Margaret, bitter, vindictive, and designing, seems to
have had one poetic thread in her life only, namely, her passion for her
husband, whose beauty lives in marble before us.
The Church of Brou--magnificent case for these gems of monumental
art--cost seven millions of francs, and the combined labours of the best
living architects and artists of the time, may be considered as the last
efflorescence of Gothic architecture, for the spirit of the Renaissance
was already making itself felt. It is less, however, the church, in
spite of its rich exterior and elegant proportions, that travellers will
come to see than the exquisite mausoleum of the choir, each deserving a
chapter to itself. You quit the quiet old-fashioned town of Bourg, and
after a walk of twenty minutes, come suddenly on the church, standing in
the suburb, or as it seems, indeed, in the open country. A sacristan is
at hand to unlock the door of the choir, but it is best to give him his
fee in advance, and tell him to return in an hour; generally speaking,
other strangers are coming and going, in which case such a precaution is
not necessary, but it is impossible to enjoy this artistic treat with a
guide hovering about you, doling out pieces of stale information, and
impatiently awaiting to be paid.
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