Florence the Beautiful

Front matter

FLORENCE, THE BEAUTIFUL. in ALEXANDER BAILLIE COCHRANE, ESQ., AOTnOH OF " LUCILLE DELMONT ;" " ERNEST VANE," &C. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, G1S.EAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1851. LONDON: Printed liy Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. ro THE LADY ELIZABETH DRUMMOND, TUE QUALITIES OF WHOSE HEART, INHERITED FROM A LONG LINE OF ANCESTRY AND TRANSMITTED TO HER CHILDREN, HAVE BEEN TO ME THE SOURCE OF MUCH HAPPINESS, I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THESE VOLUMES. ALEXANDER BAILLIE COCHRANE. FLORENCE THE BEAUTIFUL

Chapter I. The

TOURA1NE. If there be any one part of France which justifies to its enthusiastic admirers the epithet of " La Belle," it is assuredly the Touraine. Sheltered from the cold sea-breezes of the east, surrounded on all sides by mountain ranges, the valley of the Loire presents at every turn pictures of unsurpassed beauty and interest ; nothing more pleasing than to wander without guide or guide-book through this favoured country ; it is little known to the regular VOL. I. B Madame Starke-ridden tourist, and this seclusion perhaps lends to it an additional charm. The iron rail traverses, but has not invaded its repose, peaceful hamlets rest on the banks of the noble Loire, which rolls on its course with the stillness of a strong and mighty spirit conscious of a great purpose. Here commerce recals to the happy, listless tra veller, idling on the river banks, that, separate himself as he may from the world, there are links which cannot be broken, and that even the silent, unconscious river binds man to man, and nation to nation ; but here it is commerce in her most graceful form, such as artists love to paint, and poets to describe her.

Large rafts like those on the Rhine, guided with admirable skill through shallows, and over rapids, move along dream like on the bosom of the rolling waters. Slow creeping barges float down at times lazily and sluggishly ; at others, when the reach of the river permits it, with their swarthy, wide-swelling sails set to catch the breeze. La Touraine has beer called, and not inappropriately so, " Le pays de rire et de rien faire," where the soil is as light as the hearts of those who till it, and the harvest of corn and wine as abundant as man can desire. Each hamlet is in summer time frequented by admirers and artists, some, who truly travel for the sake of art, and others, by far the more agreeable kind, who make their pencil the excuse for travel ; but it is rarely that these travellers ever diverge far from the river-side, and there are to be found in general, within a short distance of every post, so many objects of varied interest, that the time devoted to excursions is nearly occupied in examining these.

And so it happens that the people of this district are rarely studied, for wherever many travellers are in the habit of passing, national habits are speedily eradicated, but in the interior of the province, where the presence of a stranger is rare as it is welcome, the people retain all their primitive qualities, and these, for the honour B of La Touraine, may be said to be copied from its nature. Here all the tints are soft and mellowed ; distance blends into distance in unbroken harmony ; here are no abrupt effects, no lofty mountain ranges to appal the awe-stricken traveller ; all is soft, genial and peaceful. Such is the character of the people, gentle, mild and peaceful as the climate ; and to climate the character owes more than we at first think, for the severity of the northman, and the gentle indolence of the eastern, alike arise from the climate.

Hospitable, as all primitive people are, the traveller is wel comed wherever he appears. Sad to say, that mistrust and suspicion arise from inter course with the world, but here the people are unsuspecting, because they live secluded. Many a month may be passed pleasantly in visiting scenes of surpassing loveliness ; nor are objects of historic interest wanting, on each side ; chateaux which rival any feudal remains in Europe, frown over valleys, or lie buried abbeylike in their seclusion ; above all summer, real, warm, glowing summer, smiles over the scene ; the sun, not obscured by fog and damp as in our climate, here delighteth to run his course ; men shade their eyes as they turn towards him, the colours of the distance are so blended by the haze, that at mid-day the outline of forest and hill range can scarcely be distinguished, the veil of glory is cast over every object, soft ening their asperities, and mingling their beauties.

In the immediate vicinity of the picturesque village of Montrichard, is a spot where four roads meet ; and the traveller, who is merely loitering by the way, anxious to visit the objects of deepest interest, would find himself puzzled which road to select, for each of them leads to some object of romantic or historical importance ; but before he determined his choice he would pause a moment to revel in the contemplation of the beautiful scenery which there bursts upon the view. It is said that the only defect in the character of the inhabitants of this neighbourhood is, that they are naturally indolent ; nor is this surprising, for where nature has done so much, we can scarcely wonder that man should do so little ; but, though most beautiful, the prospect here is not extensive, no very lofty moun tains intercept the view, but the ground undulates with endless variety, as if each vineyard were gently heaving towards the rich clusters of grapes, which bend towards the bosom of the mother that bore them.

Here again, wild acacia hedges, luxuriant orchards, a picturesque confusion of hollow heath and height, while they limit the prospect, leave nothing for the heart to desire ; but to prevent a monotony even of beauty, bright ridges of yellow corn peep through the foliage, lightening the scene like smiles on the lips of the beautiful. Whoever has once stood on this spot, must recall it oftentimes, for there is not within the boundary of the Touraine a sunnier vale than that of Montrichard. Amid all the busy, ambitious scenes of life, the remembrance of this sweet spot breathes a repose which the worldly and the ambitious may well pine for and envy.

Chapter II. The Cross By The Wayside

In the centre where the four roads meet, there stood a Cross. It was a Cross primitive and simple as the faith which it represented, among these peaceful, lowly people. The travellers, from whichever side of the country they chanced to be journeying, paused for a moment at its foot in gratitude or love. There was no attempt at any fanciful carving ; simple, of plain, unornamented wood, like that which saved the world. But this absence of all decoration or symbol did not arise from neglect, for wreaths of immortelles hung around it, and these were constantly renewed. There they were, emblems of that piety, humble as its offering. It would have furnished matter for curious and not uninteresting reflection, to have watched and judged the various characters who bent their knees before it, in the course of each day ; but most beautiful was it to see the old man, when he laid aside his hat, and the whitened locks fell over his shoulders,, as he knelt in prayer ; or the young child, clasping her tiny hands, as she hurried through her short supplica tion, and then reverently crossing herself.

It had stood, that Cross, for many long years ; it had survived, like the faith of which it was the symbol, many shocks, many dangers. But it was soon to be up rooted ; for at this date, the spring of 1789, the days of mourning and darkness for France were at hand. The moss-grown wood had long braved the furious tempest, the thunder-stroke and the lightning's flash, but it could not defy the passions of men. It was a bright evening in early spring, and after a shower in the Touraine, can anything be wanting to complete the dream of beauty ? Standing by that Cross, the first object which presented itself was the little village of Mont d'Or, worthy of its name, to judge by the yellow fields of waving grain by which it was quite surrounded; in the distance the chateau of La Tour Beau port, stood like a proud monument of that feudal character and age, to which it owed its foundation, at a time when men possessed high and noble ideas of great works to be performed in their generation, and the spirit to realize them for the benefit of succeeding ones.

But between the chateau and the village, a distance of some three miles, the freshness and softness of spring breathed on bloom and blossom ; high hedges and narrow lanes, such as Love and Hope frequent in their youth, rendered back in fragrance to the atmosphere, some of the beauty which the scenery owed to its glorious tints. It was an evening for Hope to anticipate a happy morrow ; so soft and joyous that, like the dreams of youth, we think they can never pass or grow old, or the glory of such a sunshine sink into darkness. It seems that, at eventide, there is always in Nature a sweeter perfume, rose tints cover the heavens, and there are low, soft murmurs of many insects. Bride-like, the earth and sky appear to be more lavish of their beauties, as the night draws on apace. And is it not so?

The morning dawn may be like manhood, bright and vigorous, the pulse beats high, and the brow is erect ; but it is in the evening that the nature of all men is softened and subdued, and that the heart beats more warmly for others, it may be, perchance, more warmly to others. But the world is not without, it is within us; it must be so, or it were impossible that, on such an evening, a broken heart could be kneeling at the foot of this time worn Cross. But, after all, what to the sad heart was the bloom on the tree, or the blossom on the flower? With her soul concentrated in one emotion, indifferent to all external impressions, a broken hearted, world-driven woman, with a fair young girl by her side, prayed for a strength which the world cannot give, but which we know at the same time the world cannot take away from us.

It was a picture not ill adapted to the scene ; the stillness of nature, and the still ness of prayer, the mystery of twilight, and the mystery of the heart : there was some sympathy between the actors and the scene. It suggested thoughts removed from ordinary curiosity ; or the earnest attitude of the woman, and the singular grace of the voung girl, must have excited attention ; but, as it was, the few people who drew near to bend the knee, kept at a reverential distance, as though unwilling to intrude on the heart's deep expression, and then passed on, at once unobservant and unobserved. One poor girl, indeed, as she wended her way, perchance with a deeper affliction at heart, turned when she had advanced a short way on her road, to gaze on the group at the foot of the Cross. It may be, that her heart beat in harmony with their's ; and as she recalled the weeping Magdalene, she learned in her sympathy for others to mourn for herself.

After a short time the mother turned towards the young girl, who had dropped her hand, and now sat at her feet, on one of those worn stones, which testified by their appearance to the piety of those, who knelt upon them in their progress towards their devotions. The mother and daughter rose and sat on a bank covered with flowers, which afforded a more extensive view of the surrounding country. Not a word passed for some time between them. The daughter gathered some of the flowers which were near her, and from mere thoughtlessness, or from depth of thought, picked off the buds, which fell at her feet. She seemed subdued but not unhappy ; and from time to time looked into her mother's countenance, as if anxious, but unwilling to ask the cause of this sorrow. " Mamma," she said at last, as if desirous to break through this painful scene, " I thought you told me that, if you came into the Touraine, you would be then happier.

You know," she continued, with a smile, " you have often blamed me for giving way to feelings, and yet how unhappy you appear." " Florence, it is true I have cause to grieve, both for you and for myself." " Not for me, mamma," said Florence ; " I shall be much happier in the country than in Paris. I've led so lonely a life lately; and a large town, with a constant movement, is even more solitary and lonely than the country. But then this scene is so full of beauty ; if you will only live in this neighbourhood, mamma, I will promise you never to be dull or melancholy. It would be quite happiness for me to watch the beauty of the scenery, as we do now." " I hope, Florence, we shall be able to live here," said her mother, trying to smile, and she passed her arm round her daughter's neck, to kiss her fair cheek.

It was beautiful to see love between two who were in themselves so lovely, for the mother's age could not exceed five-and-thirty years, only it seemed that womanhood had brought with it more than its usual share of responsibilities, sorrows, and broken hopes; her noble and sad-looking brow was shadowed by luxuriant dark hair, gathered into one large bandeau, and borne to the back of her head in that graceful sweep which we know classic beauties loved to adopt, for classic sculpture has transmitted it to us. Her cheek was as full, and the chin as dimpling as the daughter's who sat by her side ; the fixed gaze betrayed the deep interest of her thoughts. Beautiful as the prospect was, those thoughts were evidently far away. Even in this rural spot, her dress recalled the memory of the scenes she had left ; it was on the whole far better adapted for the atmosphere of the Chaussee d'Antin .than for a woodland valley in the Touraine.

Every article was scrupulously neat ; but the least shrewd of observers could at a glance have detected that it was not made in the provinces, and it possessed a nameless simplicity and grace which all nations strive to attain to, but in which the French alone succeed ; for the truly impartial must admit that the French have the happy facility of rendering art subservient to woman's grace. Every article she wore seemed to belong to her, as though the fashion could never have been successfully worn by any one else ; she did not, however, follow the prevailing habit of powder, which was by no means of universal adoption in the provinces ; aver her dress, which was black, a light cloak was thrown, and the road to Montrichard could seldom have pre sented so graceful a scene, as the group on the bank of flowers on this warm spring evening.

So it appeared that others thought, for a man, who had been engaged in his prayers, while he allowed some cows, which he was by way of attending to, to crop off all the vine-leaves from the top of the bank, stared at them for some time in a kind of mute astonishment, with one hand half-raised, as if inclined to touch his cap, with the other going through the monotonous occu pation of knocking off the heads of some thistles. There is something magnetic in an intense gaze, and both the mother and daughter vol. I. c turned towards the man, who looked con fused as though he had been detected in an improper act. However, taking off his cap, he stammered out that he was ordered to meet the lady who had sent on her luggage from the diligence on the road to Tours, for a boy was waiting with it at La Belle Etoile.

It was Florence who answered : " Mamma, Monsieur has come to tell us that the luggage has arrived at the inn — is it not so, Monsieur ?" The man bowed, and looked again at the group, but immediately turned away his head, for he saw that the cheeks of her whom he had addressed were bedewed with tears. And there is at all times, and in most hearts, regard for the silent dignity of sorrow. " How came you to look for us, my friend ?" she said, seeing that, after another uncomfortable pause and a second awkward bow, the man was about to leave. "And how did you know what road we had tra velled ?" " Ma foi, Madame, it is not so often that strangers visit Mont d'Or," replied the man. " Sometimes we have the grand carriages of the Grands Seigneurs who travel post crack, crack, crack, through our little narrow street.

Madame Blanchard looks after them — trust her for that — although they generally drive direct to the Poste, and seldom stop at La Belle Etoile ; or the marquis himself sometimes passes, and, diable, he makes them travel fast enough. Then there is Mademoiselle de la Pompiere, in her magnificent carriage ; but except these and some artist who sketches the old chateau, or any pretty girl he may come across — Pardon, Madame ! but artists like to sketch pretty faces." And here he burst into a silly laugh, whether at the recollection of sundry pas sages in his life, or because he had involved himself in a soliloquy from which c it was impossible to extricate himself, it were difficult to say. " But you have not told me how you knew by which road we were to be ex pected ?" " Ah, by the bye, I forgot this, Madame.

But you know — " and here he looked a little confused, while he readjusted his cap, and completed the sacrifice of sundry nettles he had beheaded. " What I mean to say, Madame, is, that when any one does arrive at La Belle Etoile, it is a great event. So we asked the boy who brought the luggage, and he told us that two ladies had left the diligence on the road about two miles distant, and rested in a house, saying that they would walk to Mont d'Or; and then you see, Madame, that I looked at the boxes and read the address. It is quite natural — is it not? It was evident that Madame had come from Paris, because all the boxes from Paris are marked with the name. So I said to myself: ' Pierre, you will do well to go and meet these ladies. Perhaps they may require some one to show them the road.' So I told Madame Blanchard what I intended to do, who told me it was all right."

"And who is Madame Blanchard?" " You do not know Madame Blanchard ! Madame, how should you ? She is a good woman — every one knows Madame Blan chard, and likes her — gentle as a lamb ; and for the poor, ma foi, I have seen, when old Blanchard — and he was not really old — but we call every one old who is married — why, when old Blanchard was alive, the kitchen was quite an hospice. Nothing was too good for the poor. As for poor Pierre — that is myself, Madame — I had a hard life of it, running about to look after all these vagabonds. Since Madame Blanchard—" " Thanks," said the lady, with a movement of impatience, which showed that her thanks were intended to express enough. " Does Madame Blanchard keep the Belle Etoile ?" " Yes, Madame." "I am happy to hear it, for we intend going there."

It was evident that if, by leaving the diligence at the junction of the high roads, the lady had intended to elude the curiosity of the inhabitants of Mont d'Or, she had singularly failed in her object; and at the recollection that her name and recent resi dence were now known in the village, the colour mounted into her cheek as she rose with a movement of impatience, and said : "Let us proceed, Florence." At that moment, a butterfly of more than ordinary beauty lit on a rose, which grew in wild luxuriance in the hedge. Florence sprang forward to catch it like a mere child as she was; and an expression of sorrow passed across her countenance, when the beautiful insect flew to the other side, until she observed that the rose was one of that deep, blushing, kind which the soil of the Touraine produces in fragrant abundance.

Then she plucked the rose, and reverently placed it in the centre of a fresh chaplet, which some young children had hung that morning on the Cross after a village wedding. Whether it was that her mother shrank from observation, or that she was acquainted with a shorter road to the Belle Etoile, she led Florence down a narrow lane, which turned to the right, immediately before the road entered the village. The man who had commenced the conversation had, up to this time, accompanied them, leaving his cattle to ravage all the banks and hedge rows, while he evidently proposed to con duct them to the inn ; but when they came to the turn of the road, a kind but dignified bow of the head checked his intended civility. He paused, as if in BY THE WAYSIDE. astonishment, at this sudden dismissal, and then muttered to himself: " She has a daughter more beautiful than an angel, this Madame Brinville !"

Chapter III. Madame Brinville

A very few moments brought Madame Brinville and Florence to the garden of La Belle Etoile, which extended some little way at the back of the building. She must have been well acquainted with the locality and with the arrangements of the house, for, in place of going at once to the principal entrance, she opened a small wicket, which conducted, by a narrow gravel walk, to the back-door ; but when she turned round, after having closed the gate, she saw a middle-aged, neatly -dressed woman, who was occupied in examining the progress of the bees in a glass hive. On hearing footsteps, she turned round sud denly; but her attitude of surprize and in quiry was soon exchanged for one of respect, as she contemplated the grace of Madame Brinville and the beauty of Florence. " Are you Madame Blanchard ?" inquired Madame Brinville.

" Yes, Madame," replied the hostess, dropping at the same time, in her attempt at a curtsey, some of the roses which she had been gathering, and was carrying in her apron. Florence ran to pick them up, and was about to replace them in her lap, when Madame Blanchard prevented her. " No, Mademoiselle, keep them," said Madame Blanchard. " In-doors I will get you a piece of thread, and tie them up for you. You will come in, will you not, Madame ?" " I have come for my luggage," said Madame Brinville. " A boy brought it on here from the Tours diligence. You will have seen the name on the boxes ; it is Madame Brinville." " Oh ! Madame Brinville," said the hostess, and she dropped a curtsey even lower than before. " But Madame must be tired with her long walk ; she would like to rest herself ; and this dear young lady, she too must be fatigued ;" and the good woman took Florence's hand, who pressed hers kindly, for she was pleased with her voice and manner, and the flowers which she had given her.

Moreover, that greatest of all charms, a kind and gentle voice, won her heart immediately. The young and innocent are the best judges of character ; they can detect deception in the voice, and falsehood in the glance, when the ablest diplomatists might be deceived. Madame Brinville was touched, and she thanked Madame Blanchard with a warmth of manner, which showed that such kindness was of rare occurrence to her. "Does Madame intend to remain a long time at Mont d'Or ?" asked Madame Blan chard. " If so, I could accommodate her with two rooms, which look into this gar den ; and as they are on the first floor, there is a beautiful view from them. Perhaps Madame will come up and see them;" and forgetting the dignified ceremonial of the landlady, in her sympathy with the strangers, she opened the door for Madame Brinville, and preceded her up-stairs into a room, when at once the windows were thrown open, and assuredly Madame Blanchard had not exaggerated either the neatness of the apartments or the beauty of the view which they commanded.

The rooms were small, and nothing could be plainer than the furniture. Each possessed an alcove in which a small bed was placed, and plain, white curtains, which in the daytime were drawn across the recess, gave to the whole an appearance of clean liness and comfort that no finer material could have conveyed ; tables, a few chairs, and chest of drawers, was really all the furniture which they contained ; but these were kept so scrupulously clean and zealously polished, that the most fastidious person must have been satisfied with them. The floor was of that rich, dark colour which all good femmes de menage in France strive to obtain ; a piece of carpet laid under the table in the centre of the room, and a small stove, proved that even the Touraine is not wholly exempt from the mischances of the season — from winds, and frosts, and autumn chills.

Each of the rooms possessed the usual decoration of a clock, supported on either side by vases of anything but classic shape. These, like the clocks, had been purchased at one of the fairs from one of those itinerant merchants or pedlers who barter at every village, in their progresses, and, with their wares, are regarded by the village children as the embodiment of Oriental magnificence, and bearing with them in their packs the fabled riches of Haroun Alraschid. The walls of one of these rooms was covered with a quiet, sober paper ; on one side, opposite the window, hung a print of St. Jerome, as he is always represented, in a long monastic habit, fastened round his waist by a cord, a small rosary in his clasped hands, with his eyes turned to Heaven in the attitude of prayer. Beyond this master piece of village art, the walls were, like the mantel-piece, indebted to the itinerant merchants for their decoration.

There were two coloured prints of Louis XIV., one of them representing the grand council which was held when Philip of Anjou was pro claimed King of Spain ; another the entry of the Persian Ambassador into Paris. This, with a small mirror, completed the decoration of the bed-room ; but the next, which was intended for the sitting-room, and possessed a fire-place, was more highly ornamented; the walls were covered with that bright old French paper — which mo dern innovation has discarded, but which, after all, is gayer than that which has replaced it. Groups of peasants sitting under trees, or some Orpheus by the side of a very blue lake, delighting the woodlands and wild animals with his melodious pipe ; very pink hills in the background, and very bright skies overhead ; and then immediately swept on ward troops of mamelukes or janizaries in the gaudiest apparel, scouring the yellow plains after imaginary foes.

The chimney-board represented a Bedouin bargaining at his tent door for the sale of his favourite mare, while in the corner of the tent, pistol, firelock, sword, and shield were thrown together in the most inextricable confusion. The floor was po lished, even to a higher degree of intensity than the other room, and it was with conscious pride that Madame Blanchard threw open the door, and, having cast a careful glance round the room to see that everything was in its right place, looked into her visitor's countenance with an inquiring gaze, as much as to say, " Madame will be very well here." But it was the view from the window which at that moment occupied Madame Brinville's attention. By a wise arrange ment the back of the house, in which the best rooms were situated, looked to the south.

The front into a little narrow street, scarcely worthy of the name, but which the loyalty of the inhabitants had distinguished with the appellation of La Rue Royale. The point of view was the same as that which Madame Brinville had been contemplating so long from the hill-side; but here the objects were brought much nearer. At the foot of the garden was a tiny rivulet, which fretted and struggled like a wayward child, hurrying forward to join the great river of life ; a bank rose abruptly from the edge of the stream, and on every available spot of ground the vine was planted, while here and here pieces of the naked rock peeped forth, and moss and wild heather mingled with the graceful vine. A large meadow, of a green so bright that it indicated more rain than the inhabitants of Touraine would be disposed to allow could fall, extended far away to the foot of a noble wood-crowned hill, forming a part of that immense forest which is spread over the whole country from Chambord to the neighbourhood of Tours.