amid all the claims and pleasures of a | and the extraordinary effect of lofty macommon society. Francis I. became mas-sonry, produced by building on the sumter of the château after Bohier's death. mit of an elevation and carrying the stone After Francis's time it passed to Diane de courses upwards from the lower ground, Poitiers. This lady had come to court is here seen at its best." The white after she had lost her husband, the sen- houses of the little town cluster round the eschal of Normandy. Francis I. com- castle "like crumbs that have fallen from mended his dull son to the handsome a well-laden table." After passing the widow, who soon won complete power archway a winding ascent leads into garover the dauphin. "Her strength, her dens lifted high above the world below, magnificent health, the cold reserve and and shut in by towers and terraces. The energy of her character appealed to him lovely little Chapel of St. Hubert "looks as much as the firm line of her features, very tiny in one corner of the vast courtthe proud curve of her lips, the narrow yard, but the charming effect of its light forehead which marked the decision of buttresses, rising from below and clinging her nature rather than the loftiness of her to the great outer walls of rock and brickideas." Nothing disturbed this woman's work until they end in finely chiselled serenity or checked her insatiable avarice pinnacles that blossom from the angles of and ambition. Her two daughters married the roof, is completed by a richness and into the powerful families of Lamarck and care in the workmanship of the interior Guise. The mistress reconciled her very rarely surpassed by any monument lover to the presence of Catherine de of its time; the inner surface of its walls Medicis, the wife whom he disdained. is a marvel of beautiful stone carving fine She even nursed Catherine and her chil- as lace, and shows up the more as it is dren. When Henry II. died she was almost the only work of its kind to be seen turned out of Chenonceaux, which Cathe-at Amboise.' Amboise can boast of great rine wished to have for herself. She built antiquity. There was a Roman camp the long gallery there, and gave a splendid here, and King Arthur is said at one time fête to the young king and queen-Fran- to have been lord of the castle. In the cis II. and Marie Stuart. As their majesties entered the main drive of the castle knots of women stood at the foot of every tree "in their holiday attire, wearing great broad-brimmed rustic hats, and waving many-colored ribands, while their husbands and brothers, with flags flying and drums beating, made a brave show upon the little hill at the entrance to the park." Before the great court stood a grand triumphal arch, resting on four pillars, round which ivy was twined. As the king entered the castle a shower of fireworks went off, and thirty cannons roared forth a welcome. Pallas stepped forward, and rained down a shower of flowers and leaves inscribed with sonnets to the king and queen. Those were bright days in the life of Mary Queen of Scots. Che nonceaux, in the days of Madame Dupin, at the end of last century, became a resort of all the literati. Voltaire, Bolingbroke, Rousseau, were constant visitors here. It is now in the hands of the Crédit Foncier, who charge a franc for admission. The place seems to have been built for domestic pleasure, and leaves an impression of beauty and happiness on the mind of every visitor. Amboise is said to gain more from the river than the other châteaux of Touraine. Its magnificent round tower "completely commands the approaches of the bridge, ninth century it belonged to the Counts of Anjou. Six hundred years later, when it became a royal residence, the townsmen greeted Louis XI. with a mystery play such as that age loved, and distributed wine to all comers at the civic expense. At Amboise Louis instituted the order of St. Michael, which was to rival the Golden Fleece. Here also the king, feeling that death was near, invested his son, Charles VIII., with royal authority. When Charles lost his little son at the age of three he tried to forget his sorrow in building the Chapel of St. Hubert and the two great towers, which have winding planes of brickwork instead of stairs. Up these strange ascents Charles V. once rode with Francis I. amid snch a blaze of flambeaux "that a man might see as clearly as at midday." Passing through a little doorway at Amboise Charles VIII. struck his head violently against the low stone arch, and died in a few hours. His two boys, whose monument is still seen at Tours Cathedral, died before him, so that the throne passed to the house of Orléans. The Comte de Paris, the present owner of the château, has restored it with great care, but this work has been cut short by his exile.. Francis I. spent many happy days of his boyhood here. Louise de Savoie's journal is full of the son whom she almost worshipped. She notes that in January, the morrow's spectacle. "The very roofs were black with spectators, and a merry barter was carried on by the fortunate owners of houses looking out upon the square." The prisoners sang Clement Marot's rendering of "God be merciful unto us and bless us: The Dieu nous soit doux et favourable the earlier Renaissance. 1501, "my king, my lord, my Cæsar " was run away with by his pony in the field, near Amboise. He was in great danger, "nevertheless God, the protector of widow women and the defence of orphans," protected the young prince from accident. One day Francis let loose a wild boar in the court, which scattered the servants and then rushed towards the great staircase, where he killed it with his dagger. From Amboise the young prince first left for court, and hence his mother journeyed strains grew fainter as the fast fallon foot to "Notre Dame de Fontaines, to recommend to her him whom I love more ing axe thinned the choir. The young than myself, my glorious son and my vic-king turned pale, and would fain have torious Cæsar, who has subdued the gone in, but the Guises would not suffer him to retire. As the last victim mounted Helvetians." Leonardo da Vinci rests in the little chapel at Amboise. the block singing, the crowd seemed ready Marie Stuart made a triumphal entry here in to rescue him, but the axe fell, and the horror of Amboise was over. No such November, 1559, with her young husband, Francis II. Five months later the conghastly scene was ever witnessed by the châteaux of Touraine. spiracy of Amboise began. The doctrines of Calvin had taken firm hold on Touraine. Guise a quarter of a century later at Blois. Vengeance overtook the hated race of Fierce religious persecution made the That great château has been restored with Huguenots turn eagerly to the princes of the blood for protection from the hated rare skill and thoroughness. It has not Guises. Suppliants flocked into Tou-le-Rideau, but its three styles of architecthe mellowed beauty of Langeais or Azayraine from all parts to lay their wrongs ture help a visitor to reconstruct the three before the king. The Guises suddenly awoke to their danger. The court moved great ages of which it is a memorial. Its from Blois to what was considered the eastern wing is a splendid monument of safer fortress at Amboise, where "as a matter of fact the castle was almost without troops or stores, where the town was full of Protestants, and Tours, hard by, was hostile or indifferent." La Renaudie had formed a plot to seize the Guises, but some of his confederates, who were enticed into Amboise on promise of a free pass to the king's presence, were there cast into prison, and "tormented with hellish cruelty." The men sent for their rescue were seized and dragged in "at the horses' tails" to die. Some two thousand scoundrels flocked to Amboise in order to share the murder and plunder. A terrible month followed. Every cut-throat in the Guises' pay made his fortune, "for the country swarmed with men who waited to be killed, or citizens like those of Toulouse, who refused to move before they had spoken to the king, and were only cured of their importunity by being hanged from the castle windows." Amboise was thronged by suppliants claiming justice or mercy, but there was no relenting in the breasts of the Guises. Scaffolds were raised in full view of the balcony overlooking the Loire, tiers of planked seats rose all round the square in which the executions were to take place. Thousands of people slept in the fields that they might be ready for The architectural scheme is very simple. Three rows of pilasters are superimposed one At about two-thirds down above another. the front the open spiral staircase juts out and towers upwards. It seems at first to small columns and their perpendicular descent stand free, breaking up the even succession of with the bold projection of its octagonal lines. But above it is embossed and caught into the whole mass by the broad crowning cornice which gathers within its strengthening bands every various curve. The sculptured dormers fret along its edge, searching the air with their pointed tongues, and twice the carved cases of the chimney-stacks break aloft through the roof, like towers, but the cornice keeps firm hold upon their base.* The winding staircase, with its fine carvings, is a triumph of art which never ceases to charm a student of architecture. Froissart, the chronicler, was once chaplain in Blois. Here Valentine Visconti mourned the death of her husband, Louis d'Orléans, who had been murdered in the streets of Paris. During her brother's ab sence Margaret of Navarre went twice a day through all the buildings and grounds to hasten Francis the First's workmen. Many a state pageant was witnessed in the Renaissance of Art in France, i. 51. château. But the chief event in its history | seemed to be a village in the air. Soon is the downfall of the house of Guise. the enormous towers of Chambord, sixty In 1576, Henry III. summoned the feet in diameter, were seen. Mr. Henry States-General to meet at Blois. Henry James calls the place, "An irresponsible, of Guise, known as Le Balafré, was then insoluble labyrinth." There are thirteen in the height of his power. The king, great staircases, besides numberless weary of his schoolmaster, was plotting smaller ones, and four hundred and forty for his murder. Guise was so confident rooms. The outlying work which gave that he despised all warnings. A note in the great château of Francis I. its dignity his dinner-napkin was thrown away un- has disappeared. "The broad foundaread. On December 22 every arrange- tions and heavy arches which rose proudly ment for the tragedy was complete. A out of the waters of the moat no longer tenth warning, given at the last moment, impress the eye. The truncated mass failed to stay the victim's steps. He squats ignobly upon the turf, the waters marched calmly on to the cabinet where of the moat are gone, gone are the deep the king was said to be waiting for him. embankments crowned with pierced balThe murderers now set upon him, but he ustrades, gone is the no-longer needed dragged them, bridge with its guardian lions."* double staircase, like two corkscrews whose curves ascend together yet never touch, is one of the wonders of the place. The perplexed visitor sees his companion mounting with him step by step, but never joins him till he reaches the top. Francis I. spent his last days here, hunt The struggling, from one end of the room to the other, staggering with arms outstretched, dull eyes within their staring sockets, and mouth half opened, as one already dead. At last he fell [pierced with more than forty wounds] beside the curtains of the bed. Then came out the king, and with all the meanness of his pitiful nature spurned with his heel the face of the dying mana terrible reprisal this, foring in his Touraine estates and idolized the cruelty of De Guise himself to the grey hairs of Coligny; and the last sigh of the great duke, who rendered up his strong spirit slowly and with almost unconquerable effort, was received by the courtier who was kneeling down to rifle the pockets of the corpse; it was covered with a grey cloak, and a cross of straw was thrown upon it. His body and that of his brother, the cardinal, who was murdered next day, were burned within the castle, and their ashes scattered on the waters of the Loire. Detestable as the assassination was, it shows that justice had at length overtaken the hated house whose hands were red with butchery at Amboise, and to whom was due the massacre of St. Bartholomew. Arthur Young, the famous agriculturist, who visited Blois in 1787, dwells upon "the bigotry and ambition, equally dark, insidious, and bloody," of those times, and adds grimly: "The parties could hardly be better employed than in cutting each other's throats." Crossing to the left bank of the Loire by a fine stone bridge-the first public work of Louis Philippe- we pass through a flat vine country to Chambord, ten miles to the east of Blois. It is amusing to find Arthur Young's mind full of turnips as he wanders among these scenes of old court life in France. If ever he says the king wished to form "one complete and perfect farm under the turnip culture of England, here is the place for it." At the end of a long avenue Mr. Cook discerned what by his sister, Margaret of Navarre. Louis XIV. watched the plays of Molière acted here, but he afterwards deserted the Versailles of Touraine in order to fix his home nearer Paris. Marshal Saxe, who won the estate by his victory at Fontenoy, decorated it with cannon, and had here a regiment of lancers whom he reviewed daily from the terrace. The château of Azay-le-Rideau, built in 1520, rises almost out of the waters of the Indre like an L set on its side, with a turreted and crested tower at each corner, and an effect of distance and beauty of line "unequalled among a series of architectural triumphs." The river banks, shaded with limes and cedars, make a perfect setting for the lovely château, which is now the home of the Marquis de Biencourt. The place itself lacks historic interest, but "all the ages of French his. tory look down upon us as we pass through its picture-gallery. The fair women who once exercised such an influence over the destinies of France live on the canvas. Here is Catherine de Medicis and a charming picture of Marie Stuart framed beside her young husband." Diane de Poitiers was "powerful enough even to crush the venomous Italian queen into subjection for a time; but the day of Catherine of Medicis was not long in coming, and for three more years her hand was at the throat of France, her influence Renaissance of Art in France, i. 55. poisoning its court." There are other châteaux which a traveller will do well to visit, such as Cheverny, Beauregard, Ramorantin, and Montrichard. Almost every eminence indeed is crowned by some old mansion with a history. Many details are given in Murray's "Handbook to France" which seem to bring the modern aspect of these châteaux more clearly before the eyes of a reader of "Old Touraine." It ought to be consulted at every turn by any one who wishes to know the present condition of the valley of the Loire. Its descriptions often contain happy phrases which give new vividness to the pages of Mr. Cook's volume. It is a guide-book, but it is literature as well. mansions. We must now turn back again to Tours. The town owed much of its prosperity to the myriad châteaux of the Loire. Louis XI. and his two immediate successors dwelt for the most part in that city, not in Paris. Every art of the decorator flourished, for kings and nobles vied with each other in erecting and adorning magnificent Tapestry was so eagerly sought in the middle of the sixteenth century that it appeared as though it would take the place of painting in Tours. Venetian workmen were brought to instruct the artificers. Some of the Tours artists even visited Rome to perfect their learning. Two great fairs were held by royal charter in March and September for the sale of silks and cloth of gold and silver. The company of silkmakers figure in the processions of the time, with mercers, armorers, and jewellers. Those were days of great prosperity in Tours. The Edict of Nantes stimulated its trade. Mulberrytrees were planted by the king's order here, at Orleans, and Paris. Tours did not escape the religious troubles of the time. The Huguenots were killed in its streets, or on boats and barges floating in the river. The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes scattered forty out of its eighty thousand inhabitants. The town has never recovered that mad stroke at the very vitals of France. But its prosperity is returning. It now has a population of sixty thousand busy in the large printing and publishing trade of the town, and in the manufacture of silk, cloth, carpets, and chemicals. Readers of Frances Elliot's "Old Court Life in France" will be surprised to find how large a place the châteaux of Touraine fill in the brilliant scenes of the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries. The old French memoir writers lead us from castle to castle in an incessant round of gaiety and never-ending intrigue. Mr. Cook's volumes on Old Touraine will be a mine of delight to those who wish to study the social life, the art and architecture of these bygone times. He sometimes puzzles us by forgetting that his readers have not been steeped in the life of these old châteaux as he himself has been. A few connecting links are dropped here and there; but his book is a notable work, dealing with a theme of enduring interest for England as well as for France. We may take our leave of the work by quoting its closing sentences about the valley of the Loire. It is a fascinating valley, full of history, full of romance. The Plantagenets have lived and died here, the Black Prince has fought up and down the river. Sir Walter Raleigh served his first campaign here with the Protestants; even King Arthur has been heard of at Amboise. Here are scenes that Turner has painted; where Landor and Wordsworth have watched the setting sun; here in the heart of France, in the most French of all her provinces, there seems a special interest for the Englishman. A special beauty in this royal river flowing past Fontevrault to the sea, in this broad smiling landscape clad with vines, Where from the frequent bridge Like emblems of infinity, The trenched waters run from sky to sky. AUNT ANNE.* Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers. CHAPTER XXIII. IT was a long night that followed. A telegram had arrived from the Hibberts. They were on their way, and coming as fast as possible, they said; but through the dark hours, as Mrs. North sat beside Aunt Anne, she feared that death would come still faster. Her bronchitis was worse at times; she could hardly breathe; it was only the almost summer-like warmth that saved her. She talked of strange people when she could find voice to do so- people of whom Mrs. North had never heard before; but it seemed somehow as if they had silently entered -as if they filled the house, and were waiting. At midnight and in the still small hours of the morning she could fancy that they were going softly up and down the stairs; that they * Aunt Anne. A Novel. By Mrs. W. K. Clifford, Post 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.25. author of "Love Letters of a Worldly Woman," etc. Published by Harper & Brothers, New York. 66 peered into the room in which Aunt Anne | said something you have worn; I lay- the one to the front that looked down shall like that better than a legacy, because on the long white road stretching from the I shall have it from your own two living city to the sea. "Oh, if the Hibberts hands." would come," Mrs. North said a dozen times. "I want her to die with her own people. I love her, but I am a stranger." So the night passed. My dear," Aunt Anne asked, opening her eyes, "is it morning yet?" "Yes," Mrs. North answered tenderly, "and a lovely morning. The sun IS shining, and a thrush is singing on the tree outside. We will open the window presently and let the summer in." An hour passed, and the postman came, but he brought no news of those who were expected. Later on the doctor looked in, and said her pulse was weaker. "She must live a little longer," Mrs. North said, in despair; "she must, deed." "I have parted with all my possessions, but Florence and Walter shall be commissioned to get you something." "The thing I should have liked," Mrs. North answered, "was a little brooch you used to wear. It had hair in the middle, and a crinkly gold setting around it." 66 My dear," said Aunt Anne dreamily, "it is in a little box in my left-hand drawer; but it needs renovatingthe pin is broken, and the glass and the hair have come out. It belonged to my mother." "Give it to me," Mrs. North said eagerly. "I will have it done up, and wear it till you are better, and then you shall have it back; let me get it at once in--and in her eager manner she went to the drawer. "Here it is," she said. "It will make a little gold buckle. I have a canary-colored ribbon in the next room; I will put it through, and wear it round my neck. Aunt Anne, you have made me a present." "I will come again this afternoon," he said; "perhaps she may have a little rally." While Aunt Anne dozed and the maid watched, Mrs. North, unable to sit quietly any longer, wandered up and down the house, and round the little drawingroom, bending her face over the pot pourri on the corner cupboard, opening the piano and looking at the yellow keys she did not venture to touch. And then, restlessly, she went into the garden, and gathered some oak and beech boughs, with the fresh young leaves upon them, and put them in pots, as Aunt Anne had once done for the home-coming of Florence. "I cannot feel as if she is going to die," she thought, "but rather as if she were going to meet the people she knew long ago; it will be a festival for them." She looked down the road, and strained her ears, but there was no sound of a carriage, no sign of Walter and Florence. Then, for a moment, she remembered her letter, but she was afraid to let herself linger over it while Aunt Anne up-stairs lay dying. "It is all such a tangle," she said to herself "life and death, and joy and sorrow, and which is best it is difficult to say." Aunt Anne's little breakfast was ready, and she carried it up herself, and lovingly watched the old lady trying to swallow a spoonful. "You look a little better again, Aunt Anne." "Yes, love; and I shall be much better when I have seen those dear children. I am not quite happy about that will. wanted you to have some remembrance of me." "Give me something," Mrs. North I "I am delighted that it meets with your approval, my dear" - and there was a long silence. The morning dragged on -a happy spring morning, on which, as Mrs. North said to herself, you could almost hear the summer walking to you over the little flowers. Presently Aunt Anne called her. "I was thinking," she said, "of a canary-colored dress I had when I was a girl. I wore it at my first ball—it was a military ball, my dear, and the officers were all in uniform. As soon as I entered the room Captain Maxwell asked me to dance; but I felt quite afraid, and said, 'You must take off your sword, if you please, and put it on one side.' Think of my audacity in asking him to do such a thing; but he did it. Your ribbon made me remember it " - and again she dropped off to sleep. Mrs. North went to the window, and looked out once more. "I feel like sister Anne on the watch-tower," she said to herself. "If they would only come." Suddenly a dread overcame her. Florence and Walter knew nothing of Alfred Wimple's conduct. They might arrive, and, before she had time to tell them, by some chance word cause Aunt Anne infinite pain. The shame and humiliation seemed to have gone out of the old lady's life during the last day or two. It would be a cruel thing to remind her of it. She had made herself ready to meet death. It was |