Chatelaine

Gerard returned safely to his native land, and in the fantastic spirit of the times, he approached his own castle disguised as a pilgrim, intending to himself and his Chatelaine, the delight of a romantic surprise. […] He accordingly repaired, in the silent hour of midnight, when the castle was wrapped in sleep, to the well-remembered chamber of the Chatelaine. She was not alone. A handsome young page supplied the place of her long-absent lord. In the excess of his rage, Gerard killed his wife on the spot, but reserved the page for a more lingering revenge.

[A] detachment of the Imperial army, under Francis Wesselény, was ordered to attack the castle. Having made the most elaborate preparations, he summoned the garrison to surrender; the refusal was haughty and uncompromising, and, to the surprise of Wesselény, dictated by the Chatelaine herself, who personally conducted its defence. To be foiled by a woman, little suited his proud nature; but all efforts to effect a breach in the massive walls of the stronghold were ineffectual, and every attack gallantly repulsed.

Cars passed her on the road; the people of the quarry town knew her and bowed to her; she was considered the chatelaine of the countryside, as her mother had been long ago.

This elegant little appendage to the dress, large enough to contain a handkerchief and purse, is deserving of being as generally adopted in the United States as it has recently been in Paris. […] Both sides of the Chatelaine are embroidered alike. […] The hook attaches this Chatelaine to the wristband.

The latest fashion is to wear watches suspended from the chatelaine. The chatelaine is short, and ornamented with charms.

If we examine the relics of antique chatelaines in the Hotel Cluny and other museums, we observe serviceable articles, as scissors, étui, pomander-box (for sudden illness), and keys that would break the delicate fingers of a modern belle to handle. For the chatelaine was then responsible for the health and welfare of her people in times of war and of peace; her duties were as varied as they were unceasing.

Châtelaines are generally lovely things, but for our part we can never look upon them without feeling them to be more or less of a reproach to our modern want of thrift.

The famous novelist was dressed in a badly fitting sleazy purple dress and a shapeless Napoleonic hat, with gloves and a long chatelaine; but the costume only heightened her air of distinction.