambouillet, Chateau and Forest of, 44-45, 50, 55-59, 242, 296, 298,
      309-323, 328, 335, 336

   _Rambouillet, Seigneur de_, 299

   _Raphael_, 87, 170

   _Raspail_, 173

   _Ravaillac_, 67, 102

   _Redon_, 128

   _Régnier, Henri de_, 244

   _Remusat, Mme. de_, 174, 219

   _Retz, Maréchal de_, 247

   Revolution, Palais de la (_see_ Royal, Palais)

   _Richelieu, Cardinal_, 72, 73, 95, 100, 131-139, 151, 178, 179, 216-217

   _Rigaud_, 307

   _Rigby_, 334

   _Robert II_, 62, 190, 281

   _Rochefort, Henri_, 120-121

   _Romain, Mme._, 141

   _Ronsard_, 34, 90, 109, 111

   _Roosevelt, Theodore_, 166-167

   _Rosier, De_, 210

   _Rosny_, 55

   _Rosso_, 182, 192

   _Rousseau, Theodore_, 200, 201

   _Rousselle_, 123

   Rouvray, Forest of, 229

   _Rovigo, Duc de_, 221

   Royal, Palais, 131-150, 284, 351

   Royale, Place (_see_ Vosges, Place des)

   _Rubens_, 164

   Rueil (_see_ Malmaison)


   _Sadi-Carnot_, 58

   Saint Cloud, Palais de, 13, 93, 228, 229-243

   Saint Cyr, 296-298, 303

   Saint Germain-en-Laye, 28, 91, 111, 136, 203, 206, 223, 232, 242, 256,
      279-295, 311, 324, 336, 345

   Saint Germain, Forest of, 212, 292-295

   _Saint James, Baudart de_, 208

   _Saint Louis_ (see _Louis IX_)

   Saint Maur, Chateau de, 111

   _Saint Ouen_, 54

   _Saint-Simon_, 179, 262, 348

   _Sarto, Del_, 192

   _Savoie, Louise de_, 108

   _Savoie, Philippe de_, 66

   _Scarron, Mme._ (see _Maintenon, Mme. de_)

   _Schickler, Baron_, 318

   _Schopin_, 195

   Sénat, Palais du (_see_ Luxembourg, Palais du)

   Senlis, 6

   Senlis, Forêt de, 340

   _Senlis, Seigneurs de_, 324

   _Séran, Comtesse de_, 275

   _Serlio_, 88, 185

   _Serres, Olivier de_, 33

   _Servandoni_, 112

   _Sévigné, Mme. de_, 179, 277, 328

   Soissons, 359-361

   _Soyecourt, Marquis de_, 212

   _Sualem, Rennequin_, 223

   _Sully, Duc de_, 102, 103


   _Talmon, Prince de_, 73

   _Tessé, Marquis de_, 73

   Thermes, Palais des, 12, 62, 153

   _Thierry III_, 224

   _Thiers, President_, 122-123

   Thomery, 202

   _Thou, De_, 73

   Temple, The, 144

   _Tiercelin, Jean_, 108

   Tillet, Maison du, 232

   _Toulouse, Comte de_, 321

   _Toulouse, Comtesse de_, 312, 320

   Tournelles, Palais des, 66, 68-71, 81, 152

   _Trepsat_, 313-314

   Trianon (_see_ Grand Trianon)

   _Triboulet_, 186

   Tribunat, Palais du (_see_ Royal, Palais)

   _Trochu, General_, 120

   Tuileries, Palace and Gardens of the, 3, 13, 31, 33-34, 40, 76, 78, 82,
      91, 92, 94, 106-130, 131, 155, 157, 166, 218, 227, 317

   _Turenne_, 73

   _Turgot_, 100


   Valerian, Mont, 288

   _Vallet, Pierre_, 27

   _Valois, Charles, Comte de_, 170

   _Valois, Elizabeth de_, 69

   _Valois, Marguerite de_ (1492-1549), 8, 10

   _Valois, Marguerite de_ (1553-1615), 10, 69, 111, 209

   _Van Loo_, 164

   _Vasari_, 181

   _Vauban_, 252

   Vaux-le-Vicomte, 36, 42

   _Vendome, Duc de_, 102, 206

   _Vernet, Joseph_, 164, 239

   _Verneuil, Marquis de_, 207

   _Veronese_, 338

   Versailles, 2, 36, 42, 85, 88, 99, 112, 118, 145, 163, 180, 196, 205,
      215, 223-224, 226, 228, 239, 240, 242, 244-278, 279, 283, 296, 305,
      324, 334, 335, 336, 350

   Vesinet, Bois de, 288

   _Vexin, Comte de_, 159

   _Vignole_, 188

   _Vignon_, 113

   Villa Normande, 54

   _Villeray, Marquis de_, 299

   _Villeroy, Marquis Neuville de_, 108

   _Villeroy, Maréchal de_, 178

   Villers-Cotterets, 28, 165, 346

   Vincennes, Chateau de, 168-175, 331, 345

   Vincennes, Bois de, 168, 174-175, 177

   _Vinci, Leonardo da_, 87, 192

   _Visconti_, 100

   _Vivonne, François de_, 294

   _Voltaire_, 263

   _Von Ostade_, 164

   Vosges, Place des, 71-74, 152.


   _Wagram, Prince de_, 51, 52, 360, 362

   _Wallace, Sir Richard_, 205

   _Wellington_, 208-209

   _William I, Emperor_, 255

   _Wolsey_, 132





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