of slate placed edgeways and forming a kind of capital or coronet to the granite shaft. Some of the chimneys have two circles of these coronets, and others are enriched with little rows of arches, of which the sombre slate background throws out the delicate ornamentation. Recrossing the magnificent viaduct, we proceeded to visit the Benedictine Priory of Lehon, called in the country "Chapelle des Beaumanoirs" from the mortuary chapel of that family attached to the abbey:—
“Beaumanoir! à ce nom de glorieux prodiges
Des siècles écoulés réveillent les prestiges:
La pierre des tombeaux a paru se mouvoir
Et des trente Bretons les clameurs belliqueuses
Semblent répondre, sous ces voûtes fameuses,
A ce grand nom de Beaumanoir.”—Aubry.
The west front, with its round-arched portal surmounted by a large Gothic window, is very pretty. The chapel of the Beaumanoirs was ravaged at [pg 057] the Revolution, the lead of the coffins sold, and the bones scattered. The statues have since been removed to the Museum at Dinan, and the crypt beneath, where they were buried, is inaccessible. At the Revolution, when the monks were expelled, the priory was sold and used for a spinning factory; and the weight of the machines crushed the floors, so as to shut up the entrance to the vaults. In the parish church adjacent, is to be noticed an ancient baptismal font, of cylindrical form, sculptured within and without. We returned home by the Château du Chêne-Ferron, approached by an avenue of firs, and had a lovely drive along the banks of the Rance.
Our last excursion in Dinan was to the Château of La Garaye, rendered famous by the virtues and boundless charity of its last proprietors, Count Claude Toussaint Marot de la Garaye and his wife, whose interesting story is told in the charming poem of Mrs. Norton:—
“Listen to the tale I tell,
Grave the story is—not sad,
And the peasant plodding by
Greets the place with kindly eye,
For the inmates that it had.”
The Lady of La Garaye.
Count Claude de la Garaye and his wife were young, beautiful, and endowed with friends, riches, and all [pg 058] that could make life bright and happy. They entertained with hospitality, and enjoyed the pleasures and amusements of the world; when one day the Countess was thrown from her horse, the expectations of an heir vanished, and she was left a cripple for life. Both were inconsolable for their disappointment. One day a monk came to visit them, and tried to comfort them, seeking by his converse to turn their thoughts from earthly affections to heavenly consolation—
"Ah! my father," said the lady, "how happy are you, to love nothing on earth!"
"You are mistaken," answered the monk; "I love all those who are in sorrow or suffering, and I submit myself to the will of the Almighty, and bend myself with resignation to every blow He strikes."
He proceeded to show them there was still great happiness in store for them, in ministering to the comforts of others. Following his counsel, they went to Paris; for three years the Count studied medicine and surgery, and his wife became a skilful oculist. On their return to La Garaye, they gave up all the amusements of society, and devoted themselves to relieving the sufferings of their fellow creatures. Their house was converted into an hospital for the sick and the wounded, under the ministering care of the Count and his benevolent wife:—
[pg 059]
“Her home is made their home; her wealth their dole;
Her busy courtyard hears no more the roll
Of gilded vehicles, or pawing steeds,
But feeble steps of those whose bitter needs
Are their sole passport. Through that gateway pass
All varying forms of sickness and distress,
And many a poor worn face that hath not smiled
For years—and many a feeble crippled child—
Blesses the tall, white portal where they stand,
And the dear Lady of the liberal hand.”
The Lady of La Garaye.
Nor was their philanthropy confined to their own province. In 1720, they offered themselves to M. de Belzunce—"Marseilles' good bishop"—to assist him during the visitation of the Plague. The fame of their virtues reached even the French Court, and Louis XV. sent Count de la Garaye the order of St. Lazarus with a donation of 50,000 livres and a contract on the post of 25,000 more.
They both died at an advanced age, within two years of each other, and were buried among their poor at Taden, but their marble mausoleum in the church was destroyed in the French Revolution. Count de la Garaye6 left a large sum to be distributed among the prisoners, principally English, at Rennes and Dinan, who were suffering pent up in these crowded gaols. The Comte had attended the English prisoners at Dinan during a contagious [pg 060] fever, called the "peste blanche," and, in acknowledgment of his humanity, Queen Caroline sent him two dogs with silver collars round their necks, and an English nobleman made him a present of six more.
16. Château of La Garaye.
The ruined château is approached by an ivy-covered gateway, through an avenue of beeches:—
“Le lierre flottant comme un manteau de deuil,
Couvre à demi la porte et rampe sur le seuil.”
Lamartine, Harmonies Poëtiques.
or, as Mrs. Norton renders it:—
“And like a mourner's mantle, with sad grace,
Waves the dark ivy—hiding half the door
And threshold, where the weary traveller's foot
Shall never find a courteous welcome more.”
[pg 061]
It is fast falling to pieces. The principal part remaining is an octagonal turret of three stories, with elegant Renaissance decoration round the windows. One more quotation from Mrs. Norton, and we quit these hallowed ruins:—
“We know the healthy stir of human life
Must be for ever gone!
The walls where hung the warrior's shining casque
Are green with moss and mould;
The blindworm coils where Queens have slept, nor asks
For shelter from the cold.
The swallow—he is master all the day,
And the great owl is ruler through the night;
The little bat wheels on his circling way,
With restless flittering flight;
And that small bat, and the creeping things,
At will they come and go,
And the soft white owl with velvet wings,
And a shout of human woe!
The brambles let no footsteps pass
By that rent in the broken stair,
When the pale tufts of the windle-strae grass
Hang like locks of dry dead hair;
But there the keen sound ever sweeps and moans,
“Working a passage through the mouldering stones.”
The Lady of La Garaye.
From Dinan, instead of taking the customary road to the railway station of Caulnes, we hired a carriage, in order to visit the fortress castle of La Hunaudaye, midway between Dinan and Lamballe. The road lay by Jugon,