Tours made a convenient headquarters for our explorations in Touraine, where along the banks of the Loire and the Indre were enacted the most important events in French history from Charles VII to Henry IV. Every one would be interested in an historical course having for subjects these Renaissance homes of France's gallantry and beauty. One lingers, and imagines the scenes of magnificent revel, the court life of kings and queens when the artistic and architectural glory of France was at its zenith.

It was easy to plan our one-day trips so as to include on the same circuit several of the most famous chÂteaux. The first day we motored to Azay-le-Rideau, Chinon, Rigny-UssÉ, and Langeais, in the order named. The distances were short, perhaps one hundred and twenty-five kilometers in all, so that we could go leisurely and yet return to Tours before dark.

With this wonderful program before us, we crossed the Loire, and traversing a wooded country with areas of vineyards and gardens, came to Azay-sur-Indre. There were not even hints of a chÂteau, nothing but the aimless cobbled streets of the typical French town. We halted beside a long wall which holds back the encroaching village and betrays no sign of the surprise in store within. Any one about to see his first chÂteau would do well to visit Azay-le-Rideau, a veritable gem of Renaissance style. This graceful pile of white architecture, as seen to-day, belongs to the early part of the sixteenth century. FranÇois I built it. That patron of the beaux arts has placed our twentieth century under lasting obligation. Every line is artistic. There is the picture of airy lightness in the turrets and carven chimneys that rise from the high sloping roofs of blue slate. In gratitude for the preservation of this perfect work one forgets the ravages of the French Revolution. Passing over a small bridge, we followed the gardien through the sculptured doorway and up the grand staircase so often ascended by FranÇois and his Parisian favorites. We were permitted to see the ancient kitchen and old kitchen utensils of wrought iron. Paintings and Flemish tapestries adorned the billiard room. The king's bedroom has a fine specimen of rare mediÆval flooring. The ballroom, with its Gobelin tapestries, suggested the artistic luxury of the age. From nearly every window there were pleasing outlooks on a green woodland and on the sunny branch of the Indre, which surrounds the chÂteau on three sides. It was all a picture of peace. Azay-le-Rideau is a chÂteau of elegance, instead of defense. One could imagine it built by a king who had leisure to collect beautiful works of art and whose throne was not seriously threatened by invading armies.

Quite different from it is the chÂteau of Chinon, an immense ruined fortress built on a hill above the Vienne River. The walls are as impregnable as rocky cliffs. Chinon was the refuge of a king who had need of the strongest towers. Charles VII, still uncrowned, assembled here the States-General while the English were besieging OrlÉans. It was a time of despair. The French were divided, discouraged, helpless, their richest provinces overrun by English armies. At this lowest ebb of French history, a simple peasant girl came to Chinon. Only a solitary gable and chimneypiece remain of the Grande Salle du TrÔne where Jeanne d'Arc told the king of her visions from heaven and of mysterious voices commanding her to save the nation. We entered the tower, her rude quarters till she departed a few weeks later to lead the French troops to the victory of OrlÉans.

After lunch we motored through the gardens of Touraine to the magnificent chÂteau of UssÉ. The elegant grounds and surrounding woods formed an appropriate setting. Terraces descended to the wall below, where our view swept over a wide range of picturesque country, watered by the Indre. Much to our regret, we were not permitted to visit the chÂteau, which is now occupied by a prominent French family.

Langeais, a few miles away, gave us a more hospitable welcome. It is a superb stronghold upon the Loire, and has dark, frowning towers and a heavy drawbridge which looks very mediÆval. The widow of M. Siegfried, a Parisian millionaire, lives here part of the year with her daughter. M. Siegfried, who bought the chÂteau, was interested in art as well as in ships. He lavished his wealth to furnish the different rooms with furniture and objets d'art peculiar to the period. His will provides that after the wife's death the chÂteau is to belong to the Institute of France, and that a sum equal to six thousand dollars is to be devoted to its upkeep. Other tourists had arrived. The concierge conducted our party through the many different rooms, lavishly furnished and decorated in the period of Louis XI and Charles VIII. There were wide, open fireplaces. We were interested in the Grand Salon, where the marriage of Charles VIII and Anne of Brittany was celebrated in 1491.

The return to Tours led along the banks of the Loire. Rain was falling, a cold drizzle which the rising wind dashed in our faces. The wide sweeps of the river grew indistinct. There were few carts to check our homeward spurt through the darkening landscape. We were fortunate in having so comfortable a hostelry for a goal. The dinner, equal to the best French cuisine, proved a pleasant ending to a memorable day.

The next morning ushered in one of those golden fall days that seemed made for "chÂteauing." The swift kilometers soon carried us to Loches, that impressive combination of state prison, ChÂteau Royal, and grim fortress overlooking the valley of the Indre. So many horrible memories are linked with the prisons of Loches that we almost hesitate to record our impressions. We have seen the dungeon cells of the Ducal Palace in Venice and the equally gruesome chambers of the Castle of Chillon, but the dungeons of Loches are the most fear-inspiring that we have ever penetrated. Perhaps a part of this impression was due to the concierge who showed us the prisons where famous captives were incarcerated and tortured at the will of monarchs. There was one dark cell with a deep hole, purposely fashioned that the victims should stumble headlong to their fate. Our guide gave us a graphic description of this method of execution. In that gloomy hole, his sudden climax of "TrÈs horrible," would have made any one shiver. Some of these cells extend an interminable distance underground. It is not the most cheerful experience to descend deeper and deeper into this subterranean darkness, to see the daylight growing fainter, to hear the trickle of water from the cold rocks, and then to imagine the slow, frightful death of many a political captive. Louis XI, not satisfied with the capacity of the dungeon, built a great round tower, the Tour Neuve, where he imprisoned the rebellious barons whose lives could not be taken.

Some one has written of this amiable king that "his reign was a daily battle, carried on in the manner of savages, by astuteness and cruelty, without courtesy and without mercy." In the cell occupied by Ludovico Sforza, the Duke of Milan, may be seen the paintings, sun dial, and inscriptions with which he tried to ward off approaching madness. This prisoner is said to have died from the joy of regaining his liberty. Louis XI was resourceful in his method of imprisonment. In a subterranean room of the Tour Neuve we were shown where the Cardinal Balue was suspended in a small cage. One reads that he "survived so much longer than might have been expected this extraordinary mixture of seclusion and exposure." Almost as horrible was the window cell in one of the torture chambers. The prisoner was confined on a narrow stone ledge between two rows of bars. There was barely space to stand up or lie down. A handful of straw served for a bed. On the one side, he was exposed to the elements, and on the other, he viewed the torments of fellow prisoners.

We turned with relief to less hideous scenes, to the apartments of the ChÂteau Royal, occupied by the irresolute Charles VII, the terrible Louis XI, and their successors; to the tower, from the top of which we had a commanding view of the quaint, mediÆval town and the wandering Indre. Our guide did not forget to show us the tomb of Agnes Sorel, the beautiful mistress of Charles VII. Two little angels kneel at her head, while her feet rest on two couchant lambs, symbols of innocence. The monument would have made an appropriate resting place for a martyred saint.

From Loches, we motored through a deep forest to the chÂteau of MontrÉsor, well protected on its rocky height by a double encircling wall, flanked with towers. Once within these formidable barriers, we were delighted with the pleasant grounds and green arbors above the valley of the Indrois. The building dates from the commencement of the sixteenth century, and was small enough to look more like a home than a palace. The concierge spoke of a distinguished Polish family who occupied it part of the year. This was the first "home chÂteau" we had seen. Everything looked livable; there was warmth and coziness and refinement in the different rooms. We felt almost like intruders into this domestic atmosphere. Some of the paintings were by great artists. One was Fleury's "The Massacre of the Poles at Warsaw," on April 8, 1861. There were rare specimens of antique furniture, and, most interesting of all, the "Treasury of the Kings of Poland," consisting in part of the large gold dish and silver soup tureen presented to John Sobieski by the city of Vienna, and of the silver-gilt services of Sobieski and of Sigismond II, King of Poland. The chÂteau has a rich collection of works of art and souvenirs relating to the history of Poland.

The HÔtel de France nearby spread before us a mÉnu so good that we confiscated the carte du jour as a souvenir.

Eagerly we looked forward to Chenonceaux, built on the Cher, most exquisite of the French chÂteaux and for centuries the rendezvous of wit and beauty. Motor cars lined the roadside by the gates of the park. Some of the visitors had driven in carriages from the nearest railway stations. We sauntered down an avenue of trees to a large garden, rather a formal piece of landscape work. The drawbridge offered access to the chÂteau. FranÇois I purchased it. Later, Henry II, ascending the throne, gave it to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers. The French women of that day had a big share in the shaping of history; the conversations of the boudoir were often more influential than state councils. Diane built a bridge which connected the castle with the other side of the river. Twelve years later, the death of Henry II gave his widow, Catherine de' Medici, a chance to relieve her embittered feelings. She forced Diane to exchange Chenonceaux for another chÂteau. Upon the bridge built by her rival, Catherine erected a long gallery, surmounted by a banqueting hall. This fairy-like structure is so strangely placed, one is reminded of a fantastic ship moored in the river. It is remarkable for its celebrated Renaissance architecture and for the absence of bloody traditions. "Blois is stained with the blood of Guise; Amboise was the scene of massacre; Loches stands upon unnumbered dungeons; Chenonceaux alone has no bloodstain on its stones and no groan has ever risen from its vaults. Eight generations of kings took their pleasure there, and a long line of brilliant and beautiful women makes its history like a rope of pearls." Even the gloomy, plotting Catherine did nothing to disturb the peaceful records and gorgeous fÊtes of Chenonceaux. In the "chambre de Diane de Poitiers" we saw a painting representing Catherine. Those cold, brooding eyes looked capable of anything, from the murder of the Duc de Guise to the massacre of St. Bartholomew.

Two other chÂteaux of our itinerary still remained, Amboise and Blois, the latter perhaps the most famous of them all. We decided to visit these chÂteaux en route down the valley of Loire to OrlÉans. The following morning we bade farewell to Tours. The road swept us along the left bank of the Loire, all aglitter in the September sunshine. What a wonderful stream it is, the longest river in France, with its basin embracing one fourth of that country! There is not a river in the world like it. One feels the breath of romance, the spell of historical associations, the beauty of its curves sweeping through a smiling land. "Perhaps no stream, in so short a portion of its course, has so much history to tell."[6] Along its banks flourished for three centuries the court of the Valois kings. There are vineyards, the remains of mediÆval forests, little villages that have scarcely changed in a hundred years, and splendid chÂteaux like those of Blois, Chaumont, Chambord, and Amboise, almost reflecting their towers in the water and rich in the wonders of the French Renaissance.

Of all the chÂteaux along the Loire, Amboise enjoys the finest situation. From across the river we could see this dark Gothic mass rising from its cliff-like walls to dominate the town and far-winding stream. The panorama from the high terrace is one of the indescribable views of France. The real treasure of Amboise is the exquisite Chapelle de Saint Hubert, due to Charles VIII. His artistic zeal was tragically interrupted. We saw the low doorway where, according to tradition, he struck his head and killed himself while hastening to play tennis. On the terrace is a bust of Leonardo da Vinci, who died here in 1519. The name of Catherine de' Medici is connected with a frightful scene that occurred in the courtyard. A Huguenot conspiracy to capture the youthful FranÇois II was discovered. The fierce Catherine not only witnessed the executions from a balcony, but insisted upon the company of her horrified daughter-in-law, Mary Stuart. Twelve hundred Huguenots were butchered. One writer[7] makes the following grim comment: "It was a long job, of course, to kill so many, and the company could hardly be expected to watch it all, but the noble victims were reserved for their special entertainment after dinner." Catherine seems to have had a peculiar fondness for these innocent and edifying spectacles. We descended the spiral roadway of the colossal tower up which Emperor Charles V rode on horseback when he visited FranÇois I. This inclined plane was so perfect and gradual that our motor car could have climbed it with ease.

Recrossing the Loire, we rode on to Blois for lunch at that famous hostelry, the HÔtel d'Angleterre, close by the river's edge. To the chÂteau of Blois belongs historical preËminence. This great castle was the center of French history in the sixteenth century. Elaborate and imposing, Blois recalls the splendor of the age as well as its crimes. Such fireplaces and such ceilings! The colors are crimson and gold. Amid this gloomy grandeur moved Catherine de' Medici. The memory of her presence alone is enough to make the air heavy with intrigue and murder, with all the passions that inflamed the religious wars. Joining the usual tourist crowd, we visited her apartments, including the bedroom where she died in 1589, at the age of seventy, the most infamous of French queens. To us, the strangest fact in the life of this fierce, blood-loving queen is that she was permitted to die a natural death. In one of the chambers were curious secret cupboards where she may have concealed her jewels. The floor above suggested a terribly realistic picture of the assassination of the Duc de Guise, whose popularity and influence had aroused the jealousy of Catherine and Henry III. The concierge explained all the tragic details. This was the salle du conseil, where, on the morning of the assassination, the duke was summoned by the queen to a council; that, the cabinet neuf, where the king remained while the fatal blows were being struck. And there, in the king's chamber, at the foot of the bed, the spot where the body lay when the king exclaimed, "He seems greater in death than in life."