These are the reminiscences which must henceforth render Valençay one of those few favoured spots, scattered here and there over the surface of our dull earth, towards which fancy hurries on before, and where Memory lingers long behind; places that shine out, amid the dulness of this dreary world, with the bright lustre which the memory of the great and good has shed around them, and which, to the traveller through the land where they are found, become hallowed shrines, that it is scorn and reproach to have visited the country without beholding. In my case, and young as I then was, it is no wonder if I approached, with feelings of almost undue reverence, the spot where dwelt the last great statesman of the age—the last, at least, of that class of men who, singlehanded and alone, could lead, by the very force of their spirit, whole nations to think as they thought, and to act as they directed. Imagination had indeed gone on long before, and paused to await me at the gates of the Château of Valençay. Nor was I disappointed on my first approach. It is a noble and stately pile, well suited to the regal tastes and habits of him who at that time shed additional lustre over its sumptuous retirement. The dark forest, through which the road lies for many miles, gives a grandeur to the scenery, of which this part of France is elsewhere almost entirely devoid. The broad Moorish towers of the château are seen for some time, alternately appearing, and then lost to sight, until finally they form the termination of the splendid avenue de Gâtines, through which they are beheld at a great distance, gradually rising in the perspective, and seeming to increase in size as the traveller draws near, with an effect almost magical. Nothing can be finer or more original than the appearance of these far-famed towers, which give to the building an air of oriental grandeur, perfectly unique. They were built at different periods, the first one having been added to the edifice, which at the time was already a mixture of Gothic and _moyen age_ architecture, by M. de Luçay, on his return from his travels in the East, and their broad shining domes, surmounted by light gilt weathercocks, bring strangely to mind the mosques and palaces of the Asiatic cities.