Madame Roland: A Biographical StudyTarbell, Ida M. (Ida Minerva)
History
Madame Roland: A Biographical Study
Tarbell, Ida M. (Ida Minerva)
France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799; Roland, Madame, 1754-1793
While his eyes are still on the village, he falls into a hamlet, at the
end of whose one street is a high wall and gate. It is Le Clos. Shut in
by high yellow walls,—one might almost say fortifications, they are so
long and so high,—the quaint country house, dating from the first of the
last century, is a tranquil, sheltered spot which gives one the feeling
of complete seclusion from the world. On one side of the house lies the
court, with its broad grass-plot, its low wall, its long rows of stone
farm, and vintage buildings; on the other, lies an English garden,
planted thickly with maples, sycamores, and hemlocks, with lilac clumps
and shrubs, with roses and vines. Enclosing this garden on two sides is
a stone terrace, forming a beautiful promenade. From here all the
panorama of the Beaujolais hills, mountains, and valleys opens, with
their vineyards, yellow houses, forests, and here and there a tower—the
bellevue of some rich nineteenth-century proprietor or the relic of some
ancient château. Far beyond the farthest, faintest mountain outline
rises, on clear nights, the opal crest of Mont Blanc.
To the left of garden and house are vines and fruit trees; to the right,
a long lane and vegetable garden; and everywhere beyond are vines,
vines, vines, to the very brook in Beauvallon at the foot of the
hillside.
In Madame Roland’s time the country about Le Clos was much more heavily
wooded than now. There was less of vine raising and more of grain, but
many features are unchanged. These trees are of her time no doubt, these
vines, these walls, and she doubtlessly gathered blossoms, as one does
to-day, from the long hedge of _roses panachés_, the wonderful striped
roses of Provence now almost unknown in France, though still rioting the
full length of one of the walls of Le Clos,—fanciful, sweet things which
by their infinite variety set one, in spite of himself, at the endless
search of finding two alike, as in the play of his childhood with the
striped grass of his grandmother’s yard.
[Illustration:
LE CLOS DE LA PLATIÈRE.
]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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