Part 17
The grandson of Henri IV., so passionate for the grandeur of his house, bought Saint-Cloud for Philip of Orleans, his brother, generally called _Monsieur_. Various acquisitions were successively made to complete this beautiful demesne: the castle was rebuilt by Lepautre, and the gardens laid out by Le Nôtre. Saint-Cloud for a long time remained the favourite residence of the Dukes of Orleans. Henrietta of England with her gay spirit, her beautiful manners, her love of _fêtes_, her taste for pomp, her engaging character, her discreet advances, and the friendship shown for her by her brother-in-law, rendered it the most elegant abode, the centre of the most select gatherings, and the palace of decent and delicate pleasures.
Alas! these brilliant entertainments of fashion were very soon to be interrupted by a terrible blow which fell suddenly like a clap of thunder. Henrietta returned from England whither she had been, charged by Louis XIV. with the negotiation of a secret treaty with her brother, Charles II. Arriving in the beginning of June, 1670, she was quietly resting at Saint-Cloud, when, on the twenty-ninth of the same month, suddenly in the castle in the middle of the night the terrible cry was heard: “Madame is dying!” and, eight hours later: “Madame is dead!” This princess was twenty-six years old. The disease declared itself by frightful agony the moment after drinking a glass of chicory water. At first she declared that she had been poisoned; if she retracted this afterwards, it was under the apprehension of the terrible consequences that a false declaration might entail. Her suspicions have been shared by historians, who briefly add that Louis XIV. was happy to learn that his brother was innocent of this crime.
Monsieur showed his grief by grand funeral ceremonies. What makes the memory of these obsequies notable is the funeral oration delivered by Bossuet. It is one of the masterpieces of pulpit eloquence.
The tears, feigned or genuine, were scarcely dry before they began to think of filling the place left empty by death. The King made overtures on this subject to Mademoiselle, daughter of Gaston of Orleans, the brother of Louis XIII.; but this princess at that time was occupied with a project that became the torment of her life; she wanted to marry the Comte de Lauzun.
Four months after the death of the gentle and witty Henrietta of England, Monsieur married the Princess Palatine, the daughter of the Elector Palatine. A robust German with strongly marked features, an enemy to ceremony, detesting entertainments on account of impatience with constraint, holding the toilette in aversion because it interfered with her usual habits, the Princess Palatine formed a complete contrast to the lively and delicate Henrietta. She abjured Lutheranism on the eve of her marriage. From this we may judge of the changes that followed at first in the customs of the castle of Saint-Cloud. But they did not last long. Philip of Orleans loved to hold a court and he was anxious to see it constantly filled with people who could amuse themselves. High play occurred there and many ladies came, who, says Saint Simon, “would scarcely have been received elsewhere.” At Saint-Cloud, as at the Palais Royale, there was an uninterrupted succession of entertainments. Madame often sulked at the company. She spent the greatest part of the day in her cabinet. Her husband allowed her every liberty and freely used his own, without concerning himself about her in any way.
In 1701, Philip of Orleans, the King’s brother, died at Saint-Cloud. The Princess Palatine also breathed her last gasp there. This magnificent residence continued to be occupied with the same sumptuousness and luxury by the new owners; these were the Duke of Chartres who, on his father’s death, took the title of Duke of Orleans, and his wife, Mlle. de Blois, daughter of Louis XIV. This princess wanted to hold a court there that would do sufficient honour to the first prince of the blood. The King approved, provided that she took care to gather together a distinguished company free from the confused and objectionable mixture that had defiled the society of the late Duke of Orleans. The beginnings of this new court were admirable. Families of the best positions in the realm crowded into the receptions at Saint-Cloud. The drawing-rooms and gardens were filled with personages belonging to the most illustrious houses. Since Louis XIV. was old and Versailles did not always afford much pleasure, the young generation gladly turned to Saint-Cloud where politeness, liberality, magnificence, fine manners and an amiable freedom attracted and held everybody.
In 1752, Louis Philippe of Orleans, grandson of the Regent, gave a splendid _fête_ at Saint-Cloud, a detailed description of which was given by the writers of the time with great gusto. It was remarked that the populace was admitted to take part in it. This remark, which was dwelt on with a kind of affectation, shows the influence of new ideas. In 1759, this prince lost his wife, Louise Henriette de Bourbon Conti, and in 1773 he secretly married the Marquise de Montesson. The latter, desiring a modest abode, induced the Duke of Orleans to sell the castle of Saint-Cloud. In 1785, this beautiful residence was purchased by Queen Marie Antoinette for six millions. By the Queen’s orders numerous changes were made. The new chapel was built at that time, and on the site of the old one a staircase of honour was built, leading to the grand apartments. Considerable additions were made to the buildings by doubling two bodies of outbuildings. The works were carried forward rapidly; but events were marching still faster; they were not yet completed when the Revolution burst. The palace was abandoned; the gardens were reserved for the pleasure of the citizens.
A great political event was soon to happen at Saint-Cloud. After horrible and sterile agitation like that of a tempest, the Directory, far from healing France of the excesses of anarchy, was impotent, and its weakness, not less than the light conduct of the Directors, caused it to fall into discredit. All was ready for a new revolution, and it came on the 18th of Brumaire (Nov. 9th, 1799). The legislative body had been transferred to the castle of Saint-Cloud. The victor of Lodi and Arcola, having recently returned from Egypt, was ripe for new destinies. Surrounded by a crowd of superior officers determined to put an end to the _government of lawyers_, it was necessary to act. So he went to Saint-Cloud after having taken his measures in Paris.... At the sight of the grenadiers advancing with fixed bayonets, the terrified members of the council dispersed in flight through the passages, or jumping out of the windows. A new era was about to open; Napoleon Bonaparte is nominated First Consul, Consul for ten years, Consul for life, and lastly, Emperor.
From the year 1800, the royal residences had been placed at the disposal of the new representative of sovereign authority in France, and he chose the castle of Saint-Cloud for his summer residence. It was here that he received the decree that proclaimed him Emperor of the French. Napoleon often came here for repose after his victories. Here, in quiet, he planned new conquests, and more especially he elaborated those regulations of public administration that, together with the code that bears his name, perhaps constitute his best title to glory in the eyes of posterity.
In 1810, on April 1st, the marriage of Napoleon with Marie Louise was celebrated in the chapel of Saint-Cloud. The castle and gardens then witnessed rejoicings that seemed as if they could never be saddened by any cloud. In 1815, alas! the scene has greatly changed. Saint Cloud is invaded by a horde of foreigners. The conqueror wants to dishonour the palace of the hero whom Fortune has betrayed. Troops are encamped in the gardens; horses are watered in the park fountains. Nothing is respected, not even the private chamber of the Empress. A pack of hounds is put there; the furniture is soiled and torn books litter the floor. A soldier sleeps in his uniform in Napoleon’s bed and amuses himself with tearing the imperial draperies with his spurs. Those were days of mourning for Saint-Cloud and for France! The capitulation of Paris was signed at Saint-Cloud, July 3d, 1813.
Fifteen years later, also in the month of July, another revolution chased Charles X. from Saint-Cloud. It was here that that prince signed the orders of July 24, 1830. Six days later, the royal family of Bourbon was on the road of exile! The government of the Restoration had various embellishments done to the palace and gardens of Saint-Cloud. We owe to Charles X. the construction of the building for the accommodation of the servants of his establishment, as well as a fine barracks, situated in the gardens of the lower park, for his bodyguard.
Louis Philippe did not forget Saint-Cloud which recalled youthful memories. The apartments were renovated and richly furnished, and new distributions still further improved this beautiful residence.
Notwithstanding the considerable works undertaken at different periods, it was easy to recognize the modern works from the ancient parts. The front on the court of honour was executed after the plans of Gerard; the two pavilions were by the architect Lepautre. The apartments of Napoleon III. and the Empress were situated on the first story in the left wing. Queen Marie Antoinette, the Empress Marie Louise and the Duchess of Angoulême occupied this part of the castle. The Apollo Gallery, inaugurated by a splendid _fête_ given by Philip of Orleans to his brother, Louis XIV., was on the first story of the right wing. Under the Directory, this gallery was used for the sittings of the council of the _Anciens_. The emperor’s vestibule was in the centre of the façade, with the staircase built on the site of the old chapel. The internal decoration of the palace was of the greatest magnificence; the paintings on the ceilings were by illustrious artists, and the furniture, renewed several times, was of rare elegance and dazzling richness.
The heir of Napoleon I. was soon to reappear there: it was at Saint-Cloud, Dec. 2, 1852, that the Empire was restored.
The palace of Saint-Cloud was burnt during the siege of Paris by the German army in 1870–1871.
STIRLING CASTLE
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
We passed through the outer rampart of Queen Anne; through the old round gate-tower of an earlier day, and beneath the vacant arch where the portcullis used to fall, thus reaching the inner region, where stand the old palace on one side and the old Parliament House on the other. The former looks aged, ragged and rusty, but makes a good appearance enough pictorially, being adorned all round about with statues, which may have been white marble once, but are as grey as weather-beaten granite now, and look down from beneath the windows above the basement story. A photograph would give the idea of very rich antiquity, but as it really stands, looking on a gravelled courtyard, and with “Canteen” painted on one of its doors, the spectator does not find it very impressive. The great hall of this palace is now partitioned off into two or three rooms, and the whole edifice is arranged to serve as barracks. Of course, no trace of ancient magnificence, if anywise destructible, can be left in the interior. We were not shown into this palace, nor into the Parliament House, nor into the tower, where King James stabbed the Earl of Douglas. When I was here a year ago, I went up the old staircase and into the room where the murder was committed, although it had recently been the scene of a fire which consumed as much of it as was inflammable. The window whence the Earl’s body was thrown then remained; but now the whole tower seems to have been removed, leaving only the mullions of the historic window.
We merely looked up at the new, light-coloured freestone of the restored tower in passing, and ascended to the ramparts, where we found one of the most splendid views, morally and materially, that this world can show. Indeed, I think there cannot be such a landscape as the Carse of Stirling, set in such a frame as it is,--the Highlands, comprehending our friends Ben Lomond, Ben Venue, Ben An, and the whole Ben brotherhood, with the Grampians surrounding it to the westward and northward, and in other directions some range of prominent objects to shut it in; and the plain itself, so worthy of the richest setting, so fertile, so beautiful, so written over and over again with histories. The silver Links of Forth are as sweet and gently picturesque an object as a man sees in a lifetime. I do not wonder that Providence caused great things to happen on this plain; it was like choosing a good piece of canvas to paint a great picture upon. The battle of Bannockburn (which we saw beneath us, with the Gillie’s Hill on the right) could not have been fought upon a meaner plain, nor Wallace’s victory gained; and if any other great historic act still remains to be done in this country, I should imagine the Carse of Stirling to be the future scene of it. Scott seems to me hardly to have done justice to this landscape, or to have bestowed pains enough to put it in strong relief before the world; although it is from the lights shed on it, and so much other Scottish scenery, by his mind, that we chiefly see it and take an interest in it.
I do not remember seeing the hill of execution before,--a mound on the same level as the castle’s base, looking towards the Highlands. A solitary cow was now feeding upon it. I should imagine that no person could ever have been unjustly executed there; the spot is too much in the sight of heaven and earth to countenance injustice.
Descending from the ramparts, we went into the Armoury, which I did not see on my former visit. The superintendent of this department is an old soldier of very great intelligence and vast communicativeness, and quite absorbed in thinking of and handling weapons; for he is a practical armourer. He had a few things to show us that were very interesting,--a helmet or two, a bomb and grenade from the Crimea; also some muskets from the same quarter, one of which, with a sword at the end, he spoke of admiringly, as the best weapon in the collection, its only fault being its extreme weight. He showed us, too, some Minie rifles, and whole ranges of the old-fashioned Brown Bess, which had helped to win Wellington’s victories; also the halberts of sergeants, now laid aside, and some swords that had been used at the battle of Sheriffmuir. These latter were very short, not reaching to the floor, when I held one of them point downward, in my hand. The shortness of the blade and consequent closeness of the encounter, must have given the weapon a most dagger-like murderousness. Hanging in the hall of arms, there were two tattered banners that had gone through the Peninsular battles, one of them belonged to the gallant 42d Regiment. The armourer gave my wife a rag from each of these banners, consecrated by so much battle smoke; also a piece of old oak, half-burned to charcoal, which had been rescued from the panelling of the Douglas Tower. We saw better things, moreover, than all these rusty weapons and ragged flags; namely, the pulpit and communion-table of John Knox. The frame of the former, if I remember aright, is complete; but one or two of the panels are knocked out and lost, and, on the whole, it looks as if it had been shaken to pieces by the thunder of his holdings forth,--much worm-eaten, too, is the old oak wood, as well it may be, for the letters MD (1500) are carved on its front. The communion table is polished, and in much better preservation.
Then the armourer showed us a Damascus blade, of the kind that will cut a delicate silk handkerchief while floating in the air; and some inlaid match-lock guns. A child’s little toy-gun was lying on a work-bench among all this array of weapons; and when I took it up and smiled, he said it was his son’s. So he called in a little fellow of four years old, who was playing in the castle yard, and made him go through the musketry exercise which he did with great good-will. This small Son of a Gun, the father assured us, cares for nothing but arms, and has attained all his skill with the musket merely by looking at the soldiers on parade.
Our soldier, who had resigned the care of us to the armourer, met us again at the door, and led us round the remainder of the ramparts, dismissing us finally at the gate by which we entered. All the time we were in the castle, there had been a great discordance of drums and fifes, caused by the musicians who were practicing just under the walls; likewise the sergeants were drilling their squads of men, and putting them through strange gymnastic motions. Most, if not all, of the garrison belongs to a Highland regiment, and those whom we saw on duty in full costume looked very martial and gallant. Emerging from the Castle, we took the broad and pleasant footpath, which circles it about midway on the grassy steep which descends from the rocky precipice on which the walls are built. This is a very beautiful walk, and affords a most striking view of the Castle, right above our heads, the height of its wall forming one line with the precipice. The grassy hillside is almost as precipitous as the dark grey rock that rises out of it, to form the foundations of the Castle; but wild rosebushes, both of a white and red variety, are abundant here, and all in bloom; nor are these the only flowers. There is also shrubbery in some spots, tossing up green waves against the precipice; and broad sheets of ivy here and there mantle the head-long rock, which also has a growth of weeds in its crevices. The Castle walls above, however, are quite bare of any such growth. Thus, looking up at the old storied fortress, and looking down over the wide, historic plain, we wandered half-way round the Castle, and then, retracing our steps, entered the town close by an old hospital.
THE PALACE OF THE BOSPHORUS
THÉOPHILE GAUTIER
When in your caïque upon the Bosphorus you have passed the Tower of Leander,[6] you see opposite Scutari an immense, unfinished palace that bathes its white feet in the blue and rapid waters. There is a superstition in the East, supported by the architects, that no one dies while the house he is having built is uncompleted; therefore the Sultans always take care to have some palace on hand.
As a rare instance among the Turks, who consecrate solid and precious materials to the house of God and erect for the transitory habitation of man only wooden kiosks hardly more enduring than himself, this palace is all of marble and built for eternity. It is composed of one great body and two wings. To say to what order of architecture it belongs would be difficult; it is not Greek, nor Roman, nor Gothic, nor Renaissance, nor Saracen, nor Arab, nor Turkish; it approaches that style which the Spaniards call _plateresco_, and which makes the façade of a building resemble a great piece of goldsmith’s work owing to the complicated wealth of its ornaments and the maddening mass of the details.
Windows with open-work balconies, small enwreathed columns, ribbed trefoils, festooned frames, and intervening spaces crowded with sculpture and arabesques, recall the Lombard style and make you think of the ancient palaces of Venice; only there is the same difference between the Palace Dario or Casa d’oro and the Sultan’s Palace as between the Grand Canal and the Bosphorus.
This enormous building of Marmora marble, of a bluish white that seems a little cold owing to the sharp glitter from its newness, produces a very majestic effect between the blue of the sky and the blue of the sea; it will produce a better one when the warm sun of Asia shall have gilded it with its rays which are received direct and at first-hand. Vignola, doubtless, would not know what to make of this hybrid façade where the styles of all periods and all countries form a composite order which he did not foresee. But one cannot deny that this multitude of flowers, foliage, and rose-work, carved like jewels of precious material possesses a tufted and complicated appearance, gorgeous and delightful to the eye. It is a palace that might have been made by an ornament-worker who was not an architect, and who spared neither the work of his hands, nor time, nor money. Such as it is, I prefer it to those horrid, classic reproductions, so beastly, so flat, so cold and so tiresome, such as are built by pedants and those who like to be conventional, and I greatly prefer these gay, ornamental masses of foliage interlacing with fantastic elegance, to a triangular pediment or a horizontal attic, resting on six or eight lean columns.
This naïve ignorance displayed upon so gigantic a scale has its charm; it is probable that the bold builders of our cathedrals knew little more, and their works are not the less admirable for that.
Along the whole length of the palace, there runs a platform, bordered on the side of the Bosphorus with monumental pillars linked together by grilles of beautiful and charming wrought-iron, where the iron curves in a thousand flowered arabesques, resembling the flourishes of a bold pen sweeping the paper. These gilded grilles form an extremely rich balustrade.
The two wings, built at a different period, are very much too low for the body of the principal dwelling, with which they have, moreover, no harmony of style or form. Imagine a double row of Odéons or Chambers of Deputies in miniature, following each other in wearisome alternation and presenting to the eye a line of slender little columns that seem to be of wood, although they are of marble.
In passing and repassing before this palace, the desire to visit it had come to me many times. In Italy nothing would have been simpler; but to bring your caïque to an imperial landing-place in Turkey, would be a grave performance that might bring serious consequences. Happily, through the agency of a friend, I was put into communication with the architect, M. Balyan, a young Armenian of great intelligence, and who spoke French.
M. Balyan had the kindness to take me in his boat of three pairs of oars, and made me enter first an old kiosk, a remnant of the former palace, where we were served with pipes, coffee, and sherbet flavoured with rose; then he conducted me himself through the apartments with a kindness and charming politeness for which I thank him here, hoping that one day his eye will fall upon these lines.
The interior has not been entirely finished yet, but, nevertheless, you can get an idea of the future splendour of the whole. The religious ideas of the Turks debar from their ornamentation a host of happy motives and restrict considerably the fancy of the artist, who must carefully abstain from mingling with his arabesques the representation of any living objects:--thus, there are no statues, no bas-reliefs, no masks, no chimæras, no griffins, no dolphins, no birds, no sphinxes, no serpents, no butterflies, no little figures half-woman and half-flower, no heraldic monsters, and none of those strange creatures that compose the fabulous zoölogy of ornamentation, and of which Raphael has made such marvellous use in the galleries of the Vatican.