THE BEAUTIES OF FRANCE 



4S9 



pelle, in its dreary setting of the granite 



Palace of Justice. 



A SUN-DRENCHED CENTER 



Most seductive of all the old provinces 

 is Touraine, for centuries the sun- 

 drenched recreation center of France, a 

 richly colored province of gently rolling 

 plains and lazy rivers that ramble leis- 

 urely through its verdant fields and mis- 

 tletoe-draped woods, of one large city 

 and many lovely little towns, of peerless 

 chateaux and grim old castles. Its capi- 

 tal, Tours, is still a Mecca for every na- 

 tion under the sun, not so much because 

 of its rare houses of another age, its bi- 

 zarre cathedral or its own attractive per- 

 sonality, as because it is the center from 

 which radiate throughout the province 

 lines of beauty and genius that found ex- 

 pression in the noblest and loftiest secu- 

 lar achievements of France, numberless 

 great chateaux of the Middle Ages and 

 the Renaissance. 



Touraine. to a greater degree than any 

 other part of the world, emphasizes in 

 these vast and elegant structures the use- 

 fulness and value of pure beauty for the 

 sake of beauty. It also portrays clearly 

 and harmoniously the development of the 

 sumptuous residential chateau from the 

 stronghold pure and simple. 



Loches, high upon its hill above the 

 Indre — one of the fair and graceful trib- 

 utaries of the Loire — is stimulating in its 

 rugged strength and simplicity. Its en- 

 trance is terrible, frowning, turreted. Its 

 mile and a quarter of massive walls make 

 it a town within a town : where the roof- 

 less, floorless donjon still reeks of shud- 

 dering cruelties ; where the castle church 

 amazingly roofs itself with four lofty 

 cones or pyramids, and where the faith- 

 less Charles VII still dallies with the fair 

 Agnes Sorel in an impressionistic relief 

 over one of the doorways of his white, 

 luxurious hunting lodge. 



FAMOUS FRENCH CHATEAUX 



Equally high Chinon rears its shattered 

 walls above the placid Vienne. Most of 

 its huge triple castle, where 500 years 

 ago Joan of Arc talked with laggard 

 Charles, is gone ; but the enchanting 

 views over silver stream and emerald 



plain still exercise so potent a witchery 

 it is hard to give due attention to the 

 ancient stronghold. 



Amboise bulks huge above the Loire 

 itself, as much residence as castle, yet 

 strong in defense. Its enormous battle- 

 mented towers contrast curiously with an 

 ornate, balconied facade, and with its en- 

 trancing little gem of a Gothic chapel, all 

 carved and gargoyled and pinnacled. 

 History touched Amboise with bloodv 

 hands and moved grimly on to Blois. per- 

 haps the most grandiose and truly roval 

 of all the innumerable chateaux of 

 France. The lofty Francis I wing rises 

 from an old foundation, which is a fort- 

 ress in itself, into an airy, arcaded, gra- 

 cious pleasure palace worthy of the king 

 who reared it and his Italian advisers. 

 Within the court is the gem of the whole 

 chateau, the bold, symmetrical, perfect 

 open-air staircase, covered with carving 

 as delicate and clean cut as silversmith's 

 chasing, and exquisite statues by the 

 greatest sculptors of the period. And 

 along the upper walls long lines of sav- 

 age-looking gargoyles seem a flight of 

 medieval witches and monsters in full cry. 



A EABYRINTH OF ANACHRONISMS 



Seen from the massive bridge over the 

 Loire, the town of Blois rises in tiers and 

 terraces from the bustling present of 

 waterside commerce up into the historic 

 past. It is a labyrinth of anachronisms. 

 Fascinating houses, with carved facades ; 

 others gleaming from top to bottom with 

 slates ; and styleless modern dwellings 

 and shops all face upon flowery streets 

 through which clang twentieth-century 

 trolley cars. Great churches hide up 

 black little alleys or face vast, deserted 

 dirt squares, while modern business has 

 plastered glaring advertisements, in col- 

 ors that shock, upon houses and buildings 

 that ought to be museums of antiquity. 



Chambord must be taken for what it 

 is: a great, dazzling butterfly of a cha- 

 teau forcing its way out of the hindering 

 cocoon of a fortress, neither truly beau- 

 tiful nor impressive, but interesting as a 

 proof of the progress the chateau build- 

 ers were making (see page 492). 



There is something of a suggestion of 

 the fortress to Chenonceaux, rising boldly 



