The hours for visiting the interior of the Chateau are between 10 and 12 and 2 and 4 daily, and the entrance is free, though the guide expects a gratuity, say of one franc for one person, two francs for three.  As we were always lucky enough to be the only people wanting to inspect, at the particular hour we went—­which was always as near ten as possible—­we managed by judicious means to calm the impetuosity of the guide, and induce him to tell his tale slowly.  If, as usually happens, other people are there at the same time, he rattles off his lesson at such a pace that it requires very good French scholars to even follow him; to remember what he says is out of the question.  Whether by “more judicious means,” it would be possible to induce him to go round out of hours, we do not know, never having had occasion to try, but we certainly think it would be worth an attempt, if the visitors could not otherwise manage to hit a time when they could go over alone.

Passing under one of the three arches of the facade, we traversed the courtyard to the extremity, and while waiting for the guide to come to us at the small side door, examined the curious sculptures surrounding the window on the left.  On the door being opened we passed into the Salle des Gardes, and from that into the Salle a Manger, where stands a statue of Henry IV., supposed to be more like him than any other.  Then through a succession of rooms and up flights of stairs, and through rooms again, to describe which as they deserve would alone fill up a small volume, but this we do not intend to do, contenting ourselves with simply mentioning as much of what we saw as we hope may induce everyone to follow our example, and see them for themselves.  To any lovers of a grand view, that which may be seen from the upper windows of the castle is almost alone worth coming for, and the tapestry which lines the walls of many of the rooms is simply exquisite.

The “Sports and Pastimes of the various Months” of Flanders work, in the “Salle des Etats”—­the six pieces of Gobelin work in the Queen’s Boudoir on the first floor—­the five pieces of the same work, including “Venus’s toilet,” in Queen Jeanne’s room on the second floor, and the four pieces of Brussels in Henry IV.’s bedroom—­also on the second floor—­are only a few of the many wonderful pieces of tapestry.

[Illustration:  THE CASTLE COURTYARD.]

In the “Grand Reception Room,” in which the massacres took place in 1569, is a fine mosaic table and Sevres vases, besides the Flanders tapestry.

There are several objects of interest in Henry IV.’s room, in which he is said to have been born 13th December, 1553, including the magnificently carved bedstead; but the chief attraction is the tortoise-shell cradle, which as a rule Frenchmen come only to see.  Why they should come is quite a different matter, seeing that although a tortoise’s shell might make a very comfortable cradle for even such an illustrious infant as was Henry IV., yet as he never had anything to do with the one in question, it is rather absurd that year after year they should flock to see it out of respect to him; and the absurdity is greater, since in a statement on the wall hard by this fact is made known.  None of the northern rooms are open to the public, but the chief objects of interest have been transferred to the other wing!