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Note: This is Volume 4 of a 10-volume series, the contents of which
are as follows:
Volume 1: Great Britain and Ireland, Part 1
Volume 2: Great Britain and Ireland, Part 2
Volume 3: France and the Netherlands, Part 1
Volume 4: France and the Netherlands, Part 2
Volume 5: Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, Part 1
Volume 6: Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, Part 2
Volume 7: Italy and Greece, Part 1
Volume 8: Italy and Greece, Part 2
Volume 9: Spain and Portugal
Volume 10: Russia, Scandanavia and the Southeast




SEEING EUROPE WITH FAMOUS AUTHORS

IN TEN VOLUMES

VOL IV: FRANCE AND THE NETHERLANDS, PART TWO

SELECTED AND EDITED WITH INTRODUCTIONS ETC

BY

FRANCIS W. HALSEY

Editor of Great Epochs in American History Associate Editor of "The
Worlds Famous Orations" and of "The Best of the World's Classics" etc

ILLUSTRATED

1914







CONTENTS OF VOLUME IV


France and the Netherlands - Part Two

IV - CATHEDRALS AND CHATEAUX - (_Continued_)

BAYEUX AND THE FAMOUS TAPESTRY - By Thomas Frognall Dibdin

THE CHATEAU OF HENRY IV. AT PAU - By H.A. Taine

CHATEAUX IN THE VALLEY OF THE LOIRE - By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

AMBOISE - By Theodore Andrea Cook

BLOIS - By Francis Miltoun

CHAMBORD - By Theodore Andrea Cook

CHENONCEAUX - By Francis Miltoun

FOIX - By Francis Miltoun

* * * * *

V - VARIOUS FRENCH SCENES

MONT ST. MICHEL - By Anna Bowman Dodd

CAEN - By Thomas Frognall Dibdin

DOWN THE RIVER TO BORDEAUX - By H.A. Taine

THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE - By Thomas Gray

CARCASSONNE - By Henry James

BIARRITZ - By Francis Miltoun

DOWN THE SAÔNE TO LYONS - By Nathaniel Parker Willis

LYONS - By Thomas Gray

MARSEILLES - By Charles Dickens

THE LITTLE REPUBLIC OF ANDORRA - By Francis Miltoun

GAVARNIE - By H.A. Taine

* * * * *

VI - BELGIUM

BRUGES - By Grant Allen

A PEN PICTURE OF BRUGES - By William Makepeace Thackeray

GHENT - By Grant Allen

BRUSSELS - By Clive Holland

WATERLOO - By Victor Hugo

WATERLOO: A VISIT TO THE FIELD - By the Editor

ANTWERP - By T. Francis Bumpus

* * * * *

VII - HOLLAND

HOW THE DUTCH OBTAINED THEIR LAND - By Edmondo de Amicis

ROTTERDAM AND THE HAGUE - By Edmondo de Amicis

HAARLEM - By Augustus J.C. Hare

SCHEVENINGEN - By George Wharton Edwards

DELFT - By Augustus J.C. Hare

LEYDEN - By Edmondo de Amicis

DORTRECHT - By Augustus J.C. Hare

THE ZUYDER ZEE - By Edmondo de Amicis

THE ART OF HOLLAND - By Edmondo de Amicis

THE TULIPS OF HOLLAND - By Edmondo de Amicis




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

VOLUME IV


THE PEACE PALACE AT THE HAGUE
THE OLD PAPAL PALACE AT AVIGNON
THE WALLS OF AVIGNON, BUILT BY THE POPES
VAUCLUSE: THE "FOUNTAIN," OR THE SOURCE OF THE RIVER SORGUE
THE PONT DU GARD, NEAR AVIGNON
RHEIMS
AMIENS
THE FAÇADE OF RHEIMS CATHEDRAL
THE BAYEUX CATHEDRAL
ROUEN
THE ROUEN CATHEDRAL
THE CATHEDRAL OF CHARTRES
ORLEANS
THE CHATEAU OF BLOIS
THE CHATEAU OF AMBOISE
THE CHATEAU OF LOCHES
MOUNT ST. MICHAEL IN CORNWALL, ENGLAND
MONT ST. MICHEL IN NORMANDY, FRANCE
CARCASSONNE
THE LION'S MOUND AND OTHER MONUMENTS, WATERLOO
RUINS OF THE CHATEAU HUGOMONT, WATERLOO
THE HARBOR OF ROTTERDAM
THE MONTALBAANS TOWER, AMSTERDAM
CANAL AND HOUSES IN AMSTERDAM
SCHEVENINGEN, HOLLAND
ON THE PIER AT OSTEND
UTRECHT
THE EAST GATE OF DELFT
LAKE AT THE HAGUE
CANAL AT DORTRECHT




IV




CATHEDRALS AND CHATEAUX

(_Continued_)


BAYEUX AND ITS FAMOUS TAPESTRIES[A]

[Footnote A: From "A Bibliographical Tour in France and Germany."]

BY THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN


The diligence brought me here from Caen in about two hours and a
half. The country, during the whole route, is open, well cultivated,
occasionally gently undulating, but generally denuded of trees. Many
pretty little churches, with delicate spires, peeped out to the right
and left during the journey; but the first view of the cathedral of
Bayeux put all the others out of my recollection.

There is, in fact, no proper approach to this interesting edifice. The
western end is suffocated with houses. Here stands the post-office;
and with the most unsuspecting frankness, on the part of the owner,
I had permission to examine, with my own hands, within doors, every
letter - under the expectation that there were some for myself. Nor was
I disappointed.

But you must come with me to the cathedral, and of course we must
enter together at the western front. There are five porticoes;
the central one being rather large, and the two, on either side,
comparatively small. Formerly, these were covered with sculptured
figures and ornaments, but the Calvinists in the sixteenth, and the
Revolutionists in the eighteenth century, have contrived to render
their present aspect mutilated and repulsive in the extreme. On
entering, I was struck with the two large transverse Norman arches
which bestride the area, or square, for the bases of the two towers.
It is the boldest and finest piece of masonry in the whole building.
The interior disappointed me. It is plain, solid, and divested of
ornament.

Hard by the cathedral stood formerly a magnificent episcopal palace.
Upon this palace the old writers dearly loved to expatiate. There is
now, however, nothing but a good large comfortable family mansion;
sufficient for the purposes of such hospitality and entertainment as
the episcopal revenues will afford.

It is high time that you should be introduced in proper form to the
famous Bayeux tapestry. Know then, in as few words as possible, that
this celebrated piece of tapestry represents chiefly the Invasion of
England by William the Conqueror, and the subsequent death of Harold
at the battle of Hastings. It measures about 214 English feet in
length, by about nineteen inches in width; and is supposed to have
been worked under the particular superintendence and direction of
Matilda, the wife of the Conqueror. It was formerly exclusively kept
and exhibited in the cathedral; but it is now justly retained in the
Town Hall, and treasured as the most precious relic among the archives
of the city.

There is indeed every reason to consider it as one of the most
valuable historical monuments which France possesses. It has also
given rise to a great deal of archeological discussion. Montfauçon,
Ducarel, and De La Rue, have come forward successively - but more
especially the first and last; and Montfauçon in particular has
favored the world with copper-plate representations of the whole.
Montfauçon's plates are generally much too small; and the more
enlarged ones are too ornamental.

It is right, first of all, that you should have an idea how this piece
of tapestry is preserved, or rolled up. You see it here, therefore,
precisely as it appears after the person who shows it, takes off the
cloth with which it is usually covered. The first portion of the
needle-work, representing the embassy of Harold from Edward the
Confessor to William Duke of Normandy, is comparatively much
defaced - that is to say, the stitches are worn away, and little more
than the ground, or fine close linen cloth remains. It is not far from
the beginning - and where the color is fresh, and the stitches are,
comparatively, preserved - that you observe the portrait of Harold.

You are to understand that the stitches, if they may be so called,
are threads laid side by side - and bound down at intervals by cross
stitches, or fastenings - upon rather a fine linen cloth; and that the
parts intended to represent flesh are left untouched by the needle.
I obtained a few straggling shreds of the worsted with which it is
worked. The colors are generally a faded or bluish green, crimson, and
pink. About the last five feet of this extraordinary roll are in a
yet more decayed and imperfect state than the first portion. But the
designer of the subject, whoever he was, had an eye throughout to
Roman art - as it appeared in its later stages. The folds of the
draperies, and the proportions of the figures, are executed with this
feeling.

I must observe that, both at top and at bottom of the principal
subject, there is a running allegorical ornament, of which I will not
incur the presumption to suppose myself a successful interpreter.
The constellations, and the symbols of agriculture and of a rural
occupation form the chief subjects of this running ornament. All the
inscriptions are executed in capital letters of about an inch in
length; and upon the whole, whether this extraordinary and invaluable
relic be of the latter end of the eleventh, or the beginning or middle
of the twelfth century seems to me a matter of rather a secondary
consideration. That it is at once unique and important, must be
considered as a position to be neither doubted nor denied.

I have learned even here, of what importance this tapestry roll was
considered in the time of Bonaparte's threatened invasion of our
country: and that, after displaying it at Paris for two or three
months, to awaken the curiosity and excite the love of conquest among
the citizens, it was conveyed to one or two sea-port towns, and
exhibited upon the stage as a most important material in dramatic
effect.




THE CHATEAU OF HENRI IV. AT PAU[A]

[Footnote A: From "A Tour Through the Pyrenees." By special
arrangement with, and by permission of, the publishers, Henry Holt &
Co. Copyright, 1873.]

BY HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE


Pau is a pretty city, neat, of gay appearance; but the highway is
paved with little round stones, the side-walks with small sharp
pebbles: so the horses walk on the heads of nails and foot-passengers
on the points of them. From Bordeaux to Toulouse such is the usage,
such the pavement. At the end of five minutes, your feet tell you in
the most intelligible manner that you are two hundred leagues away
from Paris....

Here are the true countrymen of Henry IV. As to the pretty ladies in
gauzy hats, whose swelling and rustling robes graze the horns of the
motionless oxen as they pass, you must not look at them; they would
carry your imagination back to the Boulevard de Gand, and you would
have gone two hundred leagues only to remain in the same place. I am
here on purpose to visit the sixteenth century; one makes a journey
for the sake of changing, not place, but ideas.... It was eight
o'clock in the morning; not a visitor at the castle, no one in the
courts nor on the terrace; I should not have been too much astonished
at meeting the Béarnais, "that lusty gallant, that very devil," who
was sharp enough to get for himself the name of "the good king."

His château is very irregular; it is only when seen from the valley
that any graces and harmony can be found in it. Above two rows of
pointed roofs and old houses, it stands out alone against the sky and
gazes upon the valley in the distance; two bell-turrets project from
the front toward the west; the oblong body follows, and two massive
brick towers close the line with their esplanades and battlements. It
is connected with the city by a narrow old bridge, by a broad modern
one with the park, and the foot of its terrace is bathed by a dark but
lovely stream.

Near at hand, this arrangement disappears; a fifth tower upon the
north side deranges the symmetry. The great egg-shaped court is a
mosaic of incongruous masonry; above the porch, a wall of pebbles from
the Gave, and of red bricks crossed like a tapestry design; opposite,
fixt to the wall, a row of medallions in stone; upon the sides, doors
of every form and age; dormer windows, windows square, pointed,
embattled, with stone mullions garlanded with elaborate reliefs. This
masquerade of styles troubles the mind, yet not unpleasantly; it is
unpretending and artless; each century has built according to its own
fancy, without concerning itself about its neighbor.

On the first floor is shown a great tortoise-shell, which was the
cradle of Henry IV. Carved chests, dressing-tables, tapestries, clocks
of that day, the bed and arm-chair of Jeanne d'Albret, a complete set
of furniture in the taste of the Renaissance, striking and somber,
painfully labored yet magnificent in style, carrying the mind at once
back toward that age of force and effort, of boldness in invention, of
unbridled pleasures and terrible toil, of sensuality and of heroism.
Jeanne d'Albret, mother of Henry IV., crossed France in order that
she might, according to her promise, be confined in this castle. "A
princess," says D'Aubigné, "having nothing of the woman about her but
the sex, a soul entirely given to manly things, a mind mighty in great
affairs, a heart unconquerable by adversity."

She sang an old Bearnaise song when she brought him into the world.
They say that the aged grandfather rubbed the lips of the new-born
child with a clove of garlic, poured into his mouth a few drops of
Jurançon wine, and carried him away in his dressing-gown. The child
was born in the chamber which opens into the lower tower of Mazères,
on the southwest corner.

His mother, a warm and severe Calvinist, when he was fifteen years
old, led him through the Catholic army to La Rochelle, and gave him to
her followers as their general. At sixteen years old, at the combat of
Arnay-le-Duc, he led the first charge of cavalry. What an education
and what men! Their descendants were just now passing in the streets,
going to school to compose Latin verses and recite the pastorals of
Massillon.

Those old wars are the most poetic in French history; they were made
for pleasure rather than interest. It was a chase in which adventures,
dangers, emotions were found, in which men lived in the sunlight, on
horseback, amidst flashes of fire, and where the body, as well as
the soul, had its enjoyment and its exercise. Henry carries it on as
briskly as a dance, with a Gascon's fire and a soldier's ardor, with
abrupt sallies, and pursuing his point against the enemy as with the
ladies.

This is no spectacle of great masses of well-disciplined men, coming
heavily into collision and falling by thousands on the field,
according to the rules of good tactics. The king leaves Pau or Nérac
with a little troop, picks up the neighboring garrisons on his way,
scales a fortress, intercepts a body of arquebusiers as they pass,
extricates himself pistol in hand from the midst of a hostile troop,
and returns to the feet of Mlle. de Tignonville. They arrange their
plan from day to day; nothing is done unless unexpectedly and by
chance. Enterprises are strokes of fortune....

The park is a great wood on a hill, embedded among meadows and
harvests. You walk in long solitary alleys, under colonnades of superb
oaks, while to the left the lofty stems of the copses mount in close
ranks upon the back of the hill. The fog was not yet lifted; there was
no motion in the air; not a corner of the blue sky, not a sound in all
the country. The song of a bird came for an instant from the midst of
the ash-trees, then sadly ceased. Is that then the sky of the south,
and was it necessary to come to the happy country of the Béarnais to
find such melancholy impressions? A little by-way brought us to a bank
of the Gave: in a long pool of water was growing an army of reeds
twice the height of a man; their grayish spikes and their trembling
leaves bent and whispered under the wind; a wild flower near by shed a
vanilla perfume.

We gazed on the broad country, the ranges of rounded hills, the silent
plain under the dull dome of the sky. Three hundred paces away the
Gave rolls between marshaled banks, which it has covered with sand; in
the midst of the waters may be seen the moss-grown piles of a ruined
bridge. One is at ease here, and yet at the bottom of the heart
a vague unrest is felt; the soul is softened and loses itself in
melancholy and tender revery. Suddenly the clock strikes, and one
is forced to go and prepare himself to eat his soup between two
commercial travelers.

To-day the sun shines. On my way to the Place Nationale, I remarked a
poor, half-ruined church, which had been turned into a coach-house;
they have fastened upon it a carrier's sign. The arcades, in small
gray stones, still round themselves with an elegant boldness; beneath
are stowed away carts and casks and pieces of wood; here and there
workmen were handling wheels. A broad ray of light fell upon a pile of
straw, and made the somber corners seem yet darker; the pictures that
one meets with outweigh those one has come to seek.

From the esplanade which is opposite, the whole valley and the
mountains beyond may be seen; this first sight of a southern sun, as
it breaks from the rainy mists, is admirable; a sheet of white light
stretches from one horizon to another without meeting a single cloud.
The heart expands in this immense space; the very air is festal; the
dazzled eyes close beneath the brightness which deluges them and which
runs over, radiated from the burning dome of heaven. The current of
the river sparkles like a girdle of jewels; the chains of hills,
yesterday veiled and damp, extend at their own sweet will beneath the
warming, penetrating rays, and mount range upon range to spread out
their green robe to the sun.

In the distance, the blue Pyrenees look like a bank of clouds; the air
that bathes them shapes them into aërial forms, vapory phantoms, the
farthest of which vanish in the canescent horizon - dim contours, that
might be taken for a fugitive sketch from the lightest of pencils. In
the midst of the serrate chain the peak Midi d' Ossau lifts its abrupt
cone; at this distance, forms are softened, colors are blended, the
Pyrenees are only the graceful bordering of a smiling landscape and of
the magnificent sky. There is nothing imposing about them nor severe;
the beauty here is serene, and the pleasure pure.

The statue of Henry IV., with an inscription in Latin and in patois,
is on the esplanade; the armor is finished so perfectly that it might
make an armorer jealous. But why does the king wear so sad an air? His
neck is ill at ease on his shoulders; his features are small and full
of care; he has lost his gayety, his spirit, his confidence in his
fortune, his proud bearing. His air is neither that of a great nor a
good man, nor of a man of intellect; his face is discontented, and one
would say that he was bored with Pau. I am not sure that he was wrong:
and yet the city passes for agreeable, the climate is very mild, and
invalids who fear the cold pass the winter in it.




CHATEAUX IN THE VALLEY OF THE LOIRE[A]

[Footnote A: From "Outre-Mer." Published by Houghton, Mifflin Co.]

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW


In the beautiful month of October I made a foot excursion along the
banks of the Loire, from Orléans to Tours. This luxuriant region is
justly called the garden of France. From Orléans to Blois, the whole
valley of the Loire is one continued vineyard. The bright green
foliage of the vine spreads, like the undulations of the sea, over
the landscape, with here and there a silver flash of the river, a
sequestered hamlet, or the towers of an old chateau, to enliven and
variegate the scene.

The vintage had already commenced. The peasantry were busy in the
fields - the song that cheered their labor was on the breeze, and
the heavy wagon tottered by, laden with the clusters of the vine.
Everything around me wore that happy look which makes the heart glad.
In the morning I arose with the lark; and at night I slept where the
sunset overtook me.... My first day's journey brought me at evening to
a village, whose name I have forgotten, situated about eight leagues
from Orléans. It is a small, obscure hamlet, not mentioned in the
guide-book, and stands upon the precipitous banks of a deep ravine,
through which a noisy brook leaps to turn the ponderous wheel of a
thatch-roofed mill. The village inn stands upon the highway; but the
village itself is not visible to the traveler as he passes. It is
completely hidden in the lap of a wooded valley, and so embowered
in trees that not a roof nor a chimney peeps out to betray its
hiding-place.

When I awoke in the morning, a brilliant autumnal sun was shining in
at my window. The merry song of birds mingled sweetly with the sound
of rustling leaves and the gurgle of the brook. The vintagers were
going forth to their toil; the wine-press was busy in the shade, and
the clatter of the mill kept time to the miller's song. I loitered
about the village with a feeling of calm delight. I was unwilling to
leave the seclusion of this sequestered hamlet; but at length, with
reluctant step, I took the cross-road through the vineyard, and in a
moment the little village had sunk again, as if by enchantment, into
the bosom of the earth.

I breakfasted at the town of Mer; and, leaving the high-road to Blois
on the right, passed down to the banks of the Loire, through a long,
broad avenue of poplars and sycamores. I crossed the river in a boat,
and in the after part of the day I found myself before the high and
massive walls of the château of Chambord. This château is one of the
finest specimens of the ancient Gothic castle to be found in Europe.
The little river Cosson fills its deep and ample moat, and above
it the huge towers and heavy battlements rise in stern and solemn
grandeur, moss-grown with age, and blackened by the storms of three
centuries. Within, all is mournful and deserted. The grass has
overgrown the pavement of the courtyard, and the rude sculpture upon
the walls is broken and defaced....

My third day's journey brought me to the ancient city of Blois, the
chief town of the department of Loire-et-Cher. This city is celebrated
for the purity with which even the lower classes of its inhabitants
speak their native tongue. It rises precipitously from the northern
bank of the Loire; and many of its streets are so steep as to be
almost impassable for carriages. On the brow of the hill, overlooking
the roofs of the city, and commanding a fine view of the Loire and its
noble bridge, and the surrounding country, sprinkled with cottages and
châteaux, runs an ample terrace, planted with trees, and laid out as a
public walk. The view from this terrace is one of the most beautiful
in France. But what most strikes the eye of the traveler at Blois is
an old, tho still unfinished, castle. Its huge parapets of hewn stone
stand upon either side of the street; but they have walled up the wide
gateway, from which the colossal drawbridge was to have sprung high in
air, connecting together the main towers of the building, and the two
hills upon whose slope its foundations stand. The aspect of this vast
pile is gloomy and desolate. It seems as if the strong hand of the
builder had been arrested in the midst of his task by the stronger
hand of death; and the unfinished fabric stands a lasting monument
both of the power and weakness of man - of his vast desires, his
sanguine hopes, his ambitious purposes - and of the unlooked-for
conclusion, where all these desires, and hopes, and purposes are so
often arrested. There is also at Blois another ancient château, to
which some historic interest is attached as being the scene of the
massacre of the Duke of Guise.

On the following day, I left Blois for Amboise; and, after walking
several leagues along the dusty highway, crossed the river in a boat
to the little village of Moines, which lies amid luxuriant vineyards
upon the southern bank of the Loire. From Moines to Amboise the road
is truly delightful. The rich lowland scenery, by the margin of the
river, is verdant even in October; and occasionally the landscape is
diversified with the picturesque cottages of the vintagers, cut in the
rock along the road-side, and overhung by the thick foliage of the
vines above them.

At Amboise I took a cross-road, which led me to the romantic borders
of the Cher and the château of Chenonceau. This beautiful château, as
well as that of Chambord, was built by the gay and munificent Francis
the First. One is a specimen of strong and massive architecture - a
dwelling for a warrior; but the other is of a lighter and more
graceful construction, and was designed for those soft languishments
of passion with which the fascinating Diane de Poitiers had filled the
bosom of that voluptuous monarch.

The château of Chenonceau is built upon arches across the river Cher,
whose waters are made to supply the deep moat at each extremity. There
is a spacious courtyard in front, from which a drawbridge conducts to


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