DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.63221#0032
6
THE FRENCH RENAISSANCE
d’Angouleme amongst them) outvie each other in their
serious sport.
Or the Court is moving from one Chateau to another,
with all the unimaginable difficulties then implied by a
journey. There were never less than three thousand people
in motion on the rough roads. In front go the “ founders,”
to prepare lodgings for the King and his retinue in what-
ever town or village can be reached before nightfall; next
come cooks, patissiers, rotissiers, to set up the banquet-
tables. Then follows the retinue itself: the glittering hedge
of horsemen, at once escort and distraction to the pale
beauties in mule-drawn litters. Their eyes are red from
fatigue: they jolt along behind silken curtains, too much
exhausted to listen to the bons-mots of their cavaliers. In
the centre of all comes the royal litter in which the King,
in white satin doublet, reposes on a white satin cushion.
Behind this train files an endless series of officials, fore-
stabers of every royal caprice. As they approach the village,
bells ring, the Cure runs out, followed by the ragged vil-
lagers, and hastens to greet the languid monarch. The
Court alights and disposes itself—chiefly in the peasants’
cottages. The State Chaperone, or Gouvernante, supervises
the Ladies’ Hut and performs the duties of the roll-call.
When she goes over the names she generally finds that
two or three of her charges have escaped, in their stiff
brocades, to pursue fresh amourettes beyond her ken. Not
unfrequently some of the ladies are left behind, in the hut,
ill from the effects of their journey, and they only join
their companions at their leisure—an easy matter when
expeditions sometimes lasted for several weeks.
THE FRENCH RENAISSANCE
d’Angouleme amongst them) outvie each other in their
serious sport.
Or the Court is moving from one Chateau to another,
with all the unimaginable difficulties then implied by a
journey. There were never less than three thousand people
in motion on the rough roads. In front go the “ founders,”
to prepare lodgings for the King and his retinue in what-
ever town or village can be reached before nightfall; next
come cooks, patissiers, rotissiers, to set up the banquet-
tables. Then follows the retinue itself: the glittering hedge
of horsemen, at once escort and distraction to the pale
beauties in mule-drawn litters. Their eyes are red from
fatigue: they jolt along behind silken curtains, too much
exhausted to listen to the bons-mots of their cavaliers. In
the centre of all comes the royal litter in which the King,
in white satin doublet, reposes on a white satin cushion.
Behind this train files an endless series of officials, fore-
stabers of every royal caprice. As they approach the village,
bells ring, the Cure runs out, followed by the ragged vil-
lagers, and hastens to greet the languid monarch. The
Court alights and disposes itself—chiefly in the peasants’
cottages. The State Chaperone, or Gouvernante, supervises
the Ladies’ Hut and performs the duties of the roll-call.
When she goes over the names she generally finds that
two or three of her charges have escaped, in their stiff
brocades, to pursue fresh amourettes beyond her ken. Not
unfrequently some of the ladies are left behind, in the hut,
ill from the effects of their journey, and they only join
their companions at their leisure—an easy matter when
expeditions sometimes lasted for several weeks.