Chateau and Country Life in France

riking as the run down from Paris was so ugly and commonplace. The suburbs of Paris around the Gare de l'Est-the Plain of St. Denis and all the small villages, with kitchen gardens, rows of gr

dumped down in the middle of the fields, and a drive of about fifty minutes brought us to the chateau. The country is not at all pretty, always the same thing-gr

vias making a belt of colour which is most effective. We found the family-Marquis and Marquise de Lasteyrie and their two sons-waiting at the hall door. The Marquis, great-grandson of the General Marquis de Lafayette, is a type of the well-born, courteous French gentleman (one of the most attractive types, to my mind, that one can meet anywhere). There is something in perfectly well-bred French people of a certain class that one

ch has helped her very much in her married life in France during our troubled epoch, when religious questions and political discussions do so much to embitter persona

table, running straight through the house; the end room in the tower-a round room with windows on all sides-quite charming. The contrast between the modern-English-comforts (low, wide chairs, writing-table, rugs, cushions, and centre-table covered with books in all languages, a very rare thing in a French chateau, picture papers, photographs, etc.) and the st

ijon rose-bush, still full of bloom, were sprawling over the old gray walls. Animals of all kinds were walking about the court-yard; some swans and a lame duck, which had wandered up from the moat, standing on the edge and looking about with much interest; a lively little fox-terrier, making frantic

s for cannon balls tell their own story of rough feudal life. On one side of the castle there is a large hole in the wall, made by a cannon ball sent by Turenne. He was passing one day and asked to whom

ned bindings, running straight around the walls and a collection of manuscripts and autograph letters from kings and queens of France and most of the celebrities of the days of the Valois-among them several letters from Catherine de Medicis, Henry IV, and la Reine Marg

Marquis de Lasteyrie), saying that he loses no time in telling him of the birth of a very fine little girl. He certainly never realized whe

Also his leather arm-chair (which was exhibited at the Chicago World's Fair), and a horn or speaking-trumpet through which he gave his orders to the farm hands from the window. The library ope

afayette, killed at Minden, leaving his young son to be brought up

anical, with a white muslin fichu over her plain black silk dress-the other, Mademoiselle de Lafayette, in the court dress of the time of Louis

ing of the Comte de Paris, a noble looking boy in all the bravery of white satin and feathers-the original picture is in the possession of the Duc de Chartres. It was sad

uous figures are the young Marquis de Lafayette in powdered wig and black silk ribbon, and the English General Lord Cornwallis, destined to meet as adversaries many years later during the American Revolution. There are many family pictures

middle-aged man in a long fur coat, hat and stick in his hand; looking, as one can imagine he did when he settled down, after his br

l the party were expected at tea. We went off in three carriages-quite like a "noce," as the Marquise remarked. The drive (about an hour) was not pa

house, and of two old towers-one round and one square. The chateau stands well-a very broad moat, almost a river, running straight around the house and gardens. We crossed the drawbridge, which always gives me a sensation of old feudal times and recalls the day

During the French Revolution the family of the actual proprietor installed themselves in one of the towers and lived there many long weary weeks, never daring to venture out, show any lights, or give any sign of life-in daily terror of being discovered

ryside. However, in spite of the driving rain, we caught glimpses through the windows of splendid parterres of salvias and cannas, making great spots of colour in a beautiful bit of smooth green lawn. In old days the chateau was much bigge

re hall and passed through one drawing-room and a small library into another, which is charming-a corner

r long damp drive. One dish was rather a surprise-American waffles-not often to be found, I imagine, in an old French feudal castle, but Madame de Mimont's nationality explained it. I was very sor

ning, were red, and the lights from the handsome silver candélabres made a brilliant spot of warmth and colour against the dark panelled w

bassy overlooked the spot where the bomb was thrown. In eighty-five seconds from the time they heard the detonation (in the first second they thought it was a salute), the Amb

he drawing-room; those who remain choose a word-chair, hat, cat, etc. This evening the word was "mat." We told the two actors-Mrs. P. and the son of the house-they must act (nothing spoken) a word which rhymed with hat. I will say they found it very quickly, but some of their attempts were funny enough-really very cleverly done. It amused me perfectly, though I must frankly confess I should have been incapable of either acting or guessing the word. The only one I made out was f

nce of one of the early chatelaines who trailed her mourning robes and widow's veil over the fallen leaves, bemoaning her solit

of the memoirs of the time speak of walks and

ies came there, anxious to see the great champion of liberty; among them many Americans, who always found a gracious

y. He arrived quite simply one fine autumn morning, in his coffin, accompanied by a letter which said: 'William Summerville, having the greatest admiration for the General Lafayette, begs he will bury him in his land at La Grange.' This, being against the law, could not be done

e most amusing; the arrival, for instance, of Lady Holland at the home of the Republican General. "She is always preceded by a fourgon from London containing her own favourite meubles of Holland House-her bed, fauteuil, carpet, etc., and divers other articles too numerous to mention

fraid so, said he. She was so indiscreet, and I can conscientiously add-so innocent. However, the Comte d'Artois was also of the party, and we were all young, enterprising, and pleasure-loving. But what is most absurd in the adventure was that, when I pointed out Mme. du Barry to her-whose figure and favourite domino I knew-t

white hair survived her husband many years. During the war of 1870 they, like many other chatelains, had Prus

s. In an instant, her bare feet hastily thrust into slippers, her hair like a long white mane hanging down her back, with a dressing gown thrown over her shoulders, she started in pursuit. She followed them about three miles and at last came upon them at the top of a hill. After much persuasion and after spiking the guns (in no case could they have done gr

owner keeps up the traditions of his grandfather. I was thinking last night what a cosmopolitan group we were. Three or four different nationalities, speaking alternately the two languages-French and English-many of the party having travelled all over the world and all interested in politics, literature, and music; in a different wa