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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35068-8.txt b/35068-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5297782 --- /dev/null +++ b/35068-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8983 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Car That Went Abroad, by Albert Bigelow +Paine, Illustrated by Walter Hale + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Car That Went Abroad + Motoring Through the Golden Age + + +Author: Albert Bigelow Paine + + + +Release Date: January 25, 2011 [eBook #35068] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD*** + + +E-text prepared by Annie McGuire from page images generously made +available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 35068-h.htm or 35068-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35068/35068-h/35068-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35068/35068-h.zip) + + + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive. See + http://www.archive.org/details/carthatwentabroa00painuoft + + + + + +THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + + * * * * * + +BOOKS BY +ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + +_For Grown-ups_ + + THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + THE LURE OF THE MEDITERRANEAN + DWELLERS IN ARCADY + FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER + MOMENTS WITH MARK TWAIN + MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS + MARK TWAIN: A BIOGRAPHY + PEANUT: THE STORY OF A BOY + SHORT LIFE OF MARK TWAIN + LIFE OF THOMAS NAST + THE TENT-DWELLERS + +_For Young Readers_ + + THE BOYS' LIFE OF MARK TWAIN + HOLLOW TREE NIGHTS AND DAYS + THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP-WOODS BOOK + THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK + +_Small books of several stories each, selected from the above Hollow +Tree books:_ + + HOW MR. DOG GOT EVEN + HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL + MR. RABBIT'S BIG DINNER + MAKING UP WITH MR. DOG + MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT BALLOON TRIP + MR RABBIT'S WEDDING + MR. CROW AND THE WHITEWASH + MR. TURTLE'S FLYING ADVENTURE + WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY + +HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK +ESTABLISHED 1817 + + * * * * * + + +[Illustration: "THE NORMANDY ROAD TO CHERBOURG IS AS WONDERFUL AS ANY IN +FRANCE"--See p. 226] + + +THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + +Motoring Through the Golden Age + +by + +ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + +Author of +"Dwellers in Arcady," "The Ship Dwellers," etc. + +Illustrated from drawings by Walter Hale + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + +Harper & Brothers Publishers +New York and London + +Copyright, 1921, by Harper & Brothers + + + + +CONTENTS + + +Part I + +THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. DON'T HURRY THROUGH MARSEILLES 3 + II. MOTORING BY TRAM 9 + III. ACROSS THE CRAU 19 + IV. MISTRAL 27 + V. THE ROME OF FRANCE 30 + VI. THE WAY THROUGH EDEN 40 + VII. TO TARASCON AND BEAUCAIRE 43 + VIII. GLIMPSES OF THE PAST 48 + IX. IN THE CITADEL OF FAITH 52 + X. AN OLD TRADITION AND A NEW EXPERIENCE 58 + XI. WAYSIDE ADVENTURES 65 + XII. THE LOST NAPOLEON 72 + XIII. THE HOUSE OF HEADS 79 + XIV. INTO THE HILLS 85 + XV. UP THE ISÈRE 89 + XVI. INTO THE HAUTE-SAVOIE 94 + XVII. SOME SWISS IMPRESSIONS 101 + XVIII. THE LITTLE TOWN OF VEVEY 113 + XIX. MASHING A MUD GUARD 123 + XX. JUST FRENCH--THAT'S ALL 127 + XXI. WE LUGE 131 + + +Part II + +MOTORING THROUGH THE GOLDEN AGE + + I. THE NEW PLAN 143 + II. THE NEW START 146 + III. INTO THE JURAS 151 + IV. A POEM IN ARCHITECTURE 160 + V. VIENNE IN THE RAIN 164 + VI. THE CHÂTEAU I DID NOT RENT 168 + VII. AN HOUR AT ORANGE 172 + VIII. THE ROAD TO PONT DU GARD 178 + IX. THE LUXURY OF NÎMES 182 + X. THROUGH THE CÉVENNES 186 + XI. INTO THE AUVERGNE 193 + XII. LE PUY 196 + XIII. THE CENTER OF FRANCE 200 + XIV. BETWEEN BILLY AND BESSEY 205 + XV. THE HAUTE-LOIRE 209 + XVI. NEARING PARIS 213 + XVII. SUMMING UP THE COST 219 + XVIII. THE ROAD TO CHERBOURG 223 + XIX. BAYEUX, CAEN, AND ROUEN 228 + XX. WE COME TO GRIEF 234 + XXI. THE DAMAGE REPAIRED--BEAUVAIS AND COMPIÈGNE 238 + XXII. FROM PARIS TO CHARTRES AND CHÂTEAUDUN 244 + XXIII. WE REACH TOURS 250 + XXIV. CHINON, WHERE JOAN MET THE KING, AND AZAY 255 + XXV. TOURS 260 + XXVI. CHENONCEAUX AND AMBOISE 264 + XXVII. CHAMBORD AND CLÉRY 271 + XXVIII. ORLÉANS 278 + XXIX. FONTAINEBLEAU 283 + XXX. RHEIMS 288 + XXXI. ALONG THE MARNE 295 + XXXII. DOMREMY 299 + XXXIII. STRASSBURG AND THE BLACK FOREST 306 + XXXIV. A LAND WHERE STORKS LIVE 313 + XXXV. BACK TO VEVEY 316 + XXXVI. THE GREAT UPHEAVAL 320 + XXXVII. THE LONG TRAIL ENDS 336 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + "THE NORMANDY ROAD TO CHERBOURG IS AS WONDERFUL AS ANY IN + FRANCE" _Frontispiece_ + + "WHERE ROADS BRANCH OR CROSS THERE ARE SIGNBOARDS.... + YOU CAN'T ASK A MAN 'QUEL EST LE CHEMIN' FOR ANYWHERE WHEN + YOU ARE IN FRONT OF A SIGNBOARD WHICH IS SHOUTING THE + INFORMATION" _Facing p._ 46 + + MARK TWAIN'S "LOST NAPOLEON"--"THE COLOSSAL SLEEPING FIGURE + IN ITS SUPREME REPOSE" 80 + + MARCHÉ VEVEY--"IN EACH TOWN THERE IS AN OPEN SQUARE, WHICH + TWICE A WEEK IS PICTURESQUELY CROWDED" 108 + + "YOU CAN SEE SON LOUP FROM THE HOTEL STEPS IN VEVEY, BUT IT + TAKES HOURS TO GET TO IT" 134 + + DESCENDING THE JURAS 162 + + THE TOMB OF MARGARET OF AUSTRIA, CHURCH OF BROU 162 + + "THROUGH HILLSIDE VILLAGES WHERE NEVER A STONE HAD BEEN + MOVED, I THINK, IN CENTURIES" 214 + + BIRTHPLACE OF JOAN OF ARC 308 + + STRASSBURG, SHOWING THE CATHEDRAL 308 + + + + +PREFACE + + + FELLOW-WANDERER: + + The curtain that so long darkened many of the world's happy + places is lifted at last. Quaint villages, old cities, + rolling hills, and velvet valleys once more beckon to the + traveler. + + The chapters that follow tell the story of a small family + who went gypsying through that golden age before the war + when the tree-lined highways of France, the cherry-blossom + roads of the Black Forest, and the high trails of + Switzerland offered welcome to the motor nomad. + + The impressions set down, while the colors were fresh and + warm with life, are offered now to those who will give a + thought to that time and perhaps go happily wandering + through the new age whose dawn is here. + + A. B. P. + _June, 1921._ + + + + +Part I + + +THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + + + + +Chapter I + +DON'T HURRY THROUGH MARSEILLES + + +Originally I began this story with a number of instructive chapters on +shipping an automobile, and I followed with certain others full of +pertinent comment on ocean travel in a day when all the seas were as a +great pleasure pond. They were very good chapters, and I hated to part +with them, but my publisher had quite positive views on the matter. He +said those chapters were about as valuable now as June leaves are in +November, so I swept them aside in the same sad way that one disposes of +the autumn drift and said I would start with Marseilles, where, after +fourteen days of quiet sailing, we landed with our car one late August +afternoon. + +Most travelers pass through Marseilles hastily--too hastily, it may be, +for their profit. It has taken some thousands of years to build the +"Pearl of the Mediterranean," and to walk up and down the rue Cannebière +and drink coffee and fancy-colored liquids at little tables on the +sidewalk, interesting and delightful as that may be, is not to become +acquainted with the "pearl"--not in any large sense. + +We had a very good and practical reason for not hurrying through +Marseilles. It would require a week or more to get our car through the +customs and obtain the necessary licenses and memberships for inland +travel. Meantime we would do some sight-seeing. We would begin +immediately. + +Besides facing the Old Port (the ancient harbor) our hotel looked on the +end of the Cannebière, which starts at the Quai and extends, as the +phrase goes, "as far as India," meaning that the nations of the East as +well as those of the West mingle there. We understood the saying as soon +as we got into the kaleidoscope. We were rather sober-hued bits +ourselves, but there were plenty of the other sort. It was the end of +August, and Marseilles is a semi-tropic port. There were plenty of white +costumes, of both men and women, and sprinkled among them the red fezzes +and embroidered coats and sashes of Algiers, Morocco, and the Farther +East. And there were ladies in filmy things, with bright hats and +parasols; and soldiers in uniforms of red and blue, while the wide +pavements of that dazzling street were literally covered with little +tables, almost to the edges. And all those gay people who were not +walking up and down, chatting and laughing, were seated at the little +tables with red and green and yellow drinks before them and pitchers of +ice or tiny cups of coffee, and all the seated people were laughing and +chattering, too, or reading papers and smoking, and nobody seemed to +have a sorrow or a care in the world. It was really an inspiring sight, +after the long, quiet days on the ship, and we loitered to enjoy it. It +was very busy around us. Tramcars jangled, motors honked, truckmen and +cabmen cracked their whips incessantly. Newswomen, their aprons full of +long pockets stuffed with papers, offered us journals in phrases that I +did not recognize as being in my French phonograph; cabmen hailed us in +more or less English and wanted to drive us somewhere; flower sellers' +booths lined both sides of a short street, and pretty girls held up +nosegays for us to see. Now and then a beggar put out a hand. + +The pretty drinks and certain ices we saw made us covetous for them, but +we had not yet the courage to mingle with those gay people and try our +new machine-made French right there before everybody. So we slipped into +a dainty place--a _pâtisserie boulangerie_--and ordered coffee and +chocolate ice cream, and after long explanations on both sides got iced +coffee and hot chocolate, which was doing rather well, we thought, for +the first time, and, anyhow, it was quite delicious and served by a +pretty girl whose French was so limpid that one could make himself +believe he understood it, because it was pure music, which is not a +matter of arbitrary syllables at all. + +We came out and blended with the panaroma once more. It was all so +entirely French, I said; no suggestion of America anywhere. But +Narcissa, aged fifteen, just then pointed to a flaming handbill over the +entrance of a cinematograph show. The poster was foreign, too, in its +phrasing, but the title, "_L'aventures d'Arizona Bill_" certainly had a +flavor of home. The Joy, who was ten, was for going in and putting +other things by, but we overruled her. Other signs attracted us--the +window cards and announcements were easy lessons in French and always +interesting. + +By and by bouquets of lights breaking out along the streets reminded us +that it was evening and that we were hungry. There were plenty of +hotels, including our own, but the dining rooms looked big and warm and +expensive and we were dusty and economical and already warm enough. We +would stop at some open-air place, we said, and have something dainty +and modest and not heating to the blood. We thought it would be easy to +find such a place, for there were perfect seas of sidewalk tables, +thronged with people, who at first glance seemed to be dining. But we +discovered that they were only drinking, as before, and perhaps nibbling +at little cakes or rolls. When we made timid and rudimentary inquiries +of the busy waiters, they pointed toward the hotels or explained things +in words so glued together we could not sort them out. How different it +all was from New York, we said. Narcissa openly sighed to be back on +"old rue de Broadway," where there were restaurants big and little every +twenty steps. + +We wandered into side streets and by and by found an open place with a +tiny green inclosure, where a few people certainly seemed to be eating. +We were not entirely satisfied with the look of the patrons, but they +were orderly, and some of them of good appearance. The little tables had +neat white cloths on them, and the glassware shone brightly in the +electric glow. So we took a corner position and studied the rather +elaborate and obscure bill of fare. It was written, and the few things +we could decipher did not seem cheap. We had heard about food being +reasonable in France, but single portions of fish or cutlets at ".45" +and broiled chicken at "1.20" could hardly be called cheap in this +retired and unpretentious corner. One might as well be in a better +place--in New York. We wondered how these unfashionable people about us +could look so contented and afford to order such liberal supplies. Then +suddenly a great light came. The price amounts were not in dollars and +cents, but in francs and centimes. The decimals were the same, only you +divided by five to get American values. There is ever so much +difference.[1] + +The bill of fare suddenly took on a halo. It became almost unbelievable. +We were tempted to go--it was too cheap to be decent. But we were weary +and hungry, and we stayed. Later we were glad. We had those things which +the French make so well, no matter how humble the place--"_pot au feu, +bouillabaisse_" (the fish soup which is the pride of Marseilles--our +first introduction to it), lamb chops, a crisp salad, Gruyère cheese, +with a pint of red wine; and we paid--I try to blush when I tell it--a +total for our four of less than five francs--that is to say, something +under a dollar, including the tip, which was certainly large enough, if +one could judge from the lavish acknowledgment of the busy person who +served us. + +We lingered while I smoked, observing some curious things. The place +filled up with a democratic crowd, including, as it did, what were +evidently well-to-do tradesmen and their families, clerks with their +young wives or sweethearts, single derelicts of both sexes, soldiers, +even workmen in blouses. Many of them seemed to be regular customers, +for they greeted the waiters and chatted with them during the serving. +Then we discovered a peculiar proof that these were in fact steady +patrons. In the inner restaurant were rows of hooks along the walls, and +at the corners some racks with other hooks. Upon these were hanging, not +hats or garments, but dozens of knotted white cloths which we discovered +presently to be table napkins, large white serviettes like our own. +While we were trying to make out why they should be variously knotted +and hung about in that way a man and woman went in and, after a brief +survey of the hooks, took down two of the napkins and carried them to a +table. We understood then. The bill of fare stated that napkins were +charged for at the rate of five centimes (one cent) each. These were +individual leaseholdings, as it were, of those who came regularly--a +fine example of French economy. We did not hang up our napkins when we +went away. We might not come back, and, besides, there were no empty +hooks. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] The old rates of exchange are used in this book. + + + + +Chapter II + +MOTORING BY TRAM + + +A little book says: "Thanks to a unique system of tramways, Marseilles +may be visited rapidly and without fatigue." They do not know the word +"trolley" in Europe, and "tramway" is not a French word, but the French +have adopted it, even with its "w," a letter not in their alphabet. The +Marseilles trams did seem to run everywhere, and they were cheap. Ten +centimes (two cents) was the fare for each "zone" or division, and a +division long enough for the average passenger. Being sight-seers, we +generally paid more than once, but even so the aggregate was modest +enough. The circular trip around the Corniche, or shore, road has four +of these divisions, with a special rate for the trip, which is very long +and very beautiful. + +We took the Corniche trip toward evening for the sake of the sunset. The +tram starts at the rue de Rome and winds through the city first, across +shaded courts, along streets of varying widths (some of them so old and +ever so foreign, but always clean), past beautiful public buildings +always with deep open spaces or broad streets in front of them, for the +French do not hide their fine public architectures and monuments, but +plant them as a landscape gardener plants his trellises and trees. Then +all at once we were at the shore--the Mediterranean no longer blue, but +crimson and gold with evening, the sun still drifting, as it seemed, +among the harbor islands--the towers of Château d'If outlined on the +sky. On one side the sea, breaking against the rocks and beaches, +washing into little sheltered bays--on the other the abrupt or terraced +cliff, with fair villas set in gardens of palm and mimosa and the rose +trees of the south. Here and there among the villas were palace-like +hotels, with wide balconies that overlooked the sea, and down along the +shore were tea houses and restaurants where one could sit at little +tables on pretty terraces just above the water's edge. + +So we left the tram at the end of a zone and made our way down to one of +those places, and sat in a little garden and had fish, freshly caught, +and a cutlet, and some ripe grapes, and such things; and we watched the +sun set, and stayed until the dark came and the Corniche shore turned +into a necklace of twinkling lights. Then the tram carried us still +farther, and back into the city at last, by way of the Prado, a broad +residential avenue, with trees rising dark on either side. + +At the end of a week in Marseilles we had learned a number of +things--made some observations--drawn some conclusions. It is a very old +city--old when the Greeks settled there twenty-five hundred years +ago--but it has been ravaged and rebuilt too often through the ages for +any of its original antiquity to remain. Some of the buildings have +stood five or six hundred years, perhaps, and are quaint and +interesting, with their queer roofs and moldering walls which have +known siege and battle and have seen men in gaudy trappings and armor go +clanking by, stopping to let their horses drink at the scarred fountains +where to-day women wash their vegetables and their clothing. We were +glad to have looked on those ancient relics, for they, too, would soon +be gone. The spirit of great building and progress is abroad in +Marseilles--the old clusters of houses will come down--the hoary +fountains worn smooth by the hands of women and the noses of thirsty +beasts will be replaced by new ones--fine and beautiful, for the French +build always for art, let the race for commercial supremacy be ever so +swift. Fifty or one hundred years from now it will be as hard to find +one of these landmarks as it is to-day relics of the Greek and Roman +times, and of the latter we found none at all. Tradition has it that +Lazarus and his family came to Marseilles after his resuscitation, but +the house he occupied is not shown. Indeed, there is probably not a +thing above ground that Lucian the Greek saw when he lived here in the +second century. + +The harbor he sailed into remains. Its borders have changed, but it is +the same inclosed port that sheltered those early galleys and triremes +of commerce and of war. We looked down upon it from our balcony, and +sometimes in the dim morning, or in the first dusk of evening when its +sails were idle and its docks deserted, it seemed still to have +something of the past about it, something that was not quite reality. +Certain of its craft were old in fashion and quaint in form, and if even +one trireme had lain at anchor there, or had come drifting in, we might +easily have fancied this to be the port that somewhere is said to harbor +the missing ships. + +It is a busy place by day. Its quays are full of trucks and trams and +teams, and a great traffic going on. Lucian would hardly recognize any +of it at all. The noise would appall him, the smoking steamers would +terrify him, the _transbordeur_--an aërial bridge suspended between two +Eiffel towers, with a hanging car that travels back and forth like a +cash railway--would set him praying to the gods. Possibly the fishwives, +sorting out sea food and bait under little awnings, might strike him as +more or less familiar. At least he would recognize their occupation. +They were strung along the east quay, and I had never dreamed that the +sea contained so many strange things to eat as they carried in stock. +They had oysters and clams, and several varieties of mussels, and some +things that looked like tide-worn lumps of terra cotta, and other things +that resembled nothing else under heaven, so that words have not been +invented to describe them. + +Then they had _oursins_. I don't know whether an _oursin_ is a bivalve +or not. It does not look like one. The word "_oursin_" means hedgehog, +but this _oursin_ looked a great deal more like an old, black, +sea-soaked chestnut bur--that is, before they opened it. When the +_oursin_ is split open-- + +But I cannot describe an opened _oursin_ and preserve the proprieties. +It is too--physiological. And the Marseillais eat those things--eat them +raw! Narcissa and I, who had rather more limb and wind than the others, +wandered along the quay a good deal, and often stood spellbound watching +this performance. Once we saw two women having some of them for early +breakfast with a bottle of wine--fancy! + +By the way, we finally discovered the restaurants in Marseilles. At +first we thought that the Marseillais never ate in public, but only +drank. This was premature. There are restaurant districts. The rue +Colbert is one of them. The quay is another, and of the restaurants in +that precinct there is one that no traveler should miss. It is Pascal's, +established a hundred years ago, and descended from father to son to the +present moment. Pascal's is famous for its fish, and especially for its +_bouillabaisse_. If I were to be in Marseilles only a brief time, I +might be willing to miss the Palais Longchamps or a cathedral or two, +but not Pascal's and _bouillabaisse_. It is a glorified fish chowder. I +will say no more than that, for I should only dull its bloom. I started +to write a poem on it. It began: + + Oh, bouillabaisse, I sing thy praise. + +But Narcissa said that the rhyme was bad, and I gave it up. Besides, I +remembered that Thackeray had written a poem on the same subject. + +One must go early to get a seat at Pascal's. There are rooms and rooms, +and waiters hurrying about, and you must give your order, or point at +the bill of fare, without much delay. Sea food is the thing, and it +comes hot and delicious, and at the end you can have melon--from +paradise, I suppose, for it is pure nectar--a kind of liquid cantaloupe +such as I have seen nowhere else in this world.[2] You have wine if you +want it, at a franc a bottle, and when you are through you have spent +about half a dollar for everything and feel that life is a song and the +future made of peace. There came moments after we found Pascal's when, +like the lotus eaters, we felt moved to say: "We will roam no more. This +at last is the port where dreams come true." + +Our motor clearance required a full ten days, but we did not regret the +time. We made some further trips by tram, and one by water--to Château +d'If, on the little ferry that runs every hour or so to that historic +island fortress. To many persons Château d'If is a semi-mythical island +prison from which, in Dumas' novel, Edmond Dantes escapes to become the +Count of Monte Cristo, with fabulous wealth and an avenging sword. But +it is real enough; a prison fortress which crowns a barren rock, twenty +minutes from the harbor entrance, in plain view from the Corniche road. +François I laid its corner stone in 1524 and construction continued +during the next seventy years. It is a place of grim, stubby towers, +with an inner court opening to the cells--two ranges of them, one above +the other. The furniture of the court is a stone stairway and a well. + +Château d'If is about as solid and enduring as the rock it stands on, +and it is not the kind of place one would expect to go away from alive, +if he were invited there for permanent residence. There appears to be no +record of any escapes except that of Edmond Dantes, which is in a novel. +When prisoners left that island it was by consent of the authorities. I +am not saying that Dumas invented his story. In fact, I insist on +believing it. I am only saying that it was a remarkable exception to the +general habit of the guests in Château d'If. Of course it happened, for +we saw cell B where Dantes was confined, a rayless place; also cell A +adjoining, where the Abbé Faria was, and even the hole between, through +which the Abbé counseled Dantes and confided the secret of the treasure +that would make Dantes the master of the world. All of the cells have +tablets at their entrances bearing the names of their most notable +occupants, and that of Edmond Dantes is prominently displayed. It was +good enough evidence for us. + +Those cells are on the lower level, and are merely black, damp holes, +without windows, and with no floors except the unleveled surface of the +rock. Prisoners were expected to die there and they generally did it +with little delay. One Bernadot, a rich Marseilles merchant, starved +himself, and so found release at the end of the twelfth day; but +another, a sailor named Jean Paul, survived in that horrible darkness +for thirty-one years. His crime was striking his commander. Many of the +offenses were even more trifling; the mere utterance of a word offensive +to some one in power was enough to secure lodging in Château d'If. It +was even dangerous to have a pretty daughter or wife that a person of +influence coveted. Château d'If had an open door for husbands and +fathers not inclined to be reasonable in such matters. + +The second-story prisons are larger and lighter, but hardly less +interesting. In No. 5 Count Mirabeau lodged for nearly a year, by +suggestion of his father, who did not approve of his son's wild ways and +thought Château d'If would tame him. But Mirabeau put in his time +writing an essay on despotism and planning revolution. Later, one of the +neighboring apartments, No. 7, a large one, became the seat of the +_tribunal révolutionnaire_ which condemned there sixty-six to the +guillotine. + +Many notables were sent to Château d'If on the charge of disloyalty to +the sovereign. In one of the larger cells two brothers were imprisoned +for having shared the exile of one Chevalier Glendèves who was obliged +to flee from France because he refused to go down on his knees to Louis +XIV. Royalty itself has enjoyed the hospitality of Château d'If. Louis +Philippe of Orléans occupied the same large apartment later, which is +really quite a grand one for a prison, with a fireplace and space to +move about. Another commodious room on this floor was for a time the +home of the mysterious Man of the Iron Mask. + +These are but a few--one can only touch on the more interesting names. +"Dead after ten years of captivity"; "Dead after sixteen years of +captivity"; such memoranda close many of the records. Some of the +prisoners were released at last, racked with disease and enfeebled in +mind. Some went forth to the block, perhaps willingly enough. It is not +a place in which one wishes to linger. You walk a little way into the +blackest of the dungeons, stumbling over the rocks of the damp, +unleveled floor, and hurry out. You hesitate a moment in the larger, +lighter cells and try to picture a king there, and the Iron Mask; you +try to imagine the weird figure of Mirabeau raging and writing, and +then, a step away, the grim tribunal sorting from the nobility of France +material for the guillotine. It is the kind of thing you cannot make +seem real. You can see a picture, but it is always away somewhere--never +quite there, in the very place. + +Outside it was sunny, the sea blue, the cliffs high and sharp, with +water always breaking and foaming at their feet. The Joy insisted on +being shown the exact place where Dantes was flung over, but I was +afraid to try to find it. I was afraid that there would be no place +where he could be flung into the water without hitting the sharp rocks +below, and that would end the story before he got the treasure. I said +it was probably on the other side of the island, and besides it was +getting late. We sailed home in the evening light, this time into the +ancient harbor, and landed about where Lucian used to land, I should +think, such a long time ago. + +It was our last night in Marseilles. We had been there a full ten days, +altogether, and time had not hung upon our hands. We would still have +lingered, but there was no longer an excuse. Even the car could not +furnish one. Released from its prison, refreshed with a few liters of +gasoline--_essence_, they call it--and awakened with a gentle hitch or +two of the crank, it began its sweet old murmur, just as if it had not +been across some thousands of miles of tossing water. Then, the clutch +released, it slipped noiselessly out of the docks, through the narrow +streets, to a garage, where it acquired its new numbers and a bath, and +maybe a French lesson or two, so that to-morrow it might carry us +farther into France. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[2] Our honey-dew melon is a mild approach to it. + + + + +Chapter III + +ACROSS THE CRAU + + +There are at least two ways to leave Marseilles for the open plain of +the Provence, and we had hardly started before I wished I had chosen the +other one. We were climbing the rue de la République, or one of its +connections, when we met, coming down on the wrong side of the tram +line, one of the heaviest vehicles in France, loaded with iron castings. +It was a fairly crowded street, too, and I hesitated a moment too long +in deciding to switch to the wrong side, myself, and so sneak around the +obstruction. In that moment the monstrous thing decided to cross to its +own side of the road, which seemed to solve the problem. I brought the +car to a standstill to wait. + +But that was another mistake; I should have backed. The obstruction +refused to cross the tram track. Evidently the rails were slippery and +when the enormous wheels met the iron they slipped--slipped toward +us--ponderously, slowly, as inevitable as doomsday. I was willing to +back then, but when I shifted the lever I forgot something else and our +engine stopped. There was not enough gravity to carry us back without +it; neither was there room, or time, to crank.[3] So there we were, +with that mountain closing in upon us like a wall of Poe's collapsing +room. + +It was fascinating. I don't think one of us thought of jumping out and +leaving the car to its fate. The truck driver was frantically urging his +team forward, hoping the wheels would catch, but only making them slide +a little quicker in our direction. They were six inches away, now--five +inches--three inches--one inch--the end of the hub was touching our mud +guard. What we _might_ have done then--what _might_ have happened +remains guesswork. What did happen was that the huge steel tire reached +a joint in the tram rail and unhurriedly lifted itself over, just as if +that was what it had been intending to do all the time. I had strength +enough left to get out and crank up, then, but none to spare. A little +more paint off the front end of the mud guard, but that was nothing. I +had whetted those guards on a variety of things, including a cow, in my +time. At home I had a real passion for scraping them against the door +casing of the garage, backing out. + +Still, we were pretty thoughtful for several miles and missed a road +that turns off to Arles, and were on the way to Aix, which we had +already visited by tram. Never mind; Aix was on the way to Arles, too, +and when all the roads are good roads a few miles of motor travel more +or less do not count. Only it is such a dusty way to Aix, and we were +anxious to get into the cleaner and more inviting byways. + +We were at the outskirts, presently, and when we saw a military-looking +gentleman standing before a little house marked "_L'Octroi_" we stopped. +I had learned enough French to know that _l'octroi_ means a local +custom house, and it is not considered good form to pass one of them +unnoticed. It hurts the _l'octroi_ man's feelings and he is backed by +the _gendarmerie_ of France. He will let you pass, and then in his +sorrow he will telephone to the police station, just ahead. There you +will be stopped with a bayonet, or a club, or something, and brought +back to the _l'octroi_, where you will pay an _amend_ of six francs; +also costs; also for the revenue stamp attached to your bill of +particulars; also for any little thing which you may happen to have upon +which duty may be levied; also for other things; and you will stand +facing a half-open cell at the end of the corridor while your account is +being made up--all of which things happened to a friend of mine who +thought that because an _octroi_ man looked sleepy he was partly dead. +Being warned in this way, we said we would stop for an _octroi_ man even +if he were entirely dead; so we pulled up and nodded politely, and +smiled, and said, "Bon joor, messoor," and waited his pleasure. + +You never saw a politer man. He made a sweeping salute and said--well, +it doesn't matter just what he said--I took it to be complimentary and +Narcissa thought it was something about vegetables. Whatever it was, we +all smiled again, while he merely glanced in the car fore and aft, gave +another fine salute and said, "_Allay_" whereupon we understood, and +_allayed_, with counter-salutes and further smiles--all of which seemed +pleasanter than to be brought back by a _gendarme_ and stood up in front +of a cell during the reckoning process. + +Inquiring in Aix for the road to Arles we made a discovery, to wit: they +do not always pronounce it "Arl" in the French way, but "Arlah," which +is Provençal, I suppose, the remains of the old name "Arlate." One young +man did not seem even to recognize the name Arles, though curiously it +happened that he spoke English--enough, at least, to direct us when he +found that it was his Provençal "Arlah" that we wanted. + +So we left Aix behind us, and with it the dust, the trams, and about the +last traces of those modern innovations which make life so comfortable +when you need them and so unpeaceful when you prefer something else. The +one great modern innovation which bore us silently along those level +roads fell into the cosmic rhythm without a jar--becoming, as it seemed, +a sort of superhuman activity, such as we shall know, perhaps, when we +get our lost wings again. + +I don't know whether Provence roads are modern or not. I suspect they +were begun by the Roman armies a good while ago; but in any case they +are not neglected now. They are boulevards--no, not exactly that, for +the word "boulevard" suggests great width. They are avenues, then, ample +as to width, and smooth and hard, and planted on both sides with exactly +spaced and carefully kept trees. Leaving Aix, we entered one of these +highways running straight into the open country. Naturally we did not +expect it to continue far, not in that perfectly ordered fashion, but +when with mile after mile it varied only to become more beautiful, we +were filled with wonder. The country was not thickly settled; the road +was sparsely traveled. Now and then we passed a heavy team drawing a +load of hay or grain or wine barrels, and occasionally, very +occasionally, we saw an automobile. + +It was a fair, fertile land at first. There were rich, sloping fields, +vineyards, olive gardens, and plumy poplars; also, an occasional stone +farmhouse that looked ancient and mossy and picturesque, and made us +wish we could know something of the life inside its heavy walls. We said +that sometime we would stop at such a place and ask them to take us in +for the night. + +Now and then we passed through a village, where the streets became +narrow and winding, and were not specially clean. They were interesting +places enough, for they were old and queer, but they did not invite us +to linger. They were neither older nor more queer than corners of +Marseilles we had seen. Once we saw a kind of fair going on and the +people in holiday dress. + +At Salon, a still larger and cleaner place, we stopped to buy something +for our wayside luncheon. Near the corner of a little shaded square a +man was selling those delectable melons such as we had eaten in +Marseilles; at a shop across the way was a window full of +attractions--little cheeses, preserved meats, and the like. I gathered +up an assortment, then went into a _boulangerie_ for bread. There was +another customer ahead of me, and I learned something, watching his +transaction. Bread, it seemed, was not sold by the loaf there, but by +exact weight. The man said some words and the woman who waited on him +laid two loaves, each about a yard long, on the scales. Evidently they +exceeded his order, for she cut off a foot or so from one loaf. Still +the weight was too much, and she cut off a slice. He took what was left, +laid down his money, and walked out. I had a feeling that the end and +slice would lie around and get shopworn if I did not take them. I +pointed at them, and she put them on the scales. Then I laid down a +franc, and she gave me half a gill of copper change. It made the family +envious when they saw how exactly I had transacted my purchase. There is +nothing like knowing the language. We pushed on into the country again, +stopped in a shady, green place, and picnicked on those good things for +which we had spent nearly four francs. There were some things left over, +too; we could have done without the extra slice of bread. + +There were always mountains in view, but where we were the land had +become a level plain, once, ages ago, washed by the sea. We realized +this when the fertile expanse became, little by little, a barren--a mere +waste, at length, of flat smooth stones like cobble, a floor left by the +departing tides. "La Crau" it is called, and here there were no homes. +No harvest could grow in that land--nothing but a little tough grass, +and the artificially set trees on either side of the perfectly smooth, +perfectly straight road that kept on and on, mile after mile, until it +seemed that it must be a band around the world. How can they afford to +maintain such a road through that sterile land? + +The sun was dropping to the western horizon, but we did not hurry. I set +the throttle to a point where the speedometer registered fifteen miles +an hour. So level was the road that the figures on the dial seemed fixed +there. There was nothing to see but the unbroken barren, the perfectly +regular rows of sycamore or cypress, and the evening sky; yet I have +seldom known a drive more inspiring. Steadily, unvaryingly, and silently +heading straight into the sunset, we seemed somehow a part of the +planetary system, little brother to the stars. + +It was dusk when we reached the outskirts of Arles and stopped to light +the lamps. The wide street led us into the business region, and we hoped +it might carry us to the hotels. But this was too much to expect in an +old French, Provençal, Roman city. Pausing, we pronounced the word +"hotel," and were directed toward narrower and darker ways. We had +entered one of these when a man stepped out of the shadow and took +charge of us. I concluded that we were arrested then, and probably would +not need a hotel. But he also said "hotel," and, stepping on the +running-board, pointed, while I steered, under his direction. I have no +idea as to the way we went, but we came out into a semi-lighted square +directly in front of a most friendly-looking hostelry. Then I went in +and aired some of my phonograph French, inquiring about rooms on the +different _étages_ and the cost of _dîners_ and _déjeuners_, and the +landlady spoke so slowly and distinctly that it made one vain of his +understanding. + +So we unloaded, and our guide, who seemed to be an _attaché_ of the +place, directed me to the garage. I gathered from some of the sounds he +made that the main garage was _complet_--that is to say, full--and we +were going to an annex. It was an interesting excursion, but I should +have preferred to make it on foot and by daylight. We crossed the square +and entered a cobbled street--no, a passage--between ancient walls, lost +in the blackness above, and so close together below that I hesitated. It +was a place for armored men on horseback, not for automobiles. We crept +slowly through and then we came to an uphill corner that I was sure no +car without a hinge in the middle could turn. But my guard--guide, I +mean, signified that it could be done, and inch by inch we crawled +through. The annex--it was really a stable of the Middle Ages--was at +the end of the tunnel, and when we came away and left the car there I +was persuaded that I should never see it again. + +Back at the hotel, however, it was cheerful enough. It seemed an ancient +place of stone stairways and thick walls. Here and there in niches were +Roman vases and fragments found during the excavations. Somewhere +underneath us were said to be catacombs. Attractive things, all of them, +but the dinner we had--hot, fine and French, with _vin compris_ two +colors--was even more attractive to travelers who had been drinking in +oxygen under the wide sky all those steady miles across the Crau. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[3] The reader is reminded that this was in a day when few cars cranked +otherwise than by hand. + + + + +Chapter IV + +MISTRAL + +(From my notes, September 10, 1913) + + +Adjoining our hotel--almost a part of it, in fact, is a remnant of the +ancient Roman forum of Arles. Some columns, a piece of the heavy wall, +sections of lintel, pediment, and cornice still stand. It is a portion +of the Corinthian entrance to what was the superb assembly place of +Roman Arles. The square is called Place du Forum, and sometimes now +Place Mistral--the latter name because a bronze statue of the "Homer of +the Provence" has been erected there, just across from the forum +entrance. + +Frédéric Mistral, still alive at eighty-three, is the light of the +modern Provence.[4] We had begun to realize something of this when we +saw his photographs and various editions of his poems in the windows of +Marseilles and Aix, and handbills announcing the celebration at St. Remy +of the fiftieth anniversary of Gounod's score of Mistral's great poem, +"Mireille." But we did not at all realize the fullness of the Provençal +reverence for "the Master," as they call him, until we reached Arles. To +the Provence Mistral is a god--an Apollo--the "central sun from which +other Provençal singers are as diverging rays." Whatever Mistral +touches is glorified. Provençal women talk with a new grace because +Mistral has sung of them. Green slopes and mossy ruins are viewed +through the light of Mistral's song. A Mistral anniversary is celebrated +like a Declaration of Independence or a Louisiana Purchase. They have +even named a wind after him. Or perhaps he was named after the wind. +Whichever way it was, the wind has taken second place and the people +smile tenderly now, remembering the Master, when its name is mentioned. + +I believe Mistral does not sing in these later days. He does not need +to. The songs he sang in youth go on singing for him, and are always +young. Outside of France they are not widely known; their bloom and +fragrance shrink under translation. George Meredith, writing to Janet +Ross in 1861, said: "Mistral I have read. He is really a fine poet." But +to Meredith the euphonies of France were not strange. + +And Mistral has loved the Provence. Not only has he sung of it, but he +has given his labor and substance to preserve its memories. When the +Academy voted him an award of three thousand francs he devoted it to the +needs of his fellow poets;[5] when he was awarded the Nobel prize he +forgot that he might spend it on himself, and bought and restored an old +palace, and converted it into a museum for Arles. Then he devoted his +time and energies to collecting Provençal relics, and to-day, with its +treasures and associations, the place has become a shrine. Everything +relating to the life and traditions of the Provence is there--Roman +sculpture, sarcophagi, ceramics, frescoes, furnishings, implements--the +place is crowded with precious things. Lately a room of honor has been +devoted to the poet himself. In it are cases filled with his personal +treasures; the walls are hung with illustrations used in his books. On +the mantel is a fine bust of the poet, and in a handsome reliquary one +finds a lock of hair, a little dress, and the cradle of the infant +Mistral. In the cradle lies the manuscript of Mistral's first and +greatest work, the "Mireille." The Provence has produced other noted +men--among them Alphonse Daudet, who was born just over at Nîmes, and +celebrated the town of Tarascon with his Tartarin. But Daudet went to +Paris, which is, perhaps, a sin. The Provence is proud of Daudet, and +he, too, has a statue, at Nîmes; but the Provence worships Mistral. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[4] Written in 1913. Mistral died March 24th of the following year. + +[5] Daudet in his _Lettres de Mon Moulin_ says: + +"_II y à quatre ans, lorsque l'Académie donna à l'auteur de 'Mireille' +le prix de trois mille francs. Mme. Mistral [sa mère] eut une idée._ + +"'_Si nous faisons tapisser et plafonner ta chambre?' dit elle à son +fils._ + +"'_Non! non!' répondit Mistral. 'Ca c'est l'argent des poëtes, on n'y +touche pas._'" + + + + +Chapter V + +THE ROME OF FRANCE + + +There is no record of a time when there was not a city at Arles. The +Rhone divides to form its delta there--loses its swiftness and becomes a +smooth highway to the sea. + +"As at Arles, where the Rhone stagnates," wrote Dante, who probably +visited the place on a journey he made to Paris. There the flat +barrenness of the Crau becomes fertile slopes and watered fields. It is +a place for men to congregate and it was already important when Julius +Cæsar established a Roman colony and built a fleet there, after which it +became still more important--finally, with its one hundred thousand +inhabitants, rivaling even Marseilles. It was during those earlier +years--along through the first and second centuries--that most of the +great building was done, remnants of which survive to this day. +Prosperity continued even into the fourth century, when the Christian +Emperor Constantine established a noble palace there and contemplated +making it the capital of his kingdom. + +But then the decline set in. In the next century or two clouds of +so-called barbarians swept down from the north and east, conquering, +plundering, and establishing new kingdoms. Gauls, Goths, Saracens, and +Francs each had their turn at it. + +Following came the parlous years of the middle period. For a brief time +it was an independent republic; then a monarchy. By the end of the +fifteenth century it was ready to be annexed to France. Always a battle +ground, raided and sacked so often that the count is lost, the wonder is +that any of its ancient glories survive at all. But the Romans built +well; their massive construction has withstood the wild ravage of +succeeding wars, the sun and storm of millennial years. + +We knew little of Arles except that it was the place where there was the +ruin of a Roman arena, and we expected not much from that. The Romans +had occupied France and had doubtless built amusement places, but if we +gave the matter any further thought it was to conclude that such +provincial circus rings would be small affairs of which only a few +vestiges, like those of the ruined Forum, would remain. We would visit +the fragments, of course, and meantime we drifted along one side of the +Place du Forum in the morning sunlight, looking in show windows to find +something in picture postals to send home. + +What we saw at first puzzled, then astonished us. Besides the pictures +of Mistral the cards were mostly of ruins--which we expected, perhaps, +but not of such ruins. Why, these were not mere vestiges. Ephesus, +Baalbec, Rome itself, could hardly show more impressive remains. The +arena on these cards seemed hardly a ruin at all, and here were other +cards which showed it occupied, filled with a vast modern audience who +were watching something--clearly a bull fight, a legitimate descendant +of Nero's Rome. I could not at first believe that these structures +could be of Arles, but the inscriptions were not to be disputed. Then I +could not wait to get to them. + +We did not drive. It was only a little way to the arena, they told us, +and the narrow streets looked crooked and congested. It was a hot +September morning, but I think we hurried. I suppose I was afraid the +arena would not wait. Then all at once we were right upon it, had +entered a lofty arch, climbed some stairs, and were gazing down on one +of the surviving glories of a dead empire. + +What a structure it is! An oval 448 by 352 feet--more than half as big +again as a city block; the inner oval, the arena itself,[6] 226 by 129 +feet, the tiers of stone seats rising terrace above terrace to a high +circle of arches which once formed the support for an enormous canvas +dome. + +All along the terraces arches and stairways lead down to spacious +recesses and the great entrance corridor. The twenty thousand spectators +which this arena once held were not obliged to crowd through any one or +two entrances, but could enter almost anywhere and ascend to their seats +from any point of the compass. They held tickets--pieces of parchment, I +suppose--and these were numbered like the seats, just as tickets are +numbered to-day. + +Down near the ringside was the pit, or _podium_, and that was the choice +place. Some of the seats there were owned, and bore the owners' names. +The upper seats are wide stone steps, but comfortable enough, and solid +enough to stand till judgment day. They have ranged wooden benches along +some of them now, I do not see why, for they are very ugly and certainly +not luxurious. They are for the entertainments--mainly bull fights--of +the present; for strange, almost unbelievable as it seems, the old arena +has become no mere landmark, a tradition, a monument of barbaric tastes +and morals, but continues in active service to-day, its purpose the +same, its morals not largely improved. + +It was built about the end of the first century, and in the beginning +stags and wild boars were chased and put to death there. But then Roman +taste improved. These were tame affairs, after all. So the arena became +a prize ring in which the combatants handled one another without +gloves--that is to say, with short swords--and were hacked into a mince +instead of mauled into a pulp in our more refined modern way. To vary +the games lions and tigers were imported and matched against the +gladiators, with pleasing effect. Public taste went on improving and +demanding fresh novelties. Rome was engaged just then in exterminating +Christians, and the happy thought occurred to make spectacles of them by +having them fight the gladiators and the wild beasts, thus combining +business and pleasure in a manner which would seem to have been highly +satisfactory to the public who thronged the seats and applauded and +laughed, and had refreshments served, and said what a great thing +Christianity was and how they hoped its converts would increase. +Sometimes, when the captures were numerous and the managers could +afford it, Christians on crosses were planted around the entire arena, +covered with straw and pitch and converted into torches. These were +night exhibitions, when the torches would be more showy; and the canvas +dome was taken away so that the smoke and shrieks could go climbing to +the stars. Attractions like that would always jam an amphitheater. This +one at Arles has held twenty-five thousand on one of those special +occasions. Centuries later, when the Christians themselves came into +power, they showed a spirit of liberality which shines by contrast. They +burned their heretics in the public squares, free. + +Only bulls and worn-out, cheap horses are tortured here to-day. It seems +a pretty tame sport after those great circuses of the past. But art is +long and taste is fleeting. Art will keep up with taste, and all that we +know of the latter is that it will change. Because to-day we are +satisfied with prize fights and bull fights is no sign that those who +follow us will not demand sword fights and wild beasts and living +torches. These old benches will last through the ages. They have always +been familiar with the sport of torture of one sort or another. They +await quite serenely for what the centuries may bring. + +It was hard to leave the arena. One would like to remain and review its +long story. What did the barbarians do there--those hordes that swarmed +in and trampled Rome? The Saracens in the eighth century used it for a +fortress and added four watch towers, but their masonry is not of the +everlasting Roman kind, and one of their towers has tumbled down. It +would be no harm if the others would tumble, too. They lend to the place +that romance which always goes with the name "Saracen," but they add no +beauty. + +We paid a franc admission when we came into the amphitheater, our +tickets being coupon affairs, admitting us to a variety of other +historic places. The proceeds from the ruins are devoted to their care +and preservation, but they cannot go far. Very likely the bull-fight +money is also used. That would be consistent. + +We were directed to the Roman Theater, near at hand, where the ruin is +ruin indeed. A flight of rising stone seats, two graceful Corinthian +columns still standing, the rest fragments. More graceful in its +architecture than the arena, the theater yielded more readily to the +vandalisms of the conquerors and the corrosions of time. As early as the +third century it was partially pulled down. Later it was restored, but +not for long. The building bishops came and wanted its materials and +ornaments for their churches. Not much was left after that, but to-day +the fragments remaining have been unearthed and set up and give at least +a hint of its former glory. One wonders if those audiences who watched +Christian slaughter at the arena came also to this chaste spot. Plays +are sometimes given here to-day, I am told, classic reproductions, but +it is hard to believe that they would blend with this desolated setting. +The bull fight in the arena is even better. + +We went over to the church of St. Trophime, which is not a ruin, though +very old. St. Trophime, a companion of St. Paul, was the founder of the +church of Arles. He is said to have set up a memorial to St. Étienne, +the first martyr, and on this consecrated spot three churches have been +built, one in the fourth century, another in the seventh, and this one, +dedicated to St. Trophime, in the twelfth, or earlier. It is of supreme +historical importance. By the faithful it is believed to contain the +remains of St. Trophime himself. Barbarossa and other great kings were +crowned here; every important ceremony of mediæval Arles has been held +here. + +It is one of the oldest-looking places I ever saw--so moldy, so crumbly, +and so dim. Though a thousand years older, the arena looks fresh as +compared with it, because even sun and storm do not gnaw and corrode +like gloom and dampness. But perhaps this is a softer stone. The +cloister gallery, which was not built until the twelfth century, is so +permeated with decay that one almost fears to touch its delicately +carved ornamentations lest they crumble in his hands. Mistral has +celebrated the cloister portal in a poem, and that alone would make it +sacred to the Provence. The beautiful gallery is built around a court +and it is lined with sculpture and bas-relief, rich beyond words. Saints +and bible scenes are the subjects, and how old, how time-eaten and +sorrowful they look. One gets the idea that the saints and martyrs and +prophets have all contracted some wasting malady which they cannot long +survive now. But one must not be flippant. It is a place where the feet +of faith went softly down the centuries; and, taken as a whole, St. +Trophime, with its graceful architecture--Gothic and Byzantine, +combined with the Roman fragments brought long ago from the despoiled +theater--is beautiful and delicate and tender, and there hangs about it +the atmosphere that comes of long centuries of quiet and sacred things. + +Mistral's museum is just across from the church, but I have already +spoken of that--briefly, when it is worth a volume. One should be in a +patient mood for museums--either to see or to write of them--a mood that +somehow does not go with automobile wandering, however deliberate. But I +must give a word at least to two other such institutions of Arles, the +Musée Lapidaire, a magnificent collection of pagan and early Christian +sarcophagi and marble, mostly from the ancient burial field, the +Aliscamp--and the Musée Réattu. + +Réattu was an Arlesian painter of note who produced many pictures and +collected many beautiful things. His collections have been acquired by +the city of Arles, and installed in one of its most picturesque old +buildings--the ancient Grand Priory of the Knights of Malta. The +stairway is hung with tapestries and priceless arras; the rooms are +filled with paintings, bas-reliefs, medallions, marbles, armor,--a +wealth of art objects. One finds it hard to believe that such museums +can be owned and supported by this little city--ancient, half forgotten, +stranded here on the banks of the Rhone. Its population is given as +thirty thousand, and it makes sausages--very good ones--and there are +some railway shops that employ as many as fifteen hundred men. Some +boat building may still be done here, too. But this is about all Arles +can claim in the way of industries. It has not the look of what we call +to-day a thriving city. It seems, rather, a mediæval setting for the +more ancient memories. Yet it has these three splendid museums, and it +has preserved and restored its ruins, just as if it had a J. Pierpont +Morgan behind it, instead of an old poet with a Nobel prize, and a +determined little community, too proud of its traditions and its taste +to let them die. Danbury, Connecticut, has as many inhabitants as Arles, +and it makes about all the hats that are worn in America. It is a busy, +rich place, where nearly everybody owns an automobile, if one may judge +by the street exhibit any pleasant afternoon. It is an old place, too, +for America, with plenty of landmarks and traditions. But I somehow +can't imagine Danbury spending the money and the time to establish such +superb institutions as these, or to preserve its prerevolutionary +houses. But, after all, Danbury is young. It will preserve something two +thousand years hence--probably those latest Greco-Roman façades which it +is building now. + +Near to the Réattu Museum is the palace of the Christian Emperor +Constantine. Constantine came here after his father died, and fell in +love with the beauty and retirement of the place. Here, on the banks of +the Rhone, he built a palace, and dreamed of passing his days in it--of +making Arles the capital of his empire. His mother, St. Helene, whose +dreams at Jerusalem located the Holy Sepulcher, the True Cross, and +other needed relics, came to visit her son, and while here witnessed +the treason and suicide of one Maximus Hercules, persecutor of the +Christians. That was early in the fourth century. The daughter of +Maximus seems to have been converted, for she came to stay at the palace +and in due time bore Constantine a son. Descendants of Constantine +occupied the palace for a period, then it passed to the Gauls, to the +Goths, and so down the invading and conquering line. Once a king, Euric +III, was assassinated here. Other kings followed and several varieties +of counts. Their reigns were usually short and likely to end with a good +deal of suddenness. It was always a good place for royalty to live and +die. Until the beginning of the nineteenth century it was known as the +"House of the King," but it was a ruin by that time. Only portions of it +remain now, chiefly a sort of rotunda of the grand hall of state. Very +little is left to show the ancient richness of its walls, but one may +invite himself to imagine something--its marbles and its hangings--also +that it was just here that M. Hercules and King Euric and their kind +went the violent way; it would be the dramatic place for those +occasions. + +One may not know to-day just what space the palace originally covered, +but it was very large. Portions of its walls appear in adjoining +buildings. Excavations have brought to light marbles, baths, rich +ornamentations, all attesting its former grandeur. Arles preserves it +for its memories, and in pride of the time when she came so near to +being the capital of the world. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[6] The word arena derives its name from the sand, strewn to absorb the +blood. + + + + +Chapter VI + +THE WAY THROUGH EDEN + + +There is so much to see at Arles. One would like to linger a week, then +a month, then very likely he would not care to go at all. The past would +get hold of him by that time--the glamour that hangs about the dead +centuries. + +There had been rain in the night when we left Arles, much needed, for it +was the season of drought. It was mid-morning and the roads were hard +and perfect, and led us along sparkling waysides and between refreshed +vineyards, and gardens, and olive groves. It seemed a good deal like +traveling through Eden, and I don't suppose heaven--the automobilist's +heaven (assuming that there is one)--is much better. + +I wish I could do justice to the Midi, but even Mistral could not do +that. It is the most fruitful, luscious land one can imagine. Everything +there seems good to eat, to smell of--to devour in some way. The vines +were loaded with purple and topaz grapes, and I was dying to steal some, +though for a few francs we had bought a basket of clusters, with other +luncheon supplies, in Arles. It finally became necessary to stop and eat +these things--those grape fields were too tempting. + +It is my opinion that nothing in the world is more enjoyable than an +automobile roadside luncheon. One does not need to lug a heavy basket +mile after mile until a suitable place is found, and compromise at last +because the flesh rebels. With a car, a mile, two miles, five miles, are +matters of a few minutes. You run along leisurely until you reach the +brook, the shade, the seclusion that invites you. Then you are fresh and +cool and deliberate. No need to hurry because of the long tug home +again. You enjoy the things you have brought, unfretted by fatigue, +undismayed by the prospect ahead. You are in no hurry to go. You linger +and smoke and laze a little and discuss the environment--the fields, the +growing things, the people through whose lands and lives you are cutting +a cross-section, as it seems. You wonder about their customs, their +diversions, what they do in winter, how it is in their homes. You +speculate on their history, on what the land was like in its primeval +period before there were any fields and homes--civilized homes--there at +all. Perhaps--though this is unlikely--you _know_ a little about these +things. It is no advantage; your speculations are just as valuable and +more picturesque. There are many pleasant things about motor gypsying, +but our party, at least, agreed that the wayside luncheon is the +pleasantest of all. + +Furthermore, it is economical. Unless one wants hot dishes, you can get +more things, and more delicious things, in the village shops or along +the way than you can find at the wayside hotel or restaurant, and for +half the amount. Our luncheon that day--we ate it between Arles and +Tarascon--consisted of tinned chicken, fresh bread with sweet butter, +Roquefort cheese, ripe grapes, and some French cakes--plenty, and all of +the best, at a cost of about sixty cents for our party of four. And when +we were finally ready to go, and had cleaned up and secreted every +particle of paper or other refuse (for the true motorist never leaves a +place unsightly) we felt quite as pleased with ourselves and the world, +and the things of the infinite, as if we had paid two or three times as +much for a meal within four walls. + + + + +Chapter VII + +TO TARASCON AND BEAUCAIRE + + +It is no great distance from Arles to Tarascon, and, leisurely as we +travel, we had reached the home of Tartarin in a little while. We were +tempted to stop over at Tarascon, for the name had that inviting sound +which always belongs to the localities of pure romance--that is to say, +fiction--and it has come about that Tarascon belongs more to Daudet than +to history, while right across the river is Beaucaire, whose name, at +least, Booth Tarkington has pre-empted for one of his earliest heroes. +After all, it takes an author to make a town really celebrated. +Thousands of Americans who have scarcely heard the name of Arles are +intimately familiar with that of Tarascon. Of course the town has to +contribute something. It must either be a place where something has +happened, or _could_ happen, or it must have a name with a fine sound, +and it should be located in about the right quarter of the globe. When +such a place catches the fancy of an author who has the gift of making +the ideal seem reality, he has but to say the magic words and the fame +of that place is sure. + +Not that Tarascon has not had real history and romance; it has had +plenty of both. Five hundred years ago the "Good King René" of Anjou, +who was a painter and a writer, as well as a king, came to Tarascon to +spend his last days in the stern, perpendicular castle which had been +built for him on the banks of the Rhone. It is used as a jail now, but +King René held a joyous court there and a web of romance clings to his +memory. King René's castle does not look like a place for romance. It +looks like an artificial precipice. We were told we could visit it by +making a sufficiently polite application to the _Mairie_, but it did not +seem worth while. In the first place, I did not know how to make a +polite application to visit a jail--not in French--and then it was +better to imagine King René's festivities than to look upon a reality of +misfortune. + +The very name of Tarascon has to do with story. Far back, in the dim +traditionary days, one St. Martha delivered the place from a very evil +dragon, the Tarasque, for whom they showed their respect by giving his +name to their town. + +Beaucaire, across the river, is lighted by old tradition, too. It was +the home of Aucassin and Nicollette, for one thing, and anyone who has +read that poem, either in the original or in Andrew Lang's exquisite +translation, will have lived, for a moment at least, in the tender light +of legendary tale. + +We drove over to Beaucaire, and Narcissa and I scaled a garden terrace +to some ruined towers and battlements, all that is left of the ancient +seat of the Montmorencys. It is a romantic ruin from a romantic day. It +was built back in the twelve hundreds--when there were still knights and +troubadours, and the former jousted at a great fair which was held +there, and the latter reclined on the palace steps, surrounded by ladies +and gallants in silken array, and sang songs of Palestine and the +Crusades. As time went on a light tissue of legend was woven around the +castle itself--half-mythical tales of its earlier centuries. Figures +like Aucassin and Nicollette emerged and were made so real by those who +chanted or recited the marvel of their adventures, that they still live +and breathe with youth when their gallant castle itself is no more than +vacant towers and fragmentary walls. The castle of Beaucaire looks +across to the defiant walls of King René's castle in Tarascon and I +believe there used to be some sturdy wars between them. If not, I shall +construct one some day, when I am less busy, and feeling in the romantic +form. It will be as good history as most castle history, and I think I +shall make Beaucaire win. King René was a good soul, but I am doubtful +about those who followed him, and his castle, so suitable to-day for a +jail, does not invite sympathy. The Montmorency castle was dismantled in +1632, according to the guidebook, by Richelieu, who beheaded its last +tenant--some say with a cleaver, a serviceable utensil for such work. + +Beaucaire itself is not a pretty town--not a clean town. I believe +Nicollette was shut up for a time in one of its houses--we did not +inquire which one--any of them would be bad enough to-day. + +[Illustration: "WHERE ROADS BRANCH OR CROSS THERE ARE SIGNBOARDS.... YOU +CAN'T ASK A MAN 'QUEL EST LE CHEMIN' FOR ANYWHERE WHEN YOU ARE IN FRONT +OF A SIGNBOARD WHICH IS SHOUTING THE INFORMATION"] + +It is altogether easy to keep to the road in France. You do not wind in +and out with unmarked routes crossing and branching at every turn. You +travel a hard, level way, often as straight as a ruling stick and +pointed in the right direction. Where roads branch, or cross, there are +signboards. All the national roads are numbered, and your red-book map +shows these numbers--the chances of mistake being thus further lessened. +We had practiced a good deal at asking in the politest possible French +the way to any elusive destination. The book said that in France one +generally takes off his hat in making such an inquiry, so I practiced +that until I got it to seem almost inoffensive, not to say jaunty, and +the formula "_Je vous demande pardon, but--quel est le chemin pour--_" +whatever the place was. Sometimes I could even do it without putting in +the "but," and was proud, and anxious to show it off at any opportunity. +But it got dusty with disuse. You can't ask a man "_quel est le chemin_" +for anywhere when you are on the straight road going there, or in front +of a signboard which is shouting the information. I only got to unload +that sentence twice between Arles and Avignon, and once I forgot to take +off my hat; when I did, the man didn't understand me. + +With the blue mountains traveling always at our right, with level garden +and vineland about us, we drifted up the valley of the Rhone and found +ourselves, in mid-afternoon, at the gates of Avignon. That is not merely +a poetic figure. Avignon has veritable gates--and towering crenelated +walls with ramparts, all about as perfect as when they were built, +nearly six hundred years ago. + +We had heard Avignon called the finest existing specimen of a mediæval +walled city, but somehow one does not realize such things from hearing +the mere words. We stopped the car to stare up at this overtopping +masonry, trying to believe that it had been standing there already three +hundred years, looking just about as it looks to-day, when Shakespeare +was writing plays in London. Those are the things we never really +believe. We only acknowledge them and pass on. + +Very little of Avignon has overflowed its massive boundaries; the fields +were at our backs as we halted in the great portals. We halted because +we noticed the word "_L'Octroi_" on one of the towers. But, as before, +the _l'octroi_ man merely glanced into our vehicle and waved us away. + +We were looking down a wide shaded avenue of rather modern, even if +foreign, aspect, and full of life. We drove slowly, hunting, as we +passed along, for one of the hotels set down in the red-book as +"comfortable, with modern improvements," including "gar. _grat._"--that +is to say, garage gratis, such being the custom of this land. +Narcissa, who has an eye for hotels, spied one presently, a rather +imposing-looking place with a long, imposing name. But the management +was quite modest as to terms when I displayed our T. C. de France +membership card, and the "gar. _grat._"--this time in the inner court of +the hotel itself--was a neat place with running water and a concrete +floor. Not very ancient for mediæval Avignon, but one can worry along +without antiquities in a hotel. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +GLIMPSES OF THE PAST + + +Avignon, like Arles, was colonized by the Romans, but the only remains +of that time are now in its museum. At Arles the Romans did great +things; its heyday was the period of their occupation. Conditions were +different at Avignon. Avenio, as they called it, seems to have been a +kind of outpost, walled and fortified, but not especially glorified. +Very little was going on at Avenio. Christians were seldom burned there. +In time a Roman emperor came to Arles, and its people boasted that it +was to become the Roman capital. Nothing like that came to Avenio; it +would require another thousand years and another Roman occupation to +mature its grand destiny. + +I do not know just how it worried along during those stormy centuries of +waiting, but with plenty of variety, no doubt. I suppose barbarians came +like summer leafage, conquered and colonized, mixing the blood of a new +race. It became a republic about twelve hundred and something--small, +but tough and warlike--commanding the respect of seigneurs and counts, +even of kings. Christianity, meantime, had prospered. Avignon had +contributed to the Crusades and built churches. Also, a cathedral, +though little dreaming that in its sacristy would one day lie the body +of a pope. + +Avignon's day, however, was even then at hand. Sedition was rife in +Italy and the popes, driven from Rome, sought refuge in France. Near +Avignon was a small papal dominion of which Carpentras was the capital, +and the pope, then Clement V, came often to Avignon. This was honor, but +when one day the Bishop of Avignon was made Pope John XXII, and +established his seat in his own home, the little city became suddenly +what Arles had only hoped to be--the capital of the world. + +If one were permitted American parlance at this point, he would say that +a boom now set in in Avignon.[7] Everybody was gay, everybody busy, +everybody prosperous. The new pope straightway began to enlarge and +embellish his palace, and the community generally followed suit. During +the next sixty or seventy years about everything that is to-day of +importance was built or rebuilt. New churches were erected, old ones +restored. The ancient Roman wall was replaced by the splendid new one. +The papal palace was enlarged and strengthened until it became a mighty +fortress--one of the grandest structures in Europe. The popes went back +to Rome, then, but their legates remained and from their strong citadel +administered the affairs of that district for four turbulent centuries. +In 1791, Avignon united her fortunes to those of France, and through +revolution and bloodshed has come again to freedom and prosperity and +peace. I do not know what the population of Avignon was in the day of +her greater glory. To-day it is about fifty thousand, and, as it is full +to the edges, it was probably not more populous then. + +We did not hurry in Avignon. We only loitered about the streets a little +the first afternoon, practicing our French on the sellers of postal +cards. It was a good place for such practice. If there was a soul in +Avignon besides ourselves with a knowledge of English he failed to make +himself known. Not even in our hotel was there a manager, porter, or +waiter who could muster an English word. + +Narcissa and I explored more than the others and discovered the City +Hall and a theater and a little open square with a big monument. We also +got a distant glimpse of some great towering walls which we knew to be +the Palace of the Popes. + +Now and again we were assailed by beggars--soiled and persistent small +boys who annoyed us a good deal until we concocted an impromptu cure. It +was a poem, in French--and effective: + + _Allez! Allez!_ + _Je n'ai pas de monnaie!_ + _Allez! Allez!_ + _Je n'ai pas de l'argent!_ + +A Frenchman might not have had the courage to mortify his language like +that, but we had, and when we marched to that defiant refrain the +attacking party fell back. + +We left the thoroughfare and wandered down into narrow side streets, +cobble-paved and winding, between high, age-stained walls--streets and +walls that have surely not been renewed since the great period when the +coming of the popes rebuilt Avignon. So many of the houses are +apparently of one age and antiquity they might all have sprung up on the +same day. What a bustle and building there must have been in those first +years after the popes came! Nothing could be too new and fine for the +chosen city. Now they are old again, but not always shabby. Many of +them, indeed, are of impressive grandeur, with carved casings and +ponderous doors. No sign of life about these--no glimpse of luxury, +faded or fresh--within. Whatever the life they hold--whatever its past +glories or present decline, it is shut away. Only the shabbier homes +were open--women at their evening duties, children playing about the +stoop. _They_ had nothing to conceal. Tradition, lineage, pride, +poverty--they had inherited their share of these things, but they did +not seem to be worrying about it. Their affairs were open to inspection; +and their habits of dress and occupation caused us to linger, until the +narrow streets grew dim and more full of evening echoes, while light +began to twinkle in the little basement shops where the ancestors of +these people had bought and sold for such a long, long time. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[7] Alphonse Daudet's "La Mule de Pape," in his _Lettres de Mon Moulin_, +gives a delightful picture of Avignon at this period. + + + + +Chapter IX + +IN THE CITADEL OF FAITH + + +We were not very thorough sight-seers. We did not take a guidebook in +one hand and a pencil in the other and check the items, thus cleaning up +in the fashion of the neat, businesslike tourist. We seldom even had a +program. We just wandered out in some general direction, and made a +discovery or two, looked it over, surmised about it and passed judgment +on its artistic and historical importance, just as if we knew something +of those things; then when we got to a quiet place we took out the book +and looked up what we had seen, and quite often, with the book's +assistance, reversed our judgments and went back and got an altogether +new set of impressions, and kept whichever we liked best. It was a loose +system, to be recommended only for its variety. At the church of St. +Agricole, for instance, which we happened upon when we started out one +morning, we had a most interesting half hour discussing the age and +beauty of its crumbling exterior and wandering about in its dimness, +speculating concerning its frescoes and stained marbles and ancient +tombs. When, later, we sat on the steps outside and looked it up and +found it had been established away back in 680, and twice since +restored; that the fifteenth-century holy-water basin was an especially +fine one; that the tombs and altar piece, the sculpture and frescoes +were regarded as "remarkable examples," we were deeply impressed and +went back to verify these things. Then we could see that it was all just +as the book said. + +But the procedure was somewhat different at the Palace of the Popes. We +knew where we were going then, for we saw its towers looming against the +sky, and no one could mistake that pile in Avignon. Furthermore, we paid +a small fee at its massive arched entrance, and there was a guardian, or +guide, to show us through. It is true he spoke only French--Provençal +French--but two gracious Italian ladies happened to be going through at +the same time and, like all cultured continentals, they spoke a variety +of tongues, including American. The touch of travel makes the whole +world kin, and they threw out a line when they saw us floundering, and +towed us through. It was a gentle courtesy which we accepted with +thankful hearts. + +We were in the central court first, the dull, sinister walls towering on +every side. The guide said that executions had taken place there, and +once, in later times--the period of the Revolution--a massacre in which +seventy perished. He also mentioned a bishop of the earlier period who, +having fallen into disfavor, was skinned alive and burned just outside +the palace entrance. Think of doing that to a bishop! + +Our conductor showed us something which we were among the first to see. +Excavation was going on, and near the entrance some workmen were +uncovering a large square basin--a swimming pool, he said--probably of +Roman times. Whatever had stood there had doubtless fallen into +obliterated ruin by the time the papal palace was begun. + +A survey of the court interior showed that a vast scheme of restoration +was going on. The old fortress had suffered from siege more than once, +and time had not spared it; but with that fine pride which the French +have in their monuments, and with a munificence which would seem to be +limitless, they were reconstructing perfectly every ruined part, and +would spend at least two million dollars, we were told, to make the +labor complete. Battered corners of towers had been carefully rebuilt, +tumbled parapets replaced. We stood facing an exquisite mullioned window +whose carved stone outlines were entirely new, yet delicately and finely +cut, certainly at a cost of many thousand francs. The French do not seem +to consider expense in a work of that sort. Concrete imitations will not +do. Whatever is replaced must be as it was in the beginning. + +Inside we found ourselves in the stately audience room, measuring some +fifty by one hundred and eighty feet, its lofty ceiling supported by +massive Gothic arches, all as complete as when constructed. Each missing +piece or portion has been replaced. It was scarcely more perfect when +the first papal audience was held there and when Queen Jeanne of Naples +came to plead for absolution, nearly six centuries ago. It was of +overpowering size and interest, and in one of the upper corners was a +picture I shall not soon forget. It was not a painting or tapestry, but +it might have been either of these things and less beautiful. It was a +living human being, a stone carver on a swinging high seat, dressed in +his faded blue cap and blouse and chopping away at a lintel. But he had +the face and beard and, somehow, the figure of a saint. He turned to +regard us with a mild, meditative interest, the dust on his beard and +dress completing the harmony with the gray wall behind him, the embodied +spirit of restoration. + +We ascended to the pontifical chapel, similar in size and appearance to +the room below. We passed to other gigantic apartments, some of them +rudely and elaborately decorated by the military that in later years +made this a garrison. We were taken to the vast refectory, where once +there was a great central table, the proportions of which were plainly +marked by an outline on the stone floor, worn by the feet of feasting +churchmen. Then we went to the kitchen, still more impressive in its +suggestion of the stouter needs of piety. Its chimney is simply a +gigantic central funnel that, rising directly from the four walls, goes +towering and tapering toward the stars. I judge the cooks built their +fires in the center of this room, hanging their pots on cranes, swinging +their meats barbecue fashion, opening the windows for air and draught. +Those old popes and legates were no weaklings, to have a kitchen like +that. Their appetites and digestions, like their faith, were of a robust +and militant sort. + +I dare say it would require a week to go through all this palace, so the +visitor is shown only samples of it. We ascended to one of the towers +and looked down, far down, on the roofs of Avignon--an expanse of brown +tiling, toned by the ages, but otherwise not greatly different from what +the popes saw when this tower and these housetops were new. Beyond are +the blue hills which have not changed. Somewhere out there Petrarch's +Laura was buried, but the grave has vanished utterly, the church is a +mere remnant. + +As we stood in the window a cold breath of wind suddenly blew in--almost +piercing for the season. "The mistral," our conductor said, and, though +he did not cross himself, we knew by his exalted smile that he felt in +it the presence of the poet of the south. + +Then he told us that Mistral had appointed him as one of those who were +commissioned to preserve in its purity the Provençal tongue. That he was +very proud of it was certain, and willing to let that wind blow on him +as a sort of benediction. It is said, however, that the mistral wind is +not always agreeable in Avignon. It blows away disease, but it is likely +to overdo its work. "Windy Avignon, liable to the plague when it has not +the wind, and plagued by the wind when it has it," is a saying at least +as old as this palace. + +We got a generous example of it when we at last descended to the street. +There it swirled and raced and grabbed at us until we had to button +everything tightly and hold fast to our hats. We took refuge in the old +cathedral of Notre Dame des Dômes, where John XXII, who brought this +glory to Avignon, lies in his Gothic tomb. All the popes of Avignon were +crowned here; it was the foremost church of Christendom for the better +part of a century. We could see but little of the interior, for, with +the now clouded sky, the place was too dark. In the small chapel where +the tomb stands it was dim and still. It is the holy place of Avignon. + +A park adjoins the church and we went into it, but the mistral wind was +tearing through the trees and we crossed and descended by a long flight +to the narrow streets. Everywhere about us the lower foundations of the +papal palace joined the living rock, its towers seeming to climb upward +to the sky. It was as if it had grown out of the rock, indestructible, +eternal, itself a rock of ages. + +We are always saying how small the world is, and we had it suddenly +brought home to us as we stood there under the shadow of those +overtopping heights. We had turned to thank our newly made friends and +to say good-by. One of them said, "You are from America; perhaps you +might happen to know a friend of ours there," and she named one whom we +did know very well indeed--one, in fact, whose house we had visited only +a few months before. How strange it seemed to hear that name from two +women of Florence there in the ancient city, under those everlasting +walls. + + + + +Chapter X + +AN OLD TRADITION AND A NEW EXPERIENCE + + +Among the things I did on the ship was to read the _Automobile +Instruction Book_. I had never done it before. I had left all technical +matters to a man hired and trained for the business. Now I was going to +a strange land with a resolve to do all the things myself. So I read the +book. + +It was as fascinating as a novel, and more impressive. There never was a +novel like it for action and psychology. When I came to the chapter +"Thirty-seven reasons why the motor may not start," and feverishly read +what one had better try in the circumstances, I could see that as a +subject for strong emotional treatment a human being is nothing to an +automobile. + +Then there was the oiling diagram. A physiological chart would be +nowhere beside it. It was a perfect maze of hair lines and arrow points, +and looked as if it needed to be combed. There were places to be oiled +daily, others to be oiled weekly, some to be oiled monthly, some every +thousand miles. There were also places to be greased at all these +periods, and some when you happened to think of it. You had to put on +your glasses and follow one of the fine lines to the lubricating point, +then try to keep the point in your head until you could get under the +car, or over the car, or into the car, and trace it home. I could see +that this was going to be interesting when the time came. + +I did not consider that it had come when we landed at Marseilles. I said +to the garage man there, in my terse French idiom, "Make it the oil and +grease," and walked away. Now, at Avignon, the new regime must begin. In +the bright little, light little hotel garage we would set our car in +order. I say "we" because Narcissa, aged fifteen, being of a practical +turn, said she would help me. I would "make it the oil and grease," and +Narcissa would wash and polish. So we began. The Joy, aged ten, was +audience. + +Narcissa enjoyed her job. There was a hose in it, and a sponge and nice +rubbing rags and polish, and she went at it in her strenuous way, and +hosed me up one side and down the other at times when I was tracing some +blind lead and she wasn't noticing carefully. + +I said I would make a thorough job of it. I would oil and grease all the +daily, weekly, and monthly, and even the once-in-a-while places. We +would start fair from Avignon. + +I am a resolute person. I followed those tangled lines and labyrinthian +ways into the vital places of our faithful vehicle. Some led to caps, +big and little, which I filled with grease. Most of them were full +already, but I gave them another dab for luck. Some of the lines led to +tiny caps and holes into which I squirted oil. Some led to a dim +uncertainty, into which I squirted or dabbed something in a general way. +Some led to mere blanks, and I greased those. It sounds rather easy, +but that is due to my fluent style. It was not easy; it was a hot, +messy, scratchy, grunting job. Those lines were mostly blind leads, and +full of smudgy, even painful surprises. Some people would have been +profane, but I am not like that--not with Narcissa observing me. One +hour, two, went by, and I was still consulting the chart and dabbing +with the oil can and grease stick. The chart began to show wear; _it_ +would not need greasing again for years. + +Meantime Narcissa had finished her washing and polishing, and was +putting dainty touches on the glass and metal features to kill time. I +said at last that possibly I had missed some places, but I didn't think +they could be important ones. Narcissa looked at me, then, and said that +maybe I had missed places on the car but that I hadn't missed any on +myself. She said I was a sight and probably never could be washed clean +again. It is true that my hands were quite solidly black, and, while I +did not recall wiping them on my face, I must have done so. When +Narcissa asked how soon I was going to grease the car again, I said +possibly in about a thousand years. But that was petulance; I knew it +would be sooner. Underneath all I really had a triumphant feeling, and +Narcissa was justly proud of her work, too. We agreed that our car had +never looked handsomer and shinier since our first day of ownership. I +said I was certain it had never been so thoroughly greased. We would +leave Avignon in style. + +We decided to cross the Rhone at Avignon. We wanted at least a passing +glance at Villeneuve, and a general view of Avignon itself, which was +said to be finest from across the river. We would then continue up the +west bank--there being a special reason for this--a reason with a +village in it--one Beauchastel--not set down on any of our maps, but +intimately concerned with our travel program, as will appear later. + +We did not leave Avignon by the St. Bénézet bridge. We should have liked +that, for it is one of those bridges built by a miracle, away back in +the twelfth century when they used miracles a good deal for such work. +Sometimes Satan was induced to build them overnight, but I believe that +was still earlier. Satan seems to have retired from active +bridge-building by the twelfth century. It was a busy period for him at +home. + +So the Bénézet bridge was built by a boy of that name--a little shepherd +of twelve, who received a command in a dream to go to Avignon and build +a bridge across the Rhone. He said: + +"I cannot leave my sheep, and I have but three farthings in the world." + +"Your flocks will not stray," said the voice, "and an angel will lead +thee." + +Bénézet awoke and found beside him a pilgrim whom he somehow knew to be +an angel. So they journeyed together and after many adventures reached +Avignon. Here the pilgrim disappeared and Bénézet went alone to where a +bishop was preaching to the people. There, in the presence of the +assembly, Bénézet stated clearly that Heaven had sent him to build a +bridge across the Rhone. Angry at the interruption, the bishop ordered +the ragged boy to be taken in charge by the guard and punished for +insolence and untruth. That was an ominous order. Men had been skinned +alive on those instructions. But Bénézet repeated his words to the +officer, a rough man, who said: + +"Can a beggar boy like you do what neither the saints nor Emperor +Charlemagne has been able to accomplish? Pick up this stone as a +beginning, and carry it to the river. If you can do that I may believe +in you." + +It was a sizable stone, being thirteen feet long by seven +broad--thickness not given, though probably three feet, for it was a +fragment of a Roman wall. It did not trouble Bénézet, however. He said +his prayers, and lightly lifted it to his shoulder and carried it across +the town! Some say he whistled softly as he passed along. + +I wish I had lived then. I would almost be willing to trade centuries to +see Bénézet surprise those people, carrying in that easy way a stone +that reached up to the second-story windows. Bénézet carried the stone +to the bank of the river and set it down where the first arch of the +bridge would stand. + +There was no trouble after that. Everybody wanted to stand well with +Bénézet. Labor and contributions came unasked. In eleven years the great +work was finished, but Bénézet did not live to see it. He died four +years before the final stones were laid, was buried in a chapel on the +bridge itself and canonized as a saint. There is another story about +him, but I like this one best. + +Bénézet's bridge was a gay place during the days of the popes at +Avignon. Music and dancing were continuously going on there. It is ready +for another miracle now. Only four arches of its original eighteen are +standing. Storm and flood did not destroy it, but war. Besiegers and +besieged broke down the arches, and at last, more than two hundred years +ago, repairs were given up. It is a fine, firm-looking fragment that +remains. One wishes, for the sake of the little shepherd boy, that it +might be restored once more and kept solid through time. + +Passing along under the ramparts of Avignon, we crossed the newer, +cheaper bridge, and took the first turn to the right. It was a leafy +way, and here and there between the trees we had splendid glimpses of +the bastioned walls and castle-crowned heights of Avignon. Certainly +there is no more impressive mediæval picture in all Europe. + +But on one account we were not entirely satisfied. It was not the view +that disturbed us; it was ourselves--our car. We were smoking--smoking +badly, disgracefully; one could not deny it. In New York City we would +have been taken in charge at once. At first I said it was only a little +of the fresh oil burning off the engine, and that it would stop +presently. But that excuse wore out. It would have taken quarts to make +a smudge like that. When the wind was with us we traveled in a cloud, +like prophets and deities of old, and the passengers grumbled. The Joy +suggested that we would probably blow up soon. + +Then we began to make another discovery; when now and then the smoke +cleared away a little, we found we were not in Villeneuve at all. We +had not entirely crossed the river, but only halfway; we were on an +island. I began to feel that our handsome start had not turned out well. + +We backed around and drove slowly to the bridge again, our distinction +getting more massive and solid every minute. Disaster seemed imminent. +The passengers were inclined to get out and walk. I said, at last, that +we would go back to a garage I had noticed outside the walls. I put it +on the grounds that we needed gasoline. + +It was not far, and the doors stood open. The men inside saw us coming +with our gorgeous white tail filling the landscape behind us, and got +out of the way. Then they gathered cautiously to examine us. + +"Too much oil," they said. + +In my enthusiasm I had overdone the thing. I had poured quarts into the +crank case when there was probably enough there already. I had not been +altogether to blame. Two little telltale cocks that were designed to +drip when there was sufficient oil had failed to drip because they were +stopped with dust. Being new and green, I had not thought of that +possibility. A workman poked a wire into those little cocks and drew off +the fuel we had been burning in that lavish way. So I had learned +something, but it seemed a lot of smoke for such a small spark of +experience. Still, it was a relief to know that it was nothing worse, +and while the oil was dripping to its proper level we went back into the +gates of Avignon, where, lunching in a pretty garden under some trees, +we made light of our troubles, as is our way. + + + + +Chapter XI + +WAYSIDE ADVENTURES + + +So we took a new start and made certain that we entirely crossed the +river this time. We were in Villeneuve-les-Avignon--that is, the "new +town"--but it did not get that name recently, if one may judge from its +looks. Villeneuve, in fact, is fourteen hundred years old, and shows its +age. It was in its glory six centuries ago, when King Philippe le Bel +built his tower at the end of Bénézet's bridge, and Jean le Bon built +one of the sternest-looking fortresses in France--Fort St. André. Time +has made the improvements since then. It has stained the walls and +dulled the sharp masonry of these monuments; it has crushed and crumbled +the feebler structures and filled the streets with emptiness and +silence. Villeneuve was a thronging, fighting, praying place once, but +the throng has been reduced and the fighting and praying have become +matters of individual enterprise. + +I wish now we had lingered at Villeneuve-les-Avignon. I have rarely seen +a place that seemed so to invite one to forget the activities of life +and go groping about among the fragments of history. But we were under +the influence of our bad start, and impelled to move on. Also, +Villeneuve was overshadowed by the magnificence of the Palace of the +Popes, which, from its eternal seat on le Rocher des Doms, still claimed +us. We briefly visited St. André, the tower of Philippe le Bel, and +loitered a little in a Chartreuse monastery--a perfect wilderness of +ruin; then slipped away, following the hard, smooth road through a +garden and wonderland, the valley of the Rhone. + +I believe there are no better vineyards in France than those between +Avignon and Bagnols. The quality of the grapes is another matter; they +are probably sour. All the way along those luscious topaz and amethyst +clusters had been disturbing, but my conscience had held firm and I had +passed them by. Sometimes I said: "There are tons of those grapes; a few +bunches would never be missed." But Narcissa and the others said it +would be stealing; besides, there were houses in plain view. + +But there is a limit to all things. In a level, sheltered place below +Bagnols we passed a vineyard shut in by trees, with no house in sight. +And what a vineyard! Ripening in the afternoon sun, clustered such gold +and purple bunches as were once warmed by the light of Eden. I looked +casually in different directions and slowed down. Not a sign of life +anywhere. I brought the car to a stop. I said, "This thing has gone far +enough." + +Conscience dozed. The protests of the others fell on heedless ears. I +firmly crossed the irrigating ditch which runs along all those French +roads, stepped among the laden vines, picked one of those lucent, yellow +bunches and was about to pick another when I noticed something with a +human look stir to life a little way down the row. + +Conscience awoke with something like a spasm. I saw at once that taking +those grapes was wrong; I almost dropped the bunch I had. Narcissa says +I ran, but that is a mistake. There was not room. I made about two steps +and plunged into the irrigating canal, which I disremembered for the +moment, my eyes being fixed on the car. Narcissa says she made a grab at +my grapes as they sailed by. I seemed to be a good while getting out of +the irrigating ditch, but Narcissa thinks I was reasonably prompt. I had +left the engine running, and some seconds later, when we were putting +temptation behind us on third speed, I noticed that the passengers +seemed to be laughing. When I inquired as to what amused them they +finally gasped out that the thing which had moved among the grapevines +was a goat, as if that made any difference to a person with a sensitive +conscience. + +It is not likely that any reader of these chapters will stop overnight +at Bagnols. We should hardly have rested there, but evening was coming +on and the sky had a stormy look. Later we were glad, for we found +ourselves in an inn where d'Artagnan, or his kind, lodged, in the days +when knights went riding. Travelers did not arrive in automobiles when +that hostelry was built, and not frequently in carriages. They came on +horseback and clattered up to the open door and ordered tankards of good +red wine, and drank while their horses stretched their necks to survey +the interior scenery. The old worn cobbles are still at the door, and +not much has changed within. A niche holds a row of candles, and the +traveler takes one of them and lights himself to bed. His room is an +expanse and his bed stands in a curtained alcove--the bedstead an +antique, the bed billowy, clean, and comfortable, as all beds are in +France. Nothing has been changed there for a long time. The latest +conveniences are of a date not more recent than the reign of Marie +Antoinette, for they are exactly the kind she used, still to be seen at +Versailles. And the dinner was good, with red and white flagons strewn +all down the table--such a dinner as d'Artagnan and his wild comrades +had, no doubt, and if prices have not changed they paid five francs +fifty, or one dollar and ten cents each, for dinner, lodging, and _petit +déjeuner_ (coffee, rolls, and jam)--garage free. + +Bagnols is unimportant to the tourist, but it is old and quaint, and it +has what may be found in many unimportant places in France, at least one +beautiful work of art--a soldier's monument, in this instance; _not_ a +stiff effigy of an infantryman with a musket, cut by some gifted +tombstone sculptor, but a female figure of Victory, full of vibrant life +and inspiration--a true work of art. France is full of such things as +that--one finds them in most unexpected places. + +The valley of the Rhone grew more picturesque as we ascended. Now and +again, at our left, rocky bluffs rose abruptly, some of them crowned +with ruined towers and equally ruined villages, remnants of feudalism, +of the lord and his vassals who had fought and flourished there in that +time when France was making the romantic material which writers ever +since have been so busily remaking and adorning that those old originals +would stare and gasp if they could examine some of it now. How fine and +grand it seems to picture the lord and his men, all bright and shining, +riding out under the portcullis on glossy prancing and armored horses to +meet some aggressive and equally shining detachment of feudalism from +the next hilltop. In the valley they meet, with ringing cries and the +clash of steel. Foeman matches foeman--it is a series of splendid duels, +combats to be recounted by the fireside for generations. Then, at the +end, the knightly surrender of the conquered, the bended knee and +acknowledgment of fealty, gracious speeches from the victor as to the +bravery and prowess of the defeated, after which, the welcome of fair +ladies and high wassail for all concerned. Everybody happy, everybody +satisfied: wounds apparently do not count or interfere with festivities. +The dead disappear in some magic way. I do not recall that they are ever +buried. + +Just above Rochemaure was one of the most imposing of these ruins. The +castle that crowned the hilltop had been a fine structure in its day. +The surrounding outer wall which inclosed its village extended downward +to the foot of the hill to the road--and still inclosed a village, +though the more ancient houses seemed tenantless. It was built for +offense and defense, that was certain, and doubtless had been used for +both. We did not stop to dig up that romance. Not far away, by the +roadside, stood what was apparently a Roman column. It had been already +old and battered--a mere fragment of a ruin--when the hilltop castle and +its village were brave and new. + +It was above Rochemaure--I did not identify the exact point--that an +opportunity came which very likely I shall never have again. On a bluff +high above an ancient village, so old and curious that it did not belong +to reality at all, there was a great château, not a ruin--at least, not +a tumbled ruin, though time-beaten and gray--but a good complete +château, and across its mossy lintel a stained and battered wooden sign +with the legend, "_A Louer_"--that is, "To Let." + +I stopped the car. This, I said, was our opportunity. Nothing could be +better than that ancient and lofty perch overlooking the valley of the +Rhone. The "To Let" sign had been there certainly a hundred years, so +the price would be reasonable. We could get it for a song; we would +inherit its traditions, its secret passages, its donjons, its ghosts, +its-- I paused a moment, expecting enthusiasm, even eagerness, on the +part of the family. Strange as it may seem, there wasn't a particle of +either. I went over those things again, and added new and fascinating +attractions. I said we would adopt the coat of arms of that old family, +hyphenate its name with ours, and so in that cheap and easy fashion +achieve a nobility which the original owner had probably shed blood to +attain. + +It was no use. The family looked up the hill with an interest that was +almost clammy. Narcissa asked, "How would you get the car up there?" The +Joy said, "It would be a good place for bad dreams." The head of the +expedition remarked, as if dismissing the most trivial item of the +journey, that we'd better be going on or we should be late getting into +Valence. So, after dreaming all my life of living in a castle, I had to +give it up in that brief, incidental way. + + + + +Chapter XII + +THE LOST NAPOLEON + + +Now, it is just here that we reach the special reason which had kept us +where we had a clear view of the eastward mountains, and particularly to +the westward bank of the Rhone, where there was supposed to be a certain +tiny village, one Beauchastel--a village set down on none of our maps, +yet which was to serve as an important identifying mark. The reason had +its beginning exactly twenty-two years before; that is to say, in +September, 1891. Mark Twain was in Europe that year, seeking health and +literary material, and toward the end of the summer--he was then at +Ouchy, Switzerland--he decided to make a floating trip down the river +Rhone. He found he could start from Lake Bourget in France, and, by +paddling through a canal, reach the strong Rhone current, which would +carry him seaward. Joseph Very, his favorite guide (mentioned in _A +Tramp Abroad_), went over to Lake Bourget and bought a safe, +flat-bottomed boat, retaining its former owner as pilot, and with these +accessories Mark Twain made one of the most peaceful and delightful +excursions of his life. Indeed, he enjoyed it so much and so lazily that +after the first few days he gave up making extended notes and +surrendered himself entirely to the languorous fascination of drifting +idly through the dreamland of southern France. On the whole, it was an +eventless excursion, with one exception--a startling exception, as he +believed. + +One afternoon, when they had been drifting several days, he sighted a +little village not far ahead, on the west bank, an ancient "jumble of +houses," with a castle, one of the many along that shore. It looked +interesting and he suggested that they rest there for the night. Then, +chancing to glance over his shoulder toward the eastward mountains, he +received a sudden surprise--a "soul-stirring shock," as he termed it +later. The big blue eastward mountain was no longer a mere mountain, but +a gigantic portrait in stone of one of his heroes. Eagerly turning to +Joseph Very and pointing to the huge effigy, he asked him to name it. +The courier said, "Napoleon." The boatman also said, "Napoleon." It +seemed to them, indeed, almost uncanny, this lifelike, reclining figure +of the conqueror, resting after battle, or, as Mark Twain put it, +"dreaming of universal empire." They discussed it in awed voices, as one +of the natural wonders of the world, which perhaps they had been the +first to discover. They landed at the village, Beauchastel, and next +morning Mark Twain, up early, watched the sun rise from behind the great +stone face of his discovery. He made a pencil sketch in his notebook, +and recorded the fact that the figure was to be seen from Beauchastel. +That morning, drifting farther down the Rhone, they watched it until the +human outlines changed. + +Mark Twain's Rhone trip was continued as far as Arles, where the current +slackened. He said that some one would have to row if they went on, +which would mean work, and that he was averse to work, even in another +person. He gave the boat to its former owner, took Joseph, and rejoined +the family in Switzerland. + +Events thronged into Mark Twain's life: gay winters, summers of travel, +heavy literary work, business cares and failures, a trip around the +world, bereavement. Amid such a tumult the brief and quiet Rhone trip +was seldom even remembered. + +But ten or eleven years later, when he had returned to America and was +surrounded by quieter things, he happened to remember the majestic +figure of the first Napoleon discovered that September day while +drifting down the Rhone. He recalled no more than that. His memory was +always capricious--he had even forgotten that he made a sketch of the +figure, with notes identifying the locality. He could picture clearly +enough the incident, the phenomenon, the surroundings, but the name of +the village had escaped him, and he located it too far down, between +Arles and Avignon. + +All his old enthusiasm returned now. He declared if the presence of this +great natural wonder was made known to the world, tourists would flock +to the spot, hotels would spring up there--all other natural curiosities +would fall below it in rank. His listeners caught his enthusiasm. +Theodore Stanton, the journalist, declared he would seek and find the +"Lost Napoleon," as Mark Twain now called it, because he was unable to +identify the exact spot. He assured Stanton that it would be perfectly +easy to find, as he could take a steamer from Arles to Avignon, and by +keeping watch he could not miss it. Stanton returned to Europe and began +the search. I am not sure that he undertook the trip himself, but he +made diligent inquiries of Rhone travelers and steamer captains, and a +lengthy correspondence passed between him and Mark Twain on the subject. + +No one had seen the "Lost Napoleon." Travelers passing between Avignon +and Arles kept steady watch on the east range, but the apparition did +not appear. Mark Twain eventually wrote an article, intending to publish +it, in the hope that some one would report the mislaid emperor. However, +he did not print the sketch, which was fortunate enough, for with its +misleading directions it would have made him unpopular with disappointed +travelers. The locality of his great discovery was still a mystery when +Mark Twain died. + +So it came about that our special reason for following the west bank of +the Rhone--the Beauchastel side, in plain view of the eastward +mountains--was to find the "Lost Napoleon." An easy matter, it seemed in +prospect, for we had what the others had lacked--that is to say, exact +information as to its locality--the notes, made twenty-two years before +by Mark Twain himself[8]--the pencil sketch, and memoranda stating that +the vision was to be seen opposite the village of Beauchastel. + +But now there developed what seemed to be another mystery. Not only our +maps and our red-book, but patient inquiry as well, failed to reveal +any village or castle by the name of Beauchastel. It was a fine, +romantic title, and we began to wonder if it might not be a combination +of half-caught syllables, remembered at the moment of making the notes, +and converted by Mark Twain's imagination into this happy sequence of +sounds. + +So we must hunt and keep the inquiries going. We had begun the hunt as +soon as we left Avignon, and the inquiries when there was opportunity. +Then presently the plot thickened. The line of those eastward mountains +began to assume many curious shapes. Something in their formation was +unlike other mountains, and soon it became not difficult to imagine a +face almost anywhere. Then at one point appeared a real face, no +question this time as to the features, only it was not enough like the +face of the sketch to make identification sure. We discussed it +anxiously and with some energy, and watched it a long time, thinking +possibly it would gradually melt into the right shape, and that +Beauchastel or some similarly sounding village would develop along the +river bank. + +But the likeness did not improve, and, while there were plenty of +villages, there was none with a name the sound of which even suggested +Beauchastel. Altogether we discovered as many as five faces that day, +and became rather hysterical at last, and called them our collection of +lost Napoleons, though among them was not one of which we could say with +conviction, "Behold, the Lost Napoleon!" This brought us to Bagnols, and +we had a fear now that we were past the viewpoint--that somehow our +search, or our imagination, had been in vain. + +But then came the great day. Up and up the Rhone, interested in so many +things that at times we half forgot to watch the eastward hills, passing +village after village, castle after castle, but never the "jumble of +houses" and the castle that commanded the vision of the great chief +lying asleep along the eastern horizon. + +I have not mentioned, I think, that at the beginning of most French +villages there is a signboard, the advertisement of a firm of +auto-stockists, with the name of the place, and the polite request to +"_Ralentir_"--that is, to "go slow." At the other end of the village is +another such a sign, and on the reverse you read, as you pass out, +"_Merci_"--which is to say, "Thanks," for going slowly; so whichever way +you come you get information, advice, and politeness from these boards, +a feature truly French. + +Well, it was a little way above the château which I did not rent, and we +were driving along slowly, thinking of nothing at all, entering an +unimportant-looking place, when Narcissa, who always sees everything, +suddenly uttered the magical word "Beauchastel!" + +[Illustration: MARK TWAIN'S "LOST NAPOLEON" + +"THE COLOSSAL SLEEPING FIGURE IN ITS SUPREME REPOSE"] + +It was like an electric shock--the soul-stirring shock which Mark Twain +had received at the instant of his great discovery. Beauchastel! Not a +figment, then, but a reality--the veritable jumble of houses we had been +seeking, and had well-nigh given up as a myth. Just there the houses +interfered with our view, but a hundred yards farther along a vista +opened to the horizon, and there at last, in all its mightiness and +dignity and grandeur, lay the Lost Napoleon! It is not likely that any +other natural figure in stone ever gave two such sudden and splendid +thrills of triumph, first, to its discoverer, and, twenty-two years +later, almost to the day, to those who had discovered it again. There +was no question this time. The colossal sleeping figure in its supreme +repose confuted every doubt, resting where it had rested for a million +years, and would still rest for a million more. + +At first we spoke our joy eagerly, then fell into silence, looking and +looking, loath to go, for fear it would change. At every opening we +halted to look again, and always with gratification, for it did not +change, or so gradually that for miles it traveled with us, and still at +evening, when we were nearing Valence, there remained a great stone face +on the horizon. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[8] At Mark Twain's death his various literary effects passed into the +hands of his biographer, the present writer. + + + + +Chapter XIII + +THE HOUSE OF HEADS + + +I ought to say, I suppose, that we were no longer in Provence. Even at +Avignon we were in Venaissin, according to present geography, and when +we crossed the Rhone we passed into Languedoc. Now, at Valence, we were +in Dauphiné, of which Valence is the "chief-lieu," meaning, I take it, +the official headquarters. I do not think these are the old divisions at +all, and in any case it all has been "the Midi," which to us is the +Provence, the vineland, songland, and storyland of a nation where vine +and song and story flourish everywhere so lavishly that strangers come, +never to bring, but only to carry away. + +At Valence, however, romance hesitates on the outskirts. The light of +other days grows dim in its newer electric glow. Old castles surmount +the hilltops, but one needs a field glass to see them. The city itself +is modern and busy, prosperous in its manufacture of iron, silk, +macaroni, and certain very good liquors. + +I believe the chief attraction of Valence is the "House of the Heads." +Our guidebook has a picture which shows Napoleon Bonaparte standing at +the entrance, making his adieus to Montalivet, who, in a later day, was +to become his minister. Napoleon had completed his military education +in the artillery school of Valence, and at the moment was setting out to +fulfill his dream of conquest. It is rather curious, when you think of +it, that the great natural stone portrait already described should be +such a little distance away. + +To go back to the House of the Heads: Our book made only the briefest +mention of its construction, and told nothing at all of its traditions. +We stood in front of it, gazing in the dim evening light at the +crumbling carved faces of its façade, peering through into its ancient +court where there are now apartments to let, wondering as to its +history. One goes raking about in the dusty places of his memory at such +moments; returning suddenly from an excursion of that sort, I said I +recalled the story of a house of carved heads--something I had heard, or +read, long ago--and that this must be the identical house concerning +which the story had been told. + +It was like this: There was a wealthy old bachelor of ancient days who +had spent his life in collecting rare treasures of art; pictures, +tapestries, choice metal-work, arms--everything that was beautiful and +rare; his home was a storehouse of priceless things. He lived among +them, attended only by a single servant--the old woman who had been his +nurse--a plain, masculine creature, large of frame, still strong and +brawny, stout of heart and of steadfast loyalty. When the master was +away gathering new treasures she slept in the room where the arms were +kept, with a short, sharp, two-edged museum piece by her couch, and +without fear. + +One morning he told her of a journey he was about to take, and said: "I +hesitate to leave you here alone. You are no longer young." + +But she answered: "Only by the count of years, not by the measure of +strength or vigilance. I am not afraid." + +So he left her, to return on the third day. But on the evening of the +second day, when the old servant went down to the lower basement for +fuel--silently, in her softly slippered feet--she heard low voices at a +small window that opened to the court. She crept over to it and found +that a portion of the sash had been removed; listening, she learned that +a group of men outside in the dusk were planning to enter and rob the +house. They were to wait until she was asleep, then creep in through the +window, make their way upstairs, kill her, and carry off the treasures. + +It seemed a good plan, but as the old servant listened she formed a +better one. She crept back upstairs, not to lock herself in and stand a +siege, but to get her weapon, the short, heavy sword with its two razor +edges. Then she came back and sat down to wait. While she was waiting +she entertained herself by listening to their plans and taking a little +quiet muscle exercise. By and by she heard them say that the old hag +would surely be asleep by this time. The "old hag" smiled grimly and got +ready. + +A man put his head in. It was pitch dark inside, but just enough light +came in from the stars for her to see where to strike. When half his +body was through she made a clean slicing swing of the heavy sword and +the robber's head dropped on a little feather bed which she had +thoughtfully provided. The old woman seized the shoulders and firmly +drew the rest of the man inside. Another head came in, slowly, the +shoulders following. With another swing of the sword they had parted +company, and the grim avenging hands were silently dragging in the +remnant. Another head and shoulders followed, another, and another, +until six heads and bodies were stacked about the executioner and there +was blood enough to swim in. The seventh robber did not appear +immediately; something about the silence within made him reluctant. He +was suspicious, he did not know of what. He put his head to the opening +and whispered, asking if everything was all right. The old woman was no +longer calm. The violent exercise and intense interest in her occupation +had unnerved her. She was afraid she could not control her voice to +answer, and that he would get away. She made a supreme effort and +whispered, "Yes, all right." So he put in his head--very +slowly--hesitated, and started to withdraw. The old woman, however, did +not hesitate. She seized him by the hair, brought the sword down with a +fierce one-hand swing, and the treasures of this world troubled him no +more. + +Then the old servant went crazy. Returning next morning, her master +found her covered with blood, brandishing her sword, and repeating over +and over, "Seven heads, and all mine," and at sight of him lost +consciousness. She recovered far enough to tell her story, then, +presently, died. But in her honor the master rebuilt the front of his +dwelling and had carved upon it the heads of the men she had so +promptly and justly punished. + +Now, I said, this must be the very house, and we regarded it with awe +and tried to locate the little cellar window where the execution had +taken place. It was well enough in the evening dimness, but in the +morning when we went around there again I privately began to have doubts +as to the legend's authenticity, at least so far as this particular +house was concerned. The heads, by daylight, did not look like the heads +of house breakers--not any house breakers of my acquaintance--and I +later consulted a guidebook which attached to them the names of Homer, +Hippocrates, Aristotle, Pythagoras, etc., and I don't think those were +the names of the parties concerned in this particular affair. It's very +hard to give up a good and otherwise perfectly fitting legend, but one +must either do that or change the guidebook. Ah, well, it isn't the +first sacrifice I've had to make for the sake of history. + +Valence has been always a place of culture and educational activity. It +was capital of Segalauni before the Romans came, and there was a +celebrated school there, even then. This information also came from the +guidebook, and it surprised me. It was the first time I had heard that +the Segalaunians had a school prior to the Roman conquest. It was also +the first time I had heard of the Segalaunians. I thought they were all +Gauls and Goths and Vandals up that way, and that their education +consisted in learning how to throw a spear convincingly, or to divert +one with a rawhide buckler. Now I discovered they had a college before +the Romans conquered them. One can hardly blame them for descending upon +those Romans later, with fire and sword. Valence shared the usual fate. +It was ravished by the so-called barbarians, and later hacked to pieces +by Christian kings. To-day again it is a fair city, with parks, wide +boulevards, and imposing monuments. + + + + +Chapter XIV + +INTO THE HILLS + + +Turning eastward from Valence, we headed directly for the mountains and +entered a land with all the wealth of increase we had found in Provence, +and with even more of picturesqueness. The road was still perfect--hard +and straight, with an upward incline, but with a grade so gradual and +perfect as to be barely noticeable. Indeed, there were times when we +seemed actually to be descending, even when the evidence of gravity told +us that we were climbing; that is to say, we met water coming toward +us--water flowing by the roadside--and more than once Narcissa and I +agreed that the said water was running uphill, which was not likely--not +in France. Of course, in England, where they turn to the left, it might +be expected. The village did not seem quite like those along the Rhone. +The streets were as narrow, the people as mildly interested in us, but, +on the whole, we thought the general aspect was less ancient, possibly +less clean. + +But they were interesting. Once we saw a man beating a drum, stopping on +every corner to collect a little crowd and read some sort of +proclamation, and once by the roadside we met a little negro child in a +straw hat and a bright dress, a very bit of the American South. +Everywhere were pretty gardens, along the walls gay flowers, and always +the valleys were rich in orchard and vineyard, plumed with tall poplars, +divided by bright rivers, and glorified with hazy September sunlight. + +We grew friendly with the mountains in the course of the afternoon, then +intimate. They sprang up before us and behind us; just across the +valleys they towered into the sky. Indeed, we suddenly had a most +dramatic proof that we were climbing one. We had been shut in by wooded +roads and sheltered farmsteads for an hour or two when we came out again +into the open valley, with the river flowing through. But we were no +longer _in_ the valley! Surprise of surprises! we were on a narrow, +lofty road hundreds of feet above it, skirting the mountainside! It +seemed incredible that our gradual, almost imperceptible, ascent had +brought us to that high perch, overlooking this marvelous Vale of +Cashmere. Everyone has two countries, it is said; his own and France. +One could understand that saying here, and why the French are not an +emigrating race. We stopped to gaze our fill, and as we went along, the +scenery attracted my attention so much that more than once I nearly +drove off into it. We were so engrossed by the picture that we took the +wrong road and went at least ten miles out of our way to get to +Grenoble. But it did not matter; we saw startlingly steep mountainsides +that otherwise we might not have seen, and dashing streams, and at the +end we had a wild and glorious coast of five or six miles from our +mountain fastness down into the valley of the Isère, a regular toboggan +streak, both horns going, nerves taut, teeth set, probable disaster +waiting at every turn. We had never done such a thing before, and +promised ourselves not to do it again. One such thrill was worth while, +perhaps, but the ordinary lifetime might not outlast another. + +Down in that evening valley we were in a wonderland. Granite walls rose +perpendicularly on our left; cottages nestled in gardens at our +right--bloom, foliage, fragrance, the flowing Isère. Surely this was the +happy valley, the land of peace and plenty, shut in by these lofty +heights from all the troubling of the world. Even the towers and spires +of a city that presently began to rise ahead of us did not disturb us. +In the evening light they were not real, and when we had entered the +gates of ancient Gratianopolis, and crossed the Isère by one of its +several bridges, it seemed that this modern Grenoble was not quite a +city of the eager world. + +The hotel we selected from the red-book was on the outskirts, and we had +to draw pretty heavily on our French to find it; but it was worth while, +for it was set in a wide garden, and from every window commanded the +Alps. We realized now that they _were_ the Alps, the Alps of the Savoy, +their high green slopes so near that we could hear the tinkle of the +goat bells. + +We did not take the long drive through the "impossibly beautiful" +valleys of Grenoble which we had planned for next morning. When we arose +the air was no longer full of stillness and sunlight. In fact, it was +beginning to rain. So we stayed in, and by and by for luncheon had all +the good French things, ending with fresh strawberries, great bowls of +them--in September--and apparently no novelty in this happy valley of +the Isère. All the afternoon, too, it rained, and some noisy French +youngsters raced up and down the lower rooms and halls, producing a +homelike atmosphere, while we gathered about the tables to study the +French papers and magazines. + +It was among the advertisements that I made some discoveries about +French automobiles. They are more expensive than ours, in proportion to +the horsepower, the latter being usually low. About twelve to fifteen +horsepower seems to be the strength of the ordinary five-passenger +machine. Our own thirty-horsepower engine, which we thought rather light +at home, is a giant by comparison. Heavy engines are not needed in +France. The smooth roads and perfectly graded hills require not half the +power that we must expend on some of our rough, tough, rocky, and steep +highways. Again, these lighter engines and cars take less gasoline, +certainly, and that is a big item, where gasoline costs at least 100 per +cent more than in America. I suppose the lightest weight car consistent +with strength and comfort would be the thing to take to Europe. There +would be a saving in the gasoline bill; and then the customs deposit, +which is figured on the weight, would not be so likely to cripple the +owner's bank account. + + + + +Chapter XV + +UP THE ISÈRE + + +Sometime in the night the rain ceased, and by morning Nature had +prepared a surprise for us. The air was crystal clear, and towering into +the sky were peaks no longer blue or green or gray, but white with +drifted snow! We were in warm, mellow September down in our valley, but +just up there--such a little way it seemed--were the drifts of winter. +With our glass we could bring them almost within snowballing distance. +Feathery clouds drifted among the peaks, the sun shooting through. It +was all new to us, and startling. These really were the Alps; there was +no further question. + +"Few French cities have a finer location than Grenoble," says the +guidebook, and if I also have not conveyed this impression I have meant +to do so. Not many cities in the world, I imagine, are more +picturesquely located. It is also a large city, with a population of +more than seventy-five thousand--a city of culture, and it has been +important since the beginning of recorded history. Gratian was its +patron Roman emperor, and the name Gratianopolis, assumed in his honor, +has become the Grenoble of to-day. Gratian lived back in the fourth +century and was a capable sort of an emperor, but he had one weak point. +He liked to array himself in outlandish garb and show off. It is a +weakness common to many persons, and seems harmless enough, but it was +not a healthy thing for Gratian, who did it once too often. He came out +one day habited like a Scythian warrior and capered up and down in front +of his army. He expected admiration, and probably the title of +Scythianus, or something. But the unexpected happened. The army jeered +at his antics, and eventually assassinated him. Scythian costumes for +emperors are still out of style. + +We may pass over the riot and ruin of the Middle Ages. All these towns +were alike in that respect. The story of one, with slight alterations, +fits them all. Grenoble was the first town to open its gates to +Napoleon, on his return from Elba, in 1815, which gives it a kind of +distinction in more recent times. Another individual feature is its +floods. The Isère occasionally fills its beautiful valley, and fifteen +times during the past three centuries Grenoble has been almost swept +away. There has been no flood for a long period now, and another is +about due. Prudent citizens of Grenoble keep a boat tied in the back +yard instead of a dog. + +We did not linger in Grenoble. The tomb of Bayard--_sans peur, sans +reproche_--is there, in the church of St. André; but we did not learn of +this until later. The great sight at Grenoble is its environment--the +superlative beauty of its approaches, and its setting--all of which we +had seen in the glory of a September afternoon. + +There were two roads to Chambéry, one by the Isère, and another through +the mountains by way of Chartreuse which had its attractions. I always +wanted to get some of the ancient nectar at its fountainhead, and the +road was put down as "picturesque." But the rains had made the hills +slippery; a skidding automobile and old Chartreuse in two colors did not +seem a safe combination for a family car. So we took the river route, +and I am glad now, for it began raining soon after we started, and we +might not have found any comfortable ruined castle to shelter us if we +had taken to the woods and hills. As it was, we drove into a great +arched entrance, where we were safe and dry, and quite indifferent as to +what happened next. We explored the place, and were rather puzzled. It +was unlike other castles we have seen. Perhaps it had not been a castle +at all, but an immense granary, or brewery, or an ancient fortress. In +any case, it was old and massive, and its high main arch afforded us a +fine protection. + +The shower passed, the sun came out, and sent us on our way. The road +was wet, but hard, and not steep. It was a neighborly road, curiously +intimate with the wayside life, its domestic geography and economies; +there were places where we seemed to be actually in front dooryards. + +The weather was not settled; now and then there came a sprinkle, but +with our top up we did not mind. It being rather wet for picnicking, we +decided that we would lunch at some wayside inn. None appeared, however, +and when we came to think about it, we could not remember having +anywhere passed such an inn. There were plenty of cafés where one could +obtain wines and other beverages, but no food. In England and New +England there are plenty of hostelries along the main roads, but +evidently not in France. One must depend on the towns. So we stopped at +Challes-les-Eaux, a little way out of Chambéry, a pretty place, where we +might have stayed longer if the September days had not been getting few. + +Later, at Chambéry, we visited the thirteenth-century château of the Duc +de Savoy, which has been rebuilt, and climbed the great square tower +which is about all that is left of the original structure, a grand place +in its time. We also went into the gothic chapel to see some handsomely +carved wainscoting, with a ceiling to match. We were admiring it when +the woman who was conducting us explained by signs and a combination of +languages that, while the wainscoting was carved, the ceiling was only +painted, in imitation. It was certainly marvelous if true, and she +looked like an honest woman. But I don't know-- I wanted to get up there +and feel it. + +She was, at any rate, a considerate woman. When I told her in the +beginning that we had come to see the Duke of Savoy's old hat, meaning +his old castle, she hardly smiled, though Narcissa went into hysterics. +It was nothing--even a Frenchman might say "_chapeau_" when he meant +"_château_" and, furthermore--but let it go--it isn't important enough +to dwell upon. Anything will divert the young. + +Speaking of hats, I have not mentioned, I believe, the extra one that we +carried in the car. It belonged to the head of the family and when we +loaded it (the hat) at Marseilles it was a fresh and rather fluffy bit +of finery. There did not seem to be any good place for it in the heavy +baggage, shipped by freight to Switzerland, and decidedly none in the +service bags strapped to the running-board. Besides, its owner said she +might want to wear it on the way. There was plenty of space for an extra +hat in our roomy car, we said, and there did seem to be when we loaded +it in, all neatly done up in a trim package. + +But it is curious how things jostle about and lose their identity. I +never seemed to be able to remember what was in that particular package, +and was always mistaking it for other things. When luncheon time came I +invariably seized it, expecting some pleasant surprise, only to untie an +appetizing, but indigestible, hat. The wrapping began to have a +travel-worn look, the package seemed to lose bulk. When we lost the +string, at last, we found that we could tie it with a much shorter one; +when we lost that, we gave the paper a twist at the ends, which was +seldom permanent, especially when violently disturbed. Not a soul in the +car that did not at one time or another, feeling something bunchy, give +it a kick, only to expose our surplus hat, which always had a helpless, +unhappy look that invited pity. No concealment insured safety. Once the +Joy was found to have her feet on it. At another time the owner herself +was sitting on it. We seldom took it in at night, but once when we did +we forgot it, and drove back seven miles to recover. I don't know what +finally became of it. + + + + +Chapter XVI + +INTO THE HAUTE-SAVOIE + + +It is a rare and beautiful drive to Aix-les-Bains, and it takes one by +Lake Bourget, the shimmering bit of blue water from which Mark Twain set +out on his Rhone trip. We got into a street market the moment of our +arrival in Aix, a solid swarm of dickering people. In my excitement I +let the engine stall, and it seemed we would never get through. Aix did +not much interest us, and we pushed on to Annecy with no unnecessary +delay, and from Annecy to Thones, a comfortable day's run, including, as +it did, a drive about beautiful ancient Annecy, chief city of the +Haute-Savoie. We might have stayed longer at Annecy, but the weather had +an unsettled look, and there came the feeling that storms and winter +were gathering in the mountains and we would better be getting along +somewhere else. Also a woman backed her donkey cart into us at Annecy +and put another dent in our mudguard, which was somehow discouraging. As +it was, we saw the lake, said to be the most beautiful in France, though +no more beautiful, I think, than Bourget; an ancient château, now +transformed into barracks; the old prison built out in the river; the +narrow, ancient streets; and a house with a tablet that states that +Jean-Jacques Rousseau lived there in 1729, and there developed his +taste for music. + +The Haute-Savoie is that billowy corner of far-eastern France below Lake +Geneva--a kind of neutral, no man's territory hemmed by the huge heights +of Switzerland and Italy. Leaving Annecy, we followed a picturesque road +through a wild, weird land, along gorges and awesome brinks, under a +somber sky. At times we seemed to be on the back of the world; at others +diving to its recesses. It was the kind of way that one might take to +supernatural regions, and it was the kind of evening to start. + +Here and there on the slopes were flocks and herds, attended by +grave-faced women, who were knitting as they slowly walked. They barely +noticed us or their charges. They never sat down, but followed along, +knitting, knitting, as though they were patterning the fates of men. +Sometimes we met or passed a woman on the road, always knitting, like +the others. It was uncanny. Probably for every human being there is +somewhere among those dark mountains a weird woman, knitting the pattern +of his life. That night at Thones, a forgotten hamlet, lost there in the +Haute-Savoie, a storm broke, the wind tore about our little inn, the +rain dashed fearsomely, all of which was the work of those knitting +women, beyond doubt. + +But the sun came up fresh and bright, and we took the road for Geneva. +For a time it would be our last day in France. All the forenoon we were +among the mountain peaks, skirting precipices that one did not care to +look over without holding firmly to something. But there were no steep +grades and the brinks were protected by solid little walls. + +At the bottom of a long slope a soldier stepped out of a box of a house +and presented arms. I dodged, but his intent was not sanguinary. He +wanted to see our papers--we were at the frontier--so I produced our +customs receipts, called _triptyques_, our T. C. de F. membership card, +our car license, our driving license, and was feeling in my pocket for +yet other things when he protested, "_Pas nécessaire, pas nécessaire_" +and handed all back but the French _triptyque_, which he took to his +_bureau_, where, with two other military _attachés_, he examined, +discussed, finally signed and witnessed it, and waved us on our way. + +So we were not passing the Swiss customs yet, but only leaving the +French outpost. The ordeal of the Swiss _douane_ was still somewhere +ahead; we had entered the neutral strip. We wished we might reach the +Swiss post pretty soon and have the matter over with. We had visions of +a fierce person looking us through, while he fired a volley of French +questions, pulled our baggage to pieces, and weighed the car, only to +find that the result did not tally with the figures on our triple-folded +sheet. I had supplied most of those figures from memory, and I doubted +their accuracy. I had heard that of all countries except Russia, +Switzerland was about the most particular. So we went on and on through +that lofty scenery, expecting almost anything at every turn. + +But nothing happened--nothing except that at one place the engine +seemed to be running rather poorly. I thought at first that there was +some obstruction in the gasoline tube, and my impulse was to light a +match and look into the tank to see what it might be. On second thought +I concluded to omit the match. I remembered reading of a man who had +done that, and almost immediately his heirs had been obliged to get a +new car. + +We passed villages, but no _douane_. Then all at once we were in the +outskirts of a city. Why, this was surely Geneva, and as we were driving +leisurely along a fat little man in uniform came out and lifted his +hand. We stopped. Here it was, then, at last. + +For a moment I felt a slight attack of weakness, not in the heart, but +about the knees. However, the little man seemed friendly. He held out +his hand and I shook it cordially. But it was the papers he was after, +our Swiss _triptyque_. I said to myself, "A minute more and we probably +shall be on the scales, and the next in trouble." But he only said, +"_Numero de moteur._" I jerked open the hood, scrubbed off the grease, +and showed it to him. He compared it, smiled, and handed back our paper. +Then he waved me to a _bureau_ across the street. Now it was coming; he +had doubtless discovered something wrong at a glance. + +There was an efficient-looking, sinister-looking person in the office +who took the _triptyque_, glanced at it, and threw something down before +me. I thought it was a warrant, but it proved to be a copy of the Swiss +law and driving regulations, with a fine road map of Switzerland, and +all information needed by motorists; "Price, 2 Frs." stamped on the +cover. I judged that I was required to buy this, but I should have done +it, anyway. It was worth the money, and I wished to oblige that man. He +accepted my two francs, and I began to feel better. Then he made a few +entries in something, handed me my _triptyque_, said "_Bonjour, et bon +voyage_," and I was done. + +I could hardly believe it. I saw then what a nice face he had, while the +little fat man across the street was manifestly a lovely soul. He had +demanded not a thing but the number of the motor. Not even the number of +the car had interested him. As for the weight, the bore of the +cylinders, the number of the chassis, and all those other statistics +said to be required, they were as nonexistent to him as to me. Why, he +had not even asked us to unstrap our baggage. It was with feelings akin +to tenderness that we waved him good-by and glided across the imaginary +line of his frontier into Switzerland. + +We glided very leisurely, however. "Everybody gets arrested in +Switzerland"--every stranger, that is--for breaking the speed laws. +This, at least, was our New York information. So we crept along, and I +kept my eye on the speedometer all the way through Geneva, for we were +not going to stop there at present, and when we had crossed our old +friend, the Rhone, variously bridged here, skirted the gay water-front +and were on the shore road of that loveliest of all lakes--Lake Léman, +with its blue water, its snow-capped mountains, its terraced vineyards, +we still loafed and watched the _gendarmes_ to see if they were timing +us, and came almost to a stop whenever an official of any kind hove in +sight. Also we used the mellow horn, for our book said that horns of the +Klaxon type are not allowed in Switzerland. + +We were on soft pedal, you see, and some of the cars we met were equally +subdued. But we observed others that were not--cars that were just +bowling along in the old-fashioned way, and when these passed us, we +were surprised to find that they were not ignorant, strange cars, but +Swiss cars, or at least cars with Swiss number-plates and familiar with +the dangers. As for the whistles, they were honking and snorting and +screeching just as if they were in Connecticut, where there is no known +law that forbids anything except fishing on Sunday. Indeed, one of the +most sudden and violent horns I have ever heard overtook us just then, +and I nearly jumped over the windshield when it abruptly opened on me +from behind. + +"Good G--, that is, goodness!" I said, "this is just like France!" and I +let out a few knots and tooted the Klaxonette, and was doing finely when +suddenly a mounted policeman appeared on the curve ahead. I could feel +myself scrouging as we passed, going with great deliberation. He did not +offer to molest me, but we did not hurry again--not right away. Not that +we cared to hurry; the picture landscape we were in was worth all the +time one could give it. Still, we were anxious to get to Lausanne before +dusk, and little by little we saw and heard things which convinced us +that "Everybody gets arrested in Switzerland" is a superstition, the +explosion of which was about due. Fully half the people we met, _all_ +that passed us, could properly have been arrested anywhere. By the time +we reached Lausanne we should have been arrested ourselves. + + + + +Chapter XVII + +SOME SWISS IMPRESSIONS + + +Now, when one has reached Switzerland, his inclination is not to go on +traveling, for a time at least, but to linger and enjoy certain +advantages. First, of course, there is the scenery; the lakes, the +terraced hills, and the snow-capped mountains; the châteaux, chalets, +and mossy villages; the old inns and brand-new, heaven-climbing hotels. +And then Switzerland is the land of the three F's--French, Food, and +Freedom, all attractive things. For Switzerland is the model republic, +without graft and without greed; its schools, whether public or private, +enjoy the patronage of all civilized lands, and as to the matter of +food, Switzerland is the _table d'hôte_ of the world. + +Swiss landlords are combined into a sort of trust, not, as would be the +case elsewhere, to keep prices up, but to keep prices down! It is the +result of wisdom, a far-seeing prudence which says: "Our scenery, our +climate, our pure water--these are our stock in trade. Our profit from +them is through the visitor. Wherefore we will encourage visitors with +good food, attractive accommodations, courtesy; and we will be content +with small profit from each, thus inviting a general, even if modest, +prosperity; also, incidentally, the cheerfulness and good will of our +patrons." It is a policy which calls for careful management, one that +has made hotel-keeping in Switzerland an exact science--a gift, in fact, +transmitted down the generations, a sort of magic; for nothing short of +magic could supply a spotless room, steam heated, with windows opening +upon the lake, and three meals--the evening meal a seven-course dinner +of the first order--all for six francs fifty (one dollar and thirty +cents) a day.[9] + +It is a policy which prevails in other directions. Not all things are +cheap in Switzerland, but most things are--the things which one buys +oftenest--woolen clothing and food. Cotton goods are not cheap, for +Switzerland does not grow cotton, and there are a few other such items. +Shoes are cheap enough, if one will wear the Swiss make, but few +visitors like to view them on their own feet. They enjoy them most when +they hear them clattering along on the feet of Swiss children, the +wooden soles beating out a rhythmic measure that sounds like a coopers' +chorus. Not all Swiss shoes have wooden soles, but the others do not +gain grace by their absence. + +Swiss cigars are also cheap. I am not a purist in cigars, but at home I +have smoked a good many and seldom with safety one that cost less than +ten cents, straight. One pays ten centimes, or two cents, in +Switzerland, and gets a mild, evenly burning article. I judge it is made +of tobacco, though the head of the family suggested other things that +she thought it smelled like. If she had smoked one of them, she would +not have noticed this peculiarity any more. Wine is cheap, of course, +for the hillsides are covered with vines; also, whisk--but I am +wandering into economic statistics without really meaning to do so. They +were the first things that impressed me. + +The next, I believe, was the lack of Swiss politics. Switzerland is a +republic that runs with the exactness of a Swiss watch, its machinery as +hermetically concealed. I had heard that the Swiss Republic sets the +pattern of government for the world, and I was anxious to know something +of its methods and personnel. I was sorry that I was so ignorant. I +didn't even know the name of the Swiss President, and for a week was +ashamed to confess it. I was hoping I might see it in one of the French +papers I puzzled over every evening. But at the end of the week I +timidly and apologetically inquired of our friendly landlord as to the +name of the Swiss Chief Executive. + +But then came a shock. Our landlord grew confused, blushed, and +confessed that he didn't know it, either! He had known it, he said, of +course, but it had slipped his mind. Slipped his mind! Think of the name +of Roosevelt, or Wilson, or Taft slipping the mind of anybody in +America--and a landlord! I asked the man who sold me cigars. He had +forgotten, too. I asked the apothecary, but got no information. I was +not so timid after that. I asked a fellow passenger--guest, I mean, an +American, but of long Swiss residence--and got this story. I believe +most of it. He said: + +"When I came to Switzerland and found out what a wonderful little +country it was, its government so economical, so free from party +corruption and spoils, from graft and politics, so different from the +home life of our own dear Columbia, I thought, 'The man at the head of +this thing must be a master hand; I'll find out his name.' So I picked +out a bright-looking subject, and said: + +"'What is the name of the Swiss President?' + +"He tried to pretend he didn't understand my French, but he did, for I +can tear the language off all right--learned it studying art in Paris. +When I pinned him down, he said he knew the name well enough, +_parfaitement_, but couldn't think of it at that moment. + +"That was a surprise, but I asked the next man. He couldn't think of it, +either. Then I asked a police officer. Of course he knew it, all right; +'_oh oui, certainement, mais_'--then he scratched his head and +scowled, but he couldn't dig up that name. He was just a plain +prevaricator--_toute simplement_--like the others. I asked every man I +met, and every one of them knew it, had it right on the end of his +tongue; but somehow it seemed to stick there. Not a man in Vevey or +Montreux could tell me the name of the Swiss President. It was the same +in Fribourg, the same even in Berne, the capital. I had about given it +up when one evening, there in Berne, I noticed a sturdy man with an +honest face, approaching. He looked intelligent, too, and as a last +resort I said: + +"'Could you, by any chance, tell me the name of the Swiss President?' + +"The effect was startling. He seized me by the arm and, after looking +up and down the street, leaned forward and whispered in my ear: + +"_'Mon Dieu! c'est moi!_ _I_ am the Swiss President; but--ah _non_, +don't tell anyone! I am the only man in Switzerland who knows it!' + +"You see," my friend continued, "he is elected privately, no torchlight +campaigns, no scandal, and only for a year. He is only a sort of +chairman, though of course his work is important, and the present able +incumbent has been elected a number of times. His name is--is--is--ah +yes, that's my tram. So sorry to have to hurry away. See you to-night at +dinner." + +One sees a good many nationalities in Switzerland, and some of them I +soon learned to distinguish. When I saw a man with a dinky Panama hat +pulled down about his face, and wearing a big black mustache or beard, I +knew he was a Frenchman. When I met a stout, red-faced man, with a pack +on his back and with hobnailed shoes, short trousers, and a little felt +hat with a feather stuck in it, I knew him for a German. When I noticed +a very carefully dressed person, with correct costume and gaiters--also +monocle, if perfect--saying, "Aw--Swiss people--so queah, don't you +know," I was pretty sure he was an Englishman. When I remarked a tall, +limber person, carrying a copy of the Paris _Herald_ and asking every +other person he met, "Hey, there! Vooly voo mir please sagen--" all the +rest incomprehensible, I knew him for an American of the deepest dye. +The Swiss themselves have no such distinguishing mark. They are just +sturdy, plainly dressed, unpretentious people, polite and friendly, +with a look of capability, cleanliness, and honesty which invites +confidence. + +An Englishwoman said to me: + +"I have heard that the Swiss are the best governed and the least +intelligent people in the world." + +I reflected on this. It had a snappy sound, but it somehow did not seem +to be firm at the joints. "The best governed and the least +intelligent"--there was something drunken about it. I said: + +"It doesn't quite seem to fit. And how about the magnificent Swiss +public-school system, and the manufacturing, and the national railway, +with all the splendid engineering that goes with the building of the +funiculars and tunnels? And the Swiss prosperity, and the medical +practice, and the sciences? I always imagined those things were in some +way connected with intelligence." + +"Oh, well," she said, "I suppose they do go with intelligence of a kind; +but then, of course, you know what I mean." + +But I was somehow too dull for her epigram. It didn't seem to have any +sense in it. She was a grass widow and I think she made it herself. +Later she asked me whereabouts in America I came from. When I said +Connecticut, she asked if Connecticut was as big as Lausanne. A woman +like that ought to go out of the epigram business.[10] + +As a matter of fact, a good many foreigners are inclined to say rather +peevish things about sturdy little, thriving little, happy little +Switzerland. I rather suspect they are a bit jealous of the +pocket-de-luxe nation that shelters them, and feeds them, and entertains +them, and cures them, cheaper and better and kindlier than their home +countries. They are willing to enjoy these advantages, but they +acknowledge rather grudgingly that Switzerland, without a great standing +army, a horde of grafters, or a regiment of tariff millionaires to +support, can give lessons in national housekeeping to their own larger, +more pretentious lands. + +I would not leave the impression, by the way, that the Swiss are +invariably prosperous. Indeed, some of them along the lake must have +been very poor just then, for the grape crop had failed two years in +succession, and with many of them their vineyard is their all. But there +was no outward destitution, no rags, no dirt, no begging. Whatever his +privation, the Swiss does not wear his poverty on his sleeve. + +Switzerland has two other official languages besides French--German and +Italian. Government documents, even the postal cards, are printed in +these three languages. It would seem a small country for three +well-developed tongues, besides all the canton dialects, some of which +go back to the old Romanic, and are quite distinct from anything modern. +The French, German, and Italian divisions are geographical, the lines of +separation pretty distinct. There is rivalry among the cantons, a +healthy rivalry, in matters of progress and education. The cantons are +sufficiently a unit on all national questions, and together they form +about as compact and sturdy a little nation as the world has yet +seen--a nation the size and shape of an English walnut, and a hard nut +for any would-be aggressor to crack. There are not many entrances into +Switzerland, and they would be very well defended. The standing army is +small, but every Swiss is subject to a call to arms, and is trained by +enforced, though brief, service to their use. He seems by nature to be +handy with a rifle, and never allows himself to be out of practice. +There are regular practice meets every Sunday, and I am told the +government supplies the cartridges. Boys organize little companies and +regiments and this the government also encourages. It is said that +Switzerland could put half a million soldiers in the field, and that +every one would be a crack shot.[11] The German Kaiser, once reviewing +the Swiss troops, remarked, casually, to a sub-officer, "You say you +could muster half a million soldiers?" + +"Yes, Your Majesty." + +"And suppose I should send a million of my soldiers against you. What +would you do then?" + +"We should fire two shots apiece, Your Majesty." + +[Illustration: MARCHÉ VEVEY + +"IN EACH TOWN THERE IS AN OPEN SQUARE, WHICH TWICE A WEEK IS +PICTURESQUELY CROWDED"] + +In every Swiss town there are regular market days, important events +where one may profitably observe the people. The sale of vegetables and +flowers must support many families. In each town there is an open +square, which twice a week is picturesquely crowded, and there one may +buy everything to eat and many things to wear; also, the wherewith to +improve the home, the garden, and even the mind; for besides the +garden things there are stalls of second-hand books, hardware, +furniture, and general knick-knacks. Flanking the streets are displays +of ribbons, laces, hats, knitted things, and general dry-goods +miscellany; also antiques, the scrapings of many a Swiss cupboard and +corner. + +But it is in the open square itself that the greater market +blooms--really blooms, for, in season, the vegetables are truly floral +in their rich vigor, and among them are pots and bouquets of the posies +that the Swiss, like all Europeans, so dearly love. Most of the flower +and vegetable displays are down on the ground, arranged in baskets or on +bits of paper, and form a succession of gay little gardens, ranged in +long narrow avenues of color and movement, a picture of which we do not +grow weary. Nor of the setting--the quaint tile-roofed buildings; the +blue lake, with its sails and swans and throng of wheeling gulls; the +green hills; the lofty snow-capped mountains that look down from every +side. How many sights those ancient peaks have seen on this same +square!--markets and military, battles and buffoonery. There are no +battles to-day, but the Swiss cadets use it for a drill ground, and +every little while lightsome shows and merry-go-rounds establish +themselves in one end of it, and the little people skip about, and go +riding around and around to the latest ragtime, while the mountains look +down with their large complaisance, just as they watched the capering +ancestors of these small people, ages and ages ago; just as they will +watch their light-footed descendants for a million years, maybe. + +The market is not confined entirely to the square. On its greater days, +when many loads of wood and hay crowd one side of it, it overflows into +the streets. Around a floral fountain may be found butter, eggs, and +cheese--oh, especially cheese, the cheese of Gruyère, with every size +and pattern of holes, in any quantity, cut and weighed by a handsome +apple-faced woman who seems the living embodiment of the cheese +industry. I have heard it said--this was in America--that the one thing +not to be obtained in Switzerland is Swiss cheese. The person who +conceived that smartness belongs with the one who invented the +"intelligence" epigram. + +On the market days before Christmas our square had a different look. The +little displays were full of greenery, and in the center of the market +place there had sprung up a forest of Christmas trees. They were not in +heaps, lying flat; but each, mounted on a neat tripod stand, stood +upright, as if planted there. They made a veritable Santa Claus forest, +and the gayly dressed young people walking among them, looking and +selecting, added to this pretty sight. + +The Swiss make much of Christmas. Their shop windows are overflowing +with decorations and attractive things. Vevey is "Chocolate Town." Most +of the great chocolate factories of Europe are there, and at all holiday +seasons the grocery and confectionary windows bear special evidence of +this industry. Chocolate Santa Clauses--very large--chickens, rabbits, +and the like--life size; also trees, groups, set pieces, ornaments--the +windows are wildernesses of the rich brown confection, all so +skillfully modeled and arranged. + +The toy windows, too, are fascinating. You would know at once that you +were looking into a Swiss toy window, from the variety of carved bears; +also, from the toy châteaux--very fine and large, with walled courts, +portcullises, and battlements--with which the little Swiss lad plays +war. The dolls are different, too, and the toy books--all in French. But +none of these things were as interesting as the children standing +outside, pointing at them and discussing them--so easily, so glibly--in +French. How little they guessed my envy of them--how gladly I would buy +out that toy window for, say, seven dollars, and trade it to them for +their glib unconsciousness of gender and number and case. + +On the afternoon before Christmas the bells began. From the high +mountainsides, out of deep ravines that led back into the hinterland, +came the ringing. The hills seemed full of bells--a sound that must go +echoing from range to range, to the north and to the south, traveling +across Europe with the afternoon. Then, on Christmas Day, the trees. In +every home and school and hotel they sparkled. We attended four in the +course of the day, one, a very gorgeous one in the lofty festooned hall +of a truly grand hotel, with tea served and soft music stealing from +some concealed place--a slow strain of the "Tannenbaum," which is like +our "Maryland," only more beautiful--and seemed to come from a source +celestial. And when one remembered that in every corner of Europe +something of the kind was going on, and that it was all done in memory +and in honor of One who, along dusty roadsides and in waste places, +taught the doctrine of humility, one wondered if the world might not be +worth saving, after all. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[9] In 1913-14. The rate to-day is somewhat higher. + +[10] I have thought since that she may have meant that the Swiss do not +lead the world in the art and literary industries. She may have +connected those things with intelligence--you never can tell. + +[11] When the call to arms came, August 1, 1914, Switzerland put 250,000 +men on her frontier in twenty-four hours. + + + + +Chapter XVIII + +THE LITTLE TOWN OF VEVEY + + +It would seem to be the French cantons along the Lake of Geneva (or +Léman) that most attract the deliberate traveler. The north shore of +this lake is called the Swiss Riviera, for it has a short, mild winter, +with quick access to the mountaintops. But perhaps it is the schools, +the _pensionnats_, that hold the greater number. The whole shore of the +Lake of Geneva is lined with them, and they are filled with young +persons of all ages and nations, who are there mainly to learn French, +though incidentally, through that lingual medium, other knowledge is +acquired. Some, indeed, attend the fine public schools, where the drill +is very thorough, even severe. Parents, as well as children, generally +attend school in Switzerland--visiting parents, I mean. They undertake +French, which is the thing to do, like mountain climbing and winter +sports. Some buy books and seclude their struggles; others have private +lessons; still others openly attend one of the grown-up language +schools, or try to find board at French-speaking _pensions_. Their +progress and efforts form the main topic of conversation. In a way it +makes for a renewal of youth. + +We had rested at Vevey, that quiet, clean little picture-city, not so +busy and big as Lausanne, or so grand and stylish as Montreux, but more +peaceful than either, and, being more level, better adapted for motor +headquarters. Off the main street at Montreux, the back or the front +part of a car is always up in the air, and it has to be chained to the +garage. We found a level garage in Vevey, and picked out _pensionnats_ +for Narcissa and the Joy, and satisfactory quarters for ourselves. +Though still warm and summer-like, it was already late autumn by the +calendar, and not a time for long motor adventures. We would see what a +Swiss winter was like. We would wrestle with the French idiom. We would +spend the months face to face with the lake, the high-perched hotels and +villages, the snow-capped, cloud-capped hills. + +Probably everybody has heard of Vevey, but perhaps there are still some +who do not know it by heart, and will be glad of a word or two of +details. Vevey has been a place of habitation for a long time. A +wandering Asian tribe once came down that way, rested a hundred years or +so along the Léman shore, then went drifting up the Rhone and across the +Simplon to make trouble for Rome. But perhaps there was no Rome then; it +was a long time ago, and it did not leave any dates, only a few bronze +implements and trifles to show the track of the storm. The Helvetians +came then, sturdy and warlike, and then the Romans, who may have +preserved traditions of the pleasant land from that first wandering +tribe. + +Cæsar came marching down the Rhone and along this waterside, and his +followers camped in the Vevey neighborhood a good while--about four +centuries, some say. Certain rich Romans built their summer villas in +Switzerland, and the lake shore must have had its share. But if there +were any at Vevey, there is no very positive trace of them now. In the +depths of the Castle of Chillon, they show you Roman construction in the +foundations, but that may have been a fortress. + +I am forgetting, however. One day, when we had been there a month or +two, and were clawing up the steep hill--Mount Pelerin--that rises back +of the hotel to yet other hotels, and to compact little villages, we +strayed into a tiny lane just below Chardonne, and came to a stone +watering trough, or fountain, under an enormous tree. Such troughs, with +their clear, flowing water, are plentiful enough, but this one had a +feature all its own. The stone upright which held the flowing spout had +not been designed for that special purpose. It was, in fact, the upper +part of a small column, capital and all, very old and mended, and +_distinctly of Roman design_. I do not know where it came from, and I do +not care to inquire too deeply, for I like to think it is a fragment of +one of those villas that overlooked the Lake of Geneva long ago. + +There are villas enough about the lake to-day, and châteaux by the +dozen, most of the latter begun in the truculent Middle Ages and +continued through the centuries down to within a hundred years or so +ago. You cannot walk or drive in any direction without coming to them, +some in ruins, but most of them well preserved or carefully restored, +and habitable; some, like beautiful Blonay, holding descendants of +their ancient owners. From the top of our hotel, with a glass, one could +pick out as many as half a dozen, possibly twice that number. They were +just towers of defense originally, the wings and other architectural +excursions being added as peace and prosperity and family life +increased. One very old and handsome one, la Tour de Peilz, now gives +its name to a part of Vevey, though in the old days it is said that +venomous little wars used to rage between Vevey proper and the village +which clustered about the château de Peilz. Readers of _Little Women_ +will remember la Tour de Peilz, for it was along its lake wall that +Laurie proposed to Amy. + +But a little way down the lake there is a more celebrated château than +la Tour de Peilz; the château of Chillon, which Byron's poem of the +prisoner Bonivard has made familiar for a hundred years.[12] Chillon, +which stands not exactly on the lake, but on a rock _in_ the lake, has +not preserved the beginning of its history. Those men of the bronze age +camped there, and, if the evidences shown are genuine, the Romans built +a part of the foundation. Also, in one of its lower recesses there are +the remains of a rude altar of sacrifice. + +It is a fascinating place. You cross a little drawbridge, and through a +heavy gateway enter a guardroom and pass to a pretty open court, where +to-day there are vines and blooming flowers. Then you descend to the big +barrack room, a hall of ponderous masonry, pass through a small room, +with its perfectly black cell below for the condemned, through another, +where a high gibbet-beam still remains, and into a spacious corridor of +pillars called now the "Prison of Bonivard." + + There are seven pillars of gothic mold + In Chillon's dungeons deep and old;... + Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, + A sunbeam which has lost its way ... + And in each pillar there is a ring + And in each ring there is a chain. + That iron is a cankering thing, + For in these limbs its teeth remain.... + +Bonivard's ring is still there, and the rings of his two brothers who +were chained, one on each side of him; chained, as he tells us, so +rigidly that + + We could not move a single pace; + We could not see each other's face. + +We happened to be there, once, when a sunbeam that "had lost its way" +came straying in, a larger sunbeam now, for the narrow slits that serve +for windows were even narrower in Bonivard's time, and the place, light +enough to-day in pleasant weather, was then somber, damp, and probably +unclean. + +Bonivard was a Geneva patriot, a political prisoner of the Duke of +Savoy, who used Chillon as his château. Bonivard lived six years in +Chillon, most of the time chained to a column, barely able to move, +having for recreation shrieks from the torture chamber above, or the +bustle of execution from the small adjoining cell. How he lived, how his +reason survived, are things not to be understood. Both his brothers +died, and at last Bonivard was allowed more liberty. The poem tells us +that he made a footing in the wall, and climbed up to look out on the +mountains and blue water, and a little island of three trees, and the +"white-walled distant town"--Bouveret, across the lake. He was delivered +by the Bernese in 1536, regaining his freedom with a sigh, according to +the poem. Yet he survived many years, dying in 1570, at the age of +seventy-four. + +On the columns in Bonivard's dungeon many names are carved, some of them +the greatest in modern literary history. Byron's is there, Victor +Hugo's, Shelley's, and others of the sort. They are a tribute to the +place and its history, of course, but even more to Bonivard--the +Bonivard of Byron. + +Prisoners of many kinds have lived and died in the dungeons of +Chillon--heretics, witches, traitors, poor relations--persons +inconvenient for one reason or another--it was a vanishing point for the +duke's undesirables, who, after the execution, were weighted and dropped +out a little door that opens directly to an almost measureless depth of +blue uncomplaining water. Right overhead is the torture chamber, with +something ghastly in its very shape and color, the central post still +bearing marks of burning-irons and clawing steel. Next to this chamber +is the hall of justice, and then the splendid banquet hall; everything +handy, you see, so that when the duke had friends, and the wine had been +good, and he was feeling particularly well, he could say, "Let's go in +and torture a witch"; or, if the hour was late and time limited, "Now +we'll just step down and hang a heretic to go to bed on." The duke's +bedroom, by the way, was right over the torture chamber. I would give +something for that man's conscience. + +One might go on for pages about Chillon, but it has been told in detail +so many times. It is the pride to-day of this shore--pictures of it are +in every window--postal cards of it abound. Yet, somehow one never grows +tired of it, and stops to look at every new one. + +For a thousand years, at least, Chillon was the scene of all the phases +of feudalism and chivalry; its history is that of the typical castle; +architecturally it is probably as good an example as there is in +Switzerland. It has been celebrated by other authors besides Byron. Jean +Jacques Rousseau has it in his _Nouvelle Héloïse_, Hugo in _Le Rhin_, +and it has been pictured more or less by most of the writing people who +have found their way to Léman's pleasant shore. These have been legion. +The Vevey and Montreux neighborhood has been always a place for poor but +honest authors. Rousseau was at Vevey in 1732, and lodged at the Hotel +of the Key, and wrote of it in his _Confessions_, though he would seem +to have behaved very well there. The building still stands, and bears a +tablet with a medallion portrait of Rousseau and an extract in which he +says that Vevey has won his heart. In his _Confessions_ he advises all +persons of taste to go to Vevey, and speaks of the beauty and majesty of +the spectacle from its shore. + +When Lord Byron visited Lake Léman he lodged in Clarens, between Vevey +and Montreux, and a tablet now identifies the house. Voltaire also +visited here, lodging unknown. Dumas the elder was in Vevey in the +thirties of the last century, and wrote a book about Switzerland--a book +of extraordinary interest, full of duels, earthquakes, and other +startling things, worthy of the author of _Monte Cristo_ and _The Three +Musketeers_. Switzerland was not so closely reported in those days; an +imagination like Dumas' had more range. Thackeray wrote a portion of the +_Newcomes_ at the hotel Trois Couronnes in Vevey, and it was on the wide +terrace of the same gay hostelry that Henry James's _Daisy Miller_ had +her parasol scene. We have already mentioned Laurie and Amy on the wall +of Tour de Peilz, and one might go on citing literary associations of +this neighborhood. Perhaps it would be easier to say that about every +author who has visited the continent has paused for a little time at +Vevey, a statement which would apply to travelers in general. + +Vevey is not a great city; it is only a picturesque city, with curious, +winding streets of constantly varying widths, and irregular little open +spaces, all very clean, also very misleading when one wishes to go +anywhere with direction and dispatch. You give that up, presently. You +do not try to save time by cutting through. When you do, you arrive in +some new little rectangle or confluence, with a floral fountain in the +middle, and neat little streets winding away to nowhere in particular; +then all at once you are back where you started. In this, as in some +other points of resemblance, Vevey might be called the Boston of +Switzerland. Not that I pretend to a familiarity with Boston--nobody has +that--but I have an aunt who lives there, and every time I go to see her +I am obliged to start in a different direction for her house, though she +claims to have been living in the same place for thirty years. Some +people think Boston is built on a turn-table. I don't know; it sounds +reasonable. + +To come back to Vevey--it is growing--not in the wild, woolly, New York, +Chicago, and Western way, but in a very definite and substantial way. +They are building new houses for business and residence, solid +structures of stone and cement, built, like the old ones, to withstand +time. They do not build flimsy fire-traps in Switzerland. Whatever the +class of the building, the roofs are tile, the staircases are stone. We +always seem to court destruction in our American residential +architecture. We cover our roofs with inflammable shingles to invite +every spark, and build our stairways of nice dry pine, so that in the +event of fire they will be the first thing to go. This encourages +practice in jumping out of top-story windows. + +By day Vevey is a busy, prosperous-looking, though unhurried, place, its +water-front gay with visitors; evening comes and glorifies the lake into +wine, turns to rose the snow on _Grammont_, the _Dents de Midi_, and the +_Dents de Morcles_. As to the sunset itself, not many try to paint it +any more. Once, from our little balcony we saw a monoplane pass up the +lake and float into the crimson west, like a great moth or bird. Night +in Vevey is full of light and movement, but not of noise. There is no +wild clatter of voices and outbursts of nothing in particular, such as +characterize the towns of Italy and southern France. On the hilltops +back of Vevey the big hotels are lighted, and sometimes, following the +dimmer streets, we looked up to what is apparently a city in the sky, +suggesting one's old idea of the New Jerusalem, a kind of vision of +heaven, as it were--heaven at night, I mean. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[12] Written at the Anchor Inn, Ouchy, Lausanne, in 1817. + + + + +Chapter XIX + +MASHING A MUD GUARD + + +One does not motor a great deal in the immediate vicinity of Vevey; the +hills are not far enough away for that. One may make short trips to +Blonay, and even up Pelerin, if he is fond of stiff climbing, and there +are wandering little roads that thread cozy orchard lands and lead to +secluded villages tucked away in what seem forgotten corners of a bygone +time. But the highway skirts the lake-front and leads straight away +toward Geneva, or up the Rhone Valley past Martigny toward the Simplon +Pass. It has always been a road, and in its time has been followed by +some of the greatest armies the world has ever seen--the troops of +Cæsar, of Charlemagne, of Napoleon. + +We were not to be without our own experience in motor mountain climbing. +We did not want it or invite it; it was thrust upon us. We were +returning from Martigny late one Sunday afternoon, expecting to reach +Vevey for dinner. It was pleasant and we did not hurry. We could not, in +fact, for below Villeneuve we fell in with the homing cows, and traveled +with attending herds--beside us, before us, behind us--fat, sleek, +handsome animals, an escort which did not permit of haste. Perhaps it +was avoiding them that caused our mistake; at any rate, we began to +realize presently that we were not on our old road. Still, we seemed +headed in the right direction and we kept on. Then presently we were +climbing a hill--climbing by a narrow road, one that did not permit of +turning around. + +Very well, we said, it could not be very high or steep; we would go over +the hill. But that was a wrong estimate. The hill was high and it was +steep. Up and up and up on second speed, then back to first, until we +were getting on a level with the clouds themselves. It was a good road +of its kind, but it had no end. The water was boiling in the +radiator--boiling over. We must stop to reduce temperature a little and +to make inquiries. It was getting late--far too late to attempt an +ascension of the Alps. + +We were on a sort of bend, and there was a peasant chalet a few rods +ahead. I went up there, and from a little old woman in short skirts got +a tub of cool water, also some information. The water cooled off our +engine, and the information our enthusiasm for further travel in that +direction. We were on the road to Château d'Oex, a hilltop resort for +winter sports. + +We were not in a good place to turn around, there on the edge of a +semi-precipice, but we managed to do it, and started back. It was a +steep descent. I cut off the spark and put the engine on low speed, +which made it serve as a brake, but it required the foot and emergency +brake besides. It would have been a poor place to let the car get away. +Then I began to worry for fear the hind wheels were sliding, which would +quickly cut through the tires. I don't know why I thought I could see +them, for mud guards make that quite impossible. Nevertheless I leaned +out and looked back. It was a poor place to do that, too. We were +hugging a wall as it was, and one does not steer well looking backward. +In five seconds we gouged into the wall, and the front guard on that +side crumpled up like a piece of tinfoil. I had to get out and pull and +haul it before there was room for the wheel to turn. + +I never felt so in disgrace in my life. I couldn't look at anything but +the disfigured guard all the way down the mountain. The passengers were +sorry and tried to say comforting things, but that guard was fairly +shrieking its reproach. What a thing to go home with! I felt that I +could never live it down. + +Happily it was dark by the time we found the right road and were drawing +into Montreux--dark and raining. I was glad it was dark, but the rain +did not help, and I should have been happier if the streets had not been +full of dodging pedestrians and vehicles and blinding lights. The +streets of Montreux are narrow enough at best, and what with a busy tram +and all the rest of the medley, driving, for a man already in disgrace, +was not real recreation. A railway train passed us just below, and I +envied the engineer his clear right of way and fenced track, and decided +that his job was an easy one by comparison. One used to hear a good deal +about the dangers of engine driving, and no doubt an engineer would be +glad to turn to the right or left now and then when meeting a train head +on--a thing, however, not likely to happen often, though I suppose once +is about enough. All the same, a straight, fenced and more or less +exclusive track has advantages, and I wished I had one, plunging, +weaving, diving through the rain as we were, among pedestrians, +cyclists, trams, carriages, other motors, and the like; misled by the +cross lights from the shops, dazzled by oncoming headlights, blinded by +rain splashing in one's face. + +It is no great distance from Montreux to Vevey, but in that night it +seemed interminable. And what a relief at last were Vevey's quiet +streets, what a path of peace the semi-private road to the hotel, what a +haven of bliss the seclusion of the solid little garage! Next morning +before anybody was astir I got the car with that maltreated mud guard to +the shop. It was an awful-looking thing. It had a real expression. It +looked as if it were going to cry. I told the repair man that the roads +had been wet and the car had skidded into a wall. He did not care how it +happened, of course, but I did; besides, it was easier to explain it +that way in French. + +It took a week to repair the guard. I suppose they had to straighten it +out with a steam roller. I don't know, but it looked new and fine when +it came back, and I felt better. The bill was sixteen francs. I never +got so much disgrace before at such a reasonable figure. + + + + +Chapter XX + +JUST FRENCH--THAT'S ALL + + +Perhaps one should report progress in learning French. Of course +Narcissa and the Joy were chattering it in a little while. That is the +way of childhood. It gives no serious consideration to a great matter +like that, but just lightly accepts it like a new game or toy and plays +with it about as readily. It is quite different with a thoughtful person +of years and experience. In such case there is need of system and +strategy. I selected different points of assault and began the attack +from all of them at once--private lessons; public practice; daily +grammar, writing and reading in seclusion; readings aloud by persons of +patience and pronunciation. + +I hear of persons picking up a language--grown persons, I mean--but if +there are such persons they are not of my species. The only sort of +picking up I do is the kind that goes with a shovel. I am obliged to +excavate a language--to loosen up its materials, then hoist them with a +derrick. My progress is geological and unhurried. Still, I made +progress, of a kind, and after putting in five hours a day for a period +of months I began to have a sense of results. I began to realize that +even in a rapid-fire conversation the sounds were not all exactly alike, +and to distinguish scraps of meaning in conversations not aimed +directly at me, with hard and painful distinctness. I began even to +catch things from persons passing on the street--to distinguish French +from patois--that is to say, I knew, when I understood any of it, that +it was not patois. I began to be proud and to take on airs--always a +dangerous thing. + +One day at the pharmacy I heard two well-dressed men speaking. I +listened intently, but could not catch a word. When they went I said to +the drug clerk--an Englishman who spoke French: + +"Strange that those well-dressed men should use patois." + +He said: "Ah, but that was not patois--that was very choice +French--Parisian." + +I followed those men the rest of the afternoon, at a safe distance, but +in earshot, and we thus visited in company most of the shops and sights +of Vevey. If I could have followed them for a few months in that way it +is possible--not likely, but possible--that their conversation might +have meant something to me. + +Which, by the way, suggests the chief difference between an acquired and +an inherited language. An acquired language, in time, comes to _mean_ +something, whereas the inherited language _is_ something. It is bred +into the fiber of its possessor. It is not a question of considering the +meaning of words--what they convey; they do not come stumbling through +any anteroom of thought, they are embodied facts, forms, sentiments, +leaping from one inner consciousness to another, instantaneously and +without friction. Probably every species of animation, from the atom to +the elephant, has a language--perfectly understood and sufficient to its +needs--some system of signs, or sniffs, or grunts, or barks, or +vibrations to convey quite as adequately as human speech the necessary +facts and conditions of life. Persons, wise and otherwise, will tell you +that animals have no language; but when a dog can learn even many words +of his master's tongue, it seems rather unkind to deny to him one of his +own. Because the oyster does not go shouting around, or annoy us with +his twaddle, does not mean that he is deprived of life's lingual +interchanges. It is not well to deny speech to the mute, inglorious +mollusk. Remember he is our ancestor. + +To go back to French: I have acquired, with time and heavy effort, a +sort of next-room understanding of that graceful speech--that is to say, +it is about like English spoken by some one beyond a partition--a fairly +thick one. By listening closely I get the general drift of +conversation--a confusing drift sometimes, mismeanings that generally go +with eavesdropping. At times, however, the partition seems to be +thinner, and there comes the feeling that if somebody would just come +along and open a door between I should understand. + +It is truly a graceful speech--the French tongue. Plain, homely things +of life--so bald, and bare, and disheartening in the Anglo-Saxon--are +less unlovely in the French. Indeed, the French word for "rags" is so +pretty that we have conferred "chiffon" on one of our daintiest fabrics. +But in the grace of the language lies also its weakness. It does not +rise to the supreme utterances. I have been reading the bible texts on +the tombstones in the little cemetery of Chardonne. "_L'éternel est mon +berger_" can hardly rank in loftiness with "The Lord is my shepherd," +nor "_Que votre coeur ne se trouble point_" with "Let not your heart +be troubled." Or, at any rate, I can never bring myself to think so. + +Any language is hard enough to learn--bristling with difficulties which +seem needless, even offensively silly to the student. We complain of the +genders and silent letters of the French, but when one's native tongue +spells "cough" and calls it "cof," "rough" and calls it "ruff," "slough" +and calls it "slu" or "sluff," by choice, and "plough" and is unable to +indicate adequately without signs just how it should be pronounced, he +is not in a position to make invidious comparisons. I wonder what a +French student really thinks of those words. He has rules for his own +sound variations, and carefully indicates them with little signs. We +have sound signs, too, but an English page printed with all the +necessary marks is a cause for anguish. I was once given a primary +reader printed in that way, and at sight of it ran screaming to my +mother. So we leave off all signs in English and trust in God for +results. It is hard to be an American learning French, but I would +rather be that than a Frenchman learning American. + + + + +Chapter XXI + +WE LUGE + + +When winter comes in America, with a proper and sufficient thickness of +ice, a number of persons--mainly young people--go out skating, or +coasting, or sleighing, and have a very good time. But this interest is +incidental--it does not exclude all other interests--it does not even +provide the main topic of conversation. + +It is not like that in Switzerland. Winter sport is a religion in +Switzerland; the very words send a thrill through the dweller--native or +foreign--among the Swiss hills. When the season of white drift and +congealed lake takes possession of the land, other interests and +industries are put aside for the diversions of winter. + +Everything is subserved to the winter sports. French, German, and +English papers report each day the thickness of snow at the various +resorts, the conditions of the various courses, the program of events. +Bills at the railway stations announce the names of points where the +sports are in progress, with a schedule of the fares. Hotels publish +their winter attractions--their coasting (they call it "luging"--soft +g), curling, skating, ski-ing accommodations, and incidentally mention +their rooms. They also cover their hall carpetings with canvas to +protect them from the lugers' ponderous hobnailed shoes. To be truly +sporty one must wear those shoes; also certain other trimmings, such as +leggings, breeches, properly cut coat, cap and scarf to match. One +cannot really enjoy the winter sports without these decorations, or keep +in good winter society. Then there are the skis. One must carry a pair +of skis to be complete. They must be as tall as the owner can reach, and +when he puts them on his legs will branch out and act independently, +each on its own account, and he will become a house divided against +itself, with the usual results. So it is better to carry them, and look +handsome and graceful, and to confine one's real activities to the more +familiar things. + +Our hotel was divided on winter sports. Not all went in for it, but +those who did went in considerably. We had a Dutch family from Sumatra, +where they had been tobacco planting for a number of years, and in that +tropic land had missed the white robust joys of the long frost. They +were a young, superb couple, but their children, who had never known the +cold, were slender products of an enervating land. They had never seen +snow and they shared their parents' enthusiasm in the winter prospect. +The white drifts on the mountaintops made them marvel; the first light +fall we had made them wild. + +That Dutch family went in for the winter sports. You never saw anything +like it. Their plans and their outfit became the chief interest of the +hotel. They engaged far in advance their rooms at Château d'Oex, one of +the best known resorts, and they daily accumulated new and startling +articles of costume to make their experience more perfect. One day they +would all have new shoes of wonderful thickness and astonishing nails. +Then it would be gorgeous new scarfs and caps, then sweaters, then +skates, then snowshoes, then skis, and so on down the list. Sometimes +they would organize a drill in full uniform. But the children were less +enthusiastic then. Those slim-legged little folks could hardly walk, +weighted with several pounds of heavy hobnailed shoes, and they +complained bitterly at this requirement. Their parents did not miss the +humor of the situation, and I think enjoyed these preparations and +incidental discomforts for the sake of pleasure as much as they could +have enjoyed the sports themselves, when the time came. We gave them a +hearty send-off, when reports arrived that the snow conditions at +Château d'Oex were good, and if they had as good a time as we wished +them, and as they gave us in their preparations, they had nothing to +regret. + +As the winter deepened the winter sport sentiment grew in our midst, +until finally in January we got a taste of it ourselves. We found that +we could take a little mountain road to a point in the hills called Les +Avants, then a funicular to a still higher point, and thus be in the +white whirl for better or worse, without being distinctly of it, so to +speak. We could not be of it, of course, without the costumes, and we +did not see how we could afford these and also certain new adjuncts +which the car would need in the spring. So we went primarily as +spectators--that is, the older half of the family. The children had +their own winter sports at school. + +[Illustration: "YOU CAN SEE SON LOUP FROM THE HOTEL STEPS IN VEVEY, BUT +IT TAKES HOURS TO GET TO IT"] + +We telephoned to the Son Loup hotel at the top of the last funicular, +and got an early start. You can see Son Loup from the hotel steps in +Vevey, but it takes hours to get to it. The train goes up, and up, along +gorges and abysses, where one looks down on the tops of Christmas trees, +gloriously mantled in snow. Then by and by you are at Les Avants and in +the midst of everything, except the ski-ing, which is still higher up, +at Son Loup. + +We got off at Les Avants and picked our way across the main street among +flying sleds of every pattern, from the single, sturdy little bulldog +_luge_ to the great polly-straddle bob, and from the safe vantage of a +café window observed the slide. + +It was divided into three parts--one track for bobsledders--the wild +riders--a track for the more daring single riders, and a track for fat +folks, old folks, and children. Certainly they were having a good time. +Their ages ranged from five to seventy-five, and they were all children +together. Now and then there came gliding down among them a big native +sled, loaded with hay or wood, from somewhere far up in the hills. It +was a perfect day--no cold, no wind, no bright sun, for in reality we +were up in the clouds--a soft white veil of vapor was everywhere. + +By and by we crossed the track, entered a wonderful snow garden +belonging to a hotel, and came to a little pond where some old men and +fat men were curling. Curling is a game where you try to drive a sort of +stone decoy duck from one end of the pond to the other and make it +stop somewhere and count something. Each man is armed with a big broom +to keep the ice clean before and after his little duck. We watched them +a good while and I cannot imagine anything more impressive than to see a +fat old man with a broom padding and puffing along by the side of his +little fat stone duck, feverishly sweeping the snow away in front of it, +so that it will get somewhere and count. When I inadvertently laughed I +could see that I was not popular. All were English there--all but a few +Americans who pretended to be English. + +Beyond the curling pond was a skating pond, part of it given over to an +international hockey match, but somehow these things did not excite us. +We went back to our café corner to watch the luging and to have +luncheon. Then the lugers came stamping in for refreshments, and their +costumes interested us. Especially their shoes. Even the Dutch family +had brought home no such wonders as some of these. They were of +appalling size, and some of them had heavy iron claws or toes such as +one might imagine would belong to some infernal race. These, of course, +were to dig into the snow behind, to check or guide the flying sled. +They were useful, no doubt, but when one saw them on the feet of a tall, +slim girl the effect was peculiar. + +By the time we had finished luncheon we had grown brave. We said we +would luge--modestly, but with proper spirit. There were sleds to let, +by an old Frenchman, at a little booth across the way, and we looked +over his assortment and picked a small bob with a steering attachment, +because to guide that would be like driving a car. Then we hauled it up +the fat folks' slide a little way and came down, hoo-hooing a warning to +those ahead in the regulation way. We did this several times, liking it +more and more. We got braver and tried the next slide, liking it still +better. Then we got reckless and crossed into the bobsled scoot and +tried that. Oh, fine! We did not go to the top--we did not know then how +far the top was; but we went higher each time, liking it more and more, +until we got up to a place where the sleds stood out at a perpendicular +right angle as they swirled around a sudden circle against a constructed +ice barrier. This looked dangerous, but getting more and more reckless, +we decided to go even above that. + +We hauled our sled up and up, constantly meeting bobsleds coming down +and hearing the warning hoo-hoo-hooing of still others descending from +the opaque upper mist. Still we climbed, dragging our sled, meeting bob +after bob, also loads of hay and wood, and finally some walking girls +who told us that the top of the slide was at Son Loup--that is, at the +top of the funicular, some miles away. + +We understood then; all those bobsledders took their sleds up by +funicular and coasted down. We stopped there and got on our sled. The +grade was very gradual at first, and we moved slowly--so slowly that a +nice old lady who happened along gave us a push. We kept moving after +that. We crossed a road, rounded a turn, leaped a railway track and +struck into the straightway, going like a streak. We had thought it a +good distance to the sharp turn, with its right-angle wall of ice, but +we were there with unbelievable suddenness. Then in a second we were on +the wall, standing straight out into space; then in another we had shot +out of it; but our curve seemed to continue. + +There was a little barnyard just there and an empty hay sled--placed +there on purpose, I think now. At any rate, the owner was there watching +the performance. I think he had been expecting us. When all motion +ceased he untelescoped us, and we limped about and discussed with him in +native terms how much we ought to pay for the broken runner on his hay +sled, and minor damages. It took five francs to cure the broken runner, +which I believe had been broken all the time and was just set there +handy to catch inadvertent persons like ourselves. We finished our slide +then and handed in our sled, which the old Frenchman looked at fondly +and said: "_Très bon--très vite._" He did not know how nearly its speed +had come to landing us in the newspapers. + +We took the funicular to Son Loup, and at the top found ourselves in +what seemed atmospheric milk. We stood at the hotel steps and watched +the swift coasters pass. Every other moment they flashed by, from a +white mystery above--a vision of faces, a call of voices--to the +inclosing mystery again. It was like life; but not entirely, for they +did not pass to silence. The long, winding hill far below was full of +their calls'--muffled by the mist--their hoo-hoo-hoos of warning to +those ahead and to those who followed. But it was suggestive, too. It +was as if the lost were down there in that cold whiteness. + +The fog grew thicker, more opaque, as the day waned. It was an +impalpable wall. We followed the road from the hotel, still higher into +its dense obscurity. When a tree grew near enough to the road for us to +see it, we beheld an astonishing sight. The mist had gathered about the +evergreen branches until they were draped, festooned, fairly clotted +with pendulous frost embroidery. + +We had been told that there was ski-ing up there and we were anxious to +see it, but for a time we found only blankness and dead silence. Then at +last--far and faint, but growing presently more distinct--we heard a +light sound, a movement, a "swish-swish-swirl"--somewhere in the mist at +our right, coming closer and closer, until it seemed right upon us, and +strangely mysterious, there being no visible cause. We waited until a +form appeared, no, grew, materialized from the intangible--so +imperceptibly, so gradually, that at first we could not be sure of it. +Then the outlines became definite, then distinct; an athletic fellow on +skis maneuvered across the road, angled down the opposite slope, +"swish-swish-swirl"--checking himself every other stroke, for the +descent was steep--faded into unknown deeps below--the whiteness had +shut him in. We listened while the swish-swish grew fainter, and in the +gathering evening we felt that he had disappeared from the world into +ravines of dark forests and cold enchantments from which there could be +no escape. + +We climbed higher and met dashing sleds now and then, but saw no other +ski-ers that evening. Next morning, however, we found them up there, +gliding about in that region of vapors, appearing and dissolving like +cinema figures, their voices coming to us muffled and unreal in tone. I +left the road and followed down into a sort of basin which seemed to be +a favorite place for ski practice. I felt exactly as if I were in a +ghostly aquarium. + +I was not much taken with ski-ing, as a whole. I noticed that even the +experts fell down a good many times and were not especially graceful +getting up. + +But I approve of coasting under the new conditions--_i. e._ with +funicular assistance. In my day coasting was work--you had to tug and +sweat up a long slippery incline for a very brief pleasure. Keats (I +think it was Keats, or was it Carolyn Wells?) in his, or her, well-known +and justly celebrated poem wrote: + + It takes a long time to make the climb, + And a minute or less to come down; + +But that poetry is out of date--in Switzerland. It no longer takes a +long time to make the climb, and you do it in luxury. You sit in a +comfortable seat and your sled is loaded on an especially built car. +Switzerland is the most funiculated country in the world; its hills are +full of these semi-perpendicular tracks. They make you shudder when you +mount them for the first time, and I think I never should be able to +discuss frivolous matters during an ascent, as I have seen some do. +Still, one gets hardened, I suppose. + +They are cheap. You get commutation tickets for very little, and all day +long coasters are loading their sleds on the little shelved flatcar, +piling themselves into the coach, then at the top snatching off their +sleds to go whooping away down the long track to the lower station. +Coasters get killed now and then, and are always getting damaged in one +way and another; for the track skirts deep declivities, and there are +bound to be slips in steering, and collisions. We might have stayed +longer and tried it again, but we were still limping from our first +experiment. Besides, we were not dressed for the real thing. Dress may +not make the man, but it makes the sportsman. + + + + +Part II + + +MOTORING THROUGH THE GOLDEN AGE + + + + +Chapter I + +THE NEW PLAN + + +But with the breaking out of the primroses and the hint of a pale-green +beading along certain branches in the hotel garden, the desire to be +going, and seeing, and doing; to hear the long drowse of the motor and +look out over the revolving distances; to drop down magically, as it +were, on this environment and that--began to trickle and prickle a +little in the blood, to light pale memories and color new plans. + +We could not go for a good while yet. For spring is really spring in +Switzerland--not advance installments of summer mixed with left-overs +from winter, but a fairly steady condition of damp coolness--sunlight +that is not hot, showers that are not cold--the snow on the +mountainsides advancing and retreating--sometimes, in the night, getting +as low down as Chardonne, which is less than half an hour's walk above +the hotel. + +There is something curiously unreal about this Swiss springtime. We saw +the trees break out into leaf, the fields grow vividly green and fresh, +and then become gay with flowers, without at all feeling the reason for +such a mood. In America such a change is wrought by hot days--cold ones, +too, perhaps, but certainly hot ones; we have sweltered in April, +though we have sometimes snowballed in May. The Swiss spring was +different. Three months of gradual, almost unnoticeable, mellowing kept +us from getting excited and gave us plenty of time to plan. + +That was good for us--the trip we had in mind now was no mere matter of +a few days' journey, from a port to a destination; it was to be a +wandering that would stretch over the hills and far away, through some +thousands of kilometers and ten weeks of time. That was about all we had +planned concerning it, except that we were going back into France, and +at one point in those weeks we expected to touch Cherbourg and pick up a +missing member of the family who would be dropped there by a passing +ship. We studied the maps a good deal, and at odd times I tinkered with +the car and wondered how many things would happen to it before we +completed the long circle, and if I would return only partially crippled +or a hopeless heap of damage and explanations. Never mind--the future +holds sorrow enough for all of us. Let us anticipate only its favors. + +So we planned. We sent for a road map of France divided into four +sections, showing also western Germany and Switzerland. We spread it out +on the table and traced a variety of routes to Cherbourg; by Germany, by +Paris direct, by a long loop down into southern France. We favored the +last-named course. We had missed some things in the Midi--Nîmes, Pont du +Gard, Orange--and then there was still a quality in the air which made +us feel that the south would furnish better motor weather in May. + +Ah, me! There is no place quite like the Provence. It is rather dusty, +and the people are drowsy and sometimes noisy, and there are mosquitoes +there, and maybe other unpleasant things; but in the light chill of a +Swiss spring day there comes a memory of rich mellowness and September +roadsides, with gold and purple vintage ripening in the sun, that lights +and warms the soul. We would start south, we said. We were not to reach +Cherbourg until June. Plenty of time for the north, then, and later. + +We discussed matters of real importance--that is to say, expenses. We +said we would give ourselves an object lesson, this time, in what could +really be done in motor economies. On our former trip we had now and +again lunched by the roadside, with pleasing results. This time we would +always do it. Before, we had stopped a few times at small inns in +villages instead of seeking out hotels in the larger towns. Those few +experiments had been altogether satisfactory, both as to price and +entertainment. Perhaps this had been merely our good fortune, but we +were willing to take further chances. From the fifty francs a day +required for our party of four we might subtract a franc or so and still +be nourished, body and soul. Thus we planned. When it was pleasant we +enjoyed shopping for our roadside outfit; a basket, square, and of no +great size; some agate cups and saucers; some knives and forks; also an +alcohol stove, the kind that compacts itself into very small compass, +aluminum, and very light-- I hope they have them elsewhere than in +Switzerland, for their usefulness is above price. + + + + +Chapter II + +THE NEW START + + +It was the first week in May when we started--the 5th, in fact. The car +had been thoroughly overhauled, and I had spent a week personally on it, +scraping and polishing, so that we might make a fine appearance as we +stood in front of the hotel in the bright morning sunlight where our +fellow guests would gather to see us glide away. + +I have had many such showy dreams as that, and they have turned out +pretty much alike. We did not start in the bright morning. It was not +bright. It was raining, and it continued to rain until after eleven +o'clock. By that time our fellow guests were not on hand. They had got +tired and gone to secluded corners, or to their rooms, or drabbling into +the village. When the sun finally came out only a straggler or two +appeared. It was too bad. + +We glided away, but not very far. I remembered, as we were passing +through the town, that it might be well to take some funds along, so we +drove around to the bank to see what we could raise in that line. We +couldn't raise anything--not a centime. It was just past twelve o'clock +and, according to Swiss custom, the bank was closed for two hours. Not a +soul was there--the place was locked, curtained, barred. Only dynamite +would have opened it. + +We consulted. We had some supplies in our basket to eat by the roadside +as soon as we were well into the country. Very good; we would drive to +some quiet back street in the suburbs and eat them now. We had two hours +to wait--we need feel no sense of hurry. So we drove down into Vevey la +Tour and, behind an old arch, where friends would not be likely to +notice us, we sat in the car and ate our first luncheon, with a smocked +boy for audience--a boy with a basket on his arm, probably delaying the +machinery of his own household to study the working economies of ours. +Afterward we drove back to the bank, got our finances arranged, slipped +down a side street to the lake-front, and fled away toward Montreux +without looking behind us. It was not at all the departure we had +planned. + +It rained again at Montreux, but the sun was shining at Chillon, and the +lake was blue. Through openings in the trees we could see the picture +towns of Territet, Montreux, Clarens, and Vevey, skirting the shore--the +white steamers plying up and down; the high-perched hotels, half lost in +cloudland, and we thought that our travels could hardly provide a more +charming vision than that. Then we were in Villeneuve, then in the open +flat fields of the Rhone Valley, where, for Europe, the roads are poor; +on through a jolty village to a bridge across the Rhone, and so along +the south shore by Bouveret, to St. Gingolph, where we exhibited our +papers at the Swiss _douane_, crossed a little brook, and were again in +France. We were making the circuit of the lake, you see. All winter we +had looked across to that shore, with its villages and snow-mantled +hills. We would now see it at close range. + +We realized one thing immediately. Swiss roads are not bad roads, by any +means, but French roads are better. In fact, I have made up my mind that +there is nothing more perfect in this world than a French road. I have +touched upon this subject before, and I am likely to dwell upon it +unduly, for it always excites me. Those roads are a perfect network in +France, and I can never cease marveling at the money and labor they must +have cost. They are so hard and smooth, so carefully graded and curved, +so beautifully shaded, so scrupulously repaired--it would seem that half +the wealth and effort of France must be expended on her highways. The +road from St. Gingolph was wider than the one we had left behind. It was +also a better road and in better repair. It was a floor. Here and there +we came to groups of men working at it, though it needed nothing, that +we could see. It skirted the mountains and lake-front. We could look +across to our own side now--to Vevey and those other towns, and the +cloud-climbing hotels, all bright in the sunshine. + +We passed a nameless village or two and were at Evian, a watering-place +which has grown in fame and wealth these later years--a resort of fine +residences and handsome hotels--not our kind of hotels, but plenty good +enough for persons whose tastes have not been refined down to our budget +and daily program of economies. + +It was at Thonon--quaint old Thonon, once a residence of the Counts and +Dukes of Savoy--that we found a hostelry of our kind. It had begun +raining again, and, besides, it was well toward evening. We pulled up in +front of the Hôtel d'Europe, one of the least extravagant of the +red-book hostelries, and I went in. The "_Bureau_" as the French call +the office, was not very inviting. It was rather dingy and somber, and +nobody was there. I found a bell and rang it and a woman appeared--not a +very attractive woman, but a kindly person who could understand my +"_Vous avez des chambres?_" which went a good ways. She had "_des +chambres_" and certainly no fault could be found with those. They were +of immense size, the beds were soft, smooth, and spotlessly clean. Yes, +there was a garage, free. I went back with my report. The dinner might +be bad, we said, but it would only be for once--besides, it was raining +harder. So we went in, and when the shower passed we took a walk along +the lake-front, where there is an old château, once the home of royalty, +now the storehouse of plaster or something, and we stopped to look at a +public laundry--a square stone pool under a shed, where the women get +down on their knees and place the garments on a board and scrub them +with a brush, while the cold water from the mountains runs in and out +and is never warmed at all. + +Returning by another way, we found about the smallest church in the +world, built at one corner of the old domain. A woman came with a key +and let us into it and we sat in the little chairs and inspected the +tiny altar and all the sacred things with especial interest, for one of +the purposes of our pilgrimages was to see churches--the great +cathedrals of France. Across from the church stood a ruined tower, +matted with vines, the remains of a tenth-century château--already old +when the one on the lake-front was new. We speak lightly of a few +centuries more or less, but, after all, there was a goodly period +between the tenth and the fourteenth, a period long enough to cover +American history from Montezuma to date. These old towers, once filled +with life and voices and movement, are fascinating things. We stood +looking at this one while the dusk gathered. Then it began sprinkling +again and it was dinner time. + +So we returned to the hotel and I may as well say here, at once, that I +do not believe there are any bad dinners in France. I have forgotten +what we had, but I suppose it was fish and omelet, and meat and chicken, +and salad and dessert, and I know it was all hot and delicious, and +served daintily in courses, and we went to those soft beds happy and +soothed, fell asleep to the sound of the rain pattering outside, and +felt not a care in the world. + + + + +Chapter III + +INTO THE JURAS + + +It was still drizzling next morning, so we were in no hurry to leave. We +plodded about the gray streets, picking up some things for the lunch +basket, and Narcissa and the Joy got a chance to try their nice new +French on real French people and were gratified to find that it worked +just the same as it did on Swiss people. Then the sky cleared and I +backed the car out of the big stable where it had spent the night, and +we packed on our bags and paid our bill--twenty-seven francs for all, or +about one dollar and thirty-five cents each for dinner, lodging, and +breakfast--tips, one franc each to waitress, chambermaid, and garageman. +If they were dissatisfied they did not look it, and presently we were +once more on the road, all the cylinders working and bankruptcy not yet +in sight. It was glorious and fresh along the lake-front--also +appetizing. We stopped by and by for a little mid-morning luncheon, and +a passing motorist, who probably could not believe we would stop merely +to eat at that hour, drew up to ask if anything was wrong with our car +and if he could help. They are kindly people, these French and Swiss. +Stop your car by the roadside and begin to hammer something, or to take +off a tire, and you will have offers of assistance from four out of +every five cars that pass. + +There is another little patch of Switzerland again at the end of the +lake, and presently you run into Geneva, and trouble. Geneva is +certainly a curious place. The map of it looks as easy as nothing and +you go gliding into it full of confidence, and presently find yourself +in a perfect mess of streets that are not on the map at all, while all +the streets that _are_ on the map certainly have changed their names, +for you cannot find them where they should be, and no one has ever heard +of them. Besides, the wind is generally blowing--the _bise_--which does +not simplify matters. Narcissa inquired and I inquired, and then the +Joy, who, privately, I think, speaks the best French of any of us, also +inquired; but the combined result was just a big coalyard which a very +good-looking street led us straight into, making it necessary to back +out and apologize and feel ashamed. Then we heard somebody calling us, +and, looking around, saw the man in gray who had last directed us, and +who also felt ashamed, it seemed--of us, or himself, or something--and +had run after us to get us out of the mess. So he directed us again and +we started, but the labyrinth closed in once more--the dust and narrow +streets and blind alleys--and once again we heard a voice, and there was +the man in gray--he must have run a half a mile this time--waving and +calling and pointing the path out of the maze. It seemed that they were +fixing all the good streets and we must get through by circuitous bad +ones to the side of the city toward France. I asked him why they didn't +leave the good streets alone and fix the bad ones, but he only smiled +and explained some more, and once more we went astray, and yet once more +his voice came calling down the wind and he came up breathlessly, and +this time followed with us, refusing even standing room on the +running-board, until he got us out of the city proper and well headed +for France. We had grown fond of that man and grieved to see him go. We +had known him hardly ten minutes, I think, but friendships are not to be +measured by time. + +On a pretty hill where a little stream of water trickled we ate our +first real luncheon--that is to say, we used our new stove. We cooked +eggs and made coffee, and when there came a sprinkle we stood under our +umbrellas or sat in the car and felt that this was really a kind of +gypsying, and worth while. + +There was a waving meadow just above the bank and I went up there to +look about a little. No house was in sight, but this meadow was a part +of some man's farm. It was familiar in every corner to him--he had known +it always. Perhaps he had played in it as a child--his children had +played in it after him--it was inseparable from the life and happiness +of a home. Yet to us it was merely the field above our luncheon place--a +locality hardly noticed or thought of--barely to be remembered at all. + +Crossing another lonely but fertile land, we entered the hills. We +skirted mountainsides--sometimes in sun, sometimes in shower--descended +a steep road, and passed under a great arched battlement that was part +of a frowning fortress guarding the frontier of France. Not far beyond, +at the foot of a long decline, lay a beautiful city, just where the +mountains notched to form a passage for the Rhone. It was Bellegarde, +and as we drew nearer some of the illusions of beauty disappeared. +French cities generally show best from a distance. Their streets are not +very clean and they are seldom in repair. The French have the best roads +and the poorest streets in the world. + +We drew up in front of the custom house, and exhibited our French +_triptyque_. It was all right, and after it was indorsed I thought we +were through. This was not true. A long, excited individual appeared +from somewhere and began nervously to inspect our baggage. Suddenly he +came upon a small empty cigar box which I had put in, thinking it might +be useful. Cigars are forbidden, and at sight of the empty box our +wild-eyed attenuation had a fit. He turned the box upside down and shook +it; he turned it sidewise and looked into it; shook it again and knocked +on it as if bound to make the cigars appear. He seemed to decide that I +had hidden the cigars, for he made a raid on things in general. He +looked into the gasoline tank, he went through the pockets of the +catch-all and scattered our guidebooks and maps; then he had up the +cushion of the back seat and went into the compartment where this time +was our assortment of hats. You never saw millinery fly as it did in +that man's hands, with the head of the family and Narcissa and the Joy +grabbing at their flowers and feathers, and saying things in English +that would have hurt that man if he could have understood them. As for +him, he was repeating, steadily, "_Pas dérange_"--"_Pas dérange_," when +all the time he was deranging ruthlessly and even permanently. He got +through at last, smiled, bowed, and retired--pleased, evidently, with +the thoroughness of his investigation. But for some reason he entirely +overlooked our bags strapped on the footboard. We did not remind him. + +The Pert of the Rhone is at Bellegarde. The pert is a place where in dry +weather the Rhone disappears entirely from sight for the space of +seventy yards, to come boiling up again from some unknown mystery. +Articles have been thrown in on one side--even live animals, it is +said--but they have never reappeared on the other. What becomes of them +is a matter of speculation. Perhaps some fearful underground maelstrom +holds them. There was no pert when we were there--there had been too +much rain. The Rhone went tearing through a gorge where we judged the +pert should be located in less watery seasons. + +During the rest of the afternoon we had rather a damp time--showery and +sloppy, for many of the roads of these Jura foothills were in the +process of repair, and the rain had stopped the repairs halfway. It was +getting toward dusk when we came to Nantua--a lost and forgotten town +among the Jura cliffs. We stopped in front of the showier hotel there, +everything looked so rain-beaten and discouraging, but the woman who ran +it was even showier than her hotel and insisted on our taking a parlor +suite at some fabulous price. So we drove away and drew up rather sadly +at the Hôtel du Lac, which on that dull evening was far from +fascinating. Yet the rooms they showed us were good, and the dinner--a +surprise of fresh trout just caught, served sizzling hot, fine baked +potatoes and steak, with good red wine aplenty--was such as to make us +forswear forevermore the showy hotels for the humbler inns of France. + +But I am moving too fast. Before dinner we walked for a little in the +gray evening and came to an old church--one of the oldest in France, it +is said, built in the ninth century and called St. Michels. It is over a +thousand years old and looks it. It has not been much rebuilt, I think, +for invasion and revolution appear seldom to have surmounted the natural +ramparts of Nantua, and only the stormbeat and the corrosion of the +centuries have written the story of decay. Very likely it is as little +changed as any church of its time. The hand of restoration has troubled +it little. We slipped in through the gathering dusk, and tiptoed about, +for there were a few lights flickering near the altar and the outlines +of bowed heads. Presently a priest was silhouetted against the altar +lights as he crossed and passed out by a side door. He was one of a long +line that stretched back through more than half of the Christian era and +most of the history of France. When the first priest passed in front of +that altar France was still under the Carlovingian dynasty--under +Charles the Fat, perhaps; and William of Normandy would not conquer +England for two hundred years. Then nearly four hundred years more would +creep by--dim mediæval years--before Joan of Arc should unfurl her +banner of victory and martyrdom. You see how far back into the mists we +are stepping here. And all those evenings the altar lights have been lit +and the ministration of priests has not failed. + +There is a fine picture by Eugene Delacroix in the old church, and we +came back next morning to look at it. It is a St. Sebastian, and not the +conventional, ridiculous St. Sebastian of some of the old masters--a +mere human pincushion--but a beautiful youth, prostrate and dying, +pierced by two arrows, one of which a pitying male figure is drawing +from his shoulder. It must be a priceless picture. How can they afford +to keep it here? + +The weather seemed to have cleared, and the roads, though wet, were +neither soft nor slippery. French roads, in fact, are seldom either--and +the fresh going along the lake-front was delightful enough. But we were +in the real Juras now, and one does not go through that range on a water +grade. We were presently among the hills, the road ahead of us rising to +the sky. Then it began to rain again, but the road was a good firm one +and the car never pulled better. + +It was magnificent climbing. On the steepest grades and elbow turns we +dropped back to second, but never to low, and there was no lagging. On +the high levels we stopped to let the engine cool and to add water from +the wayside hollows. We were in the clouds soon, and sometimes it was +raining, sometimes not. It seemed for the most part an uninhabited +land--no houses and few fields--the ground covered with a short bushy +growth, grass and flowers. A good deal of it was rocky and barren. + +On the very highest point of the Jura range, where we had stopped to +cool the motor, a woman came along, leading three little children. She +came up and said a few words in what sounded like an attempt at English. +We tried our French on her, but it did not seem to get inside. I said +she must speak some mountain patois, for we had used those same words +lower down with good results. But then she began her English again--it +was surely English this time, and, listening closely, we got the fringes +and tag ends of a curious story. She was Italian, and had been in New +York City. There, it seemed, she had married a Frenchman from the Juras, +who, in time, when his homeland had called him, had brought her back to +the hills. There he had died, leaving her with six children. She had a +little hut up the side lane, where they were trying to scratch a living +from the stony soil. Yes, she had chickens, and could let us have some +eggs. She also brought a pail with water for the radiator. + +A little farther along we cooked the eggs and laid out all our nice +lunch things on natural stone tables and looked far down the Jura slope +on an ancient village and an old castle, the beginning of the world +across the range. + +It was not raining now, and the air was soft and pleasant and the spot +as clean and sweet as could be. Presently the water was boiling and the +coffee made--instantaneous coffee, the George Washington kind. And +nothing could be fresher than those eggs, nothing unless it was the +butter--unsalted butter, which with jam and rolls is about the best +thing in the world to finish on. + +[Illustration: DESCENDING THE JURAS] + +We descended the Jura grades on the engine brake--that is, I let in the +clutch, cut off the gasoline supply and descended on first or second +speed, according to the grade. That saves the wheel brake and does no +damage to the motor. I suppose everybody knows the trick, but I did not +learn it right away, and there may be others who know as little. It was +a long way to the lower levels, and some of the grades were steep. Then +they became gradual, and we coasted--then the way flattened and we were +looking across a level valley, threaded by perfectly ordered roads to a +distant town whose roofs and spires gleamed in the sunlight of the May +afternoon. It was Bourg, and one of the spires belonged to the church of +Brou. + + + + +Chapter IV + +A POEM IN ARCHITECTURE + + +The church of Brou is like no other church in the world. In the first +place, instead of dragging through centuries of building and never quite +reaching completion, it was begun and finished in the space of +twenty-five years--from 1511 to 1536--and it was supervised and paid for +by a single person, Margaret of Austria, who built it in fulfillment of +a vow made by her mother-in-law, Margaret of Bourbon. The last Margaret +died before she could undertake her project, and her son, Philibert II, +Duke of Savoy, called "The Handsome," followed before he could carry out +her wishes. So his duchess, the other Margaret, undertook the work, and +here on this plain, between the Juras and the Saône, she wrought a +marvel in exquisite church building which still remains a marvel, almost +untouched by any blight, after four hundred turbulent years. Matthew +Arnold wrote a poem on the church of Brou which may convey the wonder of +its beauty. I shall read it some day, and if it is as beautiful as the +church I shall commit it, and on days when things seem rather ugly and +harsh and rasping I will find some quiet corner and shut my eyes and say +the lines and picture a sunlit May afternoon and the church of Brou. +Then, perhaps, I shall not remember any more the petty things of the +moment but only the architectural shrine which one woman reared in honor +of another, her mother-in-law. + +It is not a great cathedral, but it is by no means a little church. Its +lofty nave is bare of furnishings, which perhaps lends to its impression +of bigness. But then you pass through the carved doors of a magnificent +_juba_ screen, and the bareness disappears. The oaken choir seats are +carved with the richness of embroidery, and beyond them are the +tombs--those of the two Margarets, and of Philibert--husband and son. + +I suppose the world can show no more exquisitely wrought tombs than +these. Perhaps their very richness defeats their art value, but I would +rather have them so, for it reveals, somehow, the thoroughness and +sincerity of Margaret's intent--her determination to fulfill to the +final letter every imagined possibility in that other's vow. + +The mother's tomb is a sort of bower--a marble alcove of great splendor, +within and without. Philibert's tomb, which stands in the center of the +church, between the other two, is a bier, supported by female figures +and fluted columns and interwoven decorations, exquisitely chiseled. Six +cupids and a crouching lion guard the royal figure above; and the whole, +in spite of its richness, is of great dignity. The tomb of the Duchess +Margaret herself is a lofty canopy of marble incrustations, the +elaborateness of which no words can tell. It is the superlative of +Gothic decoration at a period when Gothic extravagance was supreme. + +Like her husband Margaret sleeps in double effigy, the sovereign in +state above, the figure of mortality, compassed by the marble supports, +below. The mortality of the queen is draped, but in the case of +Philibert, the naked figure, rather dim through the interspaces, has a +curiously lifelike, even startling effect. + +[Illustration: THE TOMB OF MARGARET OF AUSTRIA, CHURCH OF BROU] + +If the Duchess Margaret made her own tomb more elaborate, it is at least +not more beautiful than the others, while an altar to the Virgin is +still more elaborate--more beautiful, its grouped marble figures in such +high relief that angels and cherubs float in the air, apparently +unsupported. Here, as elsewhere, is a wealth of ornamentation; and +everywhere woven into its intricacies one may find the initials P and +M--Philibert and Margaret--and the latter's motto, "_Fortune, infortune, +fort une._" It has been called a mysterious motto, and different +meanings have been twisted out of it. But my French is new and fresh and +takes things quite obviously. "Fortune and misfortune strengthens or +fortifies one" strikes me as a natural rendering. That last verb +_fortifier_ may seem to be abbreviated without warrant, but Margaret was +a queen and could have done that for the sake of euphony and word-play. + +The unscarred condition and the purity of these precious marbles is +almost as astonishing as their beauty, when one considers the centuries +of invasion and revolution, with a vandalism that respected nothing +sacred, least of all symbols of royalty. By careful search we could +discover a broken detail here and there, but the general effect was +completeness, and the white marble--or was it ivory tinted?--seen +under the light of the illumined stained windows seemed to present the +shapes and shades of things that, as they had never been new, neither +would they ever be old. + + + + +Chapter V + +VIENNE IN THE RAIN + + +It is about forty miles from Bourg to Lyons, a country of fair fields, +often dyed deeply red at this season with crimson clover, a country rich +and beautiful, the road a straight line, wide and smooth, the trees on +either side vividly green with spring. But Lyons is not beautiful--it is +just a jangling, jarring city of cobbled crowded streets and mainly +uninteresting houses and thronging humanity, especially soldiers. It is +a place to remain unloved, unhonored, and unremembered. + +The weather now put aside other things and really got down to the +business of raining. It was fair enough when we left Lyons, but as we +reached the top of a hill that overlooked the world I saw down the +fields a spectral light and far deepening dusk which looked ominous. By +the time we got our top up there was a steady downpour. We did not visit +any wayside villages, though some of them looked interesting enough. +French villages are none too clean at any time and rain does not seem to +help them. Attractive old castles on neighboring hilltops received +hardly a glance; even one overhanging our very road barely caused us to +check up. How old it looked in its wet desolation, the storm eating into +its crumbling walls! + +We pulled up at last at Vienne, at the end of the bridge facing the +cathedral. History has been written about Vienne, and there are +monuments of the past which it is not good form to overlook. The head of +the family said she was not very particular about form and that she was +particular about being wet and discomforted on a chill spring day. +France was full of monuments of the past, she said, and she had not +started out to make her collection complete. She would study the +cathedral from the car, and would the rest of us please remember to +bring some fresh rolls for luncheon. So the rest of us went to the +church of St. Maurice, which begins to date with the twelfth century and +looks even older. Surrounded by comparatively modern buildings and +soaked with rain it appeared, one of the most venerable relics I had +ever seen. I do not think we found the inside very interesting. It was +dead and dusky, and the seventh-century sarcophagus of St. Leoninus was, +in the French phrase, not gay. On the whole there seemed a good deal of +mutilation and not much taste. + +We paddled through streets, asking directions to the Roman temple. +Vienne was an important town under the Romans, the capital of one of the +provinces of Gaul. Of course the Romans would leave landmarks--the kind +that would last. When we found the temple of Augustus and Livia at last, +it did not look so much older than the church, though it is more than as +old again. It was so positively Roman and so out of place among its +modern French surroundings that it looked exactly like something that +had been brought there and set up for exhibition. It took a heavy +strain of imagination to see it as an integral part of the vanished +Roman capital. + +All about the temple lay fragments of that ancient city--exhibition +pieces, like the temple. One felt that they should not be left out in +the rain. + +We hunted farther and found an Arch of Triumph, which the Romans +generally built in conquered territory. It was hard to tell where the +arch began and where it ended, such a variety of other things had grown +up around and against it. Still, there was at least a section standing, +Roman, and of noble proportions. It will still be Roman, and an arch, +when those later incrustations have crumbled away. Roman work is not +trivial stuff. + +We might have lingered a little in the winding streets and made further +discoveries, but the Joy had already sighted a place where the most +attractive rolls and French cakes filled the window. The orders, she +said, were very strict about the luncheon things. We must get them at +once or we should not be able to locate the place again. + +Curious things can happen in a brief absence. We returned to the car to +find one of the back tires perfectly flat, the head of the family +sitting serenely unconscious of her misfortune. We had picked up one of +those flat-headed boot nails that Europeans love so well, and the tire +had slowly and softly settled. There are cleaner, pleasanter things than +taking off a tire and putting it on again in the rain, but I utilized a +deep doorway on the corner for the dry work, and Narcissa held the +umbrella while I pulled and pushed and grunted and pumped, during the +more strenuous moments. Down the river a way we drew up in a grassy +place under some trees and sat in the car and ate the _gâteaux_ and +other things, and under the green shelter I made coffee and eggs, the +little cooker sitting cozily on the running-board. Then all the +afternoon along the hard, wet, shining road that follows the Rhone to +Valence, where we spent two days, watching the steady beat from the +hotel windows, reading, resting, and eating a good deal of the time; +doing not much sight-seeing, for we had touched Valence on our northward +trip eight months before. + + + + +Chapter VI + +THE CHÂTEAU I DID NOT RENT + + +In a former chapter I have mentioned the mighty natural portrait in +stone which Mark Twain found, and later named the Lost Napoleon, because +he could not remember its location, and how we rediscovered it from +Beauchastel on the Rhone, not far below Valence. We decided now that we +would have at least another glimpse of the great stone face, it being so +near. The skies had cleared this morning, though there was a good deal +of wind and the sun was not especially warm. But we said we would go. We +would be getting on toward the south, at any rate. + +We did not descend on the Beauchastel side, there being a bridge shown +on the map, at La Voulte, where we would cross. The reader may also +remember the mention of a château below Beauchastel, with a sign on it +which said that the property was to let, and my failure to negotiate for +it. Very well, here is the sequel: When we got to the end of the bridge +opposite La Voulte, we looked across to one of the closely packed +mediæval villages of France with a great castle rising from its central +height. It was one of the most picturesque things we had seen and I +stopped to photograph it, declaring we must certainly visit it. So we +crossed the bridge and at the end turned away toward Beauchastel, +deciding to visit La Voulte later. + +We were back almost immediately. The day was not as clear as it looked +and the Lost Napoleon was veiled, behind a white horizon. Very likely it +would be better by morning, we said, so we dropped our belongings at the +tiny Beauchastel inn and made an afternoon excursion to the château. +Imagine my feelings when, on looking up from the road, I suddenly +discovered once more the big sign, "_Château A Louer._" It was our +château--the one I had formerly been discouraged from taking. It was +providence, I said, knocking a second time at our door. + +The others had another view. They said unless I would promise not to +rent the premises I would not be permitted to examine them. I tried to +make better terms, but finally submitted. We drove up into the narrow, +ancient, cobbled streets a distance and left the car. Then we climbed. +It was a steep and tortuous way, winding around scary edges and through +doubtful-looking passages where, in weird holes and crannies, old and +crooked people lived and were doing what they had always done since time +began. I don't remember exactly how we finally made our way through +crumble and decay--such surroundings as I have often known in dreams--to +a grassy court where there was a semblance of genuine life. An old +caretaker was there and he agreed to show us through. + +It was called _La Voulte sur Rhone_, he said, and gave its name to the +village. No one knew just when it had been begun, but some of it had +been there in the eleventh century, when it had belonged to Adon de +Clerieu. It had passed through many hands and had been more than once +reconstructed. At one time Guillaume de Fay held it; also Philippe IV +and Louis de Bourbon Condé, and the great family of De Rohan. Kings had +been entertained there, among them Louis XIII, an interesting fact, but +I wished they had given better accommodations than the rambling, +comfortless, and rather blind succession of boxes shown us as the royal +suite. I also objected to the paper on the walls until our guide +explained that it had been put there by an American tenant of the early +Andrew Johnson period. He told us then that the château had been +recently bought by a French author of two volumes of poetry, who was +restoring portions of it and had reserved a row of rooms along the high +terrace to let to other poets and kindred souls, so they might live side +by side and look out over the fair land of France and interchange their +fancies and dream long dreams. Standing on that lofty green vantage and +looking out across the river and the valley of the Rhone, I was tempted +to violate my treaty and live there forever after. + +The only portion really restored, so far, is a large assembly room, now +used as a sort of museum. I hope the owner will reclaim, or at least +clean, some of the other rooms, and that he will not carry the work to +the point where atmosphere and romance seem to disappear. Also, I truly +hope he won't give up the notion of that row of poets along the +terrace, even if I can't be one of them; and I should like to slip up +there sometime and hear them all striking their harps in unison and +lifting a memnonic voice to the sunrise. + + + + +Chapter VII + +AN HOUR AT ORANGE + + +Our bill at Beauchastel for the usual accommodation--dinner, lodging, +and breakfast--was seventeen francs-twenty, including the tips to two +girls and the stableman. This was the cheapest to date; that is to say, +our expense account was one dollar each, nothing for the car. + +The Beauchastel inn is not really a choice place, but it is by no means +a poor place--not from the point of view of an American who has put up +at his own little crossroad hotels. We had the dining room to ourselves, +with a round table in the center, and the dinner was good and plentiful +and well served. If the rooms were bare they were at least clean, and +the landlady was not to blame that it turned cold in the night, which +made getting up a matter to be considered. + +Still, we did get up pretty promptly, for we wanted to see if our +natural wonder was on view. It was, and we took time and sketched it and +tried to photograph it, though that was hopeless, for the distance was +too great and the apparition too actinic--too blue. But it was quite +clear, and the peaceful face impressed us, I think, more than ever. The +best view is from the railway embankment. + +We got another reward for stopping at Beauchastel. We saw the old Rhone +stagecoach come in, Daudet's coach, and saw descend from it Daudet's +characters, _le Camarguais_, _le boulanger_, _le remouleur_, and the +rest. At least they might have been those, for they belonged with the +old diligence, and one could imagine the knife grinder saying to the +hectoring baker, "_Tais-toi, je t'en prie" si navrant et si doux_.[13] + +But now we felt the breath of the south. It was no longer chilly. The +sun began to glow warm, the wind died. Sometime in the afternoon we +arrived at Orange. Orange is not on the Rhone and we had missed it in +our northward journey in September. It was one of our special reasons +for returning to the south of France. Not the town of Orange itself, +which is of no particular importance, but for the remnants of the Roman +occupation--a triumphal arch and the chief wall of a Roman theater, both +of such fine construction and noble proportions that they are to be +compared with nothing else of their kind in France. + +We came to the arch first--we had scarcely entered the town when we were +directly facing it. It stands in a kind of circular grass plot a little +below the present level, with short flights of steps leading down to it. +At the moment of our arrival a boy of about fifteen was giving an +exhibition by riding up and down these steps on a bicycle. I sincerely +wished he would not do it. + +Whatever its relation to its surroundings nineteen centuries ago, the +arch of Orange is magnificently out of place to-day. Time-beaten and +weather-stained--a visible manifest of a race that built not for the +generations or the centuries, but for "the long, long time the world +shall last"--supreme in its grandeur and antiquity, it stands in an +environment quite modern, quite new, and wholly trivial. + +The arch is really three arches--the highest in the center, and the +attic, as they call the part above, is lofty, with rich decorations, +still well preserved. There are restored patches here and there, but +they do little injury. + +From whatever direction you look the arch is beautiful, imposing, and +certainly it seems eternal. When the present Orange has crumbled and has +been followed by successive cities, it will still be there, but I trust +the boy with the bicycle will not survive. + +The theater is at the other end of town. It is not an amphitheater or an +inclosure of any kind, but a huge flat wall, about as solid as the hills +and one of the biggest things in France. Strictly speaking, it was never +part of any building at all. It was simply a stage property, a sort of +permanent back scene for what I judge to have been an open-air theater. +There is no doubt about its permanency. It is as high as an ordinary +ten-or twelve-story building, longer than the average city block, and it +is fifteen feet thick. That is the Roman idea of scenery. They did not +expect to shift it often. They set up some decorative masonry in front +of it, with a few gods and heroes solidly placed, and let it go at that. +Their stage would be just in front of this, rather narrow, and about on +a ground level. The whole was built facing a steep rocky hillside, +which was carved into a semi-circle of stone seats, in the old fashion +which Rome borrowed from Greece. This natural stonework did not stand +the wash of centuries, or it may have been quarried for the château +which the princes of Orange built at the summit of the hill. The château +is gone to-day, and the seats have been restored, I dare say, with some +of the original material. Every August now a temporary stage is erected +in the ancient theater, and the Comédie Française gives performances +there. + +The upper works of the hill, where the château was, are rather +confusing. There are cave-like places and sudden drops and rudimentary +passages, all dimly suggesting dungeons, once black and horrible, now +happily open to the sun. And, by the way, I suppose that I am about the +only person in the world who needed to be told that a line of kings +originated at Orange. I always supposed that William of Orange took his +name from an Irish society whose colors, along with a shamrock, he wore +in his hat. + +By some oversight the guidebook does not mention the jam that is sold at +Orange. It is put up in tin pails, and has in it all the good things in +the world--lumps of them--price, one franc per pail. + +We did not stop at Avignon, for we had been there before, but followed +around outside the ancient wall and came at last to the Rhone bridge, +and to the island of our smoke adventure in the days of our +inexperience, eight months earlier. This time we camped on the island in +a pretty green nook by the water's edge, left the car under a tree, and +made tea and had some of that excellent jam and some fresh rolls and +butter, and ate them looking across to ancient Villeneuve and the tower +of Philip le Bel. + +Oh, the automobile is the true flying carpet--swift, willing, always +ready, obeying at a touch. Only this morning we were at Beauchastel; a +little while ago we were under the ancient arch at Orange and sat in the +hoary theater. A twist of the crank, a little turning of the wheel, a +brief flight across wood and meadow, and behold! the walls of Avignon +and a pleasant island in the river, where we alight for a little to make +our tea in the greenery, knowing that we need only to rub the magic lamp +to sail lightly away, resting where we will. + +Our tea ended, the genii awoke and dropped us into Villeneuve, where, in +an open market, we realized that it was cherry season. I thought I had +seen cherries before, but never in this larger sense. Here there were +basketfuls, boxfuls, bucketfuls, barrelfuls, wagonloads--the whole +street was crowded with wagons, and every wagon heaped high with the +crimson and yellow fruit. Officials seemed to be weighing them and +collecting something, a tax, no doubt. But what would be done with them +later? Could they ship all those cherries north and sell them? And +remember this was only one evening and one town. The thought that every +evening and every town in the Midi was like this in cherry time was +stupefying. We had to work our way among cherry wagons to get to the +open road again, and our "flying carpet" came near getting damaged by +one of them, because of my being impatient and trying to push ahead when +an approaching cherry wagon had the right of way. As it was, I got a +vigorous admonishment in French profanity, which is feathery stuff, +practically harmless. I deserved something much more solid. + +Consider for a moment this French profanity: About the most violent +things a Frenchman can say are "_Sacre bleu_" and "_Nom d'un chien!_" +One means "Sacred blue" and the other "Name of a dog." If he doubles the +last and says "Name of a name of a dog," he has gone his limit. I fail +to find anything personal or destructive or profane in these things. +They don't seem to hit anything, not even the dog. And why a dog? +Furthermore, concerning the color chosen for profane use--why blue? why +not some shade of Nile green, or--or-- Oh, well, let it go, but I do +wish I could have changed places with that man a few minutes! + +We considered returning to Avignon for the night, but we went to +Tarascon instead, and arrived after dark at a bright little inn, where +we were comfortably lodged, and a relative of Tartarin brought us a good +supper and entertained us with his adventures while we ate. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[13] "_La Diligence de Baucoire_" in _Lettre de Mon Moulin_, Alphonse +Daudet. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +THE ROAD TO PONT DU GARD + + +It is a wide, white road, bordered by the rich fields of May and the +unbelievable poppies of France. Oh, especially the poppies! I have not +spoken of them before, I think. They had begun to show about as soon as +we started south--a few here and there at first, splashes of blood amid +the green, and sometimes mingling a little with the deep tones of the +crimson clover, with curious color effect. They became presently more +plentiful. There were fields where the scarlet and the vivid green of +May were fighting for the mastery, and then came fields where the +scarlet conquered, was supreme, and stretched away, a glowing, radiant +sheen of such splendid color as one can hardly believe, even for the +moment that he turns away. It was scarlet silk unrolled in the sun. It +was a tide of blood. It was as if all the world at war had made this +their battlefield. And it did not grow old to us. When we had seen a +hundred of those fields they still fascinated us; we still exclaimed +over them and could not tear our eyes away. + +We passed wagonloads of cherries now. In fact, we did not pass loads of +anything else. Cherry harvest was at its height. Everybody was carrying +baskets, or picking, or hauling to market. We stopped and asked an old +man drowsing on a load to sell us some. He gave us about a half a peck +for eight cents and kept piling on until I had to stop him. Then he +picked up a specially tied bunch of selected ones, very handsome, and +laid them on top and pointed at Narcissa--"For the demoiselle." We +thanked him and waved back to him, but he had settled down into his seat +and was probably asleep again. All drivers sleep in the Provence. They +are children of the south and the sun soothes them. They give their +horses the rein and only waken to turn out when you blow or shout very +loudly. You need an especially strong Klaxonette in the Provence. + +Baedeker says: "The Pont du Gard is one of the grandest Roman structures +in existence." I am glad Baedeker said that, for with my limited +knowledge I should have been afraid to do it, but I should always have +thought so. A long time ago I visited the Natural Bridge of Virginia. I +had been disappointed in natural wonders, and I expected no great things +of the Natural Bridge. I scaled my imagination down by degrees as I +followed a path to the viewpoint, until I was prepared to face a reality +not so many times bigger than the picture which my school geography had +made familiar. Then all at once I turned a corner and stood speechless +and stupefied. Far up against the blue a majestic span of stone +stretched between two mighty cliffs. I have seen the Grand Cañon since, +and Niagara Falls, but nothing ever quite overwhelmed me as did that +stupendous Virginia stone arch--nothing until we rounded a bend in the +road and stopped facing the Pont du Gard. Those two are of the same +class--bridges supreme--the one of nature, the other of art. Neither, I +think, was intended as a bridge originally. The Romans intended these +three colossal tiers of columns, one above the other, merely as supports +for the aqueduct at the top, which conducted water to Nîmes. I do not +know what the Almighty intended his for--possibly for decoration. To-day +both are used as bridges--both are very beautiful, and about equally +eternal, I should think, for the Roman builders came nearer to the +enduring methods of the Original Builder than any other architects save, +possibly, the Egyptians. They did not build walls of odds and ends of +stone with mortar plastered between; they did not face their building +stones to look pretty outside and fill in behind with chips and mortar, +mostly mortar. They took the biggest blocks of stone they could find, +squared them, faced them perfectly on all sides, and laid them one on +top of the other in such height and in such thickness as they deemed +necessary for a lasting job. Work like that does not take an account of +time. The mortar did not crumble from between them with the centuries. +There was none to crumble. The perfectly level, perfectly matched stones +required no cementing or plaster patching. You cannot to-day insert a +thin knife blade between these matched stones. + +The Pont du Gard is yellow in tone and the long span against the blue +sky is startlingly effective. A fine clear stream flows under it, the +banks are wild with rock and shrub, the lower arches frame landscape +bits near or more distant. I don't know why I am trying to describe +it-- I feel that I am dwarfing it, somehow--making it commonplace. It is +so immense--so overwhelming to gaze upon. Henry James discovered in it a +"certain stupidity, a vague brutality." I judge it seemed too positive, +too absolute, too literal and everlasting for the author of the _Golden +Bowl_. He adds, however, that "it would be a great injustice not to +insist upon its beauty." One must be careful not to do injustice to the +Pont du Gard. + +We made our luncheon camp a little way from the clear stream, and +brought water from it and cooked eggs and made coffee (but we carry +bottled water for that), and loafed in the May sun and shade, and looked +at that unique world-wonder for an hour or more. The Joy discovered a +fine school of fish in the stream--trout, maybe. + +A hundred years ago and more the lower arches of the Pont du Gard were +widened to make a bridge, and when at last we were packed and loaded +again we drove across this bridge for the nearer view. It was quite +impossible to believe in the age of the structure--its preservation was +so perfect. We drove to the other end and, turning, drove slowly back. +Then lingeringly we left that supreme relic in the loneliness where, +somehow, it seemed to belong, and followed the broad white road to +Nîmes. There is a Roman arena at Nîmes, and a temple and baths--the +Romans built many such things; but I think they could have built only +one Pont du Gard. + + + + +Chapter IX + +THE LUXURY OF NÎMES + + +When the Romans captured a place and established themselves in it they +generally built, first an Arch of Triumph in celebration of their +victory; then an arena and a theater for pleasure; finally a temple for +worship. Sometimes, when they really favored the place and made it a +resort, they constructed baths. I do not find that they built an Arch of +Triumph at Nîmes, but they built an arena, baths, and a temple, for they +still stand. The temple is the smallest. It is called the "Maison +Carrée," and it is much like the temple we saw at Vienne that day in the +rain, but in a finer state of preservation. Indeed, it is said to be one +of the best preserved Roman temples in existence. It is graceful and +exquisite, and must have suited Henry James, who did not care for Roman +arenas because they are not graceful and exquisite, as if anything built +for arena purposes would be likely to be anything less than solid and +everlasting. We did not go into the Maison Carrée. It is a museum now, +and the fact that it has also been used as a warehouse and stable +somehow discouraged us. It would be too much done over. But the outside +was fascinating. + +We thought the garden of the Roman baths and fountain would be well to +see in the evening. We drove along the quay by the side of the walled +river which flows down the middle of the street, and came to the gates +of the garden and, leaving the car, entered. + +At first it seemed quite impossible to believe that a modern city of no +great size or importance should have anything so beautiful as this +garden, or, having it, should preserve it in such serene beauty and +harmony. But then one remembered that this was France, and of France it +was the Provence and not really a part of the sordid, scrambling world +at all. + +It is a garden of terraces and of waterways and of dim, lucent pools to +which stairways descend, and of cypresses, graying statuary, and marble +bridges and fluted balustrades; and the water is green and mysterious, +and there is a background of dark, wooded hills, with deep recesses and +lost paths. We climbed part way up the hillside and found a place where +we could look out on the scene below. In the fading light it seemed a +place of enchantment. + +It is not easy to tell what part of this garden the Romans built and +what was added from time to time during the centuries. It seems to have +been liberally reconstructed a hundred or so years ago, and the statuary +is none of it of the Roman period. But if there was ever any incongruity +the blurring hand of time has left it invisible to our unpracticed eyes. +We lingered in this magic garden, and spoke softly of the generations +that for nineteen centuries have found their recreation there, and we +turned often for a last look, reluctant to leave something that seemed +likely to vanish the moment one turned away. + +Our hotel was on the square in which stands the arena, so that it was +but a step away at any time. We paid it one thorough visit, and sat in +the seats, and scaled the upper heights, and looked down on the spot +where tragedy and horror had been employed as means of pleasure for a +good portion of the world's history. I am sorry the Provence is still +rather cruel minded, though I believe they do not always kill the bull +now in the Sunday-afternoon fights. It is only a few times in each +season that they have a fight to the death. They had one the Sunday +before our arrival, according to the bills still posted at the entrance. +In the regular Sunday games anyone has the privilege of snatching a bow +of red ribbon from the bull's forehead. I had a fever to try it, but, +this being only Tuesday, it did not seem worth while to wait. + +On the whole I think we did not find the arena at Nîmes as interesting +as the one at Arles, perhaps because we had seen Arles first. It is +somewhat smaller than the Arles circus, and possibly not so well +preserved, but it is of majestic proportions, and the huge layers of +stone, laid without cement in the Roman fashion, have never moved except +where Vandal and Saracen and the building bishops have laid despoiling +hands. + +Not all the interest of Nîmes is ancient; Alphonse Daudet was born in +Nîmes, and the city has set up a statue and named a street in his honor. +Daudet's birthplace is not on the street that bears his name, but on the +Boulevard Gambetta, one of the wide thoroughfares. Daudet's house is a +part of the Bourse du Commerce now, and I do not think it was ever the +"_habitation commode, tout ombragée de plantanes_" of which he writes so +fondly in Le Petit Chose--the book which we have been told is, in part, +at least, his own history. There is nothing now to indicate that it was +ever the birthplace of anyone, except the plaque at the door, and as we +sat reading this we realized that by a coincidence we had come at a +fortunate time. The plaque said, "Born May 13, 1840." Now, seventy-four +years later, the date was the same. It was the poet's birthday! + + + + +Chapter X + +THROUGH THE CÉVENNES + + +The drowsy Provence, with its vineyard slopes and poppied fields, warm +lighted and still, is akin to Paradise. But the same Provence, on a +windy day, with the chalk dust of its white roads enveloping one in +opaque blinding clouds, suggests Sherman's definition of war. We got a +taste of this aspect leaving Nîmes on our way north. The roads were +about perfect, hard and smooth, but they were white with dust, and the +wind did blow. I have forgotten whether it was the mistral or the +tramontane, and I do not think it matters. It was just wind--such wind +as I used to meet a long time ago in Kansas. + +Our first town was Alais, but when we inquired about Alai, according to +the French rule of pronunciation, they corrected us and said +Alais--sounding the s. That is Provençal, I take it, or an exception to +the rule. Alais itself was of no importance, but along the way there +were villages perched on hilltops, with castles crowning the high +central points, all as picturesque and mediæval as anything well could +be. We were always tempted to go up to them, but the climb was likely to +be steep; then those villages seen from the inside might not be as +poetry-picturelike as when viewed from below, looking up an orchard +slope to their weathered balconies and vine-hung walls. + +We were in the Cévennes about as soon as we had passed Alais. The +Cévennes are mountains--not mere hills, but towering heights, with roads +that wind and writhe up them in a multiplicity of convolutions, though +always on perfect grade, always beautiful, bringing to view deep vistas +and wide expanses at every turn. + +There was little wind now--the hills took care of that--and we were warm +and comfortable and happy in this fair, lonely land. There were few +habitations of any kind; no automobiles; seldom even a cart. Water was +scarce, too; it was hard to find a place to replenish our bottles. But +we came at last to a cabin in the woods--a sort of wayside café it +proved--where a woman sold us half a liter of red wine for about five +cents, and supplied us with spring water free. A little farther along, +where the road widened a bit, we halted for luncheon. On one side a +steep ascent, wooded, on the other a rather abrupt slope, grass-covered +and shady with interspaced trees. By and by we noticed that all the +trees were of one variety--chestnut. It was, in fact, a chestnut +orchard, and proclaimed the industry of this remote land. We saw many +such during the afternoon; probably the district is populous enough +during the chestnut harvest. + +Through the long afternoon we went winding upward among those unpeopled +hills, meeting almost nothing in the way of human life, passing through +but one village, Grenolhac, too small even to be set down in the road +book. In fact, the first place mentioned beyond Alais was Villefort, +with a small population and one inn, a hostelry indicated in the book +merely by a little wineglass, and not by one of the tiny houses which, +in their varied sizes, picture the recommended hotels and the relative +importance thereof. There was no mention of rooms in connection with the +Café Marius Balme; the outlook for accommodation overnight was not very +cheerful. + +It was chilly, too, for evening was closing in and we were well up in +the air. The prospect of camping by the roadside, or even of sitting up +in a café until morning, did not attract a person of my years, though +Narcissa and the Joy declared that to build a camp fire and roll up in +the steamer rugs would be "lovely." As there were only three rugs, I +could see that somebody was going to be overlooked in the arrangement; +besides, a night in the mountains in May, let it begin ever so gayly, is +pretty sure to develop doubtful features before morning. I have done +some camping in my time, and I have never been able to get together +enough steamer rugs to produce a really satisfactory warmth at, say, +three or four o'clock in the morning, when the frost is embroidering the +bushes and the stars have a glitter that drills into your very marrow. +Langogne, the first town marked with a hotel, was at least thirty-five +miles farther along, and I could tell by the crinkly look of the road as +it appeared on our map that it was no night excursion. Presently we +descended into a sort of gorge, and there was Villefort, an isolated, +ancient little hamlet forgotten among the Cévennes hilltops. We came to +an open space and there, sure enough, was the Café Balme, and by the +side of it, happy vision, another little building with the sign "Hôtel +Balme." + +It was balm indeed. To my faithful inquiry, "_Vous avez des chambres?_" +Yes, they had chambers--they were across the open square, over the +garage--that is to say, the stable--if the monsieur and his party would +accept them. + +"_Oui, certainement!_" + +They were not luxurious--they were just bare boxes, but they were clean, +with comfortable beds, and, dear me! how inviting on this particularly +chilly evening, when one has put in most of the day climbing narrow, +circuitous mountain roads--one-sided--that is to say, one side a wall, +the other falling off into unknown space. + +They were very quiet rooms, for we had the place to ourselves. The car +would sleep just under us, and we had a feeling of being nomads, the +kind that put up in barns and empty buildings. A better place could +hardly have made us happier, and a better dinner than we had could not +be produced anywhere. There was soup--French soup; hot fried trout, +taken that day from the mountain streams; then there was omelet of the +freshest eggs, served so hot that one must wait for it to cool; also a +dish of veal of the same temperature and of such tenderness that you +could cut it with a fork; and there was steak which we scarcely touched, +and a salad, and fruit and cakes and camembert cheese, with unlimited +wine throughout. How could they give a dinner like that, and a good bed, +and coffee and rolls with jam next morning, all for four francs--that +is, eighty cents, each? I will tell you: they did their own cooking, +and were lost so far in the mountains that they had not yet heard of the +"high cost of living." And if I have not mentioned it before, I wish to +say here that all the red road-book hotels are good, however small or +humble they appear. Indeed, I am inclined to believe that _all French_ +hotels are good--at least that they have good food and beds. With the +French, to have good beds and good food is a religion. + +You notice I do not mention the coffee. That is because it is not real +coffee. It is-- I don't quite know what it is. In the large hotels it +merely looks like coffee. In these small inns it looks like a dark, +ominous soup and tastes like that as much as anything. Also, it is not +served in cups, but bowls, porridge bowls, with spoons to match, and the +natives break chunks of bread in it and thus entirely carry out the soup +idea. This is the French conception of coffee in the remoter districts, +but the bread and jam or honey that go with it are generally good and +plentiful, and I suppose the fearful drink itself must be wholesome. One +hears a good deal in America of delicious French coffee, but the only +place to get it is in America, in New Orleans, say, or New York. I have +never found any really good coffee even in Paris. + +I think not many travelers visit the Cévennes. The road across the +mountains from Nîmes toward Paris seemed totally untraversed, at least +so far as tourists are concerned. No English is spoken anywhere--not a +word. This was France--not the France that is Paris, which is not France +at all any more than New York City is America, but the France which is +a blending of race and environment--of soil and sky and human struggle +into a unified whole that is not much concerned with the world at large, +and from generation to generation does not greatly change. + +One may suppose, for instance, that the market at Villefort, which we +saw next morning, was very much what it was a hundred years ago--that +the same sturdy women in black dresses and curious hats had carried the +same little bleating kids, one under each arm--that trout and +strawberries and cheese and cherries and all the products of that +mountain district were offered there, around the old stone fountain, in +the same baskets under the shadow of the same walls, with so little +difference in the general aspect that a photograph, if one could have +been taken then, might be placed beside the ones we made and show no +difference in the fashion of things at all. + +We bought some of the strawberries, great delicious dewy ones, and +Narcissa and the Joy wanted to buy one or even a dozen of the poor +little kids, offering to hold them in their laps constantly. But I knew +that presently I should be holding one or more of those kids in my own +lap and I was afraid I could not do that and drive with safety. I said +that some day when we had time we would build a wooden cage on wheels to +put behind the car and gradually collect a menagerie, but that I was +afraid we didn't have time just now. We must be getting on. + +Our landlady was a good soul. She invited us into the kitchen, neat, +trim, and shining, and showed us some trout caught that morning, and +offered to give us a mess to take along. The entire force of the hotel +assembled to see us go. It consisted of herself and her daughter, our +waitress of the night before. Our bill was sixteen francs. The old +life--the simple life--of France had not yet departed from Villefort. + + + + +Chapter XI + +INTO THE AUVERGNE + + +We had climbed two thousand feet from Nîmes to reach Villefort and +thought we were about on the top of the ridge. But that was a mistake; +we started up again almost as soon as we left, and climbed longer hills, +higher and steeper hills, than ever. Not that they were bad roads, for +the grades were perfect, but they did seem endless and they were still +one-sided roads, with a drop into space just a few feet away, not always +with protecting walls. Still there was little danger, if one did not get +too much interested in the scenery, which was beyond anything for its +limitless distances, its wide spaces and general grandeur. + +Whenever we got to a level spot I stopped the car to look at it while +the engine cooled. It is a good plan to stop the car when one wishes +really to admire nature. The middle of the road ahead is thought to be +the best place for the driver to look while skirting a mountainside. + +To return to roads just for a moment, there were miles of that winding +lofty way, apparently cut out of the solid face of the mountain, through +a country almost entirely uninhabited--a rocky, barren land that could +never be populous. How can the French afford those roads--how can they +pay for them and keep them in condition? I was always expecting to meet +a car on the short high turns, and kept the horn going, but never a car, +never a carriage--only now and then a cart, usually the stone-cart of +some one mending the roads. The building and engineering of those roads +seems to me even a greater marvel than the architecture of cathedrals +and châteaux. They are as curly and crooked as a vine, but they ascend +and descend with a precision of scale that makes climbing them a real +diversion. We ascended those hills on high speed--all of them. + +We were about at the snow line now. We could see it but a little way +higher up, and if the weather had not been so bright and still we should +have been cold. Once we saw what we took to be a snowbank just ahead by +the roadside. But when we came nearer we saw it was narcissus, growing +there wild; later we saw whole fields of it. It flourished up there as +the poppies did lower down. + +The country was not all barren. There were stretches of fertile +mountain-top, with pastures and meadows and occasional habitations. Now +and then on some high point we saw a village clustering about an ancient +tower. Once--it was at Prévenchères, a tiny village of the Auvergne--we +stopped and bought eggs and bread. There were also a few picture postals +to be had there, and they showed the Bourrée, which is a native dance of +the Auvergne--a rather rough country café dance, I gathered, but +picturesque, in the native costume. I wish we might have seen it. + +The mountains dwindled to hills, humanity became more plentiful. It was +an open, wind-swept country now--rolling and fruitful enough, but barren +of trees; also, as a rule, barren of houses. The people live in the +villages and their industry would seem to be almost entirely +pasturage--that is, cattle raising. I have never seen finer cattle than +we saw in the Auvergne, and I have never seen more uninviting, dirtier +villages. Barns and houses were one. There were no dooryards, and the +cattle owned the streets. A village, in fact, was a mere cattle yard. I +judge there are few more discouraging-looking communities, more +sordid-looking people, than in just that section. But my guess is that +they are a mighty prosperous lot and have money stuffed in the savings +bank. It is a further guess that they are the people that Zola wrote of +in _La Terre_. Of course there was nothing that looked like a hotel or +an inn in any of those places. One could not imagine a French hotel in +the midst of such a nightmare. + + + + +Chapter XII + +LE PUY + + +One of the finest things about a French city is the view of it from afar +off. Le Puy is especially distinguished in this regard. You approach it +from the altitudes and you see it lying in a basin formed by the hills, +gleaming, picturesque, many spired--in fact, beautiful. The evening sun +was upon it as we approached, which, I think, gave it an added charm. + +We were coasting slowly down into this sunset city when we noticed some +old women in front of a cottage, making lace. We had reached the +lacemaking district of the Auvergne. We stopped and examined their work +and eventually bought some of it and photographed them and went on down +into the city. Every little way other old women in front of humble +cottages were weaving lace. How their fingers did make the little +bobbins fly! + +I had never heard of a _puy_ (pronounced "pwee") before we went to the +Auvergne and I should never have guessed what it was from its name. A +_puy_ is a natural spire, or cone, of volcanic stone, shooting straight +up into the air for several hundred or several thousand feet, often slim +and with perpendicular sides. Perhaps we should call them "needles." I +seem to remember that we have something of the kind in Arizona known by +that name. + +The Auvergne has been a regular _puy_ factory in its time. It was in the +Quaternary era, and they were volcanic chimneys in the day of their +first usefulness. Later--a good deal later--probably several million +years, when those flues from the lower regions had become filled up and +solidified, pious persons began building churches on the tops of them, +which would seem pretty hazardous, for if one of those chimneys ever +took a notion to blow out, it would certainly lift the church sky high. +Here at Le Puy the chimney that gives it its name is a slender cone two +hundred and eighty feet high, with what is said to be a curious +tenth-century church on the very tip of it. We were willing to take it +for granted. There are about five hundred steps to climb, and there is a +good deal of climbing in Le Puy besides that item. We looked up to it, +and across to it, and later--when we were leaving--down to it from +another higher point. I don't know why churches should be put in such +inconvenient places--to test piety, maybe. I am naturally a pious +person, but when I think of the piety that has labored up and down those +steps through rain and shine and cold and heat for a thousand years I +suffer. + +We did climb the stair of the cathedral of Notre Dame de Puy, which +sweeps upward in broad majesty, like a ladder to heaven. There are over +a hundred steps, and they were originally designed so the overflow +congregation could occupy them and look into the church and see the +officiating priest. An architectural change has made this impossible +to-day, so perhaps the congregation no longer overflows. In fact, there +was a time when great pilgrimages were made to Notre Dame du Puy, and it +was then that the steps were filled. There are little shops on each rise +of this great flight--ascending with it--shops where religious charms +and the like are sold. At the earlier period the merchants displayed +their wares on small tables, and the street is called _Rue des Tables_ +to this day. + +The church is built of black and white stone, and has a curiously +Turkish look. It all seems very foreign to France, and indeed the whole +place was not unlike a mosque, though more somber, less inviting. It was +built in the twelfth century, and under its porch are two of the +original cedar doors, with Latin inscriptions. + +I am sure Le Puy is a religious place. On every high point there is a +church or a saint, or something inspiring. A statue of Notre Dame de +France is on the highest point of all, four hundred and thirty-five feet +above the town. This statue was cast from the metal of two hundred +Russian cannons taken at Sebastopol. You can ascend to it by some six or +seven hundred steps cut in the solid rock. We did not go up there, +either. Even the statement that we could ascend another flight of steps +inside the statue and stand in its very head did not tempt us. Americans +have been spoiled for these things. The lift has made loafers of us all. + +What I think we enjoyed most in Le Puy was its lacemakers. At every +turn, in every little winding street, one saw them--singly and in +groups; they were at the front of every door. They were of all ages, +but mainly, I think, they were old women. Many of them wore the Auvergne +costume--quaint hats or caps, and little shawls, and wooden shoes. +Lacemaking is the industry of the Haute-Loire district, and is said to +employ ninety thousand women. I think that is an underestimate. It +seemed to me we saw as many as that ourselves in front of those mediæval +doorways of Le Puy. + + + + +Chapter XIII + +THE CENTER OF FRANCE + + +It is grand driving from Le Puy northward toward Clermont-Ferrand and +Vichy. It is about the geographical center of France, an unspoiled, +prosperous-looking land. Many varieties of country are there--plain, +fertile field, rich upland slopes. All the way it is picture +country--such country as we have seen in the pictures and seldom +believed in before. Cultivated areas in great squares and strips, fields +of flowers--red, blue, white--the French colors; low solid-looking +hills, with little cities halfway to the summit, and always, or nearly +always, a castle or two in their midst; winding, shining rivers with +gray-stone bridges over them, the bright water appearing and reappearing +at every high turn. + +Our road made no special attempt to reach the towns. We viewed them from +a distance, and there were narrower roads that turned in their +direction, but our great national highway--it was No. 9 now--was not +intended for their special accommodation. When it did reach a town it +was likely to be a military center, with enormous barracks--new, many of +them--like those at Issoire, a queer old place where we spent the night +and where I had a real adventure. + +It was my custom to carry under the back seat a bottle of Scotch whisky +in event of severe illness, or in case of acute motor trouble. For +reasons I do not at the moment recall--perhaps the cork had leaked--our +supply seemed low at Issoire, and I decided to see what I could find. I +had little hope, for in France even the word "whisky" is seldom +recognized. Still, I would make diligent inquiry, our case being pretty +desperate. There was not enough in the bottle to last till morning-- I +mean, of course, in case anything serious should happen. + +I had the usual experience at the cafés. The attendants repeated the +word "whisky" vaguely, and in various ways, and offered me all sorts of +gayly tinted liquids which I did not think would cure anything I was +likely to have. I tried a drug store, where a gentle pharmacist listened +awhile to my French, then dug out from the back of a lower drawer a +circular on Esperanto. Imagine! + +I was about ready to give it up when I happened to notice a low, dim +shop the shelves of which seemed filled with fancy bottles. The place +had an ancient, mellow look, but I could see at a glance that its +liquids were too richly colored for my taste--needs, I mean. I could +try, however. + +The little gray man who waited on me pronounced the word in several ways +and scratched his head. + +"_Wisky_," he said, "_visky-viskee!_" + +Then he seemed to explode. A second later he was digging a dusty book +out of a dusty pile, and in a moment was running his fingers down a +yellow page. I dare say it was an old stock list, for suddenly he +started up, ran to a dark, remote shelf, pulled away some bottles, and +from the deeper back recesses dragged a bottle and held it up in +triumph. + +"_Voilà!_" he said, "_veeskee! Veeskee Eereesh!_" + +Shades of St. Patrick! It was old Irish whisky--old, how old--perhaps +laid in by his grandfather, for a possible tourist, a hundred years +before. I tried to seem calm--indifferent. + +"_Encore?_" I said. + +But no, there was no _encore_--just this one. The price, oh yes, it was +four francs. + +Imagine! + +Issoire is a quaint place and interesting. I shall always remember it. + +To motorists Clermont-Ferrand is about the most important city in +France. It is the home of tire manufacturers, and among them the great +benevolent one that supplies the red road book, and any desired special +information, free. We felt properly grateful to this factory and drove +out to visit it. They were very good to us; they gave us a brand-new +red-book and a green-book for Germany and Switzerland. The factory is a +large one, and needs to be. About four-fifths of the cars of Europe go +rolling along on its products, while their owners, without exception, +use its wonderfully authentic guides. Each year the road books +distributed free by this firm, piled one upon the other, would reach to +a height of more than five miles. They cover about all the countries, +and are simply priceless to the motorist. They are amusing, too. The +funny fat motor man made of tires, shown in little marginal drawings and +tailpieces in all the picturesque dilemmas of the road, becomes a +wonderfully real personality on short acquaintance. We learned to love +the merry Michelin man, and never grew tired of sharing his joys and +misfortunes. + +Clermont-Ferrand is also the home of a man with two wooden legs that +need oiling. I know, for he conducted us to the cathedral, and his +joints squeaked dismally at every step. I said I would go back to the +car and get the oil can, but he paid no attention to the suggestion. He +also objected to the tip I gave him, though I could not see why an +incomplete guide like that, especially one not in good repair, should +expect double rates. Besides, his cathedral was not the best. It was not +built of real stone, but of blocks of lava from the _puys_ of the +neighborhood. + +We came near getting into trouble descending a hill to Vichy. The scene +there was very beautiful. Vichy and the river and valley below present a +wonderful picture. Absorbed in it, I was only dimly conscious of an old +woman trudging along at our left, and did not at all notice a single +chicken quite on the opposite side. In any case I could not well know +that it was her chicken, or that it was so valuable that she would risk +her life to save it. She was a very old person--in the neighborhood of +several hundred, I should think, wearing an improperly short skirt, her +legs the size and shape of a tightly folded umbrella, terminating below +in the largest pair of wooden shoes in the world. Familiar with the +habits of chickens, she probably thought her property would wait till we +were opposite and then start to race across in front of the car. To +prevent this she decided to do it herself! Yet I suppose if I had +damaged that prehistoric old lady, instead of missing her by the breadth +of half a hair, her relatives would have made us pay for her at fancy +rates. + +We did not tarry at Vichy. It is a gay place--stylish and costly, and +worth seeing a little, when one can drive leisurely through its clean, +handsome streets. Perhaps if we could have invented any maladies that +would have made a "cure" necessary we might have lingered with those +other sallow, sad-eyed, stylish-looking people who collect in the +pavilions where the warm healing waters come bubbling up and are +dispensed free for the asking. But we are a healthy lot, and not +stylish. We drove about for a pleasant hour, then followed along evening +roads to St. Germain des Fosses, where the Hôtel du Porc was a wayside +inn of our kind, with clean, quiet rooms, good food--and prices, oh, +very moderate indeed! But I do wonder why garages are always put in such +inconvenient places. I have driven in and backed out of a good many in +my time, and I cannot now recall more than one or two that were not +tucked away in an alley or around some impossible corner, making it +necessary to scrape and writhe and cringe to get in and out without +damaging something. I nearly knocked a corner from an out-house in St. +Germain, backing out of its free and otherwise satisfactory garage. + + + + +Chapter XIV + +BETWEEN BILLY AND BESSEY + + +To those tourists who are looking for out-of-the-way corners of Europe I +commend Billy. It is not pronounced in our frivolous way, but "Bee-yee," +which you see gives it at once the French dignity. I call Billy +"out-of-the-way" because we saw no tourists in the neighborhood, and we +had never before heard of the place, which has a bare three-line mention +in Baedeker. + +Billy is on the Allier, a beautiful river, and, seen from a distance, +with its towering ruin, is truly picturesque. Of course the old castle +is the chief feature of Billy--a ruin of great extent, and unrestored! +The last item alone makes it worth seeing. A good many of the ruins of +France have been restored under the direction of that great recreator of +the architectural past, Viollet le Duc, who has done his work supremely +well and thoroughly--oh, thoroughly, no name! I am glad he did it, for +it means preservation for the ages, but I am so glad that there is now +and then a ruin that + + Monsieur V. le Duc + Happened to overlook. + +I even drift into bad poetry when I think of it. + +The Château de Billy seems to have been built about 1232 by one of the +sires of Bourbon Robert of Clermont, son of St. Louis, to control the +river traffic. It was a massive edifice of towers and bastions, and +walls of enormous thickness. A good portion of the walls and some of the +towers still stand. And there is a dungeon into which no light or air +could come, once used to convince refractory opposition. They put a man +in there for an hour. When they took him out he was either convinced or +dead, and so, in either case, no longer troublesome. + +The guardian of Billy was a little old woman as picturesque as the +ruins, and lived in a little house across the way, as picturesque as +herself. When we had seen the castle she let us look into her house. It +consisted of just one small room with a tiny stove in one corner and a +bed in the other. But the stove, with its accessories of pans and other +ware all so shining and neat, and her tiny, high-posted, canopied bed so +spotless and pretty with its white counterpane and gay little curtains, +set us to wondering why anybody in the world needed a home more ample or +attractive than that. + +It seemed amusing to us that the name of the next place along that route +should be Bessey. We lunched between Billy and Bessey, on a green level +roadside, under some big trees, where there was a little stream which +furnished our cooking water. It is not always easy to select the +luncheon place. A dry spot with water and shade is not everywhere to be +had, and then we do not always instantly agree on the conveniences of a +place, and while we are discussing it we are going right along at a +fifteen or twenty-mile rate and that place has drifted a mile or two +behind before the conference ends. But there always _is_ a place +somewhere that has most of the things we want, and it lies around the +next turn or over the next hill, and it is always so new and strange and +foreign, so away and away from the world we have known, so intimately a +part of a land and of lives we have never seen before and shall never +see again. + +A gypsy of very poor class came along while we were at luncheon. His +little wagon-house was quite bare of furnishings. The man walked outside +beside the meager donkey--a young woman with a baby sat on the floor in +the wagon. + +Gypsies, by the way, are an institution in France. The French call them +_nomades_, and provide them with special ordinances and road +limitations. At first, when we saw signs "_Limites de Nomades_" in the +outskirts of villages we wondered what was meant, and did not associate +the notice with the comfortable and sometimes luxurious house-wagons +that we met or overtook, or found solidly established by some pleasant +waterside. Then it dawned upon us that these gypsy folk were the +_nomades_ and that the signs were provided for their instruction. + +We met them, presently, everywhere. France, with its level roads and +liberal laws, is gypsy heaven. A house on wheels, a regular little flat, +with parlor, bedroom and kitchen, big enough to hold a family and its +belongings, can be drawn by a single horse over the hard, perfectly +graded highways. They work north in the summer, no doubt, and in the +autumn the Midi calls them. Every little way we saw them camped, +working at their basketry or some kindred industry. Not all the villages +limit them, and often we found them located in the midst of a busy town. +I do not think they do any harm, and I always envied them. Some of their +little houses are so cozy and neat, with tiny lace curtains and flower +pots, and pictures on the walls. When we first saw such wagons we +thought they belonged to artists. + + + + +Chapter XV + +THE HAUTE-LOIRE + + +The particular day of which I am now writing was Sunday, and when we +came to Moulin, the ancient capital of the Bourbonnais, there was a +baptismal ceremony going on in the cathedral; the old sexton in the +portico outside was pulling the rope that led up to the great booming +bell. He could pull and talk too, and he told us that the bell was only +rung for baptisms, at least that was what we thought he said as he flung +himself aloft with the upward sweep, and alow with the downward sweep, +until his chin nearly touched the stone floor. I got into the swing of +it directly, and signified that I should like to ring the bell a little +myself. I realize now that it was decidedly brazen to ask to assist at a +sacred function like that, but he let me do it, and I took the rope and +for a minute or two swayed up and down in a pride I can hardly express, +ringing that five-hundred-year-old bell to notify the world of the +latest baptism in France. + +We came upon an unexpected treat at Moulin--the Souvigny bible, an +illuminated manuscript of 1115, with one hundred and twenty-two +marvelously executed pictorial designs. The bible was in a museum across +from the cathedral, a splendid museum indeed for little Moulin, being +the reconstructed château of the Bourbons, filled with beautiful things +of the Bourbon period. The bible is in a room by itself in a glass case, +but the guardian opened it for us and turned the leaves. This bible, +discovered at the old priory of the little town of Souvigny, is in +perfect condition and presents a gorgeous piece of hand illumination. +The drawing itself is naturally primitive, but the coloring is rich +beyond telling, the lettering marvelously perfect. J. Pierpont Morgan is +said to have offered a million francs for the Souvigny bible, a vast sum +to little Moulin. I am glad they did not sell it. It seems better in the +quiet, choice museum which was once the castle of the Bourbon dukes. + +It is curious how conventions establish themselves in the different +districts and how absolutely they prevail in the limits of those +districts. In certain sections, for instance, we found the furnishings +in each hotel exactly alike. The same chairs, the same little table, the +same bedsteads and wardrobes, the same tableware. We could tell by the +change of furnishing when we had reached a new district. A good portion +of the Auvergne remains to us the "Land of Squatty Pitchers," because in +every bedroom the water pitcher was a very short, very corpulent and +saucy-looking affair that amused us each evening with its absurd shape. +Then there were the big coffee bowls and spoons. They got larger and +larger from Nîmes northward until we reached Issoire. There the bowls +were really immense and the spoons had grown from dessert spoons to +table spoons, from table spoons to soup spoons until at Issoire they +were like enormous vegetable spoons, such as cooks use to stir the pot +with. From Moulin northward we entered the "Land of Little Ladders." All +the houses outside the larger towns were story-and-a-half affairs, built +facing the road, and the half-story was not reached by an inside +stairway, but by a short outside ladder that led up to a central gable +window, which was really a door. It was curious to see a string of these +houses, all with the little ladders, and all just alike. Our first +thought was that the ladders were used because they were cheaper to +build than a stairway, and saved inside room. But, reflecting later, I +thought it more likely that they originated in the old need of defense. +I think there was a time when the family retired to the loft at night +and drew the ladder up after them, to avoid a surprise. + +It had been raining softly when we left Moulin. Somehow we had strayed +from the main road, and through the misty mid-region of the Haute-Loire +followed ways uncharted, but always good--always interesting, and +somewhere in that lost borderland we came to Dornes, and the daintiest +inn, kept by the daintiest gray-haired woman, who showed us her kitchen +and her flower garden and her tame pheasants, and made us love her +dearly. Next day at St. Pierre le Moutier we got back on our route, and +when Narcissa, out of the book she had been reading, reminded us that +Joan of Arc had once fought a battle there the place became glorified. +Joan must have been at Nevers, too, though we found no record of it. + +I think we should have stayed longer at Nevers. There was an ancient +look about portions of it that in a brighter day would have invited us. +Crossing the Loire and entering the city, with its ancient bastioned +walls, carried one back a good way into the centuries. But it was still +dull and drizzly, and we had a feeling for the open road and a cozier +lodgment. + +The rain ceased, the sun tried to break through the mist. The glistening +world became strangely luminous, a world not of hard realities at all. +The shining river winding away into mystery; far valley reaches fading +into haze; blurred lines of ancient spires and towers--these things +belonged only to a land of romance. Long ago I saw a painting entitled a +dream of Italy. I did not believe then that any real land could be as +beautiful-- I thought it only an artist's vision. I was mistaken. No +painting was ever so beautiful--so full of richness and light and color +as this haze-haunted valley of the Loire. + +We rested at Neuvy, at the little red-book inn, Hôtel de la Paix, clean +and inviting like the rest. It is the best compliment we can pay these +little hotels that we always want to remain in them longer, and plan +some day to come back to them. + + + + +Chapter XVI + +NEARING PARIS + + +There are more fine-looking fishing places in France than in any country +I ever saw. There are also more fishermen. In every river town the +water-fronts are lined with them. They are a patient lot. They have been +sitting there for years, I suppose, and if they have ever caught +anything the fact has been concealed. I have talked with numbers of +them, but when I came to the question of their catch they became vague, +not to say taciturn. "_Pas grande chose_" ("No great thing"), has been +the reply, and there was no exhibit. I have never seen one of those +fishermen get a nibble. + +But the water is certainly seductive. Following the upper Loire from +Neuvy to Gien, I was convinced that with a good rod I could stop almost +anywhere and fill the car. Such attractive eddies, such fascinating, +foam-flecked pools! Probably it is just as well I did not have the rod. +I like to persuade myself that the fish were there. + +Gien on the Loire is an old place, but not much that is old remains. +Joan of Arc stopped there on her way to the king at Chinon, and it was +from Gien, following the delivery of Orléans and the battle of Patay, +that she set out with Charles VII for the coronation at Rheims. But +there are no Joan relics in Gien to-day. There are, however, two +interesting features here: the two-story wells and the hard-working +dogs. The wells have a curb reaching to the second story, with an +opening below for the downstairs tenants. It seems a good idea, and the +result is picturesque. The dogs are hitched to little wagons and the +Giennese--most of whom seem to be large and fat--first load those wagons +and then get in themselves and ride. We saw one great hulk of a man +approaching in what at first seemed to be some sort of a go-cart. It was +not until he got close up that we discovered the dog--a little +sweltering dog, his eyes popping out, his tongue nearly dragging the +ground. I think the people of Gien are lazy and without shame. + +[Illustration: "THROUGH HILLSIDE VILLAGES WHERE NEVER A STONE HAD BEEN +MOVED, I THINK, IN CENTURIES"] + +We missed the road leaving Gien and wandered off into narrow, solid +little byways that led across fields and along hedges, through hillside +villages where never a stone had been moved, I think, in centuries. Once +we turned into what seemed a beautiful wood road, but it led to a grand +new château and a private drive which had a top dressing of deep soft +sand. Fortunately nobody was at home, for we stalled in the sand and the +head of the family and Narcissa and the Joy were obliged to get out and +push while I put on all backing power and made tracks in that new sand +that would have horrified the owner. We are the right sort, however. We +carefully repaired the scars, then made tracks of another kind, for +remoter districts. + +Miles away from anywhere, by a pool at the edge of a field of bushes, +we established a luncheon place, and in a seclusion of vines and +shrubbery the Joy set up a kitchen and made coffee and boiled eggs and +potatoes and "kept house" for an hour or so, to her heart's content. We +did not know where we were, or particularly care. We knew that the road +would lead somewhere, and that somewhere would be a wayside village with +a little hotel that had been waiting for us ever so long, with inviting +comforts and generous hospitality. Often we said as we drove along, +"What little hotel do you suppose is waiting for us to-night?" But we +did not worry, for we always knew we should find it. + +The "little hotel" this time proved to be at Souppes on the Loing, and +if I had to award a premium to any of the little hotels that thus far +had sheltered us, I think I should give it to the Hôtel du Mouton, +Souppes. The name naturally amused us, and we tried to make jokes out of +it, but the dainty rooms and the delicious dinner commanded only our +approval. Also the price; nineteen francs and forty centimes, or less +than four dollars, for our party of four, dinner, lodging, and +breakfast, garage free. + +Souppes is a clean town, with a wide central street. Most of the towns +up this way were cleaner than those of the farther south. Also, they had +better buildings, as a rule. I mean the small towns. Villages not large +enough even to be set down on the map have churches that would do credit +in size and luxury to New York City. Take Bonny, for instance. We halted +there briefly to watch some quaintly dressed people who were buying and +selling at a little butter and egg market, and then we noticed a big, +gray, ancient-looking church somewhat farther along. So we went over +there and wandered about in its dim coolness, and looked at its +beautiful treasures--among them the fine marble statue of Joan which one +meets to-day in most of the churches in France. How could Bonny, a mere +village, ever have built a church like that--a church that to-day would +cost a million dollars? + +Another thing we noticed up this way was the "sign of the bush." Here +and there along the road and in the villages there would be a house with +an upward-slanting hole in the outside wall, about halfway to the eaves, +and in the hole a branch of a tree, usually evergreen. When we had seen +a few of these we began to wonder as to their meaning. Then we noticed +that houses with those branches were all cafés, and some one suddenly +remembered a proverb which says, "A good wine needs no bush," and how, +in a former day, at least, the sign of the bush had indicated a wine +shop. That it still does so in France became more and more evident as we +went along. Every wine shop had its branch of green. I do not think +there was one along that road that considered its wine superior to the +traditional announcement. + +Just outside of Souppes there is a great flinty rock upon which some +prehistoric race used to sharpen knives. I suppose it was back before +Cæsar's time, but in that hard stone, so hard that my own knife would +not scratch it, the sharpening grooves and surfaces are as fresh as if +those old fellows had left there only yesterday. I wish I could know +how they looked. + +We came to the woods of Fontainebleau and ate our luncheon in its deep +lucent shade. There is romance in the very name of Fontainebleau, but we +would return later to find it. We drove a little through the wide +avenues of that splendid forest that for three centuries or more was a +hunting ground and pleasure park for kings, then we headed away for +Juvisy on the Seine, where we spent the night and ate on a terrace in +the open air, in a company not altogether to our liking--it being rather +noisy, rather flashy, rather unwholesome--in a word, Parisian. We had +left the region of simple customs and unpretentious people. It was not a +pleasant change. + +Also, we had left the region of good roads. All that I have said about +the perfection of French roads I wish to retract, so far as those in the +environs of Paris are concerned. Leaving Juvisy, we were soon on what is +called the "pave," a road paved with granite blocks, poorly laid to +begin with, and left unrepaired for years. It is full of holes and humps +and wallows, and is not really a road at all, but a stone quarry on a +jamboree. We jiggled and jumped and bumped, and only by going at the +slowest permissible speed could stand it. Cars passed us going quite +fast, but I could see that their occupants were not enjoying themselves. +They were holding on to the backs of the seats, to the top supports, to +one another. They were also tearing their cars to pieces, though the +average Frenchman does not mind that. I love France, and every Frenchman +is my friend, but I do not wish him to borrow my car. He drives +helter-skelter, lickety-split, and never takes care of his car at all. +When the average Frenchman has owned a car a year it is a rusty, +smoking, clattering box of tinware, ready for the can-heap. + + + + +Chapter XVII + +SUMMING UP THE COST + + +The informed motorist does not arrive at the gates of Paris with a +tankful of gasoline. We were not informed, and when the _octroi_ +officials had measured our tank they charged us something like four +dollars on its contents. The price of gasoline is higher inside, but not +that much higher, I think. I did not inquire, for our tankful lasted us +the week of our stay. + +To tell the truth, we did but little motoring in Paris. For one thing, +the streets are just a continuation of the pave, and then the traffic +regulations are defective. I mean there are no regulations. It's just a +go-as-you-please, each one for himself. Push, crowd, get ahead of the +fellow in front of you--that is the rule. Here and there a _gendarme_ +stands waving his arms and shouting, "_Sacre bleu!_" but nobody pays the +least attention to him. The well-trained American motorist finds his +hair getting gray after an hour or two of that kind of thing. + +But we enjoyed Paris, though I am not going to tell about it. No one +attempts to tell of Paris any more--it has all been told so often. But I +may hint to the conservative motorist that below the Seine, in the +neighborhood of the Luxembourg Gardens, about where the rue de Vaugirard +crosses the Boulevard St. Michel, he will find choice little hotels, +with rooms very moderate indeed. + +And perhaps here is a good place to speak of the cost of our travel. We +had stinted ourselves in nothing except style. We had traveled +leisurely, happily, enjoying everything to the full, and our average +expense was a trifle less than forty francs a day--that is, eight +dollars for four persons and the car. Our bill each day at the little +hotels for dinner, lodging, and _petit déjeuner_ (rolls, coffee, and +jam) averaged about twenty-two francs, garage free.[14] That, of course, +is absurdly cheap. + +The matter of gasoline is different. "_Essence_" or benzine, as they +call it, is high in Europe, and you would think it was some fine +liqueur, the way they handle it. They put it up in sealed five-liter +cans, and I have seen motorists, native motorists, buy one can--a trifle +more than a gallon--probably fearing evaporation, or that somebody would +rob the tank. One of those cans cost us about fifty cents, and, being of +extra refined quality, it would carry us on French roads between +eighteen and twenty miles. Sixty miles a day was about our average, +which is aplenty for sight-seeing, even for an American. Our gasoline +and oil expense came to about eight francs a day. The remainder of our +eight dollars went for luncheon by the roadside and for tips. The picnic +luncheon--bread and butter (delicious unsalted butter), jam, eggs, +tinned meats, cheese, sausage, etc.--rarely cost to exceed four francs, +and was usually cheaper. Our hotel tips were about 10 per cent of the +bill, which is the correct amount, and was always satisfactory. When one +gives more he gains nothing but servility, and makes it difficult for +those who follow him. On the other hand an American cannot give less and +keep his self-respect. There were usually but two servants at little +inns, a waitress and a chambermaid. They were entitled to a franc each, +and the boy at the garage to another. Two or three francs a day was +quite enough for incidental tips at churches, ruined castles, and the +like, unless there should be a fee, which would naturally be reckoned +outside the regular budget. In any case, such fees were small and +infrequent. I think I will add a brief summary of the foregoing figures +which I seem to have strung along in a rather loose, confusing way. + +SUMMARY + +AVERAGE DAILY COST OF MOTORING TOR FOUR PERSONS, 1914 + + Average daily cost of dinner, lodging, and breakfast 22 francs ($4.40) + Average daily cost of gasoline and oil 8 francs ( 1.60) + Average daily cost of roadside luncheon 4 francs ( .80) + Average daily cost of tips at hotel 3 francs ( .60) + Average daily cost for sight-seeing 3 francs ( .60) + ----------------- + Total 40 francs ($8.00) + +That was reasonable motor travel, and our eight dollars bought as much +daily happiness as any party of four is likely to find in this old +world.[15] + +Another thing I wish to record in this chapter is the absolute +squareness we found everywhere. At no hotel was there the slightest +attempt to misrepresent, to ring in extras, to encourage side-adventures +in the matter of wines or anything of the sort. We had been led to +believe that the motorist was regarded as fair game for the continental +innkeeper. Possibly there were localities where this was true, but I am +doubtful. Neither did the attendants gather hungrily around at parting. +More than once I was obliged to hunt up our waitress, or to leave her +tip with the girl or man who brought the bags. The conclusion grew that +if the motorist is robbed and crucified in Europe, as in the beginning a +friend had prophesied we should be, it is mainly because he robs and +crucifies himself. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[14] It was oftener from sixteen to eighteen francs, but the time when +we stopped at larger towns, like Le Puy, Lyons, and Valence, brought up +the average. These are antewar prices. I am told there is about a +50-per-cent increase (on the dollar basis) to-day. The value of the +French franc is no longer a fixed quantity. + +[15] The reader must continue to bear in mind that this was in a golden +age. The cost would probably be nearer 150 francs to-day (1921), or $12 +American money. Even so, it would be cheaper than staying at home, in +America. + + + + +Chapter XVIII + +THE ROAD TO CHERBOURG + + +It is easy enough to get into almost any town or city, but it is +different when you start to leave it. All roads lead to Rome, but there +is only here and there one that leads out of it. With the best map in +the world you can go wrong. + +We worked our way out of Paris by the Bois de Boulogne, but we had to +call on all sorts of persons for information before we were really in +the open fields once more. A handsome young officer riding in the Bois +gave us a good supply. He was one of the most polite persons I ever met; +also, the most loquacious. The sum of what he told us was to take the +first turn to the right, but he told it to us for fully five minutes, +with all the variations and embroideries of a young and lively fancy +that likes to hear itself in operation. He explained how the scenery +would look when we had turned to the right; also how it would continue +to look when there was no longer a necessity of turning in either +direction and what the country would be in that open land beyond the +Bois. On the slightest provocation I think he would have ridden with us, +even into Cherbourg. He was a boon, nevertheless, and we were truly +grateful. + +Beyond the Bois de Boulogne lay the _pave_, miles of it, all as bad as +it could be. Sometimes we could not really tell when we were in the +road. Once I found myself on a sort of private terrace without knowing +how I got there or how to get down. We went through St. Germain, but we +did not stop. We wished to get far from Paris--back to the simple life +and good roads. It was along the Seine, at last, that we found them and +the quiet villages. Imagine the luxury of following a silent, tranquil +road by that placid stream, through the sweetness of a May afternoon. +Imagine the peace of it after the jar and jolt and clatter and dazzle of +detestable, adorable Paris. + +I am sorry not to be able to recommend the hotel at Rosny. For a time it +looked as if it were going to be one of the best of our selections, but +it did not turn out so. When we found a little toy garden at the back, +our rooms a string of tiny one-story houses facing it, with roses +blooming at every doorway, we were delighted. Each of us had a toy house +to himself, and there was another for the car at the back. It was a real +play place, and we said how nice it was and wished we might stay a good +while. Then we went for a walk down to the river and in the sunset +watched a curious ferryboat run back and forth on a wire, taking over +homefaring teams, and some sheep and cattle, to the village on the +farther bank of the little, but historic, river. In the early gloaming +we walked back to our hotel. + +The dinner was very good--all dinners in France are that--but alas for +our pretty playhouse rooms! When candles were brought in we saw what I +had begun to suspect from the feeling, the walls were damp--worse, they +were soaked--almost dripping. It seems they were built against a hill +and the recent rains had soaked them through. We could not risk it--the +landlady must give us something in the main house. She was a good +soul--full of regrets, even grief. She had not known about those walls, +she said, and, alas! she had no rooms in the main house. When we +insisted that she _must_ find _something_, she admitted that there was, +indeed, just one room, but so small, so humble--fine folk like us could +never occupy it. + +She was right about its being small, but she was wrong in thinking we +could not occupy it. She brought in cots and bedding, and when we were +all in place at last we just about filled it from side to side. Still, +it was dry and ventilated; those other places had been neither. But it +seemed to us amusing that our fine pretension of a house apiece opening +on a garden had suddenly dwindled to one inconsiderable room for the +four of us. + +We were in Normandy, now, and enjoying it. Everything was quite +different from the things of the south. The picturesque thatched-roof +houses; the women in dainty caps, riding on donkeys, with great brass +milk jugs fore and aft; the very ancient cross-timber architecture; +those, to us, were new things in France. + +The architecture and some of the costumes were not new to one who had +visited England. William the Norman must have carried his thatched-roof +and cross-timber architecture across the Channel; also, certain dresses +and smocks and the pattern of the men's whiskers. In some of these +towns one might almost believe himself in rural England. + +Lisieux, especially, is of the type I mean. It has a street which might +be in Shrewsbury, though I think the Shrewsbury houses would not be as +old as those of Lisieux, one of which--"The House of the Salamander"--so +called from the decoration on its carved façade--we were permitted to +visit. Something about it gave me more the feeling of the ancient life +than I have found in most of the castles. Perhaps because it is wood, +and wood holds personality longer than stone. + +There is an old church at Lisieux, and it has a chapel built by Cauchon, +Bishop of Beauvais, who hounded Joan of Arc to the stake. Cauchon earned +the Beauvais appointment by convicting Joan, but later, especially after +Joan had been rehabilitated, he became frightened of the entertainment +which he suspected Satan was preparing for him and built this chapel in +expiation, hoping to escape the fire. It is a beautiful chapel, but I +think Cauchon wasted his money. If he didn't there is something wrong +with justice. + +The Normandy road to Cherbourg is as wonderful as any in France. All the +way it is lined with trees, and it goes straight on, mile after mile, up +hill and down--long, long hills that on the approach look as if they +reached to the sky, but that flatten out when you get to them, and offer +a grade so gradual and a surface so smooth that you need never shift +your speed levers. Workmen are always raking and touching up those +roads. We had something more than two days of them, and if the weather +had not been rather windy and chilly out on that long peninsula the +memory of that run would be about perfect. + +Cherbourg is not the great city we had imagined it to be. It is simply a +naval base, heavily fortified, and a steamer landing. Coming in on the +Paris road you are in the center of activities almost as soon as you +reach the suburbs and there is none of the crush of heavy traffic that +one might expect. There is a pleasant beach, too, and if travelers were +not always going somewhere else when they arrive at Cherbourg, the +little city might become a real resort. We were there a week before our +ship came in, then sailed out one quiet June evening on the harbor +tender to meet the missing member and happily welcome her to France. Our +hotel had a moving-picture show in the open air, and we could look down +on it from our windows. The Joy especially liked this, and we might have +stayed there permanently, but the long roads and still unvisited glories +of France were calling. + + + + +Chapter XIX + +BAYEUX, CAEN, AND ROUEN + + +We had barely hesitated at Bayeux on the way to Cherbourg, but now we +stopped there for the night. Bayeux, which is about sixty miles from +Cherbourg, was intimately associated with the life of William the +Conqueror, and is to-day the home of the famous Bayeux tapestry, a piece +of linen two hundred and thirty feet long and eighteen inches wide, on +which is embroidered in colored wools the story of William's conquest of +England. + +William's queen, Matilda, is supposed to have designed this marvelous +pictorial document, and even executed it, though probably with the +assistance of her ladies. Completed in the eleventh century, it would +seem to have been stored in the Bayeux cathedral, where it lay scarcely +remembered for a period of more than six hundred years. Then attention +was called to its artistic and historic value, and it became still more +widely known when Napoleon brought it to Paris and exhibited it at the +Louvre to stir the French to another conquest of England. Now it is back +in Bayeux, and has a special room in the museum there, and a special +glass case, so arranged that you can walk around it and see each of its +fifty-eight tableaux. + +It was the closing hour when we got to the Bayeux museum, but the +guardian gave us plenty of time to walk around and look at all the +marvelous procession of horses and men whose outlines have remained firm +and whose colors have stayed fresh for more than eight hundred years. + +Matilda was ahead of her time in art. She was a futurist--anybody can +see that who has been to one of the later exhibitions. But she was +exactly abreast in the matter of history. It is likely that she +embroidered the events as they were reported to her, and her records are +above price to-day. I suppose she sat in a beautiful room with her maids +about her, all engaged at the great work, and I hope she looked as +handsome as she looks in the fine painting of her which hangs above the +case containing her masterpiece. + +There is something fine and stirring about Matilda's tapestry. No matter +if Harold does seem to be having an attack of pleurisy when he is only +putting on his armor, or if the horses appear to have detachable legs. +Matilda's horses and men can get up plenty of swift action on occasion, +and the events certainly do move. Tradition has it that the untimely +death of the queen left the tapestry unfinished, for which reason +William's coronation does not appear. I am glad we stopped at Bayeux. I +would rather have seen Matilda's faithfully embroidered conquest than a +whole gallery full of old masters. + +Next day at Caen we visited her grave. It stands in a church which she +herself founded in expiation of some fancied sin connected with her +marriage. Her remains have never been disturbed. We also visited the +tomb of the Conqueror, on the other side of the city at the church of +St. Étienne. But the Conqueror's bones are not there now; they were +scattered by the Huguenots in 1562. + +We enjoyed Caen. We wandered about among its ancient churches and still +more ancient streets. At one church a wedding was going on, and Narcissa +and I lingered a little to assist. One does not get invited to a +Normandy wedding every day, especially in the old town where William I +organized his rabble to invade England. No doubt this bride and groom +were descendants of some of William's wild rascals, but they looked very +mild and handsome and modern to us. Narcissa and I attended quite a +variety of ceremonials in the course of our travels: christenings, +catechisms, song services, high mass, funerals--there was nearly always +something going on in those big churches, and the chantings and +intonings, and the candles, and the incense, and the processions and +genuflections, and the robes of the priests and the costumes of the +assemblages all interested us. + +Caen became an important city under William the Conqueror. Edward III of +England captured and pillaged it about the middle of the fourteenth +century, at which time it was larger than any city in England, except +London. It was from Caen that Charlotte Corday set out to assassinate +Marat. To-day Caen has less than fifty thousand inhabitants and is +mainly interesting for its art treasures and its memories. + +We left the Paris-Cherbourg road at Caen. Our program included Rouen, +Amiens, and Beauvais, cathedral cities lying more to the northward. +That night we lay at the little Norman village of Bourg-Achard, in an +inn of the choicest sort, and next morning looked out of our windows on +a busy cattle market, where men in clean blue smocks and women in neat +black dresses and becoming headgear were tugging their beasts about, +exhibiting them and discussing them--eating, meantime, large pieces of +gingerbread and other convenient food. A near-by orchard was filled with +these busy traders. At one place our street was lined with agricultural +implements which on closer inspection proved to be of American +manufacture. From Bourg-Achard to Rouen the distance seemed all too +short--the road was so beautiful. + +It was at Rouen that we started to trace backward the sacred footprints +of Joan of Arc, saint and savior of France. For it is at Rouen that the +pathway ends. When we had visited the great cathedral, whose fairy-like +façade is one of the most beautiful in the world, we drove to a corner +of the old Market Place, and stopped before a bronze tablet which tells +that on this spot on a certain day in May, 1431 (it was the 29th), the +only spotless soul in France, a young girl who had saved her country +from an invading and conquering enemy, was burned at the stake. That was +five hundred years ago, but time has not dulled the misery of the event, +its memory of torture, its humiliation. All those centuries since, the +nation that Joan saved has been trying to atone for her death. Streets +have been named for her; statues have been set up for her in every +church and in public squares, but as we read that sorrowful tablet I +could not help thinking that all of those honors together are not worth +a single instant of her fiendish torture when the flames had found her +tender flesh. Cauchon, later Bishop of Beauvais, her persecutor, taunted +his victim to the last. If the chapel of expiation he built later at +Lisieux saved him, then chapels must indeed be held in high esteem by +those who confer grace. + +Nothing is there to-day that was there then, but one may imagine an open +market place thronged with people, and the horrid structure of death on +which stood Joan while they preached to her of her sins. Her sins! when +she was the only one among them that was not pitch black, steeped to the +hair in villainy. Cauchon himself finished the sermon by excommunicating +her, cutting off the church's promise of salvation. On her head she wore +a cap on which was printed: HERETIC, RELAPSED, APOSTATE, IDOLATER. +Cauchon had spared nothing to make her anguish complete. It is curious +that he allowed her to pray, but he did, and when she prayed--not for +herself, but for the king who had deserted her--for his glory and +triumph, Cauchon himself summoned the executioners, and they bound her +to the stake with chains and lighted the fire. + +There is little more to see of Joan in Rouen. The cathedral was there in +her time, but she was never permitted to enter it. There is a wall which +was a part of the chapel where she had her final hearing before her +judges; there are some houses which she must have passed, and there is a +tower which belonged to the castle in which she was confined, though it +is not certain that it is Joan's tower. There is a small museum in it, +and among its treasures we saw the manuscript article _St. Joan of Arc_, +by Mark Twain, who, in his _Personal Recollections_, has left to the +world the loveliest picture of that lovely life. + + + + +Chapter XX + +WE COME TO GRIEF + + +It was our purpose to leave Rouen by the Amiens road, but when we got to +it and looked up a hill that about halfway to the zenith arrived at the +sky, we decided to take a road that led off toward Beauvais. We could +have climbed that hill well enough, and I wished later we had done so. +As it was, we ran along quite pleasantly during the afternoon, and +attended evening services in an old church at Grandvilliers, a place +that we had never heard of before, but where we found an inn as good as +any in Normandy. + +It is curious with what exactness Fate times its conclusions. If we had +left Grandvilliers a few seconds earlier or later it would have made all +the difference, or if I had not pulled up a moment to look at a lovely +bit of brookside planted with poplars, or if I had driven the least bit +slower or the least bit faster, during the first five miles, or-- + +Oh, never mind--what happened was this: We had just mounted a long steep +hill on high speed and I had been bragging on the car, always a +dangerous thing to do, when I saw ahead of us a big two-wheeled cart +going in the same direction as ourselves, and beyond it a large car +approaching. I could have speeded up and cut in ahead of the cart, but I +was feeling well, and I thought I should do the courteous thing, the +safe thing, so I fell in behind it. Not far enough behind him, however, +for as the big car came opposite, the sleepy driver of the cart pulled +up his horse short, and we were not far enough behind for me to get the +brakes down hard and suddenly enough to stop before we touched him. It +was not a smash. It was just a push, but it pushed a big hole in our +radiator, mashed up one of our lamps, and crinkled up our left mudguard. +The radiator was the worst. The water poured out; our car looked as if +it had burst into tears. + +We were really stupefied at the extent of our disaster. The big car +pulled up to investigate and console us. The occupants were Americans, +too, from Washington--kindly people who wanted to shoulder some of the +blame. Their chauffeur, a Frenchman, bargained with the cart driver who +had wrecked us to tow us to the next town, where there were garages. +Certainly pride goes before a fall. Five minutes before we were sailing +along in glory, exulting over the prowess of our vehicle. Now all in the +wink of an eye our precious conveyance, stricken and helpless, was being +towed to the hospital, its owners trudging mournfully behind. + +The village was Poix, and if one had to be wrecked anywhere, I cannot +think of a lovelier spot for disaster than Poix de la Somme. It is just +across in Picardy, and the Somme there is a little brook that ripples +and winds through poplar-shaded pastures, sweet meadows, and deep +groves. In every direction were the loveliest walks, with landscape +pictures at every turn. The village itself was drowsy, kindly, +simple-hearted. The landlady at our inn was a motherly soul that during +the week of our stay the Joy and I learned to love. + +For the others did not linger. Paris was not far away and had a good +deal in the way of shopping to recommend it. The new radiator ordered +from London might be delayed. So early next morning they were off for +Paris by way of Amiens and Beauvais, and the Joy and I settled down to +such employments and amusements as we could find, while waiting for +repairs. + +We got acquainted with the garageman's family, for one thing. They lived +in the same little court with the shop, and we exchanged Swiss French +for their Picardese, and were bosom friends in no time. We spruced up +the car, too, and every day took long walks, and every afternoon took +some luncheon and our little stove and followed down the Somme to a tiny +bridge, and there made our tea. Then sometimes we read, and once when I +was reading aloud from Mark Twain's _Joan of Arc_, and had finished the +great battle of Patay, we suddenly remembered that it had happened on +the very day on which we were reading, the 18th of June. How little we +guessed that in such a short time our peaceful little river would give +its name to a battle a thousand times greater than any that Joan ever +fought! + +Once when we were resting by the roadside a little old lady with a +basket stopped and sat with us while she told us her history--how her +husband had been a great physician and invented cures that to-day are +used in all the hospitals of France. Now she was poor, she said, and +lived alone in a little house, but if we would visit her she would give +us some good Picardese cooking. I wish we might have gone. One day I +hired a bicycle for the Joy and entertained the village by pushing her +around the public square until she learned to ride alone. Then I hired +one for myself and we went out on the road together. About the end of +the third day we began to look for our radiator, and visited the express +office with considerable regularity. Presently the village knew us, why +we were there and what we were expecting. They became as anxious about +it as ourselves. + + + + +Chapter XXI + +THE DAMAGE REPAIRED--BEAUVAIS AND COMPIÈGNE + + +One morning as we started toward the express office a man in a wagon +passed and called out something. We did not catch it, but presently +another met us and with a glad look told us that our goods had arrived +and were now in the delivery wagon on the way to the garage. We did not +recognize either of those good souls, but they were interested in our +welfare. Our box was at the garage when we arrived there, and in a +little more it was opened and the new radiator in place. The other +repairs had been made, and once more we were complete. We decided to +start next morning to join the others in Paris. + +Morning comes early on the longest days of the year, and we had eaten +our breakfast, had our belongings put into the car, and were ready to be +off by seven o'clock. What a delicious morning it was! Calm, glistening, +the dew on everything. As long as I live I shall remember that golden +morning when the Joy, aged eleven, and I went gypsying together, +following the winding roads and byways that led us through pleasant +woods, under sparkling banks, and along the poplar-planted streams of +Picardy. We did not keep to highways at all. We were in no hurry and we +took any lane that seemed to lead in the right direction, so that much +of the time we appeared to be crossing fields--fields of flowers, many +of them, scarlet poppies, often mingled with blue cornflowers and yellow +mustard--fancy the vividness of that color. + +Traveling in that wandering fashion, it was noon before we got down to +Beauvais, where we stopped for luncheon supplies and to see what is +perhaps the most remarkable cathedral in the world. It is one of the +most beautiful, and, though it consists only of choir and transepts, it +is one of the largest. Its inner height, from floor to vaulting, is one +hundred and fifty-eight feet. The average ten-story building could sit +inside of it. There was once a steeple that towered to the giddy heights +of five hundred feet, but in 1573, when it had been standing three +hundred years, it fell down, from having insufficient support. The inner +work is of white stone, marble, and the whole place seems filled with +light. It was in this cool, heavenly sanctuary that Cauchon, who hounded +Joan to the stake, officiated as bishop. I never saw a place so unsuited +to a man. I should think that spire would have tumbled off then instead +of waiting until he had been dead a hundred years. There is a clock in +this church--a modern clock--that records everything, even the age of +the world, which at the moment of our visit was 5,914 years. It is a +very large affair, but we did not find it very exciting. In the public +square of Beauvais there is a bronze statue of Jeanne Laine, called +"Jeanne Hachette," because, armed with a hatchet, she led others of her +sex against Charles the Bold in 1472 and captured a banner with her own +hands. + +Beauvais has many interesting things, but the day had become very warm +and we did not linger. We found some of the most satisfactory pastries I +have ever seen in France, fresh and dripping with richness; also a few +other delicacies, and, by and by, under a cool apple tree on the road to +Compiègne, the Joy and I spread out our feast and ate it and listened to +some little French birds singing, "_Vite! Vite! Vite!_" meaning that we +must be "Quick! Quick! Quick!" so they could have the crumbs. + +It was at Compiègne that Joan of Arc was captured by her enemies, just a +year before that last fearful day at Rouen. She had relieved Orléans, +she had fought Patay, she had crowned the king at Rheims; she would have +had her army safely in Paris if she had not been withheld by a weakling, +influenced by his shuffling, time-serving counselors. She had delivered +Compiègne the year before, but now again it was in trouble, besieged by +the Duke of Burgundy. Joan had been kept in partial inactivity in the +Loire district below Paris during the winter, but with the news from +Compiègne she could no longer be restrained. + +"I will go to my good friends of Compiègne," she said, and, taking such +force as she could muster, in number about six hundred cavalry, she went +to their relief. + +From a green hill commanding the valley of the Oise we looked down upon +the bright river and pretty city which Joan had seen on that long-ago +afternoon of her final battle for France. Somewhere on that plain the +battle had taken place, and Joan's little force for the first time had +failed. There had been a panic; Joan, still fighting and trying to +rally her men, had been surrounded, dragged from her horse, and made a +prisoner. She had led her last charge. + +We crossed a bridge and entered the city and stopped in the big public +square facing Leroux's beautiful statue of Joan, which the later +"friends of Compiègne" have raised to her memory. It is Joan in +semi-armor, holding aloft her banner, and on the base in old French is +inscribed "_Je Yray voir mes bons amys de Compiègne_" ("I will go to see +my good friends of Compiègne"). + +Many things in Compiègne are beautiful, but not many of them are very +old. Joan's statue looks toward the handsome and richly ornamented Hôtel +de Ville, but Joan could not have seen it in life, for it dates a +hundred years after death. There are two handsome churches, in one or +both of which she doubtless worshiped when she had first delivered the +city; possibly a few houses of that ancient time still survive. + +We looked into the churches, but they seemed better on the outside. Then +I discovered that one of our back tires was down, and we drew up in a +secluded nook at the rear of St. Jacques for repairs. It was dusk by the +time we had finished, the end of that long June day, and we had no time +to hunt for a cozy inn. So we went to a hotel which stands opposite the +great palace which the architect Gabriel built for Louis XV, and looked +across to it while we ate our dinner, and talked of our day's +wanderings, and of palaces in general and especially queens; also of +Joan, and of the beautiful roads and fields of flowers, and of the +little birds that tried to hurry us along, and so were very happy and +very tired indeed. + +Next morning we visited the palace. It has been much occupied by +royalty, for Compiègne was always a favorite residence of the rulers of +France. Napoleon came there with the Empress Marie Louise, and Louis +Philippe and Napoleon III both found retirement there. + +I think it could not have been a very inviting or restful home. There +are long halls and picture galleries, all with shiny floors and stiffly +placed properties, and the royal suites are just a series of square, +prettily decorated and upholstered boxes, strung together, with doors +between. One might as well set up a series of screens in a long hall. +Even with the doors shut there could not have been much sense of +privacy, certainly none of snugness. But then palaces were not meant to +be cozy. We saw the bedrooms and dressing rooms and what not of the +various queens, and we looked from an upper window down a long forest +avenue that was finer than anything inside. Then we went back to the car +and drove into the big forest for ten miles or more, to an old feudal +castle--such a magnificent old castle, all towers and turrets and +battlements--the château of Pierrefonds, one of the finest in France. + +It stands upon a rocky height overlooking a lake, and it does not seem +so old, though it had been there forty years when Joan of Arc came, and +it looks as if it might be there about as long as the hill it stands on. +It was built by Louis of Orléans, brother of Charles VI, and the storm +of battle has raged often about its base. Here and there it still shows +the mark of bombardment, and two cannon balls stick fast in the wall of +one of its solid towers. Pierrefonds was in bad repair, had become +well-nigh a ruin, in fact, when Napoleon III, at his own expense, +engaged Viollet le Duc to restore it, in order that France might have a +perfect type of the feudal castle in its original form. It stands to-day +as complete in its structure and decoration as it was when Louis of +Orléans moved in, more than five hundred years ago, and it conveys +exactly the solid home surroundings of the mediæval lord. It is just a +show place now, and its vast court, its chapel and its halls of state +are all splendid enough, though nothing inside can be quite so +magnificent as its mighty assemblage of towers and turrets rising above +the trees and reflecting in the blue waters of a placid lake. + +It began raining before we got to Paris, so we did not stop at +Crépy-en-Valois, or Senlis, or Chantilly, or St. Denis, though all that +land has been famous for kings and castles and bloodshed from a time +farther back than the days of Cæsar. We were interested in all those +things, but we agreed we could not see everything. Some things we saw as +we went by; great gray walls and crumbling church towers, and then we +were at the gates of Paris and presently threading our way through a +tangle of streets, barred, many of them, because the top of the subway +had been tumbling in a few days before and travel was dangerous. It was +Sunday, too, and the streets were especially full of automobiles and +pedestrians. It was almost impossible to keep from injuring something. I +do not care for Paris, not from the driving seat of a car. + + + + +Chapter XXII + +FROM PARIS TO CHARTRES AND CHÂTEAUDUN + + +In fact, neither the Joy nor I hungered for any more Paris, while the +others had seen their fill. So we were off, with only a day's delay, +this time taking the road to Versailles. There we put in an hour or two +wandering through the vast magnificence of the palace where the great +Louis XIV lived, loved, and died, and would seem to have spent a good +part of his time having himself painted in a variety of advantageous +situations, such as riding at the head of victorious armies, or +occupying a comfortable seat in Paradise, giving orders to the gods. + +They were weak kings who followed him. The great Louis reigned +seventy-two years--prodigal years, but a period of military and artistic +conquest--the golden age of French literature. His successor reigned +long enough--fifty-nine years--but he achieved nothing worth while, and +the next one lost his head. We saw the little balcony where the doomed +Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette showed themselves to the mob--the +"deluge" which the greater Louis had once predicted. + +The palace at Versailles is like other royal palaces of France--a fine +show place, an excellent museum, but never in its day of purest +domesticity could it have been called "a happy little home." Everything +is on too extended a scale. Its garden was a tract of marshy land sixty +miles in circumference until Louis XIV set thirty-six thousand men at +it, turning it into fairyland. Laborers died by the score during the +work, and each night the dead were carted away. When this was mentioned +to the king he was troubled, fearing his supply of men might not last. +However, the garden was somehow completed. Possibly Louis went out and +dug in it a little himself. + +It is still a Garden of Eden, with leafy avenues, and lakes, and +marvelous fountains, and labyrinths of flowers. Looking out over it from +the palace windows we remembered how the king had given Madame Maintenon +a summer sleigh-ride, causing long avenues to be spread with sugar and +salt to gratify her idly-expressed whim. I am sorry, of course, that the +later Louis had to lose his head, but on the whole I think it is very +well that France discouraged that line of kings. + +Versailles is full of palaces. There is the Grand Trianon, which Louis +XIV built for Madame Maintenon when she had grown weary of the great +palace, and the Petit Trianon, which Louis XV gave to Du Barry and where +Marie Antoinette built her Swiss village and played at farm life. There +is no reason I should dwell on these places. Already volumes have been +written of the tragic, gay, dissolute life they have seen, the gorgeous +moving panoramas that might have been pictures passing in a +looking-glass for all the substance they have left behind. + +Somewhere below Versailles, in the quietest spot we could find, by a +still stream that ran between the meadow and the highroad, we made our +luncheon and were glad we were not kings. Being royalty was a gaudy +occupation, but too doubtful, too open to criticism. One of those Louis +families, for instance, could never have stopped their motor by the +roadside and prepared their luncheon in our modest, unostentatious way. +They would have had all manner of attendants and guards watching them, +and an audience would have collected, and some excited person might have +thrown a brick and hit the jam. No, we would rather be just plain, +unobtrusive people, without audience, and with no attendance but the +car, waiting there in the shade to carry us deeper into this Land of +Heart's Desire. + +It was at Rambouillet that we lodged, an ancient place with a château +and a vast park; also an excellent inn--the Croix Blanche--one of those +that you enter by driving through to an inner court. Before dinner we +took a walk into the park, along the lakeside and past the château, +which is a curious architectural mixture and not very sightly. But it is +mingled with history. Francis I died there in 1547, and as late as 1830 +the last Charles, the tenth of that name, signed his abdication there. + +It was too late for the place to be open, and in any case we did not +care to go in. We had had enough of palaces for one day. We followed +around the lake to an avenue of splendid Louisiana cypresses which some +old king had planted. Beyond the avenue the way led into deeper +wildernesses--a noble wood. We made a backward circuit at length, for it +was evening and the light was fading. In the mysterious half-light +there was something almost spectral in that sylvan place and we spoke in +hushed voices. Presently we came to a sort of bower, and then to an +artificial grotto--old trysting places. Ah, me! Monsieur and +mademoiselle, or madame, are no longer there; the powdered hair, the +ruffled waist-coat and looped gown, the silken hose and dainty footgear, +the subdued laugh and whispered word, all have vanished. How vacant +those old places seemed! We did not linger--it was a time for ghosts. + +We were off next morning, halting for a little at Maintenon on the road +to Chartres. The château attracted us and the beautiful river Eure. The +widow of the poet Scarron, who married Louis XIV and became Marquise de +Maintenon, owned the château, and it belongs to the family to this day. +An attendant permitted us to see the picture gallery and a portion of +the grounds. All seemed as luxurious as Versailles. It is thirty-five +miles from Maintenon to Versailles, but Louis started to build an +aqueduct to carry the waters of the Eure to his gardens. He kept thirty +thousand soldiers working on it for four years, but they died faster +than he could replace them, which was such a bother that he abandoned +the undertaking. + +Following the rich and lovely valley of the Eure, we came to Chartres, +and made our way to the Cathedral square. We had seen the towers from a +long distance, and remembered the saying that "The choir of Beauvais, +the nave of Amiens, the portal of Rheims, and the towers of Chartres +would together make the finest church in the world." To confess the +truth, I did not think the towers of Chartres as handsome as those of +either Rouen or Amiens. But then I am not a purist in cathedral +architecture. Certainly the cathedral itself is glorious. I shall not +attempt to describe it. Any number of men have written books, trying to +do that, and most of them have failed. I only know that the wonder of +its architecture--the marvel of its relief carving, "lace in stone," and +the sublime glory of its windows--somehow possessed us, and we did not +know when to go. I met a woman once who said she had spent a month at +Chartres and had put in most of it sitting in the cathedral looking at +those windows. When she told me of it I had been inclined to be +scornful. I was not so any more. Those windows, made by some unknown +artist, dead five hundred years, invite a lifetime of contemplation. + +It is about nine hundred years since the cathedral of Chartres was +begun, and it has known many changes. Four hundred years ago one of its +towers was rebuilt in an altogether different pattern from the other. I +believe this variation is regarded as a special feature of their +combined beauty. Chapels have been added, wings extended; changes inside +and out were always going on during the first five hundred years or so, +but if the builders made any mistakes we failed to notice them. It +remains a unity, so far as we could see--a supreme expression of the old +faith, whose material labor was more than half spiritual, and for whom +no sacrifice of money or endeavor was too great. + +We left Chartres by one of the old city gates, and took the wrong road, +and presently found ourselves in an open field, where our way dwindled +out and stopped. Imagine a road good enough to be mistaken for a +highway, leading only to a farmer's grainfield. So we went back and got +set right, and through a heavenly June afternoon followed the straight +level way to Châteaudun, an ancient town perched upon the high cliffs +above the valley of the Loir, which is a different river from the +Loire--much smaller and more picturesque. + +The château itself hangs on the very edge of the cliffs with startling +effect and looks out over a picture valley as beautiful as any in +France. This was the home of Dunois, Bastard of Orléans, who left it to +fight under Joan of Arc. He was a great soldier, one of her most loved +and trusted generals. We spent an hour or more wandering through +Dunois's ancient seat, with an old guardian who clearly was in love with +every stone of it, and who time and again reminded us that it was more +interesting than many of the great châteaux of the Loire, Blois +especially, in that it had been scarcely restored at all. About the +latest addition to Châteaudun was a beautiful open stairway of the +sixteenth century, in perfect condition to-day. On the other side is +another fine façade and stairway, which Dunois himself added. In a niche +there stands a fine statue of the famous soldier, probably made from +life. If only some sculptor or painter might have preserved for us the +features of Joan! + + + + +Chapter XXIII + +WE REACH TOURS + + +Through that golden land which lies between the Loir and the Loire we +drifted through a long summer afternoon and came at evening to a noble +bridge that crossed a wide, tranquil river, beyond which rose the towers +of ancient Tours, capital of Touraine. One can hardly cross the river +Loire for the first time without long reflections. Henry James calls the +Touraine "a gallery of architectural specimens ... the heart of the old +French monarchy," and adds, "as that monarchy was splendid and +picturesque, a reflection of the splendor still glitters in the Loire. +Some of the most striking events of French history have occurred on the +banks of that river, and the soil it waters bloomed for a while with the +flower of the Renaissance." + +Touraine was a favorite place for kings, and the early Henrys and +Francises, especially, built their magnificent country palaces in all +directions. There are more than fifty châteaux within easy driving +distance of Tours, and most of the great ones have been owned or +occupied by Francis I, or by Henry II, or by one of their particular +favorites. + +We did not intend to visit all of the châteaux by any means, for château +visiting, from a diversion may easily degenerate into labor. We +intended especially to visit Chinon, where Joan of Arc went to meet the +king to ask for soldiers, and a few others, but we had no wish to put in +long summer days mousing about old dungeons and dim corridors, or being +led through stiffly set royal suites, garishly furnished and restored. +It was better to glide restfully along the poppied way and see the +landscape presentment of those stately piles crowning the hilltops or +reflected in the bright waters of the Loire. The outward semblance of +the land of romance remains oftenest undisturbed; cross the threshold +and the illusion is in danger. + +At the Central Hotel of Tours, an excellent place of modest charges, we +made our headquarters, and next morning, with little delay, set out for +Chinon and incidental châteaux. "Half the charm of the Loire," says +James, "is that you can travel beside it." He was obliged to travel very +leisurely beside it when that was written; the "flying carpet" had not +then been invented, and James, with his deliberate locomotion, was +sometimes unable to return to Tours for the night. I imagine he enjoyed +it none the less for that, lazily watching the smooth water of the wide +shallow stream, with never a craft heavier than a flat-bottomed hay +boat; the wide white road, gay with scarlet poppies, and some tall +purple flower, a kind of foxglove. + +I do not remember that James makes mention of the cliff-dwellers along +the Loire. Most of them live in houses that are older, I suspect, than +the oldest château of Touraine. In the beginning there must have been in +these cliffs natural caves occupied by our earliest troglodyte +ancestors. In time, as mentality developed and, with it, imagination, +the original shelters were shaped and enlarged by excavation, also new +ones built, until these perpendicular banks facing the Loire became the +dwelling place for hundreds, even thousands. + +They are still numerously inhabited. The rooms or houses--some of them +may be flats--range one above the other in stories, all up the face of +the cliff, and there are smoke-places and little chimneys in the fields +at the top. Such houses must have been here before the kings came to +Touraine. Some of them look very ancient; some have crumbled in; some +have been faced with stone or plaster. The cliff is honeycombed with +them. Do their occupants have traditional rights from some vague time +without date? Do they pay rent, and to whom? We might have found the +answers to these questions had we cared to seek for them. It seemed +better to content oneself with speculation. We did not visit the +cliff-dwellers of the Loire. + +Neither did we visit the château of Luynes or of Langeais. Luynes is a +fine old feudal pile on a hilltop just below Tours, splendid from the +road, but it had no compelling history and we agreed that closer view +could not improve it. Besides, it was hot, sizzling, for a climb; so hot +that one of our aging tubes popped presently, and Narcissa and I had to +make repairs in a place where there was a world of poppies, but no shade +for a mile. That was one of the reasons we did not visit Langeais. +Langeais was exactly on the road, but it had a hard, hot, forbidding +look. Furthermore, our book said that it had been restored and converted +into a museum, and added that its chief claim on history lay in the fact +that Anne of Brittany was here married to Charles VIII in 1491. That +fact was fine to realize from the outside, under the cool shadow of +those gray walls. One could lose it among shiny restorations and stuffy +museum tapestries. + +The others presently noticed a pastry shop opposite the château and +spoke of getting something extra for luncheon. While they were gone I +discovered a café below the château and, being pretty dry, I slipped +down there for a little seltzer, or something. The door was open, but +the place was empty. There was the usual display of bottles, but not a +soul was in sight. I knocked, then called, but nobody came. I called and +knocked louder, but nothing happened. Then I noticed some pennies lying +by an empty glass on the bar. The amount was small and I left them +there. A side door was open and I looked out into a narrow passage +opening into a court at the back. I went out there, still signaling my +distress. The sun was blazing and I was getting dryer every minute. +Finally a stout, smiling woman appeared, wiping her hands--from the +washtub, I judge. She went with me into the café, gathered up the loose +change on the counter, and set out refreshments. Then she explained that +I could have helped myself and left the money. Langeais is an honest +community. + +Following down the Loire we came to a bridge, and, crossing to the other +bank, presently found ourselves in a country where there were no +visible houses at all. But there was shade, and we camped under it and I +did some tire repairing while the others laid out the luncheon and set +the little cooker going. Later we drowsed in the shade for an hour or +more, with desultory talk of Joan, and of Anne of Brittany, and of the +terrible Catherine de Medici, whose son the feeble Francis II had +brought his young wife, Marie Stuart, the doomed Queen of Scots, to +Chenonceaux for their honeymoon. It was strange to think that this was +the environment of those half-romantic figures of history. Some of them, +perhaps all, had passed this very spot. And so many others! the Henrys, +the Charleses, the Louises--the sovereigns and soldiers and court +favorites for four hundred years. What a procession--the pageant of the +Renaissance! + + + + +Chapter XXIV + +CHINON, WHERE JOAN MET THE KING, AND AZAY + + +Chinon is not on the Loire, but on a tributary a little south of it, the +Vienne, its ruined castle crowning the long hill or ridge above the +town. Sometime during the afternoon we came to the outskirts of the +ancient place and looked up to the wreck of battlements and towers where +occurred that meeting which meant the liberation of France. + +We left the car below and started to climb, then found there was a road, +a great blessing, for the heat was intense. There is a village just +above the castle, and we stopped there. + +The château of Chinon to-day is the remains of what originally was three +châteaux, built at different times, but so closely strung together that +in ruin they are scarcely divided. The oldest, Coudray, was built in the +tenth century and still shows three towers standing, in one of which +Joan of Arc lived during her stay at Chinon. The middle château is not +as old by a hundred years. It was built on the site of a Roman fort, and +it was in one of its rooms, a fragment of which still remains, that +Charles VII received the shepherd girl from Domremy. The château of St. +George was built in the twelfth century by Henry II of England, who died +there in 1189. Though built two hundred years after Coudray, nothing of +it survives but some foundations. + +Chinon is a much more extensive ruin than we had expected. Even what +remains to-day must be nearly a quarter of a mile in length, and its +vast crumbling walls and towers make it strikingly picturesque. But its +ruin is complete, none the less. Once through the entrance tower and you +are under nothing but the sky, with your feet on the grass; there is no +longer a shelter there, even for a fugitive king. You wander about, +viewing it scarcely more than as a ruin, at first, a place for painting, +for seclusion, for dreaming in the sun. Then all at once you are facing +a wall in which, halfway up where once was the second story, there is a +restored fireplace and a tablet which tells you that in this room +Charles VII received Joan of Arc. It is not a room now; it is just a +wall, a fragment, with vines matting its ruined edges. + +You cross a stone footbridge to the tower where Joan lived, and that, +too, is open to the sky, and bare and desolate. Once, beyond it, there +was a little chapel where she prayed. There are other fragments and +other towers, but they merely serve as a setting for those which the +intimate presence of Joan made sacred. + +The Maid did not go immediately to the castle on her arrival in Chinon. +She put up at an inn down in the town and waited the king's pleasure. +His paltering advisers kept him dallying, postponing his consent to see +her, but through the favor of his mother-in-law, Yolande, Queen of +Sicily, Joan and her suite were presently housed in the tower of +Coudray. One wonders if the walls were as bare as now. It was old even +then; it had been built five hundred years. But Queen Yolande would have +seen to it that there were comforts, no doubt; some tapestries, perhaps, +on the walls; a table, chairs, some covering for the stone floor. +Perhaps it was even luxurious. + +The king was still unready to see Joan. She was only a stone's throw +away, but the whisperings of his advisers kept her there, while a +commission of priests went to Domremy to inquire as to her character. +When there were no further excuses for delay they contrived a trick--a +deception. They persuaded the king to put another on the throne, one +like him and in his royal dress, so that Joan might pay homage to this +make-believe king, thus proving that she had no divine power or +protection which would assist her in identifying the real one. + +In the space where now is only green grass and sky and a broken wall +Charles VII and his court gathered to receive the shepherd girl who had +come to restore his kingdom. It was evening and the great hall was +lighted, and at one end of it was the throne with its imitation king, +and I suppose at the other the fireplace with a blazing fire. Down the +center of the room were the courtiers, formed in two ranks, facing so +that Joan might pass between them to the throne. The occasion was one of +great ceremony--Joan and her suite were welcomed with fine honors. +Banners waved, torches flared; trumpets blown at intervals marked the +stages of her progress down the great hall; every show was made of +paying her great honor--everything that would distract her and blind +her to their trick. + +Charles VII, dressed as a simple courtier, stood a little distance from +the throne. Joan, advancing to within a few steps of the pretended king, +raised her eyes. Then for a moment she stood silent, puzzled. They +expected her to kneel and make obeisance, but a moment later she turned +and, hurrying to the rightful Charles, dropped on her knees and gave him +heartfelt salutation. She had never seen him and was without knowledge +of his features. Her protectors, or her gifts, had not failed. It was +perhaps the greatest moment in French history. + +We drove down into Chinon, past the house where it is said that Rabelais +was born, and saw his statue, and one of Joan which was not very +pleasing. Then we threaded some of the older streets and saw houses +which I think cannot have changed much since Joan was there. It was +getting well toward evening now, and we set out for Tours, by way of +Azay. + +The château of Azay-le-Rideau is all that Chinon is not. Perfect in +condition, of rare beauty in design and ornamentation, fresh, almost new +in appearance, Azay presents about the choicest flowering of the +Renaissance. Joan of Arc had been dead a hundred years when Azay was +built; France was no longer in dread of blighting invasion; a residence +no longer needed to be a fortress. The royal châteaux of the Loire are +the best remaining evidence of what Joan had done for the security of +her kings. Whether they deserved it or not is another matter. + +Possibly Azay-le-Rideau might not have looked so fresh under the glare +of noonday, but in the mellow light of evening it could have been the +home of one of our modern millionaires (a millionaire of perfect taste, +I hasten to add), and located, let us say, in the vicinity of Newport. +It was difficult to believe that it had been standing for four +centuries. + +Francis I did not build Azay-le-Rideau. But he liked it so much when he +saw it (he was probably on a visit to its owner, the French treasurer, +at the time) that he promptly confiscated it and added it to the +collection of other châteaux he had built, or confiscated, or had in +mind. Nothing very remarkable seems to have happened there--just the +usual things--plots, and liaisons, and intrigues of a general sort, with +now and then a chapter of real lovemaking, and certain marriages and +deaths--the latter hurried a little sometimes to accommodate the +impatient mourners. + +But how beautiful it is! Its towers, its stately façades, its rich +ornamentation reflected in the water of the wide stream that sweeps +about its base, a natural moat, its background of rich foliage--these, +in the gathering twilight, completed a picture such as Hawthorne could +have conceived, or Edgar Poe. + +I suppose it was too late to go inside, but we did not even apply. Like +Langeais, it belongs to France now, and I believe is something of a +museum, and rather modern. One could not risk carrying away anything +less than a perfect memory of Azay. + + + + +Chapter XXV + +TOURS + + +In the quest for outlying châteaux one is likely to forget that Tours +itself is very much worth while. Tours has been a city ever since France +had a history, and it fought against Cæsar as far back as 52 B.C. It +took its name from the Gallic tribe of that section, the Turoni, +dwellers in those cliffs, I dare say, along the Loire. + +Following the invasion of the Franks there came a line of counts who +ruled Touraine until the eleventh century. What the human aspect of this +delectable land was under their dominion is not very clear. The oldest +castle we have seen, Coudray, was not begun until the end of that +period. There are a thousand years behind it which seem filled mainly +with shields and battle axes, roving knights and fair ladies, +industrious dragons and the other properties of poetry. Yet there may +have been more prosaic things. Seedtime and harvest probably did not +fail. + +Tours was beloved by French royalty. It was the capital of a province as +rich as it was beautiful. Among French provinces Touraine was always the +aristocrat. Its language has been kept pure. To this day the purest +French in the world is spoken at Tours. The mechanic who made some +repairs for me at the garage leaned on the mud guard, during a brief +intermission of that hottest of days, and told me about the purity of +the French at Tours; and if there was anything wrong with his own +locution my ear was not fine enough to detect it. To me it seemed as +limpid as something distilled. Imagine such a thing happening in--say +New Haven. Tours is still proud, still the aristocrat, still royal. + +The Germans held Tours during the early months of 1871, but there is no +trace of their occupation now. It was a bad dream which Tours does not +care even to remember.[16] + +Tours contains a fine cathedral, also the remains of what must have been +a still finer one--two noble towers, so widely separated by streets and +buildings that it is hard to imagine them ever having belonged to one +structure. They are a part of the business of Tours, now. Shops are +under them, lodgings in them. If they should tumble down they would +create havoc. I was so sure they would crumble that we did not go into +them; besides, it was very warm. The great church which connected these +towers was dedicated to St. Martin, the same who divided his cloak with +a beggar at Amiens and became Bishop of Tours in the fourth century. It +was destroyed once and magnificently rebuilt, but it will never be +rebuilt now. One of these old relics is called the Clock tower, the +other the tower of Charlemagne, because Luitgard, his third queen, was +buried beneath it. + +The cathedral at the other end of town appears not to have suffered much +from the ravages of time and battle, though one of the towers was +undergoing some kind of repairs that required intricate and lofty +scaffolding. Most of the cathedrals are undergoing repairs, which is not +surprising when one remembers the dates of their beginnings. This one at +Tours was commenced in 1170 and the building continued during about four +hundred years. Joan of Arc worshiped in it when she was on her way to +Chinon and again when she had set out to relieve Orléans. + +The face of the cathedral is indeed beautiful--"a jewel," said Henry IV, +"of which only the casket is wanting." It does not seem to us as +beautiful as Rouen, or Amiens, or Chartres, but its fluted truncated +towers are peculiarly its own and hardly less impressive. + +The cathedral itself forms a casket for the real jewel--the tomb of the +two children of Charles VIII and Anne of Brittany, a little boy and +girl, exquisitely cut, resting side by side on a slab of black marble, +guarded at their head and feet by kneeling angels. Except the slab, the +tomb is in white marble carved with symbolic decorations. It is all so +delicate and conveys such a feeling of purity and tenderness that even +after four hundred years one cannot fail to feel something of the love +and sorrow that placed it there. + +Tours is full of landmarks and localities, but the intense heat of the +end of June is not a good time for city sight-seeing. We went about a +little and glanced at this old street--such as Place Plumeran--and that +old château, like the Tour de Guise, now a barrack, and passed the +Théâtre Municipal, and the house where Balzac was born, and stood +impressed and blinking before the great Palace of Justice, blazing in +the sun and made more brilliant, more dazzling by the intensely +red-legged soldiers that in couples and groups are always loitering +before it. I am convinced that to touch those red-hot trousers would +take the skin off one's fingers. + +We might have examined Tours more carefully if we had been driving +instead of walking. I have spoken of the car being in the garage. We +cracked the leaf of a spring that day at Chinon, and then our tires, old +and worn after five thousand miles of loyal service, required +reënforcement. They really required new ones, but our plan was to get +home with these if we could. Besides, one cannot buy new tires in +American sizes without sending a special order to the factory--a matter +of delay. The little man at the hotel, who had more energy than anyone +should display in such hot weather, pumped one of our back tires until +the shoe burst at the rim. This was serious. I got a heavy canvas +lining, and the garageman patched and vulcanized and sold me a variety +of appliances. But I could foresee trouble if the heat continued. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[16] Tours during the World War became a great training camp, familiar +to thousands of American soldiers. + + + + +Chapter XXVI + +CHENONCEAUX AND AMBOISE + + +(From my notebook) + + This morning we got away from Tours, but it was after a + strenuous time. It was one of those sweltering mornings, and + to forward matters at the garage I helped put on all those + repaired tires and appliances, and by the time we were + through I was a rag. Narcissa photographed me, because she + said she had never seen me look so interesting before. She + made me stand in the sun, bareheaded and holding a tube in + my hand, as if I had not enough to bear already. + +Oh, but it was cool and delicious gliding along the smooth, shaded road +toward Chenonceaux! One can almost afford to get as hot and sweltering +and cross and gasping as I was for the sake of sitting back and looking +across the wheel down a leafy avenue facing the breeze of your own +making, a delicious nectar that bathes you through and cools and rests +and soothes--an anodyne of peace. + +By and by, being really cool in mind and body, we drew up abreast of a +meadow which lay a little below the road, a place with a brook and +overspreading shade, and with some men and women harvesting not far +away. We thought they would not mind if we lunched there, and I think +they must have been as kind-hearted as they were picturesque, for they +did not offer to disturb us. It was a lovely spot, and did not seem to +belong to the present-day world at all. How could it, with the home of +Diana of Poitiers just over there beyond the trees, with nesting places +of Mary, Queen of Scots, all about, and with these haymakers, whose +fashion in clothes has not much minded the centuries, to add the living +human note of the past that makes imagination reality? + +Chenonceaux, the real heart of the royal district, like Chinon, is not +on the Loire itself, but on a small tributary, the Cher. I do not +remember that I noticed the river when we entered the grounds, but it is +a very important part of the château, which indeed is really a bridge +over it--a supremely beautiful bridge, to be sure, but a bridge none the +less, entirely crossing the pretty river by means of a series of high +foundation arches. Upon these arches rises the rare edifice which Thomas +Bohier, a receiver-general of taxes, began back in 1515 and Catherine +de' Medici finished after she had turned out Diana of Poitiers and +massacred the Huguenots, and needed a quiet place for retirement and +religious thought. Bohier did not extend Chenonceaux entirely across the +river. The river to him merely served as a moat. The son who followed +him did not have time to make additions. Francis I came along, noticed +that it was different from the other châteaux he had confiscated, and +added it to his collection. Our present-day collectors cut a poor figure +by the side of Francis I. Think of getting together assortments of bugs +and postage stamps and ginger jars when one could go out and pick up +châteaux! + +It was Francis's son, Henry II, that gave it to Diana of Poitiers. Henry +had his own kind of a collection and he used his papa's châteaux to keep +it in. As he picked about the best one for Diana, we may believe that he +regarded her as his choicest specimen. Unfortunately for Diana, Henry's +queen, the terrible Catherine, outlived him; and when, after the +funeral, Catherine drove around by Chenonceaux and suggested to Diana +that perhaps she would like to exchange the place for a very excellent +château farther up the road, Chaumont, we may assume that Diana moved +with no unseemly delay. Diana tactfully said she liked Chaumont ever so +much, for a change, that perhaps living on a hilltop was healthier than +over the water, anyway. Still, it must have made her sigh, I think, to +know that her successor was carrying out the plan which Diana herself +had conceived of extending Chenonceaux across the Cher. + +We stopped a little to look at the beautiful façade of Chenonceaux, then +crossed the drawbridge, or what is now the substitute for it, and were +welcomed at the door by just the proper person--a fine, dignified woman +of gentle voice and perfect knowledge. She showed us through the +beautiful home, for it is still a home, the property to-day of M. +Meunier of chocolate fame and fortune. I cannot say how glad I am that +M. Meunier owns Chenonceaux. He has done nothing to the place to spoil +it, and it is not a museum. The lower rooms which we saw have many of +the original furnishings. The ornaments, the tapestries, the pictures +are the same. I think Diana must have regretted leaving her fine +private room, with its chimney piece, supported by caryatids, and its +rare Flemish tapestry. We regretted leaving, too. We do not care for +interiors that have been overhauled and refurbished and made into +museums, but we were in no hurry to leave Chenonceaux. There is hardly +any place, I think, where one may come so nearly stepping back through +the centuries. + +We went out into the long wing that is built on the arches above the +river, and looked down at the water flowing below. Our conductor told us +that the supporting arches had been built on the foundations of an +ancient mill. The beautiful gallery which the bridge supports must have +known much gayety; much dancing and promenading up and down; much +lovemaking and some heartache. + +Jean Jacques Rousseau seems to have been everywhere. We could not run +amiss of him in eastern France and in Switzerland; now here again he +turns up at Chenonceaux. Chenonceaux in the eighteenth century fell to +M. Claude Dupin, farmer-general, who surrounded himself with the +foremost artists and social leaders of his time. He engaged Rousseau to +superintend the education of his son. + +"We amused ourselves greatly at this fine place," writes Rousseau; "the +living was of the best, and I became as fat as a monk. We made a great +deal of music and acted comedies." + +The period of M. Dupin's ownership, one of the most brilliant, and +certainly the most moral in the earlier history of Chenonceaux, has left +many memories. Of the brief, insipid honeymoon of the puny Francis II +and Mary Stuart no breath remains. + + * * * * * + +Amboise is on the Loire, and there is a good inn on the quay. It was +evening when we got there, and we did nothing after dinner but sit on +the high masonry embankment that buttresses the river, and watch the men +who fished, while the light faded from the water; though we occasionally +turned to look at the imposing profile of the great château on the high +cliff above the Loire. + +We drove up there next morning--that is, we drove as high as one may +drive, and climbed stairs the remaining distance. Amboise is a splendid +structure from without, but, unlike Chenonceaux, it is interesting +within only for what it has been. It is occupied by the superannuated +servants of the present owner, one of the Orléans family, which is fine +for them, and proper enough, but bad for the atmosphere. There are a +bareness and a whitewashed feeling about the place that are death to +romance. Even the circular inclined plane by which one may ride or drive +to the top of the great tower suggested some sort of temporary structure +at an amusement park rather than a convenience for kings. I was more +interested in a low doorway against the lintel of which Charles VIII +knocked his head and died. But I wish I could have picked Charles VII +for that accident, to punish him for having abandoned Joan of Arc. + +Though about a hundred years older, Amboise, like Chenonceaux, belongs +mainly to the period of Francis I, and was inhabited by the same +society. The Francises and the Henrys enjoyed its hospitality, and +Catherine de' Medici, and Mary, Queen of Scots. Also some twelve or +fifteen hundred Huguenots who were invited there, and, at Catherine's +suggestion, butchered on the terrace just in front of the castle +windows. There is a balcony overlooking the terrace, and it is said that +Catherine and Mary, also Mary's husband and his two brothers, sat on the +balcony better to observe the spectacle. Tradition does not say whether +they had ices served or not. Some of the Huguenots did not wait, and the +soldiers had to drown what they could catch of them in the Loire, +likewise in view from the royal balcony. When the show was over there +was suspended from the balcony a fringe of Huguenot heads. Those were +frivolous times. + +There is a flower garden to-day on the terrace where the Huguenots were +murdered, and one may imagine, if he chooses, the scarlet posies to be +brighter for that history. But then there are few enough places in +France where blossoms have not been richened by the human stain. +Consider those vivid seas of poppies! Mary Stuart, by the way, seems +entitled to all the pity that the centuries have accorded her. There +were few influences in her early life that were not vile. + +On the ramparts at Amboise we were shown a chapel, with the grave of +Leonardo Da Vinci, who was summoned to Amboise by Francis I, and died +there in 1519. There is a question about da Vinci's ashes resting here, +I believe, but it does not matter--it is his grave. + +If I were going back to Amboise I would view it only from the outside. +With its immense tower and its beautiful Gothic and Renaissance façade +surmounting the heights above the Loire, nothing--nothing in the world +could be more beautiful. + + + + +Chapter XXVII + +CHAMBORD AND CLÉRY + + +Francis I had a fine taste for collecting châteaux picturesquely +located, but when he built one for himself he located it in the most +unbeautiful situation in France. It requires patience and talent to find +monotony of prospect in France, but our hero succeeded, and discovered a +dead flat tract of thirteen thousand acres with an approach through as +dreary a level of unprosperous-looking farm district as may be found on +the continent of Europe. + +It is not on the Loire, but on a little stream called the Cosson, and +when we had left the Loire and found the country getting flatter and +poorer and less promising with every mile, we could not believe that we +were on the right road. But when we inquired, our informants still +pointed ahead, and by and by, in the midst of nowhere and surrounded by +nothing, we came to a great inclosure of undersized trees, with an +entrance. Driving in, we looked down a long avenue to an expanse of +architecture that seemed to be growing from a dead level of sandy park, +and to have attained about two thirds its proper height. + +An old man was raking around the entrance and we asked him if one was +allowed to lunch in the park. He said, "Oh yes, anywhere," and gave a +general wave that comprehended the whole tract. So we turned into a +side road and found a place that was shady enough, but not cool, for +there seemed to be no large overspreading trees in this park, but only +small, close, bushy ones. It is said that Francis built Chambord for two +reasons, one of them being the memory of an old sweetheart who used to +live in the neighborhood, the other on account of the abundant game to +be found there. I am inclined to the latter idea. There is nothing in +the location to suggest romance; there is everything to suggest game. +The twenty square miles of thicket that go with Chambord could hardly be +surpassed as a harbor for beast and bird. + +If Chambord was built, so to speak, as a sort of hunting lodge, it is +the largest one on record. Francis kept eighteen hundred men busy at it +for twelve years, and then did not get it done. He lived in it, more or +less, for some seven years, however; then went to Rambouillet to die, +and left his son, Henry II, to carry on the work. Henry did not care for +Chambord--the marshy place gave him fever, but he kept the building +going until he was killed in a tourney, when the construction stopped. +His widow, the bloody Catherine de' Medici, retired to Chambord in her +old age, and set the place in order. She was terribly superstitious and +surrounded herself with astrologers and soothsayers. At night she used +to go up to the great lantern tower to read her fortune in the stars. It +is my opinion that she did not go up there alone, not with that record +of hers. + +Mansard, who laid a blight on architecture that lasted for two hundred +years, once got hold of Chambord and spoiled what he could, and had +planned to do worse things, but something--death, perhaps--interfered. +That was when Louis XIV brought Queen Maria Theresa to Chambord, and +held high and splendid court there, surrounding himself with brilliant +men and women, among them Molière and the widow of the poet Scarron, +Françoise d'Aubigné, the same that later became queen, under the title +of Madame de Maintenon. That was the heyday of Chambord's history. A +large guardroom was gilded and converted into a theater. Molière gave +first presentations there and received public compliment from the king. +Diversion was the order of the day and night. + +"The court is very gay--the king hunts much," wrote Maintenon; "one eats +always with him; there is one day a ball, and the next a comedy." + +Nothing very startling has happened at Chambord since Louis' time. Its +tenants have been numerous enough, and royal, or distinguished, but they +could not maintain the pace set by Louis XIV. Stanislas Leckzinski, the +exiled Polish king, occupied it during the early years of the eighteenth +century, and succeeded in marrying his daughter to the dissolute Louis +XV. Seventy years later the revolution came along. An order was issued +to sell the contents of Chambord, and a greedy rabble came and stripped +it clean. There was a further decree to efface all signs of royalty, but +when it was discovered that every bit of carving within and without the +vast place expressed royalty in some manner, and that it would cost +twenty thousand dollars to cut it away, this project was happily +abandoned. Chambord was left empty but intact. Whatever has been done +since has been in the way of restoration. + +There is not a particle of shade around Chambord. It stands as bare and +exposed to the blazing sky to-day as it did when those eighteen hundred +workmen laid down their tools four hundred years ago. There is hardly a +shrub. Even the grass looks discouraged. A location, indeed, for a royal +palace! + +We left the car under the shade of a wall and crossed a dazzling open +space to the entrance of a court where we bought entrance tickets. Then +we crossed the blinding court and were in a cool place at last, the wide +castle entrance. We were surprised a little, though, to find a ticket +box and a registering turnstile. Things are on a business basis at +Chambord. I suppose the money collected is used for repairs. + +The best advertised feature of Chambord is the one you see first, the +great spiral double stairway arranged one flight above the other, so +that persons may be ascending without meeting others who are descending +at the same moment. Many persons would not visit Chambord but for this +special show feature. Our conductor made us ascend and descend to prove +that this unrivaled attraction would really work as advertised. It is +designed on the principle of the double stripes on a barber pole. + +But there are other worth-while features at Chambord. We wandered +through the great cool rooms, not furnished, yet not empty, containing +as they do some rare pictures, old statuary and historic furniture, +despoiled by the revolutionists, now restored to their original +setting. Chambord is not a museum. It belongs to a Duke of Parma, a +direct descendant from Louis XIV. Under Louis XVIII the estate was sold, +but in 1821 three hundred thousand dollars was raised by public +subscription to purchase the place for the remaining heir of the Bourbon +dynasty, the Duke of Bordeaux, who accepted with the gift the title of +the Count of Chambord. But he was in exile and did not come to see his +property for fifty years; even then only to write a letter renouncing +his claim to the throne and to say once more good-by to France. He +willed the property to the children of his sister, the Duchess of Parma, +and it is to the next generation that it belongs to-day. Our conductor +told us that the present Duke of Parma comes now and then for the +shooting, which is still of the best. + +We ascended to the roof, which is Chambord's chief ornament. It is an +architectural garden. Such elaboration of turrets with carved leafwork +and symbolism, such richness of incrustation and detail, did, in fact, +suggest some fantastic and fabulous culture. If it had not been all +fairly leaping with heat I should have wished to stay longer. + +But I would not care to go to Chambord again. As we drove down the long +drive, and turned a little for a last look at that enormous frontage, +those immense low towers, that superb roof structure--all that +magnificence dropped down there in a dreary level--I thought, "If ever a +house was a white elephant that one is, and if one had to rename it it +might well be called Francis's Folly." + +I suppose it was two hours later when we had been drifting drowsily up +the valley of the Loire that we stopped in a village for water. There +was an old church across the way, and as usual we stepped inside, as +much for the cool refreshment as for anything, expecting nothing else +worth while. + +How easily we might have missed the wealth we found there. We did not +know the name of the village. We did not recognize Cléry, even when we +heard it, and the guidebook gives it just four lines. But we had been +inside only a moment when we realized that the Church of Our Lady of +Cléry is an ancient and sacred shrine. A great tablet told us that since +1325 kings of France, sinners and saints have made pilgrimages there; +Charles IV, Philippe VI, Charles VII, St. François Xavier, and so down +the centuries to Marshal MacMahon of our own time. But to us greater +than all the rest are the names of Dunois and Joan of Arc. Joan had +passed this way with her army, of course; for the moment we had +forgotten that we were following her footsteps to Orléans. + +The place was rich in relics. Among these the tomb of Louis XI and a +column which inclosed the heart of Charles VIII. There could hardly have +been a shrine in France more venerated in the past than this forgotten +church by the roadside, in this forgotten village where, I suppose, +tourists to-day never stop at all. It was hard to believe in the reality +of our discovery, even when we stood there. But there were the tablets +and inscriptions--they could not be denied. + +We wandered about, finding something new and precious at every turn, +until the afternoon light faded. Then we crossed a long bridge over the +Loire to the larger village of Meung, where there was the Hôtel St. +Jacques, one of the kind we like best and one of the best of the kind. + + + + +Chapter XXVIII + +ORLÉANS + + +There is some sight-seeing to be done in Meung, but we were too anxious +to get to Orléans to stop for it. Yet we did not hurry through our last +summer morning along the Loire. I do not know what could be more lovely +than our leisurely hour--the distance was fifteen miles--under cool, +outspreading branches, with glimpses of the bright river and vistas of +happy fields. + +We did not even try to imagine, as we approached the outskirts, that the +Orléans of Joan's time presented anything of its appearance to-day. +Orléans is a modern, or modernized, city, and, except the river, there +could hardly be anything in the present prospect that Joan saw. That it +is the scene of her first military conquest and added its name to the +title by which she belongs to history is, however, enough to make it one +of the holy places of France. + +It has been always a military city, a place of battles. Cæsar burned it, +Attila attacked it, Clovis captured it--there was nearly always war of +one sort or another going on there. The English and Burgundians would +have had it in 1429 but for the arrival of Joan's army. Since then war +has visited Orléans less frequently. Its latest experience was with the +Germans who invested it in 1870-71. + +Joan was misled by her generals, whose faith in her was not complete. +Orléans lies on the north bank of the Loire; they brought her down on +the south bank, fearing the prowess of the enemy's forces. Discovering +the deception, the Maid promptly sent the main body of her troops back +some thirty-five miles to a safe crossing, and, taking a thousand men, +passed over the Loire and entered the city by a gate still held by the +French. That the city was not completely surrounded made it possible to +attack the enemy simultaneously from within and without, while her +presence among the Orléanese would inspire them with new hope and valor. +Mark Twain in his _Recollections_ pictures the great moment of her +entry. + + It was eight in the evening when she and her troops rode in + at the Burgundy gate.... She was riding a white horse, and + she carried in her hand the sacred sword of Fierbois. You + should have seen Orléans then. What a picture it was! Such + black seas of people, such a starry firmament of torches, + such roaring whirlwinds of welcome, such booming of bells + and thundering of cannon! It was as if the world was come to + an end. Everywhere in the glare of the torches one saw rank + upon rank of upturned white faces, the mouths wide open, + shouting, and the unchecked tears running down; Joan forged + her slow way through the solid masses, her mailed form + projecting above the pavement of heads like a silver statue. + The people about her struggled along, gazing up at her + through their tears with the rapt look of men and women who + believe they are seeing one who is divine; and always her + feet were being kissed by grateful folk, and such as failed + of that privilege touched her horse and then kissed their + fingers. + +This was the 29th of April. Nine days later, May 8, 1429, after some +fierce fighting during which Joan was severely wounded, the besiegers +were scattered, Orléans was free. Mark Twain writes: + + No other girl in all history has ever reached such a summit + of glory as Joan of Arc reached that day.... Orléans will + never forget the 8th of May, nor ever fail to celebrate it. + It is Joan of Arc's day--and holy. + +Two days, May 7th and 8th, are given each year to the celebration, and +Orléans in other ways has honored the memory of her deliverer. A wide +street bears her name, and there are noble statues, and a museum, and +holy church offerings. The Boucher home which sheltered Joan during her +sojourn in Orléans has been preserved; at least a house is still shown +as the Boucher house, though how much of the original structure remains +no one at this day seems willing to decide. + +We drove there first, for it is the only spot in Orléans that can claim +even a possibility of having known Joan's actual impress. It is a house +of the old cross-timber and brick architecture, and if these are not the +veritable walls that Joan saw they must at least bear a close +resemblance to those of the house of Jacques Boucher, treasurer of the +Duke of Orléans, where Joan was made welcome. The interior is less +convincing. It is ecclesiastical, and there is an air of general newness +and reconstruction about it that suggests nothing of that long-ago +occupancy. It was rather painful to linger, and we were inclined now to +hesitate at the thought of visiting the ancient home of Agnes Sorel, +where the Joan of Arc Museum is located. + +It would have been a mistake not to do so, however. It is only a few +doors away on the same street, rue du Tabour, and it is a fine old +mansion, genuinely old, and fairly overflowing with objects of every +conceivable sort relating to Joan of Arc. Books, statuary, paintings, +armor, banners, offerings, coins, medals, ornaments, engravings, +letters--thousands upon thousands of articles gathered there in the +Maid's memory. I think there is not one of them that her hand ever +touched, or that she ever saw, but in their entirety they convey, as +nothing else could, the reverence that Joan's memory has inspired during +the centuries that have gone since her presence made this sacred ground. +Until the revolution Orléans preserved Joan's banner, some of her +clothing, and other genuine relics; but then the mob burned them, +probably because Joan delivered France to royalty. One finds it rather +easy to forgive the revolutionary mob almost anything--certainly +anything more easily than such insane vandalism. We were shown an +ancient copy of the banner, still borne, I believe, in the annual +festivals. Baedeker speaks of arms and armor worn at the siege of +Orléans, but the guardian of the place was not willing to guarantee +their genuineness. I wish he had not thought it necessary to be so +honest. He did show us a photograph of Joan's signature, the original of +which belongs to one of her collateral descendants. She wrote it +"Jehanne," and her pen must have been guided by her secretary, Louis de +Conte, for Joan could neither read nor write. + +We drove to the Place Martroi to see the large equestrienne statue of +Joan by Foyatier, with reliefs by Vital Dubray. It is very imposing, +and the reliefs showing the great moments in Joan's career are really +fine. We did not care to hunt for other memorials. It was enough to +drive about the city trying to pick out a house here and there that +looked as if it might have been standing five hundred years, but if +there were any of that age--any that had looked upon the wild joy of +Joan's entrance and upon her triumphal departure, they were very few +indeed. + + + + +Chapter XXIX + +FONTAINEBLEAU + + +We turned north now, toward Fontainebleau, which we had touched a month +earlier on the way to Paris. It is a grand straight road from Orléans to +Fontainebleau, and it passes through Pithiviers, which did not look +especially interesting, though we discovered when it was too late that +it is noted for its almond cakes and lark pies. I wanted to go back +then, but the majority was against it. + +Late in the afternoon we entered for the second time the majestic forest +of Fontainebleau and by and by came to the palace and the little town, +and to a pretty hotel on a side street that was really a village inn for +comfort and welcome. There was still plenty of daylight, mellow, waning +daylight, and the palace was not far away. We would not wait for it +until morning. + +I think we most enjoy seeing palaces about the closing hours. There are +seldom any other visitors then, and the waning afternoon sunlight in the +vacant rooms mellows their garish emptiness, and seems somehow to bring +nearer the rich pageant of life and love and death that flowed by there +so long and then one day came to an end, and now it is not passing any +more. + +It was really closing time when we arrived at the palace, but the +custodian was lenient and for an hour we wandered through gorgeous +galleries, and salons, and suites of private apartments where queens and +kings lived gladly, loved madly, died sadly, for about four hundred +years. Francis I built Fontainebleau, on the site of a mediæval castle. +He was a hunter, and the forests of Fontainebleau, like those of +Chambord, were always famous hunting grounds. Louis XIII, who was born +in Fontainebleau, built the grand entrance staircase, from which two +hundred years later Napoleon Bonaparte would bid good-by to his generals +before starting for Elba. Other kings have added to the place and +embellished it; the last being Napoleon III, who built for Eugénie the +Bijou theater across the court. + +It may have been our mood, it may have been the tranquil evening light, +it may have been reality that Fontainebleau was more friendly, more +alive, more a place for living men and women to inhabit than any other +palace we have seen. It was hard to imagine Versailles as having ever +been a home for anybody. At Fontainebleau I felt that we were +intruding--that Madame de Maintenon, Marie Antoinette, Marie Louise, or +Eugénie might enter at any moment and find us there. Perhaps it was in +the apartments of Marie Antoinette that one felt this most. There is a +sort of personality in the gorgeousness of her bedchamber that has to +do, likely enough, with the memory of her tragic end, but certainly it +is there. The gilded ceiling sings of her; the satin hangings--a +marriage gift from the city of Lyons--breathe of her; even the iron +window-fastenings are not without personal utterance, for they were +wrought by the skillful hands of the king himself, out of his love for +her. + +The apartments of the first Napoleon and Marie Louise tell something, +too, but the story seems less intimate. Yet the table is there on which +Napoleon signed his abdication while an escort waited to take him to +Elba. + +For size and magnificence the library is the most impressive room in +Fontainebleau. It is lofty and splendid, and it is two hundred and +sixty-four feet long. It is called the gallery of Diana, after Diana of +Poitiers, who for a lady of tenuous moral fiber seems to have inspired +some pretty substantial memories. The ballroom, the finest in Europe, +also belongs to Diana, by special dedication of Henry II, who decorated +it magnificently to suit Diana's charms. Napoleon III gave great hunting +banquets there. Since then it has been always empty, except for +visitors. + +The custodian took us through a suite of rooms called the "Apartments of +the White Queens," because once they were restored for the widows of +French kings, who usually dressed in white. Napoleon used the rooms for +another purpose. He invited Pope Pius VII to Fontainebleau to sanction +his divorce from Josephine, and when the pope declined, Napoleon +prolonged the pope's visit for eighteen months, secluding him in this +luxurious place, to give him a chance to modify his views. They visited +together a good deal, and their interviews were not always calm. +Napoleon also wanted the pope to sign away the states of the Church, and +once when they were discussing the matter rather earnestly the emperor +boxed the pope's ears. He had a convincing way in those days. I wonder +if later, standing on the St. Helena headland, he ever recalled that +incident. If he did, I dare say it made him smile. + +The light was getting dim by the time we reached the pretty theater +which Louis Napoleon built for Eugénie. It is a very choice place, and +we were allowed to go on the stage and behind the scenes and up in the +galleries, and there was something in the dusky vacancy of that little +playhouse, built to amuse the last empress of France, that affected us +almost more than any of the rest of the palace, though it was built not +so long ago and its owner is still alive.[17] It is not used, the +custodian told us--has never been used since Eugénie went away. + +From a terrace back of the palace we looked out on a pretty lake where +Eugénie's son used to sail a miniature full-rigged ship--large enough, +if one could judge from a picture we saw, to have held the little prince +himself. There was still sunlight on the treetops, and these and the +prince's little pavilion reflecting in the tranquil water made the place +beautiful. But the little vessel was not there. I wished, as we watched, +that it might come sailing by. I wished that the prince had never been +exiled and that he had not grown up and gone to his death in a South +African jungle. I wished that he might be back to sail his ship again, +and that Eugénie might have her theater once more, and that Louis +Napoleon's hunting parties might still assemble in Diana's painted +ballroom and fill the vacant palace with something besides mere +curiosity and vain imaginings. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[17] She lived six years longer, dying in 1920. + + + + +Chapter XXX + +RHEIMS + + +We had meant to go to Barbizon, but we got lost in the forest next +morning, and when we found ourselves we were a good way in the direction +of Melun, so concluded to keep on, consoling ourselves with the thought +that Barbizon is not Barbizon any more, and would probably be a +disappointment, anyway. We kept on from Melun, also, after buying some +luncheon things, and all day traversed that beautiful rolling district +which lies east of Paris and below Rheims, arriving toward evening at +Épernay, the Sparnacum of antiquity and the champagne center of to-day. +Épernay was ancient once, but it is all new now, with wide streets and +every indication of business progress. We had no need to linger there. +We were anxious to get to Rheims. + +There had been heavy rains in the champagne district, and next morning +the gray sky and close air gave promise of more. The roads were not the +best, being rather slippery and uneven from the heavy traffic of the +wine carts. But the vine-covered hills between Épernay and Rheims, with +their dark-green matted leafage, seemed to us as richly productive as +anything in France. + +We were still in the hills when we looked down on the valley of the +Vesle and saw a city outspread there, and in its center the +architectural and ecclesiastical pride of the world, the cathedral of +Rheims. Large as the city was, that great central ornament dwarfed and +dominated its surroundings. Thus Joan of Arc had seen it when at the +head of her victorious army she conducted the king to Rheims for his +coronation. She was nearing the fulfillment of her assignment, the +completion of the great labor laid upon her by the voices of her saints. +Mark Twain tells of Joan's approach to Rheims, of the tide of cheers +that swept her ranks at the vision of the distant towers: + + And as for Joan of Arc, there where she sat her horse, + gazing, clothed all in white armor, dreamy, beautiful, and + in her face a deep, deep joy, a joy not of earth; oh, she + was not flesh, she was spiritual! Her sublime mission was + closing--closing in flawless triumph. To-morrow she could + say, "It is finished--let me go free." + +It was the 16th of July that Joan looked down upon Rheims, and now, four +hundred and eighty-five years later, it was again July, with the same +summer glory on the woods, the same green and scarlet in the poppied +fields, the same fair valley, the same stately towers rising to the sky. +But no one can ever feel what Joan felt, can ever put into words, ever +so faintly, what that moment and that vision meant to the Domremy +shepherd girl. + +Descending the plain, we entered the city, crossed a bridge, and made +our way to the cathedral square. Then presently we were at the doorway +where Joan and her king had entered--the portal which has been called +the most beautiful this side of Paradise. + +How little we dreamed that we were among the last to look upon it in its +glory--that disfigurement and destruction lay only a few weeks ahead! + +It is not required any more that one should write descriptively of the +church of Rheims. It has been done so thoroughly, and so often, by those +so highly qualified for the undertaking, that such supplementary remarks +as I might offer would hardly rise even to the dignity of an +impertinence. Pergussen, who must have been an authority, for the +guidebook quotes him, called it, "perhaps the most beautiful structure +produced in the Middle Ages." + + Nothing [he says] can exceed the majesty of its deeply + recessed portals, the beauty of the rose window that + surmounts them, or the elegance of the gallery that + completes the façade and serves as a basement to the light + and graceful towers that crown the composition. + +The cathedral was already two hundred years old when Joan arrived in +1429. But it must have looked quite fresh and new then, for, nearly five +centuries later, it seemed to have suffered little. Some of the five +hundred and thirty statues of its entrance were weatherworn and scarred, +but the general effect was not disturbed. + +Many kings had preceded Joan and her sovereign through the sacred +entrance. Long before the cathedral was built French sovereigns had come +to Rheims for their coronation, to be anointed with some drops of the +inexhaustible oil which a white dove had miraculously brought from +heaven for the baptism of Clovis. That had been nearly a thousand years +before, but in Joan's day the sacred vessel and its holy contents were +still preserved in the ancient abbey of St. Remi, and would be used for +the anointing of her king. The Archbishop of Rheims and his canons, with +a deputy of nobles, had been sent for the awesome relic, after the +nobles had sworn upon their lives to restore it to St. Remi when the +coronation was over. The abbot himself, attended by this splendid +escort, brought the precious vessel, and the crowd fell prostrate and +prayed while this holiest of objects, for it had been made in heaven, +passed by. We are told that the abbot, attended by the archbishop and +those others, entered the crowded church, followed by the five mounted +knights, who rode down the great central aisle, clear to the choir, and +then at a signal backed their prancing steeds all the distance to the +great doors. + +It was a mighty assemblage that had gathered for the crowning of Joan's +king. France, overrun by an invader, had known no real king for +years--had, indeed, well-nigh surrendered her nationality. Now the +saints themselves had taken up their cause, and in the person of a young +girl from an obscure village had given victory to their arms and brought +redemption to their throne. No wonder the vast church was packed and +that crowds were massed outside. From all directions had come pilgrims +to the great event--persons of every rank, among them two shepherds, +Joan's aged father and uncle, who had walked from Domremy, one hundred +and twenty miles, to verify with their own eyes what their ears could +not credit. + +Very likely the cathedral at Rheims has never known such a throng since +that day, nor heard such a mighty shout as went up when Joan and the +king, side by side, and followed by a splendid train, appeared at the +great side entrance and moved slowly to the altar. + +I think there must have fallen a deep hush then--a petrified stillness +that lasted through the long ceremonial, while every eye feasted itself +upon the young girl standing there at the king's side, holding her +victorious standard above him--the banner that "had borne the burden and +had earned the victory," as she would one day testify at her trial. I am +sure that vast throng would keep silence, scarcely breathing, until the +final word was spoken and the dauphin had accepted the crown and placed +it upon his head. But then we may hear borne faintly down the centuries +the roar of renewed shouting that told to those waiting without that the +great ceremony was ended, that Charles VII of France had been anointed +king. In the _Recollections_ Mark Twain makes the Sieur de Conte say: + + What a crash there was! All about us cries and cheers, and + the chanting of the choir and the groaning of the organ; and + outside the clamoring of the bells and the booming of the + cannon. + + The fantastic dream, the incredible dream, the impossible + dream of the peasant child stood fulfilled. + +It had become reality--perhaps in that old day it even _seemed_ +reality--but now, after five hundred years, it has become once more a +dream--to-day _our_ dream--and in the filmy picture we see the shepherd +girl on her knees, saying to the crowned king: + +"My work which was given me to do is finished; give me your peace and +let me go back to my mother, who is poor and old and has need of me." + +But the king raises her up and praises her and confers upon her nobility +and titles, and asks her to name a reward for her service, and in the +old dream we hear her ask favor for her village--that Domremy, "poor and +hard pressed by reason of the war," may have its taxes remitted. + +Nothing for herself--no more than that, and in the presence of all the +great assemblage Charles VII pronounces the decree that, by grace of +Joan of Arc, Domremy shall be free from taxes forever. + +Here within these walls it was all reality five hundred years ago. We do +not study this interior to discover special art values or to distinguish +in what manner it differs from others we have seen. For us the light +from its great rose window and upper arches is glorified because once it +fell upon Joan of Arc in that supreme moment when she saw her labor +finished and asked only that she might return to Domremy and her flocks. +The statuary in the niches are holy because they looked upon that scene, +the altar paving is sanctified because it felt the pressure of her feet. + +We wandered about the great place, but we came back again and again to +the altar, and, looking through the railing, dreamed once more of that +great moment when a frail shepherd girl began anew the history of +France. + +Back of the altar was a statue of Joan unlike any we have seen +elsewhere, and to us more beautiful. It was not Joan with her banner +aloft, her eyes upward. It was Joan with her eyes lowered, looking at no +outward thing, her face passive--the saddest face and the saddest eyes +in the world. It was Joan the sacrifice--of her people and her king. + + + + +Chapter XXXI + +ALONG THE MARNE + + +It may have been two miles out of Rheims that we met the flood. There +had been a heavy shower as we entered the city, but presently the sun +broke out, bright and hot, too bright and too hot for permanence. Now +suddenly all was black again, there was a roar of thunder, and then such +an opening of the water gates of the sky as would have disturbed Noah. +There was no thought of driving through such a torrent. I pulled over to +the side of the road, but the tall high-trimmed trees afforded no +protection. Our top was a shelter, but not a complete one--the wind +drove the water in, and in a moment our umbrellas were sticking out in +every direction, and we had huddled together like chickens. The water +seemed to fall solidly. The world was blotted out. I had the feeling at +moments that we were being swept down some great submarine current. + +I don't know how long the inundation lasted. It may have been five +minutes--it may have been thirty. Then suddenly it stopped--it was +over--the sun was out! + +There was then no mud in France--not in the high-roads--and a moment or +two later we had revived, our engine was going, and we were gliding +between fair fields--fresh shining fields where scarlet poppy patches +were as pools of blood. There is no lovelier land than the Marne +district, from Rheims to Chalons and to Vitry-le-François. It had often +been a war district--a battle ground, fought over time and again since +the ancient allies defeated Attila and his Huns there, checking the +purpose of the "Scourge of God," as he styled himself, to found a new +dynasty upon the wreck of Rome. It could never be a battle ground again, +we thought--the great nations were too advanced for war. Ah me! Within +two months from that day men were lying dead across that very road, +shells were tearing at the lovely fields, and another stain had mingled +with the trampled poppies. + +Chalons-sur-Marne, like Rheims and Épernay, is a champagne center and +prosperous. There were some churches there, but they did not seem of +great importance. We stopped for water at Vitry-le-François, a hot, +uninteresting-looking place, though it had played a part in much +history, and would presently play a part in much more. It was always an +outpost against vandal incursions from the north, and Francis I rebuilt +and strengthened it. + +At Vitry we left the Marne and kept the wide road eastward, for we were +bound now for the Vosges, for Domremy on the Meuse, Joan's starting +place. The sun burned again, the road got hot, and suddenly during the +afternoon one of our tires went off like a gun. + +One of our old shoes had blown out at the rim, and there was a doubtful +look about the others. Narcissa and I labored in the hot sun--for there +was no shade from those slim roadside poplars--and with inside patches +and outside patches managed to get in traveling order again, though +personally we were pretty limp by the time we were ready to move, and a +good deal disheartened. The prospect of reaching Vevey, our base of +supplies, without laying up somewhere to order new tires was not bright, +and it became even less so that evening, when in front of the hotel at +St. Dizier another tire pushed out at the rim, and in the gathering +dusk, surrounded by an audience, I had to make further repairs before I +could get into the garage. + +Early next morning I gave those tires all a pretty general overhauling. +I put in blow-out patches wherever there seemed to be a weak place and +doubled them at the broken spots. By the time I got done we were +carrying in our tires all the extra rubber and leather and general +aid-to-the-injured stuff that had formerly been under the back seat, and +I was obliged to make a trip around to the supply garages for more. +Fortunately the weather had changed overnight, and it was cool. Old +tires and even new ones hold better on cool roads. + +It turned still cooler as we proceeded--it became chilly--for the Fourth +of July it was winterish. At Chalons we had expended three whole francs +for a bottle of champagne for celebration purposes, and when we made our +luncheon camp in a sheltered cover of a pretty meadow where there was a +clear, racing brook, we were too cold to sit down, and drank standing a +toast to our national independence, and would have liked more of that +delicious liquid warmth, regardless of cost. There could hardly have +been a more beautiful spot than that, but I do not remember any place +where we were less inclined to linger. + +Yet how quickly weather can change. Within an hour it was warm +again--not hot, but mildly pleasant, even delightful. + + + + +Chapter XXXII + +DOMREMY + + +We were well down in the Vosges now and beginning to inquire for +Domremy. How strange it seemed to be actually making inquiries for a +place that always before had been just a part of an old legend--a +half-mythical story of a little girl who, tending her sheep, had heard +the voices of angels. One had the feeling that there could never really +be such a place at all, that, even had it once existed, it must have +vanished long ago; that to ask the way to it now would be like those who +in some old fairy tale come back after ages of enchantment and inquire +for places and people long forgotten. Domremy! No, it was not possible. +We should meet puzzled, blank looks, pitying smiles, in answer to our +queries. We should never find one able to point a way and say, "That is +the road to Domremy." One could as easily say "the road to Camelot." + +Yet there came a time when we must ask. We had been passing through +miles of wonderful forest, with regularly cut roads leading away at +intervals, suggesting a vast preserved estate, when we came out to an +open hill land, evidently a grazing country, with dividing roads and no +definite markings. So we stopped a humble-looking old man and +hesitatingly, rather falteringly, asked him the road to Domremy. He +regarded us a moment, then said very gently, pointing, "It is down there +just a little way." + +So we were near--quite near--perhaps even now passing a spot where Joan +had tended her sheep. Our informant turned to watch us pass. He knew why +we were going to Domremy. He could have been a descendant of those who +had played with Joan. + +Even now it was hard to believe that Domremy would be just an old +village, such a village as Joan had known, where humble folk led humble +lives tending their flocks and small acres. Very likely it had become a +tourist resort--a mere locality, with a hotel. It was only when we were +actually in the streets of a decaying, time-beaten little hamlet and +were told that this was indeed Domremy, the home of Joan of Arc, that we +awoke to the actuality of the place and to the realization that in +character at least it had not greatly changed. + +We drove to the church--an ancient, weatherworn little edifice. The +invaders destroyed it the same year that Joan set out on her march, but +when Joan had given safety to France the fragments were gathered and +rebuilt, so if it is not in its entirety the identical chapel where Joan +worshiped, it contains, at least, portions of the original structure and +stands upon the same ground. In front of the church is a bronze statue +of the Maid, and above the entrance a painting of Joan listening to the +voices. But these are modern. Inside are more precious things. + +It is a plain, humble interior, rather too fresh and new looking for +its antiquity, perhaps because of the whitened walls. But near the altar +there is an object that does not disappoint. It is an ancient baptismal +font--the original font of the little ruined chapel--the vessel in which +Joan of Arc was baptized. I think there can be no question of its +authenticity. It would be a holy object to the people of Domremy; to +them Joan was already a saint at the time of her death, and any object +that had served her was sacred. The relic dug from the ruined chapel +would be faithfully guarded, and there would be many still alive to +identify it when the church's restoration was complete and the ancient +vessel set in place. + +It seems a marvelous thing to be able to look upon an object that may be +regarded as the ceremonial starting point of a grace that was to redeem +a nation. Surely, if ever angels stood by to observe the rites of men +they gathered with those humble shepherd folk about the little basin +where a tiny soul was being consecrated to their special service. + +In the church also is the headstone from the grave of Joan's godmother, +with an ancient inscription which one may study out, and travel back a +long way. Near it is another object--one that ranks in honor with the +baptismal font--the statuette of St. Marguerite, before which Joan +prayed. Like the font this would be a holy thing, even in Joan's +lifetime, and would be preserved and handed down. To me it seems almost +too precious to remain in that ancient, perishing church. It is +something that Joan of Arc not only saw and touched, but to which she +gave spiritual adoration. To me it seems the most precious, the most +sacred relic in France. The old church appears so poor a protection for +it. Yet I should be sorry to see it taken elsewhere. + +[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF JOAN OF ARC] + +Joan's house is only a step away--a remnant of a house, for, though it +was not demolished like the church, it has suffered from alterations, +and portions of it were destroyed. Whatever remained at the time of +Louis XI would seem to have been preserved about as it was then, though +of course restored; the royal arms of France, with those accorded by +Charles VII to Joan and her family, were combined ornamentally above the +door with the date, 1481, and the inscription, in old French, "_Vive +labeur; vive le roy Loys._" The son of Joan's king must have felt that +it was proper to preserve the birthplace of the girl who had saved his +throne. + +Doubtless the main walls of the old house of Jacques d'Arc are the same +that Joan knew. Joan's mother lived there until 1438, and it was less +than fifty years later that Louis XI gave orders for the restoration. +The old walls were solidly built. It is not likely that they could have +fallen to complete ruin in that time. The rest is mainly new. + +What the inside of the old house was in Joan's time we can only imagine. +The entrance room was the general room, I suppose, and it was here, we +are told, that Joan was born. Mark Twain has imagined a scene in the +house of Jacques d'Arc where a hungry straggler comes one night and +knocks at the door and is admitted to the firelit room. He tells us how +Joan gave the wanderer her porridge--against her father's argument, for +those were times of sore stress--and how the stranger rewarded them all +with the great Song of Roland. The general room would be the setting of +that scene. + +Behind it is a little dungeon-like apartment which is shown as Joan's +chamber. The walls and ceiling of this poor place are very old; possibly +they are of Joan's time--no one can really say. In one wall there is a +recess, now protected by a heavy wire screen, which means that Joan set +up her shrine there, the St. Marguerite and her other holy things. She +would pray to them night and morning, but oftener I think she would +leave this dim prison for the consolation of the little church across +the way. + +The whole house is a kind of museum now, and the upper floor is +especially fitted with cases for books and souvenirs. + +In the grounds there is a fine statue by Mercié, and the whole place is +leafy and beautiful. It is not easy, however, to imagine there the +presence of Joan. That is easier in the crooked streets of the village, +and still easier along the river and the fields. The Fairy +Tree--_l'Arbre Fée de Bourlement_--where Joan and her comrades played, +and where later she heard the voices, is long since gone, and the spot +is marked by a church which we cared to view only from a distance. It +seems too bad that any church should be there, and especially that one. +The spot itself, marked by a mere tablet, or another tree, would be +enough. + +It was in January, 1429, that Joan and her uncle Laxart left Domremy for +Vaucouleurs to ask the governor to give her a military escort to the +uncrowned king at Chinon. She never came back. Less than half a year +later she had raised the siege at Orléans, fought Patay, and conducted +the king to his coronation at Rheims. She would have returned then, but +the king was afraid to let her go. Neither did he have the courage to +follow or support her brilliant leadership. He was weak and paltry. +When, as the result of his dalliance, she was captured at Compiègne, he +allowed her to suffer a year of wretched imprisonment, making no attempt +at rescue or ransom, and in the end to be burned at Rouen as a witch. + +I have read in an old French book an attempt to excuse the king, to show +that he did not have armed force enough to go to Joan's rescue, but I +failed to find there any evidence that he even contemplated such an +attempt. I do find that when Joan had been dead thirteen years and +France, strong and united, was safe for excursions, he made a trip to +Lorraine, accompanied by Dunois, Robert de Baudricourt, and others of +Joan's favorite generals. They visited Domremy, and Baudricourt pointed +out to the king that there seemed to be a sadness in the landscape. It +is said that this visit caused Charles to hasten the process of Joan's +rehabilitation--to reverse the verdict of heresy and idolatry and +witchcraft under which she had died. But as the new hearing did not +begin until eleven years after the king's visit to Domremy, nearly +twenty-five years after Joan's martyrdom, the word "hasten" does not +seem to apply. If Charles VII finally bestirred himself in that process, +it was rather to show before he died that he held his crown not by the +favor of Satan but of saints. + +The memory of Joan of Arc's fate must always be a bitter one to France, +and the generations have never ceased to make atonement. Her martyrdom +has seemed so unnecessary--such a reproach upon the nation she saved. + +Yet perhaps it was necessary. Joan in half a year had accomplished what +the French armies, without her, had been unable to do in three quarters +of a century--she had crippled the English power in France. Her work was +not finished--though defeated, the enemy still remained on French soil, +and unless relentlessly assailed would recover. After the coronation at +Rheims there would seem to have fallen, even upon Joan's loyal +followers, a reaction, a period of indifference and indolence. Joan's +fearful death at the stake awoke her people as nothing else could have +done. + +By a lonely roadside far up in Normandy we passed, one day, a small +stone column which recorded how upon this spot was delivered the battle +of Formigny, April 15th, in the year 1450, under the reign of Charles +VII, and how the French were victorious and the English armies forced to +abandon Norman soil. Joan of Arc had been dead nineteen years when that +final battle was fought, but it was her spirit that gave the victory. + + + + +Chapter XXXIII + +STRASSBURG AND THE BLACK FOREST + + +Our tires were distressingly bad now. I had to do some quick repairing +at Domremy, also between Domremy and Vaucouleurs, where we spent the +night. Then next morning at Vaucouleurs, in an unfrequented back street +behind our ancient inn, I established a general overhauling plant, and +patched and relined and trepanned during almost an entire forenoon, +while the rest of the family scoured the town for the materials. We put +in most of our time at Vaucouleurs in this way. However, there was +really little to see in the old town. Our inn was as ancient as +anything, and our landlord assured us that Joan's knights probably +stopped there, and even Uncle Laxart, but he could not produce his +register to prove it. There are the remains of the château where Joan is +said to have met the governor, and a monument to the Maid's memory has +been begun, but remains unfinished through lack of funds. The real +interest in Vaucouleurs, to-day, is that it was the starting point of +Joan's great march. One could reflect upon that and repair tires +simultaneously. + +We got away in time to have luncheon in the beautiful country below +Toul, and then kept on to Nancy. At both places there seemed to be +nothing but soldiers and barracks, and one did not have to get out of +the car to see those. Not that Nancy is not a fine big town, but its +cathedral and its Arch of Triumph are both of the eighteenth century. +Such things seemed rather raw and new, while museums did not interest us +any more. + +Lorraine itself is beautiful. It seemed especially fair where we crossed +the line into Germany, and we did not wonder that France could not +forget her loss of that fertile land. There was no difficulty at the +customs. We were politely O. K.'d by the French officials and +courteously passed by the Germans, with no examination beyond our +_triptyques_. Then another stretch of fine road and fair fields, and we +were in a village of cobbled streets and soldiers--German soldiers--and +were told that it was Dieuze; also that there was an inn--a very good +inn--a little way down the street. So there was--an inn where they spoke +French and German and even a variety of English, and had plenty of good +food and good beds for a very modest sum indeed. Dieuze was soon to +become a war town, but beyond a few soldiers--nothing unusual--we saw no +signs of it that first week in July. + +[Illustration: STRASSBURG, SHOWING THE CATHEDRAL] + +Strassburg was our next stopping place. We put in a day there wandering +about its fine streets, looking at its picturesque old houses, its royal +palace, and its cathedral. I do not think we cared for the cathedral as +we did for those of France. It is very old and very wonderful, and +exhibits every form of architecture that has been employed in church +building for nearly a thousand years; but in spite of its great size, +its imposing height, its rich façade, there was something repellant +about it all, and particularly in its great bare interior. It seemed to +lack a certain light of romance, of poetry, of spiritual sympathy that +belongs to every French church of whatever size. + +And we were disappointed in the wonderful clock. It was very wonderful, +no doubt, but we had expected too much. We waited for an hour for the +great midday exhibition, and collected with a jam of other visitors in +the little clock chapel, expecting all the things to happen that we had +dreamed of since childhood. They all did happen, too, but they came so +deliberately and with so little liveliness of demonstration that one had +to watch pretty closely sometimes to know that anything was happening at +all. I think I, for one, had expected that the saints and apostles, and +the months and seasons, would all come out and do a grand walk around to +lively music. As for the rooster that crows, he does not crow as well as +Narcissa, who has the gift of imitation and could have astonished that +crowd if she had let me persuade her to try. + +There have been several of these Strassburg clocks. There was one of +them in the cathedral as far back as 1352. It ran for about two +centuries, when another, finished in 1574, took its place. The mechanism +of the new clock was worn out in another two centuries, but its +framework forms a portion of the great clock of to-day, which dates from +1840. It does a number of very wonderful things, but in this age of +contrivance, when men have made mechanical marvels past all belief, the +wonder of the Strassburg clock is largely traditional. The rooster that +crows and flaps his wings is really the chief feature, for it is the +rooster of the original clock, and thus has daily amused the generations +for five hundred years. + +Gutenberg, the first printer, began his earliest experiments in a +cloister outside the Strassburg gates, and there is a small public +square named for him, and in the center of it a fine statue with relief +groups of the great printers of all nations. Of course Franklin was +there and some other Americans. It gave us a sort of proprietary +interest in that neighborhood, and a kindly feeling for the city in +general. + +It was afternoon when we left Strassburg, and by nightfall we were in +the Black Forest--farther in than we had intended to be, by a good deal. +With our tires in a steady decline we had no intention of wandering off +into dark depths inhabited by fairies and woodcutters and full of weird +enchantments, with all of which Grimm's tales had made us quite +familiar. We had intended merely to go in a little way, by a main road +that would presently take us to Freiburg, where there would be a new +supply of patches and linings, and even a possibility of tires, in case +our need became very sore. + +But the Black Forest made good its reputation for enchantments. When we +came to the spot where, by our map, the road should lead to Freiburg, +there were only a deserted mill, with a black depth of pine growing +where the road should have been. Following along, we found ourselves +getting deeper and deeper into the thick forest, while the lonely road +became steeper and narrower and more and more awesome in the gathering +evening. There were no villages, no more houses of any kind. There had +been rain and the steep hills grew harder to climb. But perhaps a good +fairy was helping us, too, a little, for our crippled tires held. Each +time we mounted a perpendicular crest I listened for the back ones to +go, but they remained firm. + +By and by we started down--down _where_ we had no notion--but certainly +down. Being under a spell, I forgot to put on the engine brake, and by +the time we were halfway down the hill the brake bands were hot and +smoking. By the time we were down the greasy linings were afire. There +was a brook there, and we stopped and poured water on our hot-boxes and +waited for them to cool. A woodcutter--he must have been one, for only +woodcutters and fairies live in the Black Forest--came along and told us +we must go to Haslach--that there was no other road to Freiburg, unless +we turned around and went back nearly to Strassburg. I would not have +gone back up that hill and through those darkening woods for much money. +So we went on and presently came out into a more open space, and some +houses; then we came to Haslach. + +By our map we were in the depths of the Schwarzwald, and by observation +we could see that we were in an old, beautiful village, of the right +sort for that locality, and in front of a big inn, where frauleins came +out to take our bags and show us up to big rooms--rooms that had great +billowy beds, with other billowy beds for covering. After all, the +enchantment was not so bad. And the supper that night of _Wiener +schnitzel_ and _pfannekuchen_ was certainly good, and hot, and plentiful +beyond belief. + +But there was more trouble next morning. One of those old back tires was +in a desperate condition, and trying to improve it I seemed to make +matters worse. I took it off and put in a row of blow-out patches all +the way around, after which the inner tubes popped as fast as I could +put them in and blow them up. Three times I yanked that tire off, and +then it began to occur to me that all those inside patches took up too +much room. It would have occurred to any other man sooner, but it takes +a long and violent period of pumping exercise to get a brain like mine +really loosened up once it is caked by a good night's sleep. + +So I yanked those patches out and put on our last hope--a spare tire in +fairly decent condition, and patiently patched those bursted tubes--all +of which work was done in a hot place under the eyes of a kindly but +maddening audience. + +Three times in the lovely land between Haslach and Freiburg Narcissa and +I had to take off a tire and change tubes, those new patches being not +air-proof. Still, we got on, and the scenery made up for a good deal. +Nothing could be more picturesque than the Black Forest houses, with +their great overhanging thatched roofs--their rows and clusters of +little windows, their galleries and ladders, and their clinging vines. +And what kindly people they are. Many of the roads are lined with cherry +trees and this was cherry season. The trees were full of gatherers, and +we had only to stop and offer to buy to have them load us with the +delicious black fruit, the sweetest, juiciest cherries in the world. +They accepted money, but reluctantly; they seemed to prefer to give them +to us, and more than once a boy or a man ran along by the car and threw +in a great loaded branch, and laughed, and waved and wished us _gute +reise_. But this had happened to us in France, too, in the Lorraine. + + + + +Chapter XXXIV + +A LAND WHERE STORKS LIVE + + +We were at Freiburg in the lower edge of the Black Forest some time +during the afternoon, one of the cleanest cities I have ever seen, one +of the richest in color scheme. Large towns are not likely to be +picturesque, but Freiburg, in spite of its general freshness, has a look +of solid antiquity--an antiquity that has not been allowed to go to +seed. Many of the houses, including the cathedral, are built of a rich +red stone, and some of them have outer decorations, and nearly all of +them have beautiful flowers in the windows and along the balconies. I +should think a dweller in Freiburg would love the place. + +Freiburg has been, and still is, celebrated for many things; its +universities, its cathedral, its ancient buildings, in recent years for +its discovery of "twilight sleep," the latest boon which science has +offered to sorrow-laden humanity. + +It is a curious road from Freiburg to Basle. Sometimes it is a highway, +sometimes it is merely a farm road across fields. More than once we felt +sure we were lost and must presently bring up in a farmyard. Then +suddenly we would be between fine hedges or trees, on a wide road +entering a village. + +We had seen no storks when we left Freiburg. We had been told there were +some in Strassburg, but no one had been able to point them out. We were +disappointed, for we had pictured in our minds that, once really in the +Black Forest, there would be, in almost any direction, a tall chimney +surmounted by a big brushy nest, with a stork sitting in it, and +standing by, supported on one very slim, very long, very perpendicular +leg, another stork, keeping guard. This is the picture we had seen many +times in the books, and we were grieved, even rather resentful, that it +was not to be found in reality. We decided that it probably belonged +only in the books, fairy books, and that while there might have been +storks once, just as there had once been fairies, they had disappeared +from mortal vision about the same time--that nobody in late years had +really seen storks--that-- + +But just then we really saw some ourselves--sure-enough storks on an old +steeple, two of them, exactly as they always are in the pictures, one +nice mother stork sitting in a brushy nest and one nice father stork +standing on his stiff, perpendicular leg. + +We stopped the car to gaze. The church was in an old lost-looking +village, which this stork seemed to own, for there were no others, and +the few people we saw did not appear to have anything like the stork's +proprietary interest. We could hardly take our eyes from that old +picture, suddenly made reality. + +We concluded, however, that it was probably the only stork family in +Germany; but that, also, was a mistake. A little farther along, at +another village, was another old stubby steeple, and another pair of +storks, both standing this time, probably to see us go by. Every +village had them now, but I think in only one village did we see more +than a single pair. That little corner of the Schwarzwald will always +remain to us a part separated from the rest of the world--a sort of +back-water of fairyland. + +The German customs office is on one side of a road, the Swiss on the +other, and we stopped in a shady place and interviewed both. We did not +dread these encounters any more. We had long since learned that if there +was one class of persons abroad likely to be more courteous than others +to travelers, that class is the customs officials. + +This particular frontier was in the edge of Basle, and presently we had +crossed a bridge and were in the city, a big, beautiful city, though not +so handsome as Freiburg, not so rich in color, not quite so clean and +floral. + +We did not stop in Basle. There are wonders to be seen, but, all things +considered, we thought it better to go on. With good luck we might reach +Vevey next day, our European headquarters and base of supplies. We had +been more than two months on the road already; it was important that we +get to headquarters--more important than we knew. + + + + +Chapter XXXV + +BACK TO VEVEY + + +So we went wandering through a rather unpopulous, semi-mountainous +land--a prosperous land, from the look of it, with big isolated factory +plants here and there by strongly flowing streams. They seemed to be +making almost everything along those streams. The Swiss are an +industrious people. Toward evening we came to a place we had never heard +of before, a town of size and of lofty buildings--a place of much +manufacturing, completely lost up in the hills, by name Moutier. It was +better not to go farther that night, for I could see by our road map +that there was going to be some steep climbing between Moutier and the +Lake Geneva slope. There are at least two divides between Moutier and +Geneva, and Swiss watersheds are something more than mere gentle slopes +such as one might meet in Ohio, for instance, or Illinois. They are +generally scrambles--they sometimes resemble ladders, though the road +surface is usually pretty good, with a few notable exceptions. We met +one of these exceptions next morning below Moutier. There had been +rains, and the slippery roads between those perpendicular skyscraping +bluffs had not dried at all. Our route followed a rushing stream a +little way; then it turned into the hill, and at that point I saw ahead +of me a road that was not a road at all, but a semi-perpendicular wallow +of mud and stone that went writhing up and up until it was lost +somewhere among the trees. I had expected a good deal, but nothing as +bad as this. I gave one wild, hopeless thought to our poor crippled rear +tires, threw the lever from third to second, from second back to first, +and let in every ounce of gasoline the engine would take. It really +never occurred to me that we were going to make it. I did not believe +anything could hold in that mud, and I expected in another minute to be +on the side of the road, with nothing to do but hunt up an ox-team. +Whir! slop! slosh! slide!--grind!--on one side and on the other--into a +hole and out of it, bump! thump! bang!--why, certainly we are climbing, +but we would never make the top, never in the world--it was hardly to be +expected of any car; and with those old tires! Never mind, we would go +till we stalled, or skidded out of the road. + +We were at the turn! We had made the turn! We were going straight up the +last rise! Only a little more, now--ten feet--five feet, _six inches_! +_Hooray!_ we were on top of the hill, b'gosh! + +I got out and looked at the back tires. It was incredible, impossible, +but they were as sound and solid as when we left Moutier. Practically +our whole weight had been on those tires all the way up that fearful +log-haul, for that is what it was, yet those old tubes and outer +envelopes had not shown a sign. Explain it if you can. + +There was really no trouble after that. There were hills, but the roads +were good. Our last day was a panorama of Swiss scenery in every form; +deep gorges where we stopped on bridges to look down at rushing torrents +far below; lofty mountains with narrow, skirting roads; beautiful +water-fronts and lake towns along the lakes of Biel and Neufchâtel, a +final luncheon under a great spreading shade--a birthday luncheon, as it +happened--and then, toward the end of the lovely July afternoon, a +sudden vision, from high harvest meadows, of the snow-clad mountaintops +beyond Lake Geneva--the peaks of the true Alps. And presently one saw +the lake itself, the water--hazy, dreamy, summery, with little steamers +so gay and toylike, plying up and down--all far below us as yet, for we +were still among the high hayfields, where harvesters were pitching and +raking, while before and behind us our road was a procession of hay +wagons. + +It was a continuous coast, now, down to Lausanne--the lake, as it +seemed, rising up to meet us, its colors and outlines becoming more +vivid, the lofty mountains beyond it approaching a little nearer, while +almost underneath us a beautiful city was gleaming in the late afternoon +sunshine. + +We were by this time among the vineyards that terrace those south-facing +steeps to the water's edge. Then we were at the outskirts of the city +itself, still descending, still coasting, for Lausanne is built mainly +on a mountainside. When we came to a comparative level at last, we were +crossing a great bridge--one of those that tie the several slopes of the +city together; then presently we were at St. Frances's church, the +chief center, and felt almost at home, for we had been here a good many +times before. + +We did not stop. Vevey was twelve miles down the lake--we had a feverish +desire to arrive there without having to pump those tires again, if +possible. Leisurely, happily, we covered that final lap of our long +tour. There is no more beautiful drive in Europe than that along Lake +Geneva, from Lausanne to Vevey on a summer evening, and there never was +a calmer, sweeter summer evening than that of our return. Oh, one must +drive slowly on such an evening! We were anxious to arrive, but not to +have the drive ended. Far down the lake the little towns we knew so well +began to appear--Territet, Montreux, Clarens, Vevey la Tour--we could +even make out the towers of Chillon. Then we passed below the ancient +village hanging to the mountainside, and there was Vevey, and there at +its outskirts our pretty hotel with its big gay garden, the blue lake +just in front, the driveway open. A moment more and the best landlady in +Europe was welcoming us in the most musical French and German in the +world. Our long round was ended--three thousand miles of the happiest +travel to be found this side of paradise. By and by I went out to look +at our faithful car in the little hotel garage. It had stood up to the +last moment on those old tires. I suppose then the tension was too much. +The left rear was quite flat. + + + + +Chapter XXXVI + +THE GREAT UPHEAVAL + + +It was the 10th of July that we returned to Vevey, and it was just three +weeks later that the world--a world of peace and the social interchange +of nations--came to an end. + +We had heard at Tours of the assassination of the Austrian archduke and +his duchess, but no thought of the long-threatened European war entered +our minds. Neither did we discover later any indications of it. If there +was any tension along the Franco-German border we failed to notice it. +Arriving at Vevey, there seemed not a ripple on the drowsy summer days. +Even when Austria finally sent her ultimatum to Serbia there was +scarcely a suggestion of war talk. We had all the nations in our hotel, +but they assembled harmoniously in the little reading room after dinner +over the papers and innocuous games, and if the situation was discussed +at all, the word "arbitration" was oftenest heard. + +Neither did the news come to us gradually or gently. It came like a +bomb, exploded one evening by Billy Baker, an American boy of sixteen +and a bulletin of sorts. Billy had been for his customary after-dinner +walk uptown, and it was clear the instant he plunged in that he had +gathered something unusual. + +"Say, folks," he burst out, "did you know that Austria has declared war +against Serbia and is bombarding Belgrade, and now all the others are +going to declare, and that us Americans have got to beat it for home?" + +There was a general stir. Billy's items were often delivered in this +abrupt way, but his news facts were seldom questioned. He went on, +adding a quick, crisp detail, while the varied nationalities assumed +attitudes of attention. The little group around the green center table +forgot what they were there for. I had just drawn a spade when I needed +a heart, and did not mind the diversion. Billy concluded his dispatches: + +"We've all got to beat it, you know, _now_, before all the ships and +trains and things are used for mobilization and before the fighting +begins. If we don't we'll have to stay here all winter." Then, his +mission finished, Billy in his prompt way pulled a chair to the table. +"Let me in this, will you?" he said. "I feel awfully lucky to-night." + +Americans laugh at most things. We laughed now at Billy Baker--at the +dramatic manner of his news, with its picturesque even if stupendous +possibilities--at the vision in everyone's mind of a horde of American +tourists "beating it" out of Europe at the first drum-roll of war. + +But not all in the room laughed. The "little countesses"--two Russian +girls--and their white-haired companion, talked rapidly and earnestly +together in low voices. The retired French admiral--old and +invalided--rose, his long cape flung back across his shoulder, and +walked feebly up and down, stopping at each turn to speak to his aged +wife, who sat with their son, himself an officer on leave. An English +judge, with a son at home, fraternized with the Americans and tried to +be gay with them, but his mirth lacked freedom. A German family +instinctively separated themselves from the others and presently were no +longer in the room. Even one of the Americans--a Southern girl--laughed +rather hysterically: + +"All my baggage but one suit case is stored in Frankfort," she said. "If +Germany goes to war I'll have a gay time getting it." + +Morning brought confirmation of Billy Baker's news, at least so far as +Austria's action was concerned, and the imminence of what promised to be +a concerted movement of other great nations toward war. It was said that +Russia was already mobilizing--that troops were in motion in Germany and +in France. That night, or it may have been the next, a telegram came for +the young French officer, summoning him to his regiment. His little son +of nine or ten raced about excitedly. + +"_L'Allmagne a mobilisé--mon père va à la guerre!_" + +The old admiral, too feeble, almost, to be out of bed, seemed to take on +a new bearing. + +"I thought I was done with war," he said. "I am an invalid, and they +could not call on me. But if France is attacked I shall go and fight +once more for my country." + +The German family--there were two grown sons in it--had already +disappeared. + +It was about the third morning that I took a walk down to the American +Consulate. I had been there before, but had not found it exciting. It +had been a place of silence and inactivity. There were generally a few +flies drifting about, and a bored-looking man who spent an hour or two +there morning and afternoon, killing time and glad of any little +diversion in the way of company. + +The Consulate was no longer a place of silence and buzzing flies. +There was buzzing in plenty, but it was made by my fellow +countrymen--country-women, most of them--who were indeed making things +hum. I don't know whether the consul was bored or not. I know he was +answering questions at the rate of one per second, and even so not +keeping up with the demand for information. + +"Is there going to be a war?" "Is England going into it?" "Has Germany +declared yet?" "Will we be safe in Switzerland?" "Will all Americans be +ordered home?" "Are the trains going to be stopped?" "Will we have to +have passports?" "I have got a sailing in September. Will the ships be +running then?" "How can I send a letter to my husband in Germany?" "How +about money? Are the Swiss banks going to stop payment on letters of +credit?"--these, repeated in every varying form, and a hundred other +inquiries that only a first-class registered clairvoyant could have +answered with confidence. The consul was good-natured. He was also an +optimist. His replies in general conveyed the suggestion to "keep cool," +that everything was going to be all right. + +The Swiss banks, however, did stop payment on letters of credit and +various forms of checks forthwith. I had a very pretty-looking check +myself, and a day or two before I had been haggling with the bank man +over the rate of exchange, which had been gently declining. I said I +would hold it for better terms. But on the day that Germany declared war +I decided to cash it, anyway, just to have a little extra money in +case-- + +Oh, well, never mind the details. I didn't cash it. The bank man looked +at it, smiled feebly, and pointed to a notice on the wall. It was in +French, but it was an "easy lesson." It said: + + No more checks or letters of credit cashed until further + notice. + + By order of the Association. + +I don't know yet what "Association" it was that was heartless enough to +give an order like that, but I hoped it would live to repent it. The +bank man said that in view of my position as a depositor he might be +induced to advance me 10 per cent of the amount of the check. The next +day he even refused to take it for collection. Switzerland is prudent; +she had mobilized her army about the second day and sent it to the +frontier. We had been down to the big market place to see it go. I never +saw anything more quiet--more orderly. She had mobilized her cash in the +same prompt, orderly fashion and sent it into safe retirement. + +It was a sorrowful time, and it was not merely American--it was +international. Switzerland never saw such a "busted community" as her +tourists presented during August, 1914. Every day was Black Friday. +Almost nobody had any real money. A Russian nobleman in our hotel with a +letter of credit and a roll of national currency could not pay for his +afternoon tea. The little countesses had to stop buying chocolates. An +American army officer, retired, was unable to meet his laundry bill. +Even Swiss bank notes (there were none less than fifty francs in the +beginning) were of small service, for there was no change. All the +silver had disappeared as if it had suddenly dissolved. As for +gold--lately so plentiful--one no longer even uttered the _word_ without +emotion. Getting away, "beating it," as Billy had expressed it, was +still a matter of prime importance, but it had taken second place. The +immediate question was how and where to get money for the "beating" +process. The whole talk was money. Any little group collected on the +street might begin by discussing the war, but, in whatever language, the +discussion drifted presently to finance. The optimistic consul was still +reassuring. To some he advanced funds--he was more liberal than the Bank +of Switzerland. + +There was a percentage, of course--a lucky few--who had money, and these +were getting away. There were enough of them along the Simplon Railway +to crowd the trains. Every train for Paris went through with the seats +and aisles full. All schedules were disordered. There was no telling +when a train would come, or when it would arrive in Paris. Billy Baker +promptly mobilized his party and they left sometime in the night--or it +may have been in the morning, after a night of waiting. It was the last +regular train to go. We did not learn of its fortunes. + +No word came back from those who left us. They all went with promises to +let us know, but a veil dropped behind them. They were as those who pass +beyond the things of earth. We heard something of their belongings, +however. Sometimes on clear days a new range of mountains seemed to be +growing in the west. It was thought to be the American baggage heaped on +the French frontier. Very likely our friends wrote to us, but there was +no more mail. The last American, French, and English letters came August +3d. The last Paris _Herald_ hung on the hotel file and became dingy and +tattered with rereading. No mails went out. One could amuse himself by +writing letters and dropping them in the post office, but he would know, +when he passed a week later, that they had remained there. You could +still cable, if you wished to do so--in French--and there must have been +a scramble in America for French dictionaries, and a brisk hunting for +the English equivalents of whatever terse Berlitz idiom was used to +convey: + +"Money in a hurry--dead broke." + +Various economies began to be planned or practiced. Guests began to do +without afternoon tea, or to make it themselves in their rooms. Few were +paying their hotel bills, yet some went to cheaper places, frightened at +the reckoning that was piling up against settling day. Others, with a +little store of money, took very modest apartments and did light +housekeeping to stretch their dwindling substance. Some, even among +those at the hotels, in view of the general uncertainty, began to lay +in tinned meats and other durable food against a time of scarcity. It +was said that Switzerland, surrounded by war, would presently be short +of provisions. Indeed, grocers, by order of the authorities, had already +cut down the sale of staples, and no more than a pound or two of any one +article was sold to a single purchaser. Hotels were obliged to send +their servants, one after another, and even their guests, to get enough +sugar and coffee and salt to go around. Hotel bills of fare--always +lavish in Switzerland--began to be cut down, by _request of the guests +themselves_. It was a time to worry, or--to "beat it" for home. + +We fell into the habit of visiting the Consulate each morning. When we +had looked over the little local French paper and found what new nations +had declared war against Germany overnight, we strolled down to read the +bulletins on the Consulate windows, which generally told us what steamer +lines had been discontinued, and how we couldn't get money on our checks +and letters of credit. Inside, an active commerce was in progress. No +passport had been issued from that Consulate for years. Nobody in Europe +needed one. You could pass about as freely from Switzerland to France or +Germany as you could from Delaware to New Jersey. + +Things were different now. With all Europe going to war, passports +properly viséd were as necessary as train tickets. The consul, swamped +with applications, had called for volunteers, and at several little +tables young men were saying that they did not know most of the things +those anxious people--women, mainly--were asking about, but that +everything would surely be all right, soon. Meantime, they were helping +their questioners make out applications for passports. + +There were applications for special things--personal things. There was a +woman who had a husband lost somewhere in Germany and was convinced he +would be shot as a spy. There was a man who had been appointed to a post +office in America and was fearful of losing it if he did not get home +immediately. There were anxious-faced little school-teachers who had +saved for years to pay for a few weeks abroad, and were now with only +some useless travelers' checks and a return ticket on a steamer which +they could not reach, and which might not sail even if they reached it. +And what of their positions in America? Theirs were the sorrowful cases, +and there were others. + +But the crowd was good-natured, as a whole--Americans are generally +that. The stranded ones saw humor in their situation, and confessed to +one another--friends and strangers alike--their poverty and their +predicaments, laughing a good deal, as Americans will. But there were +anxious faces, too, and everybody wanted to know a number of things, +which he asked of everybody else, and of the consul--oh, especially of +the consul--until that good-natured soul was obliged to take an annex +office upstairs where he could attend to the manufacture of passports, +while downstairs a Brooklyn judge was appointed to supervise matters and +deal out official information in judicial form. + +The judge was qualified for his appointment. Every morning before ten +o'clock--opening time--he got together all the matters--letters, +telegrams, and the like--that would be apt to interest the crowd, and +dealt this substance out in a speech, at the end of which he invited +inquiries on any point he had failed to make clear. + +He got them, too--mainly questions that he had already answered, because +there is a type of mind which does not consider information valid unless +delivered to it individually and, in person. I remember, once, when +among other wild rumors it had been reported that because of the food +scarcity all foreigners would be ordered out of Switzerland in five +days, a woman who had listened attentively to the judge's positive and +thrice-repeated denial of this canard promptly asked him if she could +stay in Switzerland if she wanted to. + +The judge's speech became the chief interest of the day. It was the +regular American program to assemble in front of the Consulate, +exchanging experiences and reading the bulletins until opening time. The +place was in a quiet side street of the quaint old Swiss city, a step +from the lake-front promenade, with a background of blue mountains and +still bluer water. Across the street stood a sixteenth-century château +with its gardens of greenery. At ten the Consulate doors opened and the +little group pressed in for the speech. I am sure no one in our stranded +assembly will easily forget those mornings. + +Promising news began to come. The judge announced one morning that five +hundred thousand francs had been placed to the consular credit in +Switzerland by America for the relief of her citizens. Great happiness +for the moment! Hope lighted every face. Then some mathematician +figured that five hundred thousand francs amounted to a hundred +thousand dollars, and that there were ten thousand Americans in +Switzerland--hence, ten dollars apiece. The light of hope grew dim. +There was not a soul in that crowd who needed less than two hundred +dollars to pay his board and get him home. Ten thousand times two +hundred--it is a sizable sum. And what of the rest of Europe? The +mathematician figured that there were a quarter of a million Americans +in Europe, all willing to go home, and that it would take fifty million +dollars and a fleet of five hundred fair-sized ships to deliver them in +New York. + +Still, that five hundred thousand francs served a good purpose. An +allotment of it found its way to our consul, to use at his discretion. +It came to the right man. Here and there were those who had neither +money nor credit. To such he had already advanced money from his own +limited supply. His allowance, now, would provide for those needy ones +until more came. It was not sufficient, however, to provide one woman +with three hundred francs to buy a set of furs she had selected, though +she raged up and down the office and threatened to report him to +Washington, and eventually flung some papers in his face. It turned out +later that she was not an American. I don't know what she was--mostly +wildcat, I judge. + +Further news came--still better. The government would send a +battleship--the _Tennessee_--with a large sum of gold. The deposit of +this specie in the banks of Europe would make checks and letters of +credit good again. Various monies from American banks, cabled for by +individuals, would also arrive on this ship. + +Things generally looked brighter. With the British fleet protecting the +seas, English, French, and Dutch liners were likely to keep their +schedules; also, there were some Italian boats, though these were +reported to be overrun by "swell" Americans who were paying as high as +one thousand dollars for a single berth. Perhaps the report was true--I +don't know. None of our crowd cared to investigate. + +There were better plans nearer home--plans for "beating it" out of +Switzerland on a big scale. Special trains were to be provided--and +ships. A commission was coming on the _Tennessee_ to arrange for these +things. The vessel had already left New York. + +The crowd at the Consulate grew larger and more feverishly interested. +Applications for passports multiplied. Over and over, and in great +detail, the Brooklyn judge explained just what was necessary to insure +free and safe departure from Europe when the time came to go. Over and +over we questioned him concerning all those things, and concerning ever +so many other things that had no particular bearing on the subject, and +he bore it and beamed on us and was fully as patient as was Moses in +that other wilderness we wot of. + +Trains began to run again through France; at least they started, and I +suppose they arrived somewhere. Four days, six days, eight days was said +to be the time to Paris, with only third-class coaches, day and night, +all the aisles full--no food and no water except what was carried. It +was not a pleasant prospect and few of our people risked it. The +_Tennessee_ was reported to have reached England and the special +American trains were promised soon. In fact, one was presently +announced. It went from Lindau, through Germany, and was too far east +for most of our crowd. Then there were trains from Lucerne and +elsewhere; also, special English trains. Then, at last a Simplon train +was scheduled: Territet, Montreux, Vevey, Lausanne, Geneva--all aboard +for Paris! + +Great excitement at the Consulate. The _Tennessee_ money could arrive +any day now; everybody could pay up and start. The Brooklyn judge +rehearsed each morning all the old details and presented all the news +and requirements. The train, he said, would go through a nation that was +at war. It would be under military surveillance. Once on the train, one +must stay on it until it arrived in Paris. In Paris passengers must go +to the hotels selected, they must leave at the time arranged and by the +train provided, and must accept without complaint the ship and berth +assigned to each. It would be a big tourist party personally conducted +by the United States for her exiled citizens. The United States was not +ordering its citizens to leave Switzerland; it was merely providing a +means for those who must go at once and had not provided for +themselves. The coaches would be comfortable, the price as usual, red +cards insuring each holder a seat would be issued at the Consulate. +Tickets through to New York would be provided for those without funds. +The government could do no more. Any questions, please? + +Then a sharp-faced, black-haired, tightly hooked woman got up and wanted +to know just what style the coaches would be--whether they would have +aisles down the side; whether there would be room to lie down at will; +whether meals would be served on the train; whether there would be time +at Dijon to get off and see some friends; whether she could take her +dog; whether her ticket would be good on another train if she didn't +like this one when she saw it. The judge will probably never go into the +tourist-agency business, even if he retires from the law. + +Well, that particular train did not go, after all. Or, rather, it did +go, but few of our people went on it. There was a misunderstanding +somewhere. The Germans were getting down pretty close to Paris just +then, and from the invisible "somewhere" an order came countermanding +the train. The train didn't hear of it, however, and not all of the +people. Those who took it must have had plenty of room, and they must +have gone through safely. If the Germans got them we should have heard +of it, I think. Those who failed to take it were not entirely sorry. The +_Tennessee_ money had not been distributed yet, and it was badly needed. +I don't know what delayed it. Somewhere--always in that invisible +"somewhere"--there was a hitch about that, too. It still had not arrived +when the _next_ train was scheduled--at least, not much of it. It had +not come on the last afternoon of the last day, when the train was to go +early in the morning. It was too bad. There was a borrowing and an +arranging and a negotiating at the banks that had become somewhat less +obdurate these last days, with the _Tennessee_ in the offing. But many +went away pretty short, and, but for the consul, the shortness would +have been shorter and more general. + +It was a fine, big, comfortable train that went next morning. A little +group of us who were not yet ready to "beat it" went down to see our +compatriots go. There seemed to be room enough, and at least some of the +coaches had aisles down the sides. I do not know whether the +sharp-faced, tightly hooked woman had her dog or not. There was a great +waving, and calling back, and much laughter as the train rolled away. +You could tell as easily as anything that the Americans were "beating +it" for home. + +Heavy installments of the _Tennessee_ money began to arrive at the +Consulate next day. I got some of it myself. + +A day or two later I dropped into the Consulate. It had become a quiet +place again, as in the days that already seemed very long ago. It was +hard to believe in the reality of the eager crowd that used to gather +there every morning to tell their troubles and laugh over them, and to +collect the morning news. Now, again, the place was quite empty, except +for a few flies drowsing about and the rather tired, bored-looking man +who came to spend an hour or two there every morning, killing time and +glad of any little diversion in the way of company. + + + + +Chapter XXXVII + +THE LONG TRAIL ENDS + + +It was not until near the end of October that we decided to go. We had +planned to remain for another winter, but the aspect of things did not +improve as the weeks passed. With nine tenths of Europe at war and the +other tenth drilling, there was a lack of repose beneath the outward +calm, even of Vevey. In the midst of so many nervous nations, to linger +until spring might be to remain permanently. + +Furthermore, our occupations were curtailed. Automobiles were +restricted, the gasoline supply cut off. The streets had a funereal +look. I was told that I could get a special permit to use the car, but +as our gasoline supply consisted of just about enough to take us over +the Simplon Pass into Italy, we decided to conserve it for that purpose. +The pass closes with the first big snow, usually the 15th of October. +The presence of many soldiers there would keep it open this year a +little longer. It could not be risked, however, later than the end of +the month. + +We debated the matter pretty constantly, for the days of opportunity +were wasting. We wasted ten of them making a little rail and pedestrian +trip around Switzerland, though in truth those ten glorious days of +October tramping along the lakes and through the hills are not likely +to be remembered as really wasted by any of us. When we returned I got a +military pass to take the car out of Switzerland, but it was still +another week before we packed our heavy baggage and shipped it to Genoa. +We were a fair example of any number of families, no longer enthralled +by Europe and not particularly needed at home. I think hesitation must +have nearly killed some people. + +It was the 27th of October--a perfect morning--when for the last time I +brought the car to the front of our hotel, and we strapped on our bags +and with sad hearts bade good-by to the loveliest spot and the best +people in Europe. Then presently we were working our way through the +gay, crowded market place (though we did not feel gay) down through the +narrow, familiar streets, with their pretty shops where we had bought +things, and their little _pâtisseries_ where we had eaten things; down +through La Tour, and along the lake to Clarens and Montreux, and past +Chillon, and so up the valley of the Rhone to Brigue, the Swiss entrance +to the Simplon Pass. + +We had new tires now, and were not troubled about our going; but the +world had grown old and sad in three months, and the leaves were blowing +off of the trees, and the glory had gone out of life, because men were +marching and killing one another along those happy fields that such a +little while before had known only the poppy stain and the marching of +the harvesters--along those shady roads where good souls had run with +the car to hand us cherries and wish us "_Gute reise._" + +We crossed the Simplon in the dullness of a gray mist, and at the top, +six hundred feet in the peaks, met the long-delayed snowstorm, and knew +that we were crossing just in time. + +Down on the Italian slope the snow turned to rain and the roads were not +good. The Italians dump rock into their roads and let the traffic wear +it down. We were delayed by a technicality on the Swiss border, and it +was dark by the time we were in Italy--dark and rainy. Along the road +are overhanging galleries--really tunnels, and unlighted. Our prestolite +had given out and our oil lamps were too feeble. I have never known a +more precarious drive than across that long stretch from Gondo to +Domodossola, through the night and pouring rain. It seemed endless, and +when the lights of the city first appeared I should have guessed the +distance still to be traveled at forty miles. But we did arrive; and we +laid up three days in a hotel where it was cold--oh, very cold--but +where blessedly there was a small open fire in a little sitting room. +Also, the food was good. + +It had not quit raining even then, but we started, anyway. One can get a +good deal of Domodossola in three days, though it is a very good town, +where few people stop, because they are always going somewhere else when +they get there. Our landlady gave us a huge bunch of flowers at parting, +too huge for our limited car space. A little way down the road I had to +get out and fix something; an old woman came and held an umbrella over +me, and, having no Italian change, I gave her the flowers, and a Swiss +nickel, and a German five-pfennig piece, and she thanked me just as if +I had contributed something valuable. The Italians are polite. + +We went to Stresa on Lake Maggiore, and stopped for the night, and +visited Isola Bella, of course, and I bought a big red umbrella which +the others were ashamed of, and fell away from me when I opened it as if +I had something contagious. They would rather get soaking wet, they +said, than be seen walking under that thing. Pride is an unfortunate +asset. But I didn't have the nerve myself to carry that umbrella on the +streets of Milan. Though Stresa is not far away, its umbrellas are +unknown in Milan, and when I opened it my audience congested traffic. I +didn't suppose anything could be too gay for an Italian. + +We left the car at Milan and made a rail trip to Venice. It was still +raining every little while and many roads were under water, so that +Venice really extended most of the way to Milan, and automobile travel +was thought to be poor in that direction. All the old towns over there +we visited, for we were going home, and no one could say when Europe +might be comfortable for tourists again. A good deal of the time it +rained, but a good deal of the time it didn't, and we slept in hotels +that were once palaces, and saw much, including Juliet's tomb at Verona, +and all the things at Padua, and we bought violets at Parma, and +sausages at Bologna. Then we came back to Milan and drove to Genoa, +stopping overnight at Tortona, because we thought we would be sure to +find there the ices by that name. But they were out of them, I suppose, +for we could not find any. + +Still we had no definite plans about America; but when at Genoa we found +we could ship the car on a pretty little Italian vessel and join the +same little ship ourselves at Naples, all for a very reasonable sum. I +took the shipping man to the hotel garage, turned the car over to him, +and the thing was done. + +So we traveled by rail to Pisa, to Florence, to Rome, to Naples and +Pompeii, stopping as we chose; for, as I say, no one could tell when +Europe would be a visiting place again, and we must see what we could. + +So we saw Italy, in spite of the rain that fell pretty regularly, and +the rather sharp days between-time. We did not know that those rains +were soaking down to the great central heat and would produce a terrible +earthquake presently, or we might have been rather more anxious to go. +As it was, we were glad to be there and really enjoyed all the things. + +Yet, there was a different feeling now. The old care-freedom was gone; +the future had become obscure. The talk everywhere was of the war; in +every city soldiers were marching, fine, beautiful regiments, commanded +by officers that were splendidly handsome in their new uniforms. We were +told that Italy would not go to war--at least not until spring, but it +was in the air, it was an ominous cloud. Nowhere in Europe was anything +the same. + +One day our little ship came down from Genoa, and we went aboard and +were off next morning. We lay a day at Palermo, and then, after some +days of calm sailing in the Mediterranean, launched out into the +Atlantic gales and breasted the storms for nearly two weeks, pitching +and rolling, but homeward bound. + + * * * * * + +A year and four months from a summer afternoon when we had stood on the +upper deck of a little French steamer in Brooklyn and looked down into +the hold at a great box that held our car, I went over to Hoboken and +saw it taken from another box, and drove it to Connecticut alone, for +the weather was cold, the roads icy. It was evening when I arrived, +Christmas Eve, and when I pushed back the wide door, drove into the +barn, cut off the engine, and in the dim winter light saw our capable +conveyance standing in its accustomed place, I had the curious feeling +of never having been away at all, but only for a winter's drive, +dreaming under dull skies of summertime and France. And the old +car--that to us had always seemed to have a personality and +sentience--had it been dreaming, too? + +It was cold there, and growing dark. I came out and locked the door. We +had made the circuit--our great adventure was over. Would I go again, +under the same conditions? Ah me! that wakens still another dream--for +days ahead. I suppose one should not expect more than one real glimpse +of heaven in this world, but at least one need not give up hoping. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD*** + + +******* This file should be named 35068-8.txt or 35068-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/5/0/6/35068 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Car That Went Abroad</p> +<p> Motoring Through the Golden Age</p> +<p>Author: Albert Bigelow Paine</p> +<p>Release Date: January 25, 2011 [eBook #35068]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by Annie McGuire<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + Internet Archive<br /> + (<a href="http://www.archive.org/">http://www.archive.org</a>)</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive. See + <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/carthatwentabroa00painuoft"> + http://www.archive.org/details/carthatwentabroa00painuoft</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD</h1> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><span class="smcap">Books by</span></h2> + +<h2>ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE</h2> + +<h4><i>For Grown-ups</i></h4> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE LURE OF THE MEDITERRANEAN</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>DWELLERS IN ARCADY</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MOMENTS WITH MARK TWAIN</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MARK TWAIN: A BIOGRAPHY</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>PEANUT: THE STORY OF A BOY</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>SHORT LIFE OF MARK TWAIN</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>LIFE OF THOMAS NAST</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE TENT-DWELLERS</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<h4><i>For Young Readers</i></h4> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>THE BOYS' LIFE OF MARK TWAIN</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>HOLLOW TREE NIGHTS AND DAYS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP-WOODS BOOK</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<h4><i>Small books of several stories each, selected from the above Hollow +Tree books:</i></h4> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>HOW MR. DOG GOT EVEN</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MR. RABBIT'S BIG DINNER</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MAKING UP WITH MR. DOG</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT BALLOON TRIP</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MR RABBIT'S WEDDING</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MR. CROW AND THE WHITEWASH</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MR. TURTLE'S FLYING ADVENTURE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<h4>HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK</h4> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Established</span> 1817</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="ILL_001" id="ILL_001"></a> +<img src="images/ill_001.jpg" width="400" height="600" alt=""The Normandy Road to Cherbourg Is as Wonderful as Any in +France"—See p. 226" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<span class="smcap">The Normandy Road to Cherbourg Is as Wonderful as Any in +France</span>"—See p. 226</span> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD</h2> + +<h4><i>Motoring Through the Golden Age</i></h4> + +<h3><i>By</i></h3> + +<h2>ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE</h2> + +<h4><i>Author of</i></h4> + +<p class="center">"DWELLERS IN ARCADY," "THE SHIP DWELLERS," ETC.</p> + +<h3><i>Illustrated from drawings by</i></h3> + +<h2>WALTER HALE</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 79px;"> +<img src="images/ill_002.jpg" width="79" height="100" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h4>HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS</h4> + +<h4>NEW YORK AND LONDON</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">Copyright, 1921, by Harper & Brothers</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<h3>Part I</h3> + +<h3>THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD</h3> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_I"><b><span class="smcap">Don't Hurry Through Marseilles</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_II"><b><span class="smcap">Motoring by Tram</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_III"><b><span class="smcap">Across the Crau</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_IV"><b><span class="smcap">Mistral</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_V"><b><span class="smcap">The Rome of France</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_VI"><b><span class="smcap">The Way Through Eden</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_VII"><b><span class="smcap">To Tarascon and Beaucaire</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_VIII"><b><span class="smcap">Glimpses of the Past</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_IX"><b><span class="smcap">In the Citadel of Faith</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_X"><b><span class="smcap">An Old Tradition and a New Experience</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XI"><b><span class="smcap">Wayside Adventures</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XII"><b><span class="smcap">The Lost Napoleon</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XIII"><b><span class="smcap">The House of Heads</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XIV"><b><span class="smcap">Into the Hills</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XV"><b><span class="smcap">Up the Isère</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XVI"><b><span class="smcap">Into the Haute-Savoie</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XVII"><b><span class="smcap">Some Swiss Impressions</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XVIII"><b><span class="smcap">The Little Town of Vevey</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIX.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XIX"><b><span class="smcap">Mashing a Mud Guard</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XX.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XX"><b><span class="smcap">Just French—That's All</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_A_XXI"><b><span class="smcap">We Luge</span></b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<h3>Part II</h3> + +<h3>MOTORING THROUGH THE GOLDEN AGE</h3> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_I"><b><span class="smcap">The New Plan</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_II"><b><span class="smcap">The New Start</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_III"><b><span class="smcap">Into the Juras</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_IV"><b><span class="smcap">A Poem in Architecture</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_V"><b><span class="smcap">Vienne in the Rain</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_VI"><b><span class="smcap">The Château I Did Not Rent</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_VII"><b><span class="smcap">An Hour at Orange</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_VIII"><b><span class="smcap">The Road to Pont du Gard</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_IX"><b><span class="smcap">The Luxury of Nîmes</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_X"><b><span class="smcap">Through the Cévennes</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XI"><b><span class="smcap">Into the Auvergne</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XII"><b><span class="smcap">Le Puy</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XIII"><b><span class="smcap">The Center of France</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XIV"><b><span class="smcap">Between Billy and Bessey</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XV"><b><span class="smcap">The Haute-Loire</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XVI"><b><span class="smcap">Nearing Paris</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XVII"><b><span class="smcap">Summing Up the Cost</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XVIII"><b><span class="smcap">The Road to Cherbourg</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIX.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XIX"><b><span class="smcap">Bayeux, Caen, and Rouen</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XX.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XX"><b><span class="smcap">We Come to Grief</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXI"><b><span class="smcap">The Damage Repaired—Beauvais and Compiègne</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXII"><b><span class="smcap">From Paris to Chartres and Châteaudun</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXIII"><b><span class="smcap">We Reach Tours</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXIV"><b><span class="smcap">Chinon, Where Joan Met the King, and Azay</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXV"><b><span class="smcap">Tours</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXVI"><b><span class="smcap">Chenonceaux and Amboise</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXVII"><b><span class="smcap">Chambord and Cléry</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXVIII"><b><span class="smcap">Orléans</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIX.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXIX"><b><span class="smcap">Fontainebleau</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXX.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXX"><b><span class="smcap">Rheims</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXXI"><b><span class="smcap">Along the Marne</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXXII"><b><span class="smcap">Domremy</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXXIII"><b><span class="smcap">Strassburg and the Black Forest</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXIV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXXIV"><b><span class="smcap">A Land Where Storks Live</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXXV"><b><span class="smcap">Back to Vevey</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXVI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXXVI"><b><span class="smcap">The Great Upheaval</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXVII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#Chapter_B_XXXVII"><b><span class="smcap">The Long Trail Ends</span></b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_001"><b>"<span class="smcap">The Normandy Road to Cherbourg Is as Wonderful as any in France</span>"</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_003"><b>"<span class="smcap">Where Roads Branch or Cross There Are Signboards.... You Can't Ask a Man 'Quel Est le Chemin' for Anywhere When You Are in Front of a Signboard Which Is Shouting the Information</span>"</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_004"><b><span class="smcap">Mark Twain's "Lost Napoleon"—"The Colossal Sleeping Figure in Its Supreme Repose</span>"</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_005"><b><span class="smcap">Marché Vevey—"In Each Town There Is an Open Square, Which Twice a Week Is Picturesquely Crowded</span>"</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_006"><b>"<span class="smcap">You Can See Son Loup from the Hotel Steps in Vevey, but It Takes Hours to Get to It</span>"</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_007"><b><span class="smcap">Descending the Juras</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_008"><b><span class="smcap">The Tomb of Margaret of Austria, Church of Brou</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_009"><b>"<span class="smcap">Through Hillside Villages Where Never a Stone Had Been Moved, I Think, in Centuries</span>"</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_010"><b><span class="smcap">Birthplace of Joan of Arc</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILL_011"><b><span class="smcap">Strassburg, Showing the Cathedral</span></b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Fellow-wanderer</span>:</p> + +<p>The curtain that so long darkened many of the world's happy +places is lifted at last. Quaint villages, old cities, +rolling hills, and velvet valleys once more beckon to the +traveler.</p> + +<p>The chapters that follow tell the story of a small family +who went gypsying through that golden age before the war +when the tree-lined highways of France, the cherry-blossom +roads of the Black Forest, and the high trails of +Switzerland offered welcome to the motor nomad.</p> + +<p>The impressions set down, while the colors were fresh and +warm with life, are offered now to those who will give a +thought to that time and perhaps go happily wandering +through the new age whose dawn is here.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">A. B. P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>June, 1921.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Part I</h2> + +<h3>THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD</h3> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_I" id="Chapter_A_I"></a>Chapter I</h2> + +<h3>DON'T HURRY THROUGH MARSEILLES</h3> + +<p>Originally I began this story with a number of instructive chapters on +shipping an automobile, and I followed with certain others full of +pertinent comment on ocean travel in a day when all the seas were as a +great pleasure pond. They were very good chapters, and I hated to part +with them, but my publisher had quite positive views on the matter. He +said those chapters were about as valuable now as June leaves are in +November, so I swept them aside in the same sad way that one disposes of +the autumn drift and said I would start with Marseilles, where, after +fourteen days of quiet sailing, we landed with our car one late August +afternoon.</p> + +<p>Most travelers pass through Marseilles hastily—too hastily, it may be, +for their profit. It has taken some thousands of years to build the +"Pearl of the Mediterranean," and to walk up and down the rue Cannebière +and drink coffee and fancy-colored liquids at little tables on the +sidewalk, interesting and delightful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> as that may be, is not to become +acquainted with the "pearl"—not in any large sense.</p> + +<p>We had a very good and practical reason for not hurrying through +Marseilles. It would require a week or more to get our car through the +customs and obtain the necessary licenses and memberships for inland +travel. Meantime we would do some sight-seeing. We would begin +immediately.</p> + +<p>Besides facing the Old Port (the ancient harbor) our hotel looked on the +end of the Cannebière, which starts at the Quai and extends, as the +phrase goes, "as far as India," meaning that the nations of the East as +well as those of the West mingle there. We understood the saying as soon +as we got into the kaleidoscope. We were rather sober-hued bits +ourselves, but there were plenty of the other sort. It was the end of +August, and Marseilles is a semi-tropic port. There were plenty of white +costumes, of both men and women, and sprinkled among them the red fezzes +and embroidered coats and sashes of Algiers, Morocco, and the Farther +East. And there were ladies in filmy things, with bright hats and +parasols; and soldiers in uniforms of red and blue, while the wide +pavements of that dazzling street were literally covered with little +tables, almost to the edges. And all those gay people who were not +walking up and down, chatting and laughing, were seated at the little +tables with red and green and yellow drinks before them and pitchers of +ice or tiny cups of coffee, and all the seated people were laughing and +chattering, too, or reading papers and smoking, and nobody seemed to +have a sorrow or a care in the world. It was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> really an inspiring sight, +after the long, quiet days on the ship, and we loitered to enjoy it. It +was very busy around us. Tramcars jangled, motors honked, truckmen and +cabmen cracked their whips incessantly. Newswomen, their aprons full of +long pockets stuffed with papers, offered us journals in phrases that I +did not recognize as being in my French phonograph; cabmen hailed us in +more or less English and wanted to drive us somewhere; flower sellers' +booths lined both sides of a short street, and pretty girls held up +nosegays for us to see. Now and then a beggar put out a hand.</p> + +<p>The pretty drinks and certain ices we saw made us covetous for them, but +we had not yet the courage to mingle with those gay people and try our +new machine-made French right there before everybody. So we slipped into +a dainty place—a <i>pâtisserie boulangerie</i>—and ordered coffee and +chocolate ice cream, and after long explanations on both sides got iced +coffee and hot chocolate, which was doing rather well, we thought, for +the first time, and, anyhow, it was quite delicious and served by a +pretty girl whose French was so limpid that one could make himself +believe he understood it, because it was pure music, which is not a +matter of arbitrary syllables at all.</p> + +<p>We came out and blended with the panaroma once more. It was all so +entirely French, I said; no suggestion of America anywhere. But +Narcissa, aged fifteen, just then pointed to a flaming handbill over the +entrance of a cinematograph show. The poster was foreign, too, in its +phrasing, but the title, "<i>L'aventures d'Arizona Bill</i>" certainly had a +flavor of home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> The Joy, who was ten, was for going in and putting +other things by, but we overruled her. Other signs attracted us—the +window cards and announcements were easy lessons in French and always +interesting.</p> + +<p>By and by bouquets of lights breaking out along the streets reminded us +that it was evening and that we were hungry. There were plenty of +hotels, including our own, but the dining rooms looked big and warm and +expensive and we were dusty and economical and already warm enough. We +would stop at some open-air place, we said, and have something dainty +and modest and not heating to the blood. We thought it would be easy to +find such a place, for there were perfect seas of sidewalk tables, +thronged with people, who at first glance seemed to be dining. But we +discovered that they were only drinking, as before, and perhaps nibbling +at little cakes or rolls. When we made timid and rudimentary inquiries +of the busy waiters, they pointed toward the hotels or explained things +in words so glued together we could not sort them out. How different it +all was from New York, we said. Narcissa openly sighed to be back on +"old rue de Broadway," where there were restaurants big and little every +twenty steps.</p> + +<p>We wandered into side streets and by and by found an open place with a +tiny green inclosure, where a few people certainly seemed to be eating. +We were not entirely satisfied with the look of the patrons, but they +were orderly, and some of them of good appearance. The little tables had +neat white cloths on them, and the glassware shone brightly in the +electric glow. So we took a corner position and studied the rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +elaborate and obscure bill of fare. It was written, and the few things +we could decipher did not seem cheap. We had heard about food being +reasonable in France, but single portions of fish or cutlets at ".45" +and broiled chicken at "1.20" could hardly be called cheap in this +retired and unpretentious corner. One might as well be in a better +place—in New York. We wondered how these unfashionable people about us +could look so contented and afford to order such liberal supplies. Then +suddenly a great light came. The price amounts were not in dollars and +cents, but in francs and centimes. The decimals were the same, only you +divided by five to get American values. There is ever so much +difference.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>The bill of fare suddenly took on a halo. It became almost unbelievable. +We were tempted to go—it was too cheap to be decent. But we were weary +and hungry, and we stayed. Later we were glad. We had those things which +the French make so well, no matter how humble the place—"<i>pot au feu, +bouillabaisse</i>" (the fish soup which is the pride of Marseilles—our +first introduction to it), lamb chops, a crisp salad, Gruyère cheese, +with a pint of red wine; and we paid—I try to blush when I tell it—a +total for our four of less than five francs—that is to say, something +under a dollar, including the tip, which was certainly large enough, if +one could judge from the lavish acknowledgment of the busy person who +served us.</p> + +<p>We lingered while I smoked, observing some curious things. The place +filled up with a democratic crowd, including, as it did, what were +evidently well-to-do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> tradesmen and their families, clerks with their +young wives or sweethearts, single derelicts of both sexes, soldiers, +even workmen in blouses. Many of them seemed to be regular customers, +for they greeted the waiters and chatted with them during the serving. +Then we discovered a peculiar proof that these were in fact steady +patrons. In the inner restaurant were rows of hooks along the walls, and +at the corners some racks with other hooks. Upon these were hanging, not +hats or garments, but dozens of knotted white cloths which we discovered +presently to be table napkins, large white serviettes like our own. +While we were trying to make out why they should be variously knotted +and hung about in that way a man and woman went in and, after a brief +survey of the hooks, took down two of the napkins and carried them to a +table. We understood then. The bill of fare stated that napkins were +charged for at the rate of five centimes (one cent) each. These were +individual leaseholdings, as it were, of those who came regularly—a +fine example of French economy. We did not hang up our napkins when we +went away. We might not come back, and, besides, there were no empty +hooks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_II" id="Chapter_A_II"></a>Chapter II</h2> + +<h3>MOTORING BY TRAM</h3> + +<p>A little book says: "Thanks to a unique system of tramways, Marseilles +may be visited rapidly and without fatigue." They do not know the word +"trolley" in Europe, and "tramway" is not a French word, but the French +have adopted it, even with its "w," a letter not in their alphabet. The +Marseilles trams did seem to run everywhere, and they were cheap. Ten +centimes (two cents) was the fare for each "zone" or division, and a +division long enough for the average passenger. Being sight-seers, we +generally paid more than once, but even so the aggregate was modest +enough. The circular trip around the Corniche, or shore, road has four +of these divisions, with a special rate for the trip, which is very long +and very beautiful.</p> + +<p>We took the Corniche trip toward evening for the sake of the sunset. The +tram starts at the rue de Rome and winds through the city first, across +shaded courts, along streets of varying widths (some of them so old and +ever so foreign, but always clean), past beautiful public buildings +always with deep open spaces or broad streets in front of them, for the +French do not hide their fine public architectures and monuments, but +plant them as a landscape gardener plants<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> his trellises and trees. Then +all at once we were at the shore—the Mediterranean no longer blue, but +crimson and gold with evening, the sun still drifting, as it seemed, +among the harbor islands—the towers of Château d'If outlined on the +sky. On one side the sea, breaking against the rocks and beaches, +washing into little sheltered bays—on the other the abrupt or terraced +cliff, with fair villas set in gardens of palm and mimosa and the rose +trees of the south. Here and there among the villas were palace-like +hotels, with wide balconies that overlooked the sea, and down along the +shore were tea houses and restaurants where one could sit at little +tables on pretty terraces just above the water's edge.</p> + +<p>So we left the tram at the end of a zone and made our way down to one of +those places, and sat in a little garden and had fish, freshly caught, +and a cutlet, and some ripe grapes, and such things; and we watched the +sun set, and stayed until the dark came and the Corniche shore turned +into a necklace of twinkling lights. Then the tram carried us still +farther, and back into the city at last, by way of the Prado, a broad +residential avenue, with trees rising dark on either side.</p> + +<p>At the end of a week in Marseilles we had learned a number of +things—made some observations—drawn some conclusions. It is a very old +city—old when the Greeks settled there twenty-five hundred years +ago—but it has been ravaged and rebuilt too often through the ages for +any of its original antiquity to remain. Some of the buildings have +stood five or six hundred years, perhaps, and are quaint and +interesting,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> with their queer roofs and moldering walls which have +known siege and battle and have seen men in gaudy trappings and armor go +clanking by, stopping to let their horses drink at the scarred fountains +where to-day women wash their vegetables and their clothing. We were +glad to have looked on those ancient relics, for they, too, would soon +be gone. The spirit of great building and progress is abroad in +Marseilles—the old clusters of houses will come down—the hoary +fountains worn smooth by the hands of women and the noses of thirsty +beasts will be replaced by new ones—fine and beautiful, for the French +build always for art, let the race for commercial supremacy be ever so +swift. Fifty or one hundred years from now it will be as hard to find +one of these landmarks as it is to-day relics of the Greek and Roman +times, and of the latter we found none at all. Tradition has it that +Lazarus and his family came to Marseilles after his resuscitation, but +the house he occupied is not shown. Indeed, there is probably not a +thing above ground that Lucian the Greek saw when he lived here in the +second century.</p> + +<p>The harbor he sailed into remains. Its borders have changed, but it is +the same inclosed port that sheltered those early galleys and triremes +of commerce and of war. We looked down upon it from our balcony, and +sometimes in the dim morning, or in the first dusk of evening when its +sails were idle and its docks deserted, it seemed still to have +something of the past about it, something that was not quite reality. +Certain of its craft were old in fashion and quaint in form, and if even +one trireme had lain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> at anchor there, or had come drifting in, we might +easily have fancied this to be the port that somewhere is said to harbor +the missing ships.</p> + +<p>It is a busy place by day. Its quays are full of trucks and trams and +teams, and a great traffic going on. Lucian would hardly recognize any +of it at all. The noise would appall him, the smoking steamers would +terrify him, the <i>transbordeur</i>—an aërial bridge suspended between two +Eiffel towers, with a hanging car that travels back and forth like a +cash railway—would set him praying to the gods. Possibly the fishwives, +sorting out sea food and bait under little awnings, might strike him as +more or less familiar. At least he would recognize their occupation. +They were strung along the east quay, and I had never dreamed that the +sea contained so many strange things to eat as they carried in stock. +They had oysters and clams, and several varieties of mussels, and some +things that looked like tide-worn lumps of terra cotta, and other things +that resembled nothing else under heaven, so that words have not been +invented to describe them.</p> + +<p>Then they had <i>oursins</i>. I don't know whether an <i>oursin</i> is a bivalve +or not. It does not look like one. The word "<i>oursin</i>" means hedgehog, +but this <i>oursin</i> looked a great deal more like an old, black, +sea-soaked chestnut bur—that is, before they opened it. When the +<i>oursin</i> is split open—</p> + +<p>But I cannot describe an opened <i>oursin</i> and preserve the proprieties. +It is too—physiological. And the Marseillais eat those things—eat them +raw! Narcissa and I, who had rather more limb and wind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> than the others, +wandered along the quay a good deal, and often stood spellbound watching +this performance. Once we saw two women having some of them for early +breakfast with a bottle of wine—fancy!</p> + +<p>By the way, we finally discovered the restaurants in Marseilles. At +first we thought that the Marseillais never ate in public, but only +drank. This was premature. There are restaurant districts. The rue +Colbert is one of them. The quay is another, and of the restaurants in +that precinct there is one that no traveler should miss. It is Pascal's, +established a hundred years ago, and descended from father to son to the +present moment. Pascal's is famous for its fish, and especially for its +<i>bouillabaisse</i>. If I were to be in Marseilles only a brief time, I +might be willing to miss the Palais Longchamps or a cathedral or two, +but not Pascal's and <i>bouillabaisse</i>. It is a glorified fish chowder. I +will say no more than that, for I should only dull its bloom. I started +to write a poem on it. It began:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">Oh, bouillabaisse, I sing thy praise.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>But Narcissa said that the rhyme was bad, and I gave it up. Besides, I +remembered that Thackeray had written a poem on the same subject.</p> + +<p>One must go early to get a seat at Pascal's. There are rooms and rooms, +and waiters hurrying about, and you must give your order, or point at +the bill of fare, without much delay. Sea food is the thing, and it +comes hot and delicious, and at the end you can have melon—from +paradise, I suppose, for it is pure nectar—a kind of liquid cantaloupe +such as I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> have seen nowhere else in this world.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> You have wine if you +want it, at a franc a bottle, and when you are through you have spent +about half a dollar for everything and feel that life is a song and the +future made of peace. There came moments after we found Pascal's when, +like the lotus eaters, we felt moved to say: "We will roam no more. This +at last is the port where dreams come true."</p> + +<p>Our motor clearance required a full ten days, but we did not regret the +time. We made some further trips by tram, and one by water—to Château +d'If, on the little ferry that runs every hour or so to that historic +island fortress. To many persons Château d'If is a semi-mythical island +prison from which, in Dumas' novel, Edmond Dantes escapes to become the +Count of Monte Cristo, with fabulous wealth and an avenging sword. But +it is real enough; a prison fortress which crowns a barren rock, twenty +minutes from the harbor entrance, in plain view from the Corniche road. +François I laid its corner stone in 1524 and construction continued +during the next seventy years. It is a place of grim, stubby towers, +with an inner court opening to the cells—two ranges of them, one above +the other. The furniture of the court is a stone stairway and a well.</p> + +<p>Château d'If is about as solid and enduring as the rock it stands on, +and it is not the kind of place one would expect to go away from alive, +if he were invited there for permanent residence. There appears to be no +record of any escapes except that of Edmond Dantes, which is in a novel. +When prisoners left<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> that island it was by consent of the authorities. I +am not saying that Dumas invented his story. In fact, I insist on +believing it. I am only saying that it was a remarkable exception to the +general habit of the guests in Château d'If. Of course it happened, for +we saw cell B where Dantes was confined, a rayless place; also cell A +adjoining, where the Abbé Faria was, and even the hole between, through +which the Abbé counseled Dantes and confided the secret of the treasure +that would make Dantes the master of the world. All of the cells have +tablets at their entrances bearing the names of their most notable +occupants, and that of Edmond Dantes is prominently displayed. It was +good enough evidence for us.</p> + +<p>Those cells are on the lower level, and are merely black, damp holes, +without windows, and with no floors except the unleveled surface of the +rock. Prisoners were expected to die there and they generally did it +with little delay. One Bernadot, a rich Marseilles merchant, starved +himself, and so found release at the end of the twelfth day; but +another, a sailor named Jean Paul, survived in that horrible darkness +for thirty-one years. His crime was striking his commander. Many of the +offenses were even more trifling; the mere utterance of a word offensive +to some one in power was enough to secure lodging in Château d'If. It +was even dangerous to have a pretty daughter or wife that a person of +influence coveted. Château d'If had an open door for husbands and +fathers not inclined to be reasonable in such matters.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>The second-story prisons are larger and lighter, but hardly less +interesting. In No. 5 Count Mirabeau lodged for nearly a year, by +suggestion of his father, who did not approve of his son's wild ways and +thought Château d'If would tame him. But Mirabeau put in his time +writing an essay on despotism and planning revolution. Later, one of the +neighboring apartments, No. 7, a large one, became the seat of the +<i>tribunal révolutionnaire</i> which condemned there sixty-six to the +guillotine.</p> + +<p>Many notables were sent to Château d'If on the charge of disloyalty to +the sovereign. In one of the larger cells two brothers were imprisoned +for having shared the exile of one Chevalier Glendèves who was obliged +to flee from France because he refused to go down on his knees to Louis +XIV. Royalty itself has enjoyed the hospitality of Château d'If. Louis +Philippe of Orléans occupied the same large apartment later, which is +really quite a grand one for a prison, with a fireplace and space to +move about. Another commodious room on this floor was for a time the +home of the mysterious Man of the Iron Mask.</p> + +<p>These are but a few—one can only touch on the more interesting names. +"Dead after ten years of captivity "; "Dead after sixteen years of +captivity"; such memoranda close many of the records. Some of the +prisoners were released at last, racked with disease and enfeebled in +mind. Some went forth to the block, perhaps willingly enough. It is not +a place in which one wishes to linger. You walk a little way into the +blackest of the dungeons, stumbling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> over the rocks of the damp, +unleveled floor, and hurry out. You hesitate a moment in the larger, +lighter cells and try to picture a king there, and the Iron Mask; you +try to imagine the weird figure of Mirabeau raging and writing, and +then, a step away, the grim tribunal sorting from the nobility of France +material for the guillotine. It is the kind of thing you cannot make +seem real. You can see a picture, but it is always away somewhere—never +quite there, in the very place.</p> + +<p>Outside it was sunny, the sea blue, the cliffs high and sharp, with +water always breaking and foaming at their feet. The Joy insisted on +being shown the exact place where Dantes was flung over, but I was +afraid to try to find it. I was afraid that there would be no place +where he could be flung into the water without hitting the sharp rocks +below, and that would end the story before he got the treasure. I said +it was probably on the other side of the island, and besides it was +getting late. We sailed home in the evening light, this time into the +ancient harbor, and landed about where Lucian used to land, I should +think, such a long time ago.</p> + +<p>It was our last night in Marseilles. We had been there a full ten days, +altogether, and time had not hung upon our hands. We would still have +lingered, but there was no longer an excuse. Even the car could not +furnish one. Released from its prison, refreshed with a few liters of +gasoline—<i>essence</i>, they call it—and awakened with a gentle hitch or +two of the crank, it began its sweet old murmur, just as if it had not +been across some thousands of miles of tossing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> water. Then, the clutch +released, it slipped noiselessly out of the docks, through the narrow +streets, to a garage, where it acquired its new numbers and a bath, and +maybe a French lesson or two, so that to-morrow it might carry us +farther into France.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_III" id="Chapter_A_III"></a>Chapter III</h2> + +<h3>ACROSS THE CRAU</h3> + +<p>There are at least two ways to leave Marseilles for the open plain of +the Provence, and we had hardly started before I wished I had chosen the +other one. We were climbing the rue de la République, or one of its +connections, when we met, coming down on the wrong side of the tram +line, one of the heaviest vehicles in France, loaded with iron castings. +It was a fairly crowded street, too, and I hesitated a moment too long +in deciding to switch to the wrong side, myself, and so sneak around the +obstruction. In that moment the monstrous thing decided to cross to its +own side of the road, which seemed to solve the problem. I brought the +car to a standstill to wait.</p> + +<p>But that was another mistake; I should have backed. The obstruction +refused to cross the tram track. Evidently the rails were slippery and +when the enormous wheels met the iron they slipped—slipped toward +us—ponderously, slowly, as inevitable as doomsday. I was willing to +back then, but when I shifted the lever I forgot something else and our +engine stopped. There was not enough gravity to carry us back without +it; neither was there room, or time, to crank.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> So there we were,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +with that mountain closing in upon us like a wall of Poe's collapsing +room.</p> + +<p>It was fascinating. I don't think one of us thought of jumping out and +leaving the car to its fate. The truck driver was frantically urging his +team forward, hoping the wheels would catch, but only making them slide +a little quicker in our direction. They were six inches away, now—five +inches—three inches—one inch—the end of the hub was touching our mud +guard. What we <i>might</i> have done then—what <i>might</i> have happened +remains guesswork. What did happen was that the huge steel tire reached +a joint in the tram rail and unhurriedly lifted itself over, just as if +that was what it had been intending to do all the time. I had strength +enough left to get out and crank up, then, but none to spare. A little +more paint off the front end of the mud guard, but that was nothing. I +had whetted those guards on a variety of things, including a cow, in my +time. At home I had a real passion for scraping them against the door +casing of the garage, backing out.</p> + +<p>Still, we were pretty thoughtful for several miles and missed a road +that turns off to Arles, and were on the way to Aix, which we had +already visited by tram. Never mind; Aix was on the way to Arles, too, +and when all the roads are good roads a few miles of motor travel more +or less do not count. Only it is such a dusty way to Aix, and we were +anxious to get into the cleaner and more inviting byways.</p> + +<p>We were at the outskirts, presently, and when we saw a military-looking +gentleman standing before a little house marked "<i>L'Octroi</i>" we stopped. +I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> learned enough French to know that <i>l'octroi</i> means a local +custom house, and it is not considered good form to pass one of them +unnoticed. It hurts the <i>l'octroi</i> man's feelings and he is backed by +the <i>gendarmerie</i> of France. He will let you pass, and then in his +sorrow he will telephone to the police station, just ahead. There you +will be stopped with a bayonet, or a club, or something, and brought +back to the <i>l'octroi</i>, where you will pay an <i>amend</i> of six francs; +also costs; also for the revenue stamp attached to your bill of +particulars; also for any little thing which you may happen to have upon +which duty may be levied; also for other things; and you will stand +facing a half-open cell at the end of the corridor while your account is +being made up—all of which things happened to a friend of mine who +thought that because an <i>octroi</i> man looked sleepy he was partly dead. +Being warned in this way, we said we would stop for an <i>octroi</i> man even +if he were entirely dead; so we pulled up and nodded politely, and +smiled, and said, "Bon joor, messoor," and waited his pleasure.</p> + +<p>You never saw a politer man. He made a sweeping salute and said—well, +it doesn't matter just what he said—I took it to be complimentary and +Narcissa thought it was something about vegetables. Whatever it was, we +all smiled again, while he merely glanced in the car fore and aft, gave +another fine salute and said, "<i>Allay</i>" whereupon we understood, and +<i>allayed</i>, with counter-salutes and further smiles—all of which seemed +pleasanter than to be brought back by a <i>gendarme</i> and stood up in front +of a cell during the reckoning process.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>Inquiring in Aix for the road to Arles we made a discovery, to wit: they +do not always pronounce it "Arl" in the French way, but "Arlah," which +is Provençal, I suppose, the remains of the old name "Arlate." One young +man did not seem even to recognize the name Arles, though curiously it +happened that he spoke English—enough, at least, to direct us when he +found that it was his Provençal "Arlah" that we wanted.</p> + +<p>So we left Aix behind us, and with it the dust, the trams, and about the +last traces of those modern innovations which make life so comfortable +when you need them and so unpeaceful when you prefer something else. The +one great modern innovation which bore us silently along those level +roads fell into the cosmic rhythm without a jar—becoming, as it seemed, +a sort of superhuman activity, such as we shall know, perhaps, when we +get our lost wings again.</p> + +<p>I don't know whether Provence roads are modern or not. I suspect they +were begun by the Roman armies a good while ago; but in any case they +are not neglected now. They are boulevards—no, not exactly that, for +the word "boulevard" suggests great width. They are avenues, then, ample +as to width, and smooth and hard, and planted on both sides with exactly +spaced and carefully kept trees. Leaving Aix, we entered one of these +highways running straight into the open country. Naturally we did not +expect it to continue far, not in that perfectly ordered fashion, but +when with mile after mile it varied only to become more beautiful, we +were filled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> with wonder. The country was not thickly settled; the road +was sparsely traveled. Now and then we passed a heavy team drawing a +load of hay or grain or wine barrels, and occasionally, very +occasionally, we saw an automobile.</p> + +<p>It was a fair, fertile land at first. There were rich, sloping fields, +vineyards, olive gardens, and plumy poplars; also, an occasional stone +farmhouse that looked ancient and mossy and picturesque, and made us +wish we could know something of the life inside its heavy walls. We said +that sometime we would stop at such a place and ask them to take us in +for the night.</p> + +<p>Now and then we passed through a village, where the streets became +narrow and winding, and were not specially clean. They were interesting +places enough, for they were old and queer, but they did not invite us +to linger. They were neither older nor more queer than corners of +Marseilles we had seen. Once we saw a kind of fair going on and the +people in holiday dress.</p> + +<p>At Salon, a still larger and cleaner place, we stopped to buy something +for our wayside luncheon. Near the corner of a little shaded square a +man was selling those delectable melons such as we had eaten in +Marseilles; at a shop across the way was a window full of +attractions—little cheeses, preserved meats, and the like. I gathered +up an assortment, then went into a <i>boulangerie</i> for bread. There was +another customer ahead of me, and I learned something, watching his +transaction. Bread, it seemed, was not sold by the loaf there, but by +exact weight. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> man said some words and the woman who waited on him +laid two loaves, each about a yard long, on the scales. Evidently they +exceeded his order, for she cut off a foot or so from one loaf. Still +the weight was too much, and she cut off a slice. He took what was left, +laid down his money, and walked out. I had a feeling that the end and +slice would lie around and get shopworn if I did not take them. I +pointed at them, and she put them on the scales. Then I laid down a +franc, and she gave me half a gill of copper change. It made the family +envious when they saw how exactly I had transacted my purchase. There is +nothing like knowing the language. We pushed on into the country again, +stopped in a shady, green place, and picnicked on those good things for +which we had spent nearly four francs. There were some things left over, +too; we could have done without the extra slice of bread.</p> + +<p>There were always mountains in view, but where we were the land had +become a level plain, once, ages ago, washed by the sea. We realized +this when the fertile expanse became, little by little, a barren—a mere +waste, at length, of flat smooth stones like cobble, a floor left by the +departing tides. "La Crau" it is called, and here there were no homes. +No harvest could grow in that land—nothing but a little tough grass, +and the artificially set trees on either side of the perfectly smooth, +perfectly straight road that kept on and on, mile after mile, until it +seemed that it must be a band around the world. How can they afford to +maintain such a road through that sterile land?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sun was dropping to the western horizon, but we did not hurry. I set +the throttle to a point where the speedometer registered fifteen miles +an hour. So level was the road that the figures on the dial seemed fixed +there. There was nothing to see but the unbroken barren, the perfectly +regular rows of sycamore or cypress, and the evening sky; yet I have +seldom known a drive more inspiring. Steadily, unvaryingly, and silently +heading straight into the sunset, we seemed somehow a part of the +planetary system, little brother to the stars.</p> + +<p>It was dusk when we reached the outskirts of Arles and stopped to light +the lamps. The wide street led us into the business region, and we hoped +it might carry us to the hotels. But this was too much to expect in an +old French, Provençal, Roman city. Pausing, we pronounced the word +"hotel," and were directed toward narrower and darker ways. We had +entered one of these when a man stepped out of the shadow and took +charge of us. I concluded that we were arrested then, and probably would +not need a hotel. But he also said "hotel," and, stepping on the +running-board, pointed, while I steered, under his direction. I have no +idea as to the way we went, but we came out into a semi-lighted square +directly in front of a most friendly-looking hostelry. Then I went in +and aired some of my phonograph French, inquiring about rooms on the +different <i>étages</i> and the cost of <i>dîners</i> and <i>déjeuners</i>, and the +landlady spoke so slowly and distinctly that it made one vain of his +understanding.</p> + +<p>So we unloaded, and our guide, who seemed to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> an <i>attaché</i> of the +place, directed me to the garage. I gathered from some of the sounds he +made that the main garage was <i>complet</i>—that is to say, full—and we +were going to an annex. It was an interesting excursion, but I should +have preferred to make it on foot and by daylight. We crossed the square +and entered a cobbled street—no, a passage—between ancient walls, lost +in the blackness above, and so close together below that I hesitated. It +was a place for armored men on horseback, not for automobiles. We crept +slowly through and then we came to an uphill corner that I was sure no +car without a hinge in the middle could turn. But my guard—guide, I +mean, signified that it could be done, and inch by inch we crawled +through. The annex—it was really a stable of the Middle Ages—was at +the end of the tunnel, and when we came away and left the car there I +was persuaded that I should never see it again.</p> + +<p>Back at the hotel, however, it was cheerful enough. It seemed an ancient +place of stone stairways and thick walls. Here and there in niches were +Roman vases and fragments found during the excavations. Somewhere +underneath us were said to be catacombs. Attractive things, all of them, +but the dinner we had—hot, fine and French, with <i>vin compris</i> two +colors—was even more attractive to travelers who had been drinking in +oxygen under the wide sky all those steady miles across the Crau.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_IV" id="Chapter_A_IV"></a>Chapter IV</h2> + +<h3>MISTRAL</h3> + +<p class="center">(From my notes, September 10, 1913)</p> + +<p>Adjoining our hotel—almost a part of it, in fact, is a remnant of the +ancient Roman forum of Arles. Some columns, a piece of the heavy wall, +sections of lintel, pediment, and cornice still stand. It is a portion +of the Corinthian entrance to what was the superb assembly place of +Roman Arles. The square is called Place du Forum, and sometimes now +Place Mistral—the latter name because a bronze statue of the "Homer of +the Provence" has been erected there, just across from the forum +entrance.</p> + +<p>Frédéric Mistral, still alive at eighty-three, is the light of the +modern Provence.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> We had begun to realize something of this when we +saw his photographs and various editions of his poems in the windows of +Marseilles and Aix, and handbills announcing the celebration at St. Remy +of the fiftieth anniversary of Gounod's score of Mistral's great poem, +"Mireille." But we did not at all realize the fullness of the Provençal +reverence for "the Master," as they call him, until we reached Arles. To +the Provence Mistral is a god—an Apollo—the "central sun from which +other Provençal singers are as diverging rays."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> Whatever Mistral +touches is glorified. Provençal women talk with a new grace because +Mistral has sung of them. Green slopes and mossy ruins are viewed +through the light of Mistral's song. A Mistral anniversary is celebrated +like a Declaration of Independence or a Louisiana Purchase. They have +even named a wind after him. Or perhaps he was named after the wind. +Whichever way it was, the wind has taken second place and the people +smile tenderly now, remembering the Master, when its name is mentioned.</p> + +<p>I believe Mistral does not sing in these later days. He does not need +to. The songs he sang in youth go on singing for him, and are always +young. Outside of France they are not widely known; their bloom and +fragrance shrink under translation. George Meredith, writing to Janet +Ross in 1861, said: "Mistral I have read. He is really a fine poet." But +to Meredith the euphonies of France were not strange.</p> + +<p>And Mistral has loved the Provence. Not only has he sung of it, but he +has given his labor and substance to preserve its memories. When the +Academy voted him an award of three thousand francs he devoted it to the +needs of his fellow poets;<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> when he was awarded the Nobel prize he +forgot that he might spend it on himself, and bought and restored an old +palace, and converted it into a museum for Arles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> Then he devoted his +time and energies to collecting Provençal relics, and to-day, with its +treasures and associations, the place has become a shrine. Everything +relating to the life and traditions of the Provence is there—Roman +sculpture, sarcophagi, ceramics, frescoes, furnishings, implements—the +place is crowded with precious things. Lately a room of honor has been +devoted to the poet himself. In it are cases filled with his personal +treasures; the walls are hung with illustrations used in his books. On +the mantel is a fine bust of the poet, and in a handsome reliquary one +finds a lock of hair, a little dress, and the cradle of the infant +Mistral. In the cradle lies the manuscript of Mistral's first and +greatest work, the "Mireille." The Provence has produced other noted +men—among them Alphonse Daudet, who was born just over at Nîmes, and +celebrated the town of Tarascon with his Tartarin. But Daudet went to +Paris, which is, perhaps, a sin. The Provence is proud of Daudet, and +he, too, has a statue, at Nîmes; but the Provence worships Mistral.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_V" id="Chapter_A_V"></a>Chapter V</h2> + +<h3>THE ROME OF FRANCE</h3> + +<p>There is no record of a time when there was not a city at Arles. The +Rhone divides to form its delta there—loses its swiftness and becomes a +smooth highway to the sea.</p> + +<p>"As at Arles, where the Rhone stagnates," wrote Dante, who probably +visited the place on a journey he made to Paris. There the flat +barrenness of the Crau becomes fertile slopes and watered fields. It is +a place for men to congregate and it was already important when Julius +Cæsar established a Roman colony and built a fleet there, after which it +became still more important—finally, with its one hundred thousand +inhabitants, rivaling even Marseilles. It was during those earlier +years—along through the first and second centuries—that most of the +great building was done, remnants of which survive to this day. +Prosperity continued even into the fourth century, when the Christian +Emperor Constantine established a noble palace there and contemplated +making it the capital of his kingdom.</p> + +<p>But then the decline set in. In the next century or two clouds of +so-called barbarians swept down from the north and east, conquering, +plundering, and establishing new kingdoms. Gauls, Goths, Saracens, and +Francs each had their turn at it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>Following came the parlous years of the middle period. For a brief time +it was an independent republic; then a monarchy. By the end of the +fifteenth century it was ready to be annexed to France. Always a battle +ground, raided and sacked so often that the count is lost, the wonder is +that any of its ancient glories survive at all. But the Romans built +well; their massive construction has withstood the wild ravage of +succeeding wars, the sun and storm of millennial years.</p> + +<p>We knew little of Arles except that it was the place where there was the +ruin of a Roman arena, and we expected not much from that. The Romans +had occupied France and had doubtless built amusement places, but if we +gave the matter any further thought it was to conclude that such +provincial circus rings would be small affairs of which only a few +vestiges, like those of the ruined Forum, would remain. We would visit +the fragments, of course, and meantime we drifted along one side of the +Place du Forum in the morning sunlight, looking in show windows to find +something in picture postals to send home.</p> + +<p>What we saw at first puzzled, then astonished us. Besides the pictures +of Mistral the cards were mostly of ruins—which we expected, perhaps, +but not of such ruins. Why, these were not mere vestiges. Ephesus, +Baalbec, Rome itself, could hardly show more impressive remains. The +arena on these cards seemed hardly a ruin at all, and here were other +cards which showed it occupied, filled with a vast modern audience who +were watching something—clearly a bull fight, a legitimate descendant +of Nero's Rome.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> I could not at first believe that these structures +could be of Arles, but the inscriptions were not to be disputed. Then I +could not wait to get to them.</p> + +<p>We did not drive. It was only a little way to the arena, they told us, +and the narrow streets looked crooked and congested. It was a hot +September morning, but I think we hurried. I suppose I was afraid the +arena would not wait. Then all at once we were right upon it, had +entered a lofty arch, climbed some stairs, and were gazing down on one +of the surviving glories of a dead empire.</p> + +<p>What a structure it is! An oval 448 by 352 feet—more than half as big +again as a city block; the inner oval, the arena itself,<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> 226 by 129 +feet, the tiers of stone seats rising terrace above terrace to a high +circle of arches which once formed the support for an enormous canvas +dome.</p> + +<p>All along the terraces arches and stairways lead down to spacious +recesses and the great entrance corridor. The twenty thousand spectators +which this arena once held were not obliged to crowd through any one or +two entrances, but could enter almost anywhere and ascend to their seats +from any point of the compass. They held tickets—pieces of parchment, I +suppose—and these were numbered like the seats, just as tickets are +numbered to-day.</p> + +<p>Down near the ringside was the pit, or <i>podium</i>, and that was the choice +place. Some of the seats there were owned, and bore the owners' names. +The upper seats are wide stone steps, but comfortable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> enough, and solid +enough to stand till judgment day. They have ranged wooden benches along +some of them now, I do not see why, for they are very ugly and certainly +not luxurious. They are for the entertainments—mainly bull fights—of +the present; for strange, almost unbelievable as it seems, the old arena +has become no mere landmark, a tradition, a monument of barbaric tastes +and morals, but continues in active service to-day, its purpose the +same, its morals not largely improved.</p> + +<p>It was built about the end of the first century, and in the beginning +stags and wild boars were chased and put to death there. But then Roman +taste improved. These were tame affairs, after all. So the arena became +a prize ring in which the combatants handled one another without +gloves—that is to say, with short swords—and were hacked into a mince +instead of mauled into a pulp in our more refined modern way. To vary +the games lions and tigers were imported and matched against the +gladiators, with pleasing effect. Public taste went on improving and +demanding fresh novelties. Rome was engaged just then in exterminating +Christians, and the happy thought occurred to make spectacles of them by +having them fight the gladiators and the wild beasts, thus combining +business and pleasure in a manner which would seem to have been highly +satisfactory to the public who thronged the seats and applauded and +laughed, and had refreshments served, and said what a great thing +Christianity was and how they hoped its converts would increase. +Sometimes, when the captures were numerous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> and the managers could +afford it, Christians on crosses were planted around the entire arena, +covered with straw and pitch and converted into torches. These were +night exhibitions, when the torches would be more showy; and the canvas +dome was taken away so that the smoke and shrieks could go climbing to +the stars. Attractions like that would always jam an amphitheater. This +one at Arles has held twenty-five thousand on one of those special +occasions. Centuries later, when the Christians themselves came into +power, they showed a spirit of liberality which shines by contrast. They +burned their heretics in the public squares, free.</p> + +<p>Only bulls and worn-out, cheap horses are tortured here to-day. It seems +a pretty tame sport after those great circuses of the past. But art is +long and taste is fleeting. Art will keep up with taste, and all that we +know of the latter is that it will change. Because to-day we are +satisfied with prize fights and bull fights is no sign that those who +follow us will not demand sword fights and wild beasts and living +torches. These old benches will last through the ages. They have always +been familiar with the sport of torture of one sort or another. They +await quite serenely for what the centuries may bring.</p> + +<p>It was hard to leave the arena. One would like to remain and review its +long story. What did the barbarians do there—those hordes that swarmed +in and trampled Rome? The Saracens in the eighth century used it for a +fortress and added four watch towers, but their masonry is not of the +everlasting Roman kind, and one of their towers has tumbled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> down. It +would be no harm if the others would tumble, too. They lend to the place +that romance which always goes with the name "Saracen," but they add no +beauty.</p> + +<p>We paid a franc admission when we came into the amphitheater, our +tickets being coupon affairs, admitting us to a variety of other +historic places. The proceeds from the ruins are devoted to their care +and preservation, but they cannot go far. Very likely the bull-fight +money is also used. That would be consistent.</p> + +<p>We were directed to the Roman Theater, near at hand, where the ruin is +ruin indeed. A flight of rising stone seats, two graceful Corinthian +columns still standing, the rest fragments. More graceful in its +architecture than the arena, the theater yielded more readily to the +vandalisms of the conquerors and the corrosions of time. As early as the +third century it was partially pulled down. Later it was restored, but +not for long. The building bishops came and wanted its materials and +ornaments for their churches. Not much was left after that, but to-day +the fragments remaining have been unearthed and set up and give at least +a hint of its former glory. One wonders if those audiences who watched +Christian slaughter at the arena came also to this chaste spot. Plays +are sometimes given here to-day, I am told, classic reproductions, but +it is hard to believe that they would blend with this desolated setting. +The bull fight in the arena is even better.</p> + +<p>We went over to the church of St. Trophime, which is not a ruin, though +very old. St. Trophime, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> companion of St. Paul, was the founder of the +church of Arles. He is said to have set up a memorial to St. Étienne, +the first martyr, and on this consecrated spot three churches have been +built, one in the fourth century, another in the seventh, and this one, +dedicated to St. Trophime, in the twelfth, or earlier. It is of supreme +historical importance. By the faithful it is believed to contain the +remains of St. Trophime himself. Barbarossa and other great kings were +crowned here; every important ceremony of mediæval Arles has been held +here.</p> + +<p>It is one of the oldest-looking places I ever saw—so moldy, so crumbly, +and so dim. Though a thousand years older, the arena looks fresh as +compared with it, because even sun and storm do not gnaw and corrode +like gloom and dampness. But perhaps this is a softer stone. The +cloister gallery, which was not built until the twelfth century, is so +permeated with decay that one almost fears to touch its delicately +carved ornamentations lest they crumble in his hands. Mistral has +celebrated the cloister portal in a poem, and that alone would make it +sacred to the Provence. The beautiful gallery is built around a court +and it is lined with sculpture and bas-relief, rich beyond words. Saints +and bible scenes are the subjects, and how old, how time-eaten and +sorrowful they look. One gets the idea that the saints and martyrs and +prophets have all contracted some wasting malady which they cannot long +survive now. But one must not be flippant. It is a place where the feet +of faith went softly down the centuries; and, taken as a whole, St. +Trophime, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> its graceful architecture—Gothic and Byzantine, +combined with the Roman fragments brought long ago from the despoiled +theater—is beautiful and delicate and tender, and there hangs about it +the atmosphere that comes of long centuries of quiet and sacred things.</p> + +<p>Mistral's museum is just across from the church, but I have already +spoken of that—briefly, when it is worth a volume. One should be in a +patient mood for museums—either to see or to write of them—a mood that +somehow does not go with automobile wandering, however deliberate. But I +must give a word at least to two other such institutions of Arles, the +Musée Lapidaire, a magnificent collection of pagan and early Christian +sarcophagi and marble, mostly from the ancient burial field, the +Aliscamp—and the Musée Réattu.</p> + +<p>Réattu was an Arlesian painter of note who produced many pictures and +collected many beautiful things. His collections have been acquired by +the city of Arles, and installed in one of its most picturesque old +buildings—the ancient Grand Priory of the Knights of Malta. The +stairway is hung with tapestries and priceless arras; the rooms are +filled with paintings, bas-reliefs, medallions, marbles, armor,—a +wealth of art objects. One finds it hard to believe that such museums +can be owned and supported by this little city—ancient, half forgotten, +stranded here on the banks of the Rhone. Its population is given as +thirty thousand, and it makes sausages—very good ones—and there are +some railway shops that employ as many as fifteen hundred men. Some +boat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> building may still be done here, too. But this is about all Arles +can claim in the way of industries. It has not the look of what we call +to-day a thriving city. It seems, rather, a mediæval setting for the +more ancient memories. Yet it has these three splendid museums, and it +has preserved and restored its ruins, just as if it had a J. Pierpont +Morgan behind it, instead of an old poet with a Nobel prize, and a +determined little community, too proud of its traditions and its taste +to let them die. Danbury, Connecticut, has as many inhabitants as Arles, +and it makes about all the hats that are worn in America. It is a busy, +rich place, where nearly everybody owns an automobile, if one may judge +by the street exhibit any pleasant afternoon. It is an old place, too, +for America, with plenty of landmarks and traditions. But I somehow +can't imagine Danbury spending the money and the time to establish such +superb institutions as these, or to preserve its prerevolutionary +houses. But, after all, Danbury is young. It will preserve something two +thousand years hence—probably those latest Greco-Roman façades which it +is building now.</p> + +<p>Near to the Réattu Museum is the palace of the Christian Emperor +Constantine. Constantine came here after his father died, and fell in +love with the beauty and retirement of the place. Here, on the banks of +the Rhone, he built a palace, and dreamed of passing his days in it—of +making Arles the capital of his empire. His mother, St. Helene, whose +dreams at Jerusalem located the Holy Sepulcher, the True Cross, and +other needed relics, came to visit her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> son, and while here witnessed +the treason and suicide of one Maximus Hercules, persecutor of the +Christians. That was early in the fourth century. The daughter of +Maximus seems to have been converted, for she came to stay at the palace +and in due time bore Constantine a son. Descendants of Constantine +occupied the palace for a period, then it passed to the Gauls, to the +Goths, and so down the invading and conquering line. Once a king, Euric +III, was assassinated here. Other kings followed and several varieties +of counts. Their reigns were usually short and likely to end with a good +deal of suddenness. It was always a good place for royalty to live and +die. Until the beginning of the nineteenth century it was known as the +"House of the King," but it was a ruin by that time. Only portions of it +remain now, chiefly a sort of rotunda of the grand hall of state. Very +little is left to show the ancient richness of its walls, but one may +invite himself to imagine something—its marbles and its hangings—also +that it was just here that M. Hercules and King Euric and their kind +went the violent way; it would be the dramatic place for those +occasions.</p> + +<p>One may not know to-day just what space the palace originally covered, +but it was very large. Portions of its walls appear in adjoining +buildings. Excavations have brought to light marbles, baths, rich +ornamentations, all attesting its former grandeur. Arles preserves it +for its memories, and in pride of the time when she came so near to +being the capital of the world.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_VI" id="Chapter_A_VI"></a>Chapter VI</h2> + +<h3>THE WAY THROUGH EDEN</h3> + +<p>There is so much to see at Arles. One would like to linger a week, then +a month, then very likely he would not care to go at all. The past would +get hold of him by that time—the glamour that hangs about the dead +centuries.</p> + +<p>There had been rain in the night when we left Arles, much needed, for it +was the season of drought. It was mid-morning and the roads were hard +and perfect, and led us along sparkling waysides and between refreshed +vineyards, and gardens, and olive groves. It seemed a good deal like +traveling through Eden, and I don't suppose heaven—the automobilist's +heaven (assuming that there is one)—is much better.</p> + +<p>I wish I could do justice to the Midi, but even Mistral could not do +that. It is the most fruitful, luscious land one can imagine. Everything +there seems good to eat, to smell of—to devour in some way. The vines +were loaded with purple and topaz grapes, and I was dying to steal some, +though for a few francs we had bought a basket of clusters, with other +luncheon supplies, in Arles. It finally became necessary to stop and eat +these things—those grape fields were too tempting.</p> + +<p>It is my opinion that nothing in the world is more enjoyable than an +automobile roadside luncheon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> One does not need to lug a heavy basket +mile after mile until a suitable place is found, and compromise at last +because the flesh rebels. With a car, a mile, two miles, five miles, are +matters of a few minutes. You run along leisurely until you reach the +brook, the shade, the seclusion that invites you. Then you are fresh and +cool and deliberate. No need to hurry because of the long tug home +again. You enjoy the things you have brought, unfretted by fatigue, +undismayed by the prospect ahead. You are in no hurry to go. You linger +and smoke and laze a little and discuss the environment—the fields, the +growing things, the people through whose lands and lives you are cutting +a cross-section, as it seems. You wonder about their customs, their +diversions, what they do in winter, how it is in their homes. You +speculate on their history, on what the land was like in its primeval +period before there were any fields and homes—civilized homes—there at +all. Perhaps—though this is unlikely—you <i>know</i> a little about these +things. It is no advantage; your speculations are just as valuable and +more picturesque. There are many pleasant things about motor gypsying, +but our party, at least, agreed that the wayside luncheon is the +pleasantest of all.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, it is economical. Unless one wants hot dishes, you can get +more things, and more delicious things, in the village shops or along +the way than you can find at the wayside hotel or restaurant, and for +half the amount. Our luncheon that day—we ate it between Arles and +Tarascon—consisted of tinned chicken, fresh bread with sweet butter,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +Roquefort cheese, ripe grapes, and some French cakes—plenty, and all of +the best, at a cost of about sixty cents for our party of four. And when +we were finally ready to go, and had cleaned up and secreted every +particle of paper or other refuse (for the true motorist never leaves a +place unsightly) we felt quite as pleased with ourselves and the world, +and the things of the infinite, as if we had paid two or three times as +much for a meal within four walls.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_VII" id="Chapter_A_VII"></a>Chapter VII</h2> + +<h3>TO TARASCON AND BEAUCAIRE</h3> + +<p>It is no great distance from Arles to Tarascon, and, leisurely as we +travel, we had reached the home of Tartarin in a little while. We were +tempted to stop over at Tarascon, for the name had that inviting sound +which always belongs to the localities of pure romance—that is to say, +fiction—and it has come about that Tarascon belongs more to Daudet than +to history, while right across the river is Beaucaire, whose name, at +least, Booth Tarkington has pre-empted for one of his earliest heroes. +After all, it takes an author to make a town really celebrated. +Thousands of Americans who have scarcely heard the name of Arles are +intimately familiar with that of Tarascon. Of course the town has to +contribute something. It must either be a place where something has +happened, or <i>could</i> happen, or it must have a name with a fine sound, +and it should be located in about the right quarter of the globe. When +such a place catches the fancy of an author who has the gift of making +the ideal seem reality, he has but to say the magic words and the fame +of that place is sure.</p> + +<p>Not that Tarascon has not had real history and romance; it has had +plenty of both. Five hundred years ago the "Good King René" of Anjou, +who was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> painter and a writer, as well as a king, came to Tarascon to +spend his last days in the stern, perpendicular castle which had been +built for him on the banks of the Rhone. It is used as a jail now, but +King René held a joyous court there and a web of romance clings to his +memory. King René's castle does not look like a place for romance. It +looks like an artificial precipice. We were told we could visit it by +making a sufficiently polite application to the <i>Mairie</i>, but it did not +seem worth while. In the first place, I did not know how to make a +polite application to visit a jail—not in French—and then it was +better to imagine King René's festivities than to look upon a reality of +misfortune.</p> + +<p>The very name of Tarascon has to do with story. Far back, in the dim +traditionary days, one St. Martha delivered the place from a very evil +dragon, the Tarasque, for whom they showed their respect by giving his +name to their town.</p> + +<p>Beaucaire, across the river, is lighted by old tradition, too. It was +the home of Aucassin and Nicollette, for one thing, and anyone who has +read that poem, either in the original or in Andrew Lang's exquisite +translation, will have lived, for a moment at least, in the tender light +of legendary tale.</p> + +<p>We drove over to Beaucaire, and Narcissa and I scaled a garden terrace +to some ruined towers and battlements, all that is left of the ancient +seat of the Montmorencys. It is a romantic ruin from a romantic day. It +was built back in the twelve hundreds—when there were still knights and +troubadours, and the former jousted at a great fair which was held<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +there, and the latter reclined on the palace steps, surrounded by ladies +and gallants in silken array, and sang songs of Palestine and the +Crusades. As time went on a light tissue of legend was woven around the +castle itself—half-mythical tales of its earlier centuries. Figures +like Aucassin and Nicollette emerged and were made so real by those who +chanted or recited the marvel of their adventures, that they still live +and breathe with youth when their gallant castle itself is no more than +vacant towers and fragmentary walls. The castle of Beaucaire looks +across to the defiant walls of King René's castle in Tarascon and I +believe there used to be some sturdy wars between them. If not, I shall +construct one some day, when I am less busy, and feeling in the romantic +form. It will be as good history as most castle history, and I think I +shall make Beaucaire win. King René was a good soul, but I am doubtful +about those who followed him, and his castle, so suitable to-day for a +jail, does not invite sympathy. The Montmorency castle was dismantled in +1632, according to the guidebook, by Richelieu, who beheaded its last +tenant—some say with a cleaver, a serviceable utensil for such work.</p> + +<p>Beaucaire itself is not a pretty town—not a clean town. I believe +Nicollette was shut up for a time in one of its houses—we did not +inquire which one—any of them would be bad enough to-day.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 351px;"><a name="ILL_003" id="ILL_003"></a> +<img src="images/ill_003.jpg" width="351" height="500" alt=""Where Roads Branch or Cross There Are Signboards.... You +Can't Ask a Man 'Quel Est le Chemin' for Anywhere When You Are in Front +of a Signboard Which Is Shouting the Information"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<span class="smcap">Where Roads Branch or Cross There Are Signboards.... You +Can't Ask a Man 'Quel Est le Chemin' for Anywhere When You Are in Front +of a Signboard Which Is Shouting the Information</span>"</span> +</div> + +<p>It is altogether easy to keep to the road in France. You do not wind in +and out with unmarked routes crossing and branching at every turn. You +travel a hard, level way, often as straight as a ruling stick<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> and +pointed in the right direction. Where roads branch, or cross, there are +signboards. All the national roads are numbered, and your red-book map +shows these numbers—the chances of mistake being thus further lessened. +We had practiced a good deal at asking in the politest possible French +the way to any elusive destination. The book said that in France one +generally takes off his hat in making such an inquiry, so I practiced +that until I got it to seem almost inoffensive, not to say jaunty, and +the formula "<i>Je vous demande pardon, but—quel est le chemin pour—</i>" +whatever the place was. Sometimes I could even do it without putting in +the "but," and was proud, and anxious to show it off at any opportunity. +But it got dusty with disuse. You can't ask a man "<i>quel est le chemin</i>" +for anywhere when you are on the straight road going there, or in front +of a signboard which is shouting the information. I only got to unload +that sentence twice between Arles and Avignon, and once I forgot to take +off my hat; when I did, the man didn't understand me.</p> + +<p>With the blue mountains traveling always at our right, with level garden +and vineland about us, we drifted up the valley of the Rhone and found +ourselves, in mid-afternoon, at the gates of Avignon. That is not merely +a poetic figure. Avignon has veritable gates—and towering crenelated +walls with ramparts, all about as perfect as when they were built, +nearly six hundred years ago.</p> + +<p>We had heard Avignon called the finest existing specimen of a mediæval +walled city, but somehow one does not realize such things from hearing +the mere<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> words. We stopped the car to stare up at this overtopping +masonry, trying to believe that it had been standing there already three +hundred years, looking just about as it looks to-day, when Shakespeare +was writing plays in London. Those are the things we never really +believe. We only acknowledge them and pass on.</p> + +<p>Very little of Avignon has overflowed its massive boundaries; the fields +were at our backs as we halted in the great portals. We halted because +we noticed the word "<i>L'Octroi</i>" on one of the towers. But, as before, +the <i>l'octroi</i> man merely glanced into our vehicle and waved us away.</p> + +<p>We were looking down a wide shaded avenue of rather modern, even if +foreign, aspect, and full of life. We drove slowly, hunting, as we +passed along, for one of the hotels set down in the red-book as +"comfortable, with modern improvements," including "gar. <i>grat.</i>"—that +is to say, garage gratis, such being the custom of this land. Narcissa, +who has an eye for hotels, spied one presently, a rather +imposing-looking place with a long, imposing name. But the management +was quite modest as to terms when I displayed our T C. de France +membership card, and the "gar. <i>grat.</i>"—this time in the inner court of +the hotel itself—was a neat place with running water and a concrete +floor. Not very ancient for mediæval Avignon, but one can worry along +without antiquities in a hotel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_VIII" id="Chapter_A_VIII"></a>Chapter VIII</h2> + +<h3>GLIMPSES OF THE PAST</h3> + +<p>Avignon, like Arles, was colonized by the Romans, but the only remains +of that time are now in its museum. At Arles the Romans did great +things; its heyday was the period of their occupation. Conditions were +different at Avignon. Avenio, as they called it, seems to have been a +kind of outpost, walled and fortified, but not especially glorified. +Very little was going on at Avenio. Christians were seldom burned there. +In time a Roman emperor came to Arles, and its people boasted that it +was to become the Roman capital. Nothing like that came to Avenio; it +would require another thousand years and another Roman occupation to +mature its grand destiny.</p> + +<p>I do not know just how it worried along during those stormy centuries of +waiting, but with plenty of variety, no doubt. I suppose barbarians came +like summer leafage, conquered and colonized, mixing the blood of a new +race. It became a republic about twelve hundred and something—small, +but tough and warlike—commanding the respect of seigneurs and counts, +even of kings. Christianity, meantime, had prospered. Avignon had +contributed to the Crusades and built churches. Also, a cathedral,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +though little dreaming that in its sacristy would one day lie the body +of a pope.</p> + +<p>Avignon's day, however, was even then at hand. Sedition was rife in +Italy and the popes, driven from Rome, sought refuge in France. Near +Avignon was a small papal dominion of which Carpentras was the capital, +and the pope, then Clement V, came often to Avignon. This was honor, but +when one day the Bishop of Avignon was made Pope John XXII, and +established his seat in his own home, the little city became suddenly +what Arles had only hoped to be—the capital of the world.</p> + +<p>If one were permitted American parlance at this point, he would say that +a boom now set in in Avignon.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> Everybody was gay, everybody busy, +everybody prosperous. The new pope straightway began to enlarge and +embellish his palace, and the community generally followed suit. During +the next sixty or seventy years about everything that is to-day of +importance was built or rebuilt. New churches were erected, old ones +restored. The ancient Roman wall was replaced by the splendid new one. +The papal palace was enlarged and strengthened until it became a mighty +fortress—one of the grandest structures in Europe. The popes went back +to Rome, then, but their legates remained and from their strong citadel +administered the affairs of that district for four turbulent centuries. +In 1791, Avignon united her fortunes to those of France, and through +revolution and bloodshed has come again to freedom and prosperity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> and +peace. I do not know what the population of Avignon was in the day of +her greater glory. To-day it is about fifty thousand, and, as it is full +to the edges, it was probably not more populous then.</p> + +<p>We did not hurry in Avignon. We only loitered about the streets a little +the first afternoon, practicing our French on the sellers of postal +cards. It was a good place for such practice. If there was a soul in +Avignon besides ourselves with a knowledge of English he failed to make +himself known. Not even in our hotel was there a manager, porter, or +waiter who could muster an English word.</p> + +<p>Narcissa and I explored more than the others and discovered the City +Hall and a theater and a little open square with a big monument. We also +got a distant glimpse of some great towering walls which we knew to be +the Palace of the Popes.</p> + +<p>Now and again we were assailed by beggars—soiled and persistent small +boys who annoyed us a good deal until we concocted an impromptu cure. It +was a poem, in French—and effective:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><i>Allez! Allez!</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><i>Je n'ai pas de monnaie!</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><i>Allez! Allez!</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><i>Je n'ai pas de l'argent!</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>A Frenchman might not have had the courage to mortify his language like +that, but we had, and when we marched to that defiant refrain the +attacking party fell back.</p> + +<p>We left the thoroughfare and wandered down into narrow side streets, +cobble-paved and winding,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> between high, age-stained walls—streets and +walls that have surely not been renewed since the great period when the +coming of the popes rebuilt Avignon. So many of the houses are +apparently of one age and antiquity they might all have sprung up on the +same day. What a bustle and building there must have been in those first +years after the popes came! Nothing could be too new and fine for the +chosen city. Now they are old again, but not always shabby. Many of +them, indeed, are of impressive grandeur, with carved casings and +ponderous doors. No sign of life about these—no glimpse of luxury, +faded or fresh—within. Whatever the life they hold—whatever its past +glories or present decline, it is shut away. Only the shabbier homes +were open—women at their evening duties, children playing about the +stoop. <i>They</i> had nothing to conceal. Tradition, lineage, pride, +poverty—they had inherited their share of these things, but they did +not seem to be worrying about it. Their affairs were open to inspection; +and their habits of dress and occupation caused us to linger, until the +narrow streets grew dim and more full of evening echoes, while light +began to twinkle in the little basement shops where the ancestors of +these people had bought and sold for such a long, long time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_IX" id="Chapter_A_IX"></a>Chapter IX</h2> + +<h3>IN THE CITADEL OF FAITH</h3> + +<p>We were not very thorough sight-seers. We did not take a guidebook in +one hand and a pencil in the other and check the items, thus cleaning up +in the fashion of the neat, businesslike tourist. We seldom even had a +program. We just wandered out in some general direction, and made a +discovery or two, looked it over, surmised about it and passed judgment +on its artistic and historical importance, just as if we knew something +of those things; then when we got to a quiet place we took out the book +and looked up what we had seen, and quite often, with the book's +assistance, reversed our judgments and went back and got an altogether +new set of impressions, and kept whichever we liked best. It was a loose +system, to be recommended only for its variety. At the church of St. +Agricole, for instance, which we happened upon when we started out one +morning, we had a most interesting half hour discussing the age and +beauty of its crumbling exterior and wandering about in its dimness, +speculating concerning its frescoes and stained marbles and ancient +tombs. When, later, we sat on the steps outside and looked it up and +found it had been established away back in 680, and twice since +restored; that the fifteenth-century holy-water basin was an especially<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +fine one; that the tombs and altar piece, the sculpture and frescoes +were regarded as "remarkable examples," we were deeply impressed and +went back to verify these things. Then we could see that it was all just +as the book said.</p> + +<p>But the procedure was somewhat different at the Palace of the Popes. We +knew where we were going then, for we saw its towers looming against the +sky, and no one could mistake that pile in Avignon. Furthermore, we paid +a small fee at its massive arched entrance, and there was a guardian, or +guide, to show us through. It is true he spoke only French—Provençal +French—but two gracious Italian ladies happened to be going through at +the same time and, like all cultured continentals, they spoke a variety +of tongues, including American. The touch of travel makes the whole +world kin, and they threw out a line when they saw us floundering, and +towed us through. It was a gentle courtesy which we accepted with +thankful hearts.</p> + +<p>We were in the central court first, the dull, sinister walls towering on +every side. The guide said that executions had taken place there, and +once, in later times—the period of the Revolution—a massacre in which +seventy perished. He also mentioned a bishop of the earlier period who, +having fallen into disfavor, was skinned alive and burned just outside +the palace entrance. Think of doing that to a bishop!</p> + +<p>Our conductor showed us something which we were among the first to see. +Excavation was going on, and near the entrance some workmen were +uncovering a large square basin—a swimming pool, he said—probably<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> of +Roman times. Whatever had stood there had doubtless fallen into +obliterated ruin by the time the papal palace was begun.</p> + +<p>A survey of the court interior showed that a vast scheme of restoration +was going on. The old fortress had suffered from siege more than once, +and time had not spared it; but with that fine pride which the French +have in their monuments, and with a munificence which would seem to be +limitless, they were reconstructing perfectly every ruined part, and +would spend at least two million dollars, we were told, to make the +labor complete. Battered corners of towers had been carefully rebuilt, +tumbled parapets replaced. We stood facing an exquisite mullioned window +whose carved stone outlines were entirely new, yet delicately and finely +cut, certainly at a cost of many thousand francs. The French do not seem +to consider expense in a work of that sort. Concrete imitations will not +do. Whatever is replaced must be as it was in the beginning.</p> + +<p>Inside we found ourselves in the stately audience room, measuring some +fifty by one hundred and eighty feet, its lofty ceiling supported by +massive Gothic arches, all as complete as when constructed. Each missing +piece or portion has been replaced. It was scarcely more perfect when +the first papal audience was held there and when Queen Jeanne of Naples +came to plead for absolution, nearly six centuries ago. It was of +overpowering size and interest, and in one of the upper corners was a +picture I shall not soon forget. It was not a painting or tapestry, but +it might have been either of these things and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> less beautiful. It was a +living human being, a stone carver on a swinging high seat, dressed in +his faded blue cap and blouse and chopping away at a lintel. But he had +the face and beard and, somehow, the figure of a saint. He turned to +regard us with a mild, meditative interest, the dust on his beard and +dress completing the harmony with the gray wall behind him, the embodied +spirit of restoration.</p> + +<p>We ascended to the pontifical chapel, similar in size and appearance to +the room below. We passed to other gigantic apartments, some of them +rudely and elaborately decorated by the military that in later years +made this a garrison. We were taken to the vast refectory, where once +there was a great central table, the proportions of which were plainly +marked by an outline on the stone floor, worn by the feet of feasting +churchmen. Then we went to the kitchen, still more impressive in its +suggestion of the stouter needs of piety. Its chimney is simply a +gigantic central funnel that, rising directly from the four walls, goes +towering and tapering toward the stars. I judge the cooks built their +fires in the center of this room, hanging their pots on cranes, swinging +their meats barbecue fashion, opening the windows for air and draught. +Those old popes and legates were no weaklings, to have a kitchen like +that. Their appetites and digestions, like their faith, were of a robust +and militant sort.</p> + +<p>I dare say it would require a week to go through all this palace, so the +visitor is shown only samples of it. We ascended to one of the towers +and looked down, far down, on the roofs of Avignon—an expanse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> of brown +tiling, toned by the ages, but otherwise not greatly different from what +the popes saw when this tower and these housetops were new. Beyond are +the blue hills which have not changed. Somewhere out there Petrarch's +Laura was buried, but the grave has vanished utterly, the church is a +mere remnant.</p> + +<p>As we stood in the window a cold breath of wind suddenly blew in—almost +piercing for the season. "The mistral," our conductor said, and, though +he did not cross himself, we knew by his exalted smile that he felt in +it the presence of the poet of the south.</p> + +<p>Then he told us that Mistral had appointed him as one of those who were +commissioned to preserve in its purity the Provençal tongue. That he was +very proud of it was certain, and willing to let that wind blow on him +as a sort of benediction. It is said, however, that the mistral wind is +not always agreeable in Avignon. It blows away disease, but it is likely +to overdo its work. "Windy Avignon, liable to the plague when it has not +the wind, and plagued by the wind when it has it," is a saying at least +as old as this palace.</p> + +<p>We got a generous example of it when we at last descended to the street. +There it swirled and raced and grabbed at us until we had to button +everything tightly and hold fast to our hats. We took refuge in the old +cathedral of Notre Dame des Dômes, where John XXII, who brought this +glory to Avignon, lies in his Gothic tomb. All the popes of Avignon were +crowned here; it was the foremost church of Christendom for the better +part of a century. We could see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> but little of the interior, for, with +the now clouded sky, the place was too dark. In the small chapel where +the tomb stands it was dim and still. It is the holy place of Avignon.</p> + +<p>A park adjoins the church and we went into it, but the mistral wind was +tearing through the trees and we crossed and descended by a long flight +to the narrow streets. Everywhere about us the lower foundations of the +papal palace joined the living rock, its towers seeming to climb upward +to the sky. It was as if it had grown out of the rock, indestructible, +eternal, itself a rock of ages.</p> + +<p>We are always saying how small the world is, and we had it suddenly +brought home to us as we stood there under the shadow of those +overtopping heights. We had turned to thank our newly made friends and +to say good-by. One of them said, "You are from America; perhaps you +might happen to know a friend of ours there," and she named one whom we +did know very well indeed—one, in fact, whose house we had visited only +a few months before. How strange it seemed to hear that name from two +women of Florence there in the ancient city, under those everlasting +walls.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_X" id="Chapter_A_X"></a>Chapter X</h2> + +<h3>AN OLD TRADITION AND A NEW EXPERIENCE</h3> + +<p>Among the things I did on the ship was to read the <i>Automobile +Instruction Book</i>. I had never done it before. I had left all technical +matters to a man hired and trained for the business. Now I was going to +a strange land with a resolve to do all the things myself. So I read the +book.</p> + +<p>It was as fascinating as a novel, and more impressive. There never was a +novel like it for action and psychology. When I came to the chapter +"Thirty-seven reasons why the motor may not start," and feverishly read +what one had better try in the circumstances, I could see that as a +subject for strong emotional treatment a human being is nothing to an +automobile.</p> + +<p>Then there was the oiling diagram. A physiological chart would be +nowhere beside it. It was a perfect maze of hair lines and arrow points, +and looked as if it needed to be combed. There were places to be oiled +daily, others to be oiled weekly, some to be oiled monthly, some every +thousand miles. There were also places to be greased at all these +periods, and some when you happened to think of it. You had to put on +your glasses and follow one of the fine lines to the lubricating point, +then try to keep the point in your head until you could get under the +car,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> or over the car, or into the car, and trace it home. I could see +that this was going to be interesting when the time came.</p> + +<p>I did not consider that it had come when we landed at Marseilles. I said +to the garage man there, in my terse French idiom, "Make it the oil and +grease," and walked away. Now, at Avignon, the new regime must begin. In +the bright little, light little hotel garage we would set our car in +order. I say "we" because Narcissa, aged fifteen, being of a practical +turn, said she would help me. I would "make it the oil and grease," and +Narcissa would wash and polish. So we began. The Joy, aged ten, was +audience.</p> + +<p>Narcissa enjoyed her job. There was a hose in it, and a sponge and nice +rubbing rags and polish, and she went at it in her strenuous way, and +hosed me up one side and down the other at times when I was tracing some +blind lead and she wasn't noticing carefully.</p> + +<p>I said I would make a thorough job of it. I would oil and grease all the +daily, weekly, and monthly, and even the once-in-a-while places. We +would start fair from Avignon.</p> + +<p>I am a resolute person. I followed those tangled lines and labyrinthian +ways into the vital places of our faithful vehicle. Some led to caps, +big and little, which I filled with grease. Most of them were full +already, but I gave them another dab for luck. Some of the lines led to +tiny caps and holes into which I squirted oil. Some led to a dim +uncertainty, into which I squirted or dabbed something in a general way. +Some led to mere blanks, and I greased those.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> It sounds rather easy, +but that is due to my fluent style. It was not easy; it was a hot, +messy, scratchy, grunting job. Those lines were mostly blind leads, and +full of smudgy, even painful surprises. Some people would have been +profane, but I am not like that—not with Narcissa observing me. One +hour, two, went by, and I was still consulting the chart and dabbing +with the oil can and grease stick. The chart began to show wear; <i>it</i> +would not need greasing again for years.</p> + +<p>Meantime Narcissa had finished her washing and polishing, and was +putting dainty touches on the glass and metal features to kill time. I +said at last that possibly I had missed some places, but I didn't think +they could be important ones. Narcissa looked at me, then, and said that +maybe I had missed places on the car but that I hadn't missed any on +myself. She said I was a sight and probably never could be washed clean +again. It is true that my hands were quite solidly black, and, while I +did not recall wiping them on my face, I must have done so. When +Narcissa asked how soon I was going to grease the car again, I said +possibly in about a thousand years. But that was petulance; I knew it +would be sooner. Underneath all I really had a triumphant feeling, and +Narcissa was justly proud of her work, too. We agreed that our car had +never looked handsomer and shinier since our first day of ownership. I +said I was certain it had never been so thoroughly greased. We would +leave Avignon in style.</p> + +<p>We decided to cross the Rhone at Avignon. We wanted at least a passing +glance at Villeneuve, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> a general view of Avignon itself, which was +said to be finest from across the river. We would then continue up the +west bank—there being a special reason for this—a reason with a +village in it—one Beauchastel—not set down on any of our maps, but +intimately concerned with our travel program, as will appear later.</p> + +<p>We did not leave Avignon by the St. Bénézet bridge. We should have liked +that, for it is one of those bridges built by a miracle, away back in +the twelfth century when they used miracles a good deal for such work. +Sometimes Satan was induced to build them overnight, but I believe that +was still earlier. Satan seems to have retired from active +bridge-building by the twelfth century. It was a busy period for him at +home.</p> + +<p>So the Bénézet bridge was built by a boy of that name—a little shepherd +of twelve, who received a command in a dream to go to Avignon and build +a bridge across the Rhone. He said:</p> + +<p>"I cannot leave my sheep, and I have but three farthings in the world."</p> + +<p>"Your flocks will not stray," said the voice, "and an angel will lead +thee."</p> + +<p>Bénézet awoke and found beside him a pilgrim whom he somehow knew to be +an angel. So they journeyed together and after many adventures reached +Avignon. Here the pilgrim disappeared and Bénézet went alone to where a +bishop was preaching to the people. There, in the presence of the +assembly, Bénézet stated clearly that Heaven had sent him to build a +bridge across the Rhone. Angry at the interruption,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> the bishop ordered +the ragged boy to be taken in charge by the guard and punished for +insolence and untruth. That was an ominous order. Men had been skinned +alive on those instructions. But Bénézet repeated his words to the +officer, a rough man, who said:</p> + +<p>"Can a beggar boy like you do what neither the saints nor Emperor +Charlemagne has been able to accomplish? Pick up this stone as a +beginning, and carry it to the river. If you can do that I may believe +in you."</p> + +<p>It was a sizable stone, being thirteen feet long by seven +broad—thickness not given, though probably three feet, for it was a +fragment of a Roman wall. It did not trouble Bénézet, however. He said +his prayers, and lightly lifted it to his shoulder and carried it across +the town! Some say he whistled softly as he passed along.</p> + +<p>I wish I had lived then. I would almost be willing to trade centuries to +see Bénézet surprise those people, carrying in that easy way a stone +that reached up to the second-story windows. Bénézet carried the stone +to the bank of the river and set it down where the first arch of the +bridge would stand.</p> + +<p>There was no trouble after that. Everybody wanted to stand well with +Bénézet. Labor and contributions came unasked. In eleven years the great +work was finished, but Bénézet did not live to see it. He died four +years before the final stones were laid, was buried in a chapel on the +bridge itself and canonized as a saint. There is another story about +him, but I like this one best.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>Bénézet's bridge was a gay place during the days of the popes at +Avignon. Music and dancing were continuously going on there. It is ready +for another miracle now. Only four arches of its original eighteen are +standing. Storm and flood did not destroy it, but war. Besiegers and +besieged broke down the arches, and at last, more than two hundred years +ago, repairs were given up. It is a fine, firm-looking fragment that +remains. One wishes, for the sake of the little shepherd boy, that it +might be restored once more and kept solid through time.</p> + +<p>Passing along under the ramparts of Avignon, we crossed the newer, +cheaper bridge, and took the first turn to the right. It was a leafy +way, and here and there between the trees we had splendid glimpses of +the bastioned walls and castle-crowned heights of Avignon. Certainly +there is no more impressive mediæval picture in all Europe.</p> + +<p>But on one account we were not entirely satisfied. It was not the view +that disturbed us; it was ourselves—our car. We were smoking—smoking +badly, disgracefully; one could not deny it. In New York City we would +have been taken in charge at once. At first I said it was only a little +of the fresh oil burning off the engine, and that it would stop +presently. But that excuse wore out. It would have taken quarts to make +a smudge like that. When the wind was with us we traveled in a cloud, +like prophets and deities of old, and the passengers grumbled. The Joy +suggested that we would probably blow up soon.</p> + +<p>Then we began to make another discovery; when now and then the smoke +cleared away a little, we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> found we were not in Villeneuve at all. We +had not entirely crossed the river, but only halfway; we were on an +island. I began to feel that our handsome start had not turned out well.</p> + +<p>We backed around and drove slowly to the bridge again, our distinction +getting more massive and solid every minute. Disaster seemed imminent. +The passengers were inclined to get out and walk. I said, at last, that +we would go back to a garage I had noticed outside the walls. I put it +on the grounds that we needed gasoline.</p> + +<p>It was not far, and the doors stood open. The men inside saw us coming +with our gorgeous white tail filling the landscape behind us, and got +out of the way. Then they gathered cautiously to examine us.</p> + +<p>"Too much oil," they said.</p> + +<p>In my enthusiasm I had overdone the thing. I had poured quarts into the +crank case when there was probably enough there already. I had not been +altogether to blame. Two little telltale cocks that were designed to +drip when there was sufficient oil had failed to drip because they were +stopped with dust. Being new and green, I had not thought of that +possibility. A workman poked a wire into those little cocks and drew off +the fuel we had been burning in that lavish way. So I had learned +something, but it seemed a lot of smoke for such a small spark of +experience. Still, it was a relief to know that it was nothing worse, +and while the oil was dripping to its proper level we went back into the +gates of Avignon, where, lunching in a pretty garden under some trees, +we made light of our troubles, as is our way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XI" id="Chapter_A_XI"></a>Chapter XI</h2> + +<h3>WAYSIDE ADVENTURES</h3> + +<p>So we took a new start and made certain that we entirely crossed the +river this time. We were in Villeneuve-les-Avignon—that is, the "new +town"—but it did not get that name recently, if one may judge from its +looks. Villeneuve, in fact, is fourteen hundred years old, and shows its +age. It was in its glory six centuries ago, when King Philippe le Bel +built his tower at the end of Bénézet's bridge, and Jean le Bon built +one of the sternest-looking fortresses in France—Fort St. André. Time +has made the improvements since then. It has stained the walls and +dulled the sharp masonry of these monuments; it has crushed and crumbled +the feebler structures and filled the streets with emptiness and +silence. Villeneuve was a thronging, fighting, praying place once, but +the throng has been reduced and the fighting and praying have become +matters of individual enterprise.</p> + +<p>I wish now we had lingered at Villeneuve-les-Avignon. I have rarely seen +a place that seemed so to invite one to forget the activities of life +and go groping about among the fragments of history. But we were under +the influence of our bad start, and impelled to move on. Also, +Villeneuve was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> overshadowed by the magnificence of the Palace of the +Popes, which, from its eternal seat on le Rocher des Doms, still claimed +us. We briefly visited St. André, the tower of Philippe le Bel, and +loitered a little in a Chartreuse monastery—a perfect wilderness of +ruin; then slipped away, following the hard, smooth road through a +garden and wonderland, the valley of the Rhone.</p> + +<p>I believe there are no better vineyards in France than those between +Avignon and Bagnols. The quality of the grapes is another matter; they +are probably sour. All the way along those luscious topaz and amethyst +clusters had been disturbing, but my conscience had held firm and I had +passed them by. Sometimes I said: "There are tons of those grapes; a few +bunches would never be missed." But Narcissa and the others said it +would be stealing; besides, there were houses in plain view.</p> + +<p>But there is a limit to all things. In a level, sheltered place below +Bagnols we passed a vineyard shut in by trees, with no house in sight. +And what a vineyard! Ripening in the afternoon sun, clustered such gold +and purple bunches as were once warmed by the light of Eden. I looked +casually in different directions and slowed down. Not a sign of life +anywhere. I brought the car to a stop. I said, "This thing has gone far +enough."</p> + +<p>Conscience dozed. The protests of the others fell on heedless ears. I +firmly crossed the irrigating ditch which runs along all those French +roads, stepped among the laden vines, picked one of those lucent, yellow +bunches and was about to pick another when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> I noticed something with a +human look stir to life a little way down the row.</p> + +<p>Conscience awoke with something like a spasm. I saw at once that taking +those grapes was wrong; I almost dropped the bunch I had. Narcissa says +I ran, but that is a mistake. There was not room. I made about two steps +and plunged into the irrigating canal, which I disremembered for the +moment, my eyes being fixed on the car. Narcissa says she made a grab at +my grapes as they sailed by. I seemed to be a good while getting out of +the irrigating ditch, but Narcissa thinks I was reasonably prompt. I had +left the engine running, and some seconds later, when we were putting +temptation behind us on third speed, I noticed that the passengers +seemed to be laughing. When I inquired as to what amused them they +finally gasped out that the thing which had moved among the grapevines +was a goat, as if that made any difference to a person with a sensitive +conscience.</p> + +<p>It is not likely that any reader of these chapters will stop overnight +at Bagnols. We should hardly have rested there, but evening was coming +on and the sky had a stormy look. Later we were glad, for we found +ourselves in an inn where d'Artagnan, or his kind, lodged, in the days +when knights went riding. Travelers did not arrive in automobiles when +that hostelry was built, and not frequently in carriages. They came on +horseback and clattered up to the open door and ordered tankards of good +red wine, and drank while their horses stretched their necks to survey +the interior scenery. The old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> worn cobbles are still at the door, and +not much has changed within. A niche holds a row of candles, and the +traveler takes one of them and lights himself to bed. His room is an +expanse and his bed stands in a curtained alcove—the bedstead an +antique, the bed billowy, clean, and comfortable, as all beds are in +France. Nothing has been changed there for a long time. The latest +conveniences are of a date not more recent than the reign of Marie +Antoinette, for they are exactly the kind she used, still to be seen at +Versailles. And the dinner was good, with red and white flagons strewn +all down the table—such a dinner as d'Artagnan and his wild comrades +had, no doubt, and if prices have not changed they paid five francs +fifty, or one dollar and ten cents each, for dinner, lodging, and <i>petit +déjeuner</i> (coffee, rolls, and jam)—garage free.</p> + +<p>Bagnols is unimportant to the tourist, but it is old and quaint, and it +has what may be found in many unimportant places in France, at least one +beautiful work of art—a soldier's monument, in this instance; <i>not</i> a +stiff effigy of an infantryman with a musket, cut by some gifted +tombstone sculptor, but a female figure of Victory, full of vibrant life +and inspiration—a true work of art. France is full of such things as +that—one finds them in most unexpected places.</p> + +<p>The valley of the Rhone grew more picturesque as we ascended. Now and +again, at our left, rocky bluffs rose abruptly, some of them crowned +with ruined towers and equally ruined villages, remnants of feudalism, +of the lord and his vassals who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> fought and flourished there in that +time when France was making the romantic material which writers ever +since have been so busily remaking and adorning that those old originals +would stare and gasp if they could examine some of it now. How fine and +grand it seems to picture the lord and his men, all bright and shining, +riding out under the portcullis on glossy prancing and armored horses to +meet some aggressive and equally shining detachment of feudalism from +the next hilltop. In the valley they meet, with ringing cries and the +clash of steel. Foeman matches foeman—it is a series of splendid duels, +combats to be recounted by the fireside for generations. Then, at the +end, the knightly surrender of the conquered, the bended knee and +acknowledgment of fealty, gracious speeches from the victor as to the +bravery and prowess of the defeated, after which, the welcome of fair +ladies and high wassail for all concerned. Everybody happy, everybody +satisfied: wounds apparently do not count or interfere with festivities. +The dead disappear in some magic way. I do not recall that they are ever +buried.</p> + +<p>Just above Rochemaure was one of the most imposing of these ruins. The +castle that crowned the hilltop had been a fine structure in its day. +The surrounding outer wall which inclosed its village extended downward +to the foot of the hill to the road—and still inclosed a village, +though the more ancient houses seemed tenantless. It was built for +offense and defense, that was certain, and doubtless had been used for +both. We did not stop to dig<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> up that romance. Not far away, by the +roadside, stood what was apparently a Roman column. It had been already +old and battered—a mere fragment of a ruin—when the hilltop castle and +its village were brave and new.</p> + +<p>It was above Rochemaure—I did not identify the exact point—that an +opportunity came which very likely I shall never have again. On a bluff +high above an ancient village, so old and curious that it did not belong +to reality at all, there was a great château, not a ruin—at least, not +a tumbled ruin, though time-beaten and gray—but a good complete +château, and across its mossy lintel a stained and battered wooden sign +with the legend, "<i>A Louer</i>"—that is, "To Let."</p> + +<p>I stopped the car. This, I said, was our opportunity. Nothing could be +better than that ancient and lofty perch overlooking the valley of the +Rhone. The "To Let" sign had been there certainly a hundred years, so +the price would be reasonable. We could get it for a song; we would +inherit its traditions, its secret passages, its donjons, its ghosts, +its— I paused a moment, expecting enthusiasm, even eagerness, on the +part of the family. Strange as it may seem, there wasn't a particle of +either. I went over those things again, and added new and fascinating +attractions. I said we would adopt the coat of arms of that old family, +hyphenate its name with ours, and so in that cheap and easy fashion +achieve a nobility which the original owner had probably shed blood to +attain.</p> + +<p>It was no use. The family looked up the hill with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> an interest that was +almost clammy. Narcissa asked, "How would you get the car up there?" The +Joy said, "It would be a good place for bad dreams." The head of the +expedition remarked, as if dismissing the most trivial item of the +journey, that we'd better be going on or we should be late getting into +Valence. So, after dreaming all my life of living in a castle, I had to +give it up in that brief, incidental way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XII" id="Chapter_A_XII"></a>Chapter XII</h2> + +<h3>THE LOST NAPOLEON</h3> + +<p>Now, it is just here that we reach the special reason which had kept us +where we had a clear view of the eastward mountains, and particularly to +the westward bank of the Rhone, where there was supposed to be a certain +tiny village, one Beauchastel—a village set down on none of our maps, +yet which was to serve as an important identifying mark. The reason had +its beginning exactly twenty-two years before; that is to say, in +September, 1891. Mark Twain was in Europe that year, seeking health and +literary material, and toward the end of the summer—he was then at +Ouchy, Switzerland—he decided to make a floating trip down the river +Rhone. He found he could start from Lake Bourget in France, and, by +paddling through a canal, reach the strong Rhone current, which would +carry him seaward. Joseph Very, his favorite guide (mentioned in <i>A +Tramp Abroad</i>), went over to Lake Bourget and bought a safe, +flat-bottomed boat, retaining its former owner as pilot, and with these +accessories Mark Twain made one of the most peaceful and delightful +excursions of his life. Indeed, he enjoyed it so much and so lazily that +after the first few days he gave up making extended notes and +surrendered himself entirely to the languorous fascination of drifting +idly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> through the dreamland of southern France. On the whole, it was an +eventless excursion, with one exception—a startling exception, as he +believed.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, when they had been drifting several days, he sighted a +little village not far ahead, on the west bank, an ancient "jumble of +houses," with a castle, one of the many along that shore. It looked +interesting and he suggested that they rest there for the night. Then, +chancing to glance over his shoulder toward the eastward mountains, he +received a sudden surprise—a "soul-stirring shock," as he termed it +later. The big blue eastward mountain was no longer a mere mountain, but +a gigantic portrait in stone of one of his heroes. Eagerly turning to +Joseph Very and pointing to the huge effigy, he asked him to name it. +The courier said, "Napoleon." The boatman also said, "Napoleon." It +seemed to them, indeed, almost uncanny, this lifelike, reclining figure +of the conqueror, resting after battle, or, as Mark Twain put it, +"dreaming of universal empire." They discussed it in awed voices, as one +of the natural wonders of the world, which perhaps they had been the +first to discover. They landed at the village, Beauchastel, and next +morning Mark Twain, up early, watched the sun rise from behind the great +stone face of his discovery. He made a pencil sketch in his notebook, +and recorded the fact that the figure was to be seen from Beauchastel. +That morning, drifting farther down the Rhone, they watched it until the +human outlines changed.</p> + +<p>Mark Twain's Rhone trip was continued as far as Arles, where the current +slackened. He said that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> some one would have to row if they went on, +which would mean work, and that he was averse to work, even in another +person. He gave the boat to its former owner, took Joseph, and rejoined +the family in Switzerland.</p> + +<p>Events thronged into Mark Twain's life: gay winters, summers of travel, +heavy literary work, business cares and failures, a trip around the +world, bereavement. Amid such a tumult the brief and quiet Rhone trip +was seldom even remembered.</p> + +<p>But ten or eleven years later, when he had returned to America and was +surrounded by quieter things, he happened to remember the majestic +figure of the first Napoleon discovered that September day while +drifting down the Rhone. He recalled no more than that. His memory was +always capricious—he had even forgotten that he made a sketch of the +figure, with notes identifying the locality. He could picture clearly +enough the incident, the phenomenon, the surroundings, but the name of +the village had escaped him, and he located it too far down, between +Arles and Avignon.</p> + +<p>All his old enthusiasm returned now. He declared if the presence of this +great natural wonder was made known to the world, tourists would flock +to the spot, hotels would spring up there—all other natural curiosities +would fall below it in rank. His listeners caught his enthusiasm. +Theodore Stanton, the journalist, declared he would seek and find the +"Lost Napoleon," as Mark Twain now called it, because he was unable to +identify the exact spot. He assured Stanton that it would be perfectly +easy to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> find, as he could take a steamer from Arles to Avignon, and by +keeping watch he could not miss it. Stanton returned to Europe and began +the search. I am not sure that he undertook the trip himself, but he +made diligent inquiries of Rhone travelers and steamer captains, and a +lengthy correspondence passed between him and Mark Twain on the subject.</p> + +<p>No one had seen the "Lost Napoleon." Travelers passing between Avignon +and Arles kept steady watch on the east range, but the apparition did +not appear. Mark Twain eventually wrote an article, intending to publish +it, in the hope that some one would report the mislaid emperor. However, +he did not print the sketch, which was fortunate enough, for with its +misleading directions it would have made him unpopular with disappointed +travelers. The locality of his great discovery was still a mystery when +Mark Twain died.</p> + +<p>So it came about that our special reason for following the west bank of +the Rhone—the Beauchastel side, in plain view of the eastward +mountains—was to find the "Lost Napoleon." An easy matter, it seemed in +prospect, for we had what the others had lacked—that is to say, exact +information as to its locality—the notes, made twenty-two years before +by Mark Twain himself<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>—the pencil sketch, and memoranda stating that +the vision was to be seen opposite the village of Beauchastel.</p> + +<p>But now there developed what seemed to be another mystery. Not only our +maps and our red-book,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> but patient inquiry as well, failed to reveal +any village or castle by the name of Beauchastel. It was a fine, +romantic title, and we began to wonder if it might not be a combination +of half-caught syllables, remembered at the moment of making the notes, +and converted by Mark Twain's imagination into this happy sequence of +sounds.</p> + +<p>So we must hunt and keep the inquiries going. We had begun the hunt as +soon as we left Avignon, and the inquiries when there was opportunity. +Then presently the plot thickened. The line of those eastward mountains +began to assume many curious shapes. Something in their formation was +unlike other mountains, and soon it became not difficult to imagine a +face almost anywhere. Then at one point appeared a real face, no +question this time as to the features, only it was not enough like the +face of the sketch to make identification sure. We discussed it +anxiously and with some energy, and watched it a long time, thinking +possibly it would gradually melt into the right shape, and that +Beauchastel or some similarly sounding village would develop along the +river bank.</p> + +<p>But the likeness did not improve, and, while there were plenty of +villages, there was none with a name the sound of which even suggested +Beauchastel. Altogether we discovered as many as five faces that day, +and became rather hysterical at last, and called them our collection of +lost Napoleons, though among them was not one of which we could say with +conviction, "Behold, the Lost Napoleon!" This brought us to Bagnols, and +we had a fear now that we were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> past the viewpoint—that somehow our +search, or our imagination, had been in vain.</p> + +<p>But then came the great day. Up and up the Rhone, interested in so many +things that at times we half forgot to watch the eastward hills, passing +village after village, castle after castle, but never the "jumble of +houses" and the castle that commanded the vision of the great chief +lying asleep along the eastern horizon.</p> + +<p>I have not mentioned, I think, that at the beginning of most French +villages there is a signboard, the advertisement of a firm of +auto-stockists, with the name of the place, and the polite request to +"<i>Ralentir</i>"—that is, to "go slow." At the other end of the village is +another such a sign, and on the reverse you read, as you pass out, +"<i>Merci</i>"—which is to say, "Thanks," for going slowly; so whichever way +you come you get information, advice, and politeness from these boards, +a feature truly French.</p> + +<p>Well, it was a little way above the château which I did not rent, and we +were driving along slowly, thinking of nothing at all, entering an +unimportant-looking place, when Narcissa, who always sees everything, +suddenly uttered the magical word "Beauchastel!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="ILL_004" id="ILL_004"></a> +<img src="images/ill_004.jpg" width="500" height="344" alt="MARK TWAIN'S "LOST NAPOLEON" "The Colossal Sleeping Figure in Its Supreme Repose"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">MARK TWAIN'S "LOST NAPOLEON"<br /><br />"<span class="smcap">The Colossal Sleeping Figure in Its Supreme Repose</span>"</span> +</div> + +<p>It was like an electric shock—the soul-stirring shock which Mark Twain +had received at the instant of his great discovery. Beauchastel! Not a +figment, then, but a reality—the veritable jumble of houses we had been +seeking, and had well-nigh given up as a myth. Just there the houses +interfered with our view, but a hundred yards farther along a vista<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +opened to the horizon, and there at last, in all its mightiness and +dignity and grandeur, lay the Lost Napoleon! It is not likely that any +other natural figure in stone ever gave two such sudden and splendid +thrills of triumph, first, to its discoverer, and, twenty-two years +later, almost to the day, to those who had discovered it again. There +was no question this time. The colossal sleeping figure in its supreme +repose confuted every doubt, resting where it had rested for a million +years, and would still rest for a million more.</p> + +<p>At first we spoke our joy eagerly, then fell into silence, looking and +looking, loath to go, for fear it would change. At every opening we +halted to look again, and always with gratification, for it did not +change, or so gradually that for miles it traveled with us, and still at +evening, when we were nearing Valence, there remained a great stone face +on the horizon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XIII" id="Chapter_A_XIII"></a>Chapter XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE HOUSE OF HEADS</h3> + +<p>I ought to say, I suppose, that we were no longer in Provence. Even at +Avignon we were in Venaissin, according to present geography, and when +we crossed the Rhone we passed into Languedoc. Now, at Valence, we were +in Dauphiné, of which Valence is the "chief-lieu," meaning, I take it, +the official headquarters. I do not think these are the old divisions at +all, and in any case it all has been "the Midi," which to us is the +Provence, the vineland, songland, and storyland of a nation where vine +and song and story flourish everywhere so lavishly that strangers come, +never to bring, but only to carry away.</p> + +<p>At Valence, however, romance hesitates on the outskirts. The light of +other days grows dim in its newer electric glow. Old castles surmount +the hilltops, but one needs a field glass to see them. The city itself +is modern and busy, prosperous in its manufacture of iron, silk, +macaroni, and certain very good liquors.</p> + +<p>I believe the chief attraction of Valence is the "House of the Heads." +Our guidebook has a picture which shows Napoleon Bonaparte standing at +the entrance, making his adieus to Montalivet, who, in a later day, was +to become his minister.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> Napoleon had completed his military education +in the artillery school of Valence, and at the moment was setting out to +fulfill his dream of conquest. It is rather curious, when you think of +it, that the great natural stone portrait already described should be +such a little distance away.</p> + +<p>To go back to the House of the Heads: Our book made only the briefest +mention of its construction, and told nothing at all of its traditions. +We stood in front of it, gazing in the dim evening light at the +crumbling carved faces of its façade, peering through into its ancient +court where there are now apartments to let, wondering as to its +history. One goes raking about in the dusty places of his memory at such +moments; returning suddenly from an excursion of that sort, I said I +recalled the story of a house of carved heads—something I had heard, or +read, long ago—and that this must be the identical house concerning +which the story had been told.</p> + +<p>It was like this: There was a wealthy old bachelor of ancient days who +had spent his life in collecting rare treasures of art; pictures, +tapestries, choice metal-work, arms—everything that was beautiful and +rare; his home was a storehouse of priceless things. He lived among +them, attended only by a single servant—the old woman who had been his +nurse—a plain, masculine creature, large of frame, still strong and +brawny, stout of heart and of steadfast loyalty. When the master was +away gathering new treasures she slept in the room where the arms were +kept, with a short, sharp, two-edged museum piece by her couch, and +without fear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>One morning he told her of a journey he was about to take, and said: "I +hesitate to leave you here alone. You are no longer young."</p> + +<p>But she answered: "Only by the count of years, not by the measure of +strength or vigilance. I am not afraid."</p> + +<p>So he left her, to return on the third day. But on the evening of the +second day, when the old servant went down to the lower basement for +fuel—silently, in her softly slippered feet—she heard low voices at a +small window that opened to the court. She crept over to it and found +that a portion of the sash had been removed; listening, she learned that +a group of men outside in the dusk were planning to enter and rob the +house. They were to wait until she was asleep, then creep in through the +window, make their way upstairs, kill her, and carry off the treasures.</p> + +<p>It seemed a good plan, but as the old servant listened she formed a +better one. She crept back upstairs, not to lock herself in and stand a +siege, but to get her weapon, the short, heavy sword with its two razor +edges. Then she came back and sat down to wait. While she was waiting +she entertained herself by listening to their plans and taking a little +quiet muscle exercise. By and by she heard them say that the old hag +would surely be asleep by this time. The "old hag" smiled grimly and got +ready.</p> + +<p>A man put his head in. It was pitch dark inside, but just enough light +came in from the stars for her to see where to strike. When half his +body was through she made a clean slicing swing of the heavy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> sword and +the robber's head dropped on a little feather bed which she had +thoughtfully provided. The old woman seized the shoulders and firmly +drew the rest of the man inside. Another head came in, slowly, the +shoulders following. With another swing of the sword they had parted +company, and the grim avenging hands were silently dragging in the +remnant. Another head and shoulders followed, another, and another, +until six heads and bodies were stacked about the executioner and there +was blood enough to swim in. The seventh robber did not appear +immediately; something about the silence within made him reluctant. He +was suspicious, he did not know of what. He put his head to the opening +and whispered, asking if everything was all right. The old woman was no +longer calm. The violent exercise and intense interest in her occupation +had unnerved her. She was afraid she could not control her voice to +answer, and that he would get away. She made a supreme effort and +whispered, "Yes, all right." So he put in his head—very +slowly—hesitated, and started to withdraw. The old woman, however, did +not hesitate. She seized him by the hair, brought the sword down with a +fierce one-hand swing, and the treasures of this world troubled him no +more.</p> + +<p>Then the old servant went crazy. Returning next morning, her master +found her covered with blood, brandishing her sword, and repeating over +and over, "Seven heads, and all mine," and at sight of him lost +consciousness. She recovered far enough to tell her story, then, +presently, died. But in her honor the master rebuilt the front of his +dwelling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> and had carved upon it the heads of the men she had so +promptly and justly punished.</p> + +<p>Now, I said, this must be the very house, and we regarded it with awe +and tried to locate the little cellar window where the execution had +taken place. It was well enough in the evening dimness, but in the +morning when we went around there again I privately began to have doubts +as to the legend's authenticity, at least so far as this particular +house was concerned. The heads, by daylight, did not look like the heads +of house breakers—not any house breakers of my acquaintance—and I +later consulted a guidebook which attached to them the names of Homer, +Hippocrates, Aristotle, Pythagoras, etc., and I don't think those were +the names of the parties concerned in this particular affair. It's very +hard to give up a good and otherwise perfectly fitting legend, but one +must either do that or change the guidebook. Ah, well, it isn't the +first sacrifice I've had to make for the sake of history.</p> + +<p>Valence has been always a place of culture and educational activity. It +was capital of Segalauni before the Romans came, and there was a +celebrated school there, even then. This information also came from the +guidebook, and it surprised me. It was the first time I had heard that +the Segalaunians had a school prior to the Roman conquest. It was also +the first time I had heard of the Segalaunians. I thought they were all +Gauls and Goths and Vandals up that way, and that their education +consisted in learning how to throw a spear convincingly, or to divert +one with a rawhide buckler. Now I discovered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> they had a college before +the Romans conquered them. One can hardly blame them for descending upon +those Romans later, with fire and sword. Valence shared the usual fate. +It was ravished by the so-called barbarians, and later hacked to pieces +by Christian kings. To-day again it is a fair city, with parks, wide +boulevards, and imposing monuments.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XIV" id="Chapter_A_XIV"></a>Chapter XIV</h2> + +<h3>INTO THE HILLS</h3> + +<p>Turning eastward from Valence, we headed directly for the mountains and +entered a land with all the wealth of increase we had found in Provence, +and with even more of picturesqueness. The road was still perfect—hard +and straight, with an upward incline, but with a grade so gradual and +perfect as to be barely noticeable. Indeed, there were times when we +seemed actually to be descending, even when the evidence of gravity told +us that we were climbing; that is to say, we met water coming toward +us—water flowing by the roadside—and more than once Narcissa and I +agreed that the said water was running uphill, which was not likely—not +in France. Of course, in England, where they turn to the left, it might +be expected. The village did not seem quite like those along the Rhone. +The streets were as narrow, the people as mildly interested in us, but, +on the whole, we thought the general aspect was less ancient, possibly +less clean.</p> + +<p>But they were interesting. Once we saw a man beating a drum, stopping on +every corner to collect a little crowd and read some sort of +proclamation, and once by the roadside we met a little negro child in a +straw hat and a bright dress, a very bit of the American South. +Everywhere were pretty gardens,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> along the walls gay flowers, and always +the valleys were rich in orchard and vineyard, plumed with tall poplars, +divided by bright rivers, and glorified with hazy September sunlight.</p> + +<p>We grew friendly with the mountains in the course of the afternoon, then +intimate. They sprang up before us and behind us; just across the +valleys they towered into the sky. Indeed, we suddenly had a most +dramatic proof that we were climbing one. We had been shut in by wooded +roads and sheltered farmsteads for an hour or two when we came out again +into the open valley, with the river flowing through. But we were no +longer <i>in</i> the valley! Surprise of surprises! we were on a narrow, +lofty road hundreds of feet above it, skirting the mountainside! It +seemed incredible that our gradual, almost imperceptible, ascent had +brought us to that high perch, overlooking this marvelous Vale of +Cashmere. Everyone has two countries, it is said; his own and France. +One could understand that saying here, and why the French are not an +emigrating race. We stopped to gaze our fill, and as we went along, the +scenery attracted my attention so much that more than once I nearly +drove off into it. We were so engrossed by the picture that we took the +wrong road and went at least ten miles out of our way to get to +Grenoble. But it did not matter; we saw startlingly steep mountainsides +that otherwise we might not have seen, and dashing streams, and at the +end we had a wild and glorious coast of five or six miles from our +mountain fastness down into the valley of the Isère, a regular toboggan +streak, both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> horns going, nerves taut, teeth set, probable disaster +waiting at every turn. We had never done such a thing before, and +promised ourselves not to do it again. One such thrill was worth while, +perhaps, but the ordinary lifetime might not outlast another.</p> + +<p>Down in that evening valley we were in a wonderland. Granite walls rose +perpendicularly on our left; cottages nestled in gardens at our +right—bloom, foliage, fragrance, the flowing Isère. Surely this was the +happy valley, the land of peace and plenty, shut in by these lofty +heights from all the troubling of the world. Even the towers and spires +of a city that presently began to rise ahead of us did not disturb us. +In the evening light they were not real, and when we had entered the +gates of ancient Gratianopolis, and crossed the Isère by one of its +several bridges, it seemed that this modern Grenoble was not quite a +city of the eager world.</p> + +<p>The hotel we selected from the red-book was on the outskirts, and we had +to draw pretty heavily on our French to find it; but it was worth while, +for it was set in a wide garden, and from every window commanded the +Alps. We realized now that they <i>were</i> the Alps, the Alps of the Savoy, +their high green slopes so near that we could hear the tinkle of the +goat bells.</p> + +<p>We did not take the long drive through the "impossibly beautiful" +valleys of Grenoble which we had planned for next morning. When we arose +the air was no longer full of stillness and sunlight. In fact, it was +beginning to rain. So we stayed in, and by and by for luncheon had all +the good French things,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> ending with fresh strawberries, great bowls of +them—in September—and apparently no novelty in this happy valley of +the Isère. All the afternoon, too, it rained, and some noisy French +youngsters raced up and down the lower rooms and halls, producing a +homelike atmosphere, while we gathered about the tables to study the +French papers and magazines.</p> + +<p>It was among the advertisements that I made some discoveries about +French automobiles. They are more expensive than ours, in proportion to +the horsepower, the latter being usually low. About twelve to fifteen +horsepower seems to be the strength of the ordinary five-passenger +machine. Our own thirty-horsepower engine, which we thought rather light +at home, is a giant by comparison. Heavy engines are not needed in +France. The smooth roads and perfectly graded hills require not half the +power that we must expend on some of our rough, tough, rocky, and steep +highways. Again, these lighter engines and cars take less gasoline, +certainly, and that is a big item, where gasoline costs at least 100 per +cent more than in America. I suppose the lightest weight car consistent +with strength and comfort would be the thing to take to Europe. There +would be a saving in the gasoline bill; and then the customs deposit, +which is figured on the weight, would not be so likely to cripple the +owner's bank account.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XV" id="Chapter_A_XV"></a>Chapter XV</h2> + +<h3>UP THE ISÈRE</h3> + +<p>Sometime in the night the rain ceased, and by morning Nature had +prepared a surprise for us. The air was crystal clear, and towering into +the sky were peaks no longer blue or green or gray, but white with +drifted snow! We were in warm, mellow September down in our valley, but +just up there—such a little way it seemed—were the drifts of winter. +With our glass we could bring them almost within snowballing distance. +Feathery clouds drifted among the peaks, the sun shooting through. It +was all new to us, and startling. These really were the Alps; there was +no further question.</p> + +<p>"Few French cities have a finer location than Grenoble," says the +guidebook, and if I also have not conveyed this impression I have meant +to do so. Not many cities in the world, I imagine, are more +picturesquely located. It is also a large city, with a population of +more than seventy-five thousand—a city of culture, and it has been +important since the beginning of recorded history. Gratian was its +patron Roman emperor, and the name Gratianopolis, assumed in his honor, +has become the Grenoble of to-day. Gratian lived back in the fourth +century and was a capable sort of an emperor, but he had one weak point. +He liked to array himself in outlandish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> garb and show off. It is a +weakness common to many persons, and seems harmless enough, but it was +not a healthy thing for Gratian, who did it once too often. He came out +one day habited like a Scythian warrior and capered up and down in front +of his army. He expected admiration, and probably the title of +Scythianus, or something. But the unexpected happened. The army jeered +at his antics, and eventually assassinated him. Scythian costumes for +emperors are still out of style.</p> + +<p>We may pass over the riot and ruin of the Middle Ages. All these towns +were alike in that respect. The story of one, with slight alterations, +fits them all. Grenoble was the first town to open its gates to +Napoleon, on his return from Elba, in 1815, which gives it a kind of +distinction in more recent times. Another individual feature is its +floods. The Isère occasionally fills its beautiful valley, and fifteen +times during the past three centuries Grenoble has been almost swept +away. There has been no flood for a long period now, and another is +about due. Prudent citizens of Grenoble keep a boat tied in the back +yard instead of a dog.</p> + +<p>We did not linger in Grenoble. The tomb of Bayard—<i>sans peur, sans +reproche</i>—is there, in the church of St. André; but we did not learn of +this until later. The great sight at Grenoble is its environment—the +superlative beauty of its approaches, and its setting—all of which we +had seen in the glory of a September afternoon.</p> + +<p>There were two roads to Chambéry, one by the Isère, and another through +the mountains by way of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> Chartreuse which had its attractions. I always +wanted to get some of the ancient nectar at its fountainhead, and the +road was put down as "picturesque." But the rains had made the hills +slippery; a skidding automobile and old Chartreuse in two colors did not +seem a safe combination for a family car. So we took the river route, +and I am glad now, for it began raining soon after we started, and we +might not have found any comfortable ruined castle to shelter us if we +had taken to the woods and hills. As it was, we drove into a great +arched entrance, where we were safe and dry, and quite indifferent as to +what happened next. We explored the place, and were rather puzzled. It +was unlike other castles we have seen. Perhaps it had not been a castle +at all, but an immense granary, or brewery, or an ancient fortress. In +any case, it was old and massive, and its high main arch afforded us a +fine protection.</p> + +<p>The shower passed, the sun came out, and sent us on our way. The road +was wet, but hard, and not steep. It was a neighborly road, curiously +intimate with the wayside life, its domestic geography and economies; +there were places where we seemed to be actually in front dooryards.</p> + +<p>The weather was not settled; now and then there came a sprinkle, but +with our top up we did not mind. It being rather wet for picnicking, we +decided that we would lunch at some wayside inn. None appeared, however, +and when we came to think about it, we could not remember having +anywhere passed such an inn. There were plenty of cafés where one could +obtain wines and other beverages, but no food.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> In England and New +England there are plenty of hostelries along the main roads, but +evidently not in France. One must depend on the towns. So we stopped at +Challes-les-Eaux, a little way out of Chambéry, a pretty place, where we +might have stayed longer if the September days had not been getting few.</p> + +<p>Later, at Chambéry, we visited the thirteenth-century château of the Duc +de Savoy, which has been rebuilt, and climbed the great square tower +which is about all that is left of the original structure, a grand place +in its time. We also went into the gothic chapel to see some handsomely +carved wainscoting, with a ceiling to match. We were admiring it when +the woman who was conducting us explained by signs and a combination of +languages that, while the wainscoting was carved, the ceiling was only +painted, in imitation. It was certainly marvelous if true, and she +looked like an honest woman. But I don't know— I wanted to get up there +and feel it.</p> + +<p>She was, at any rate, a considerate woman. When I told her in the +beginning that we had come to see the Duke of Savoy's old hat, meaning +his old castle, she hardly smiled, though Narcissa went into hysterics. +It was nothing—even a Frenchman might say "<i>chapeau</i>" when he meant +"<i>château</i>" and, furthermore—but let it go—it isn't important enough +to dwell upon. Anything will divert the young.</p> + +<p>Speaking of hats, I have not mentioned, I believe, the extra one that we +carried in the car. It belonged to the head of the family and when we +loaded it (the hat) at Marseilles it was a fresh and rather fluffy bit +of finery. There did not seem to be any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> good place for it in the heavy +baggage, shipped by freight to Switzerland, and decidedly none in the +service bags strapped to the running-board. Besides, its owner said she +might want to wear it on the way. There was plenty of space for an extra +hat in our roomy car, we said, and there did seem to be when we loaded +it in, all neatly done up in a trim package.</p> + +<p>But it is curious how things jostle about and lose their identity. I +never seemed to be able to remember what was in that particular package, +and was always mistaking it for other things. When luncheon time came I +invariably seized it, expecting some pleasant surprise, only to untie an +appetizing, but indigestible, hat. The wrapping began to have a +travel-worn look, the package seemed to lose bulk. When we lost the +string, at last, we found that we could tie it with a much shorter one; +when we lost that, we gave the paper a twist at the ends, which was +seldom permanent, especially when violently disturbed. Not a soul in the +car that did not at one time or another, feeling something bunchy, give +it a kick, only to expose our surplus hat, which always had a helpless, +unhappy look that invited pity. No concealment insured safety. Once the +Joy was found to have her feet on it. At another time the owner herself +was sitting on it. We seldom took it in at night, but once when we did +we forgot it, and drove back seven miles to recover. I don't know what +finally became of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XVI" id="Chapter_A_XVI"></a>Chapter XVI</h2> + +<h3>INTO THE HAUTE-SAVOIE</h3> + +<p>It is a rare and beautiful drive to Aix-les-Bains, and it takes one by +Lake Bourget, the shimmering bit of blue water from which Mark Twain set +out on his Rhone trip. We got into a street market the moment of our +arrival in Aix, a solid swarm of dickering people. In my excitement I +let the engine stall, and it seemed we would never get through. Aix did +not much interest us, and we pushed on to Annecy with no unnecessary +delay, and from Annecy to Thones, a comfortable day's run, including, as +it did, a drive about beautiful ancient Annecy, chief city of the +Haute-Savoie. We might have stayed longer at Annecy, but the weather had +an unsettled look, and there came the feeling that storms and winter +were gathering in the mountains and we would better be getting along +somewhere else. Also a woman backed her donkey cart into us at Annecy +and put another dent in our mudguard, which was somehow discouraging. As +it was, we saw the lake, said to be the most beautiful in France, though +no more beautiful, I think, than Bourget; an ancient château, now +transformed into barracks; the old prison built out in the river; the +narrow, ancient streets; and a house with a tablet that states that +Jean-Jacques<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> Rousseau lived there in 1729, and there developed his +taste for music.</p> + +<p>The Haute-Savoie is that billowy corner of far-eastern France below Lake +Geneva—a kind of neutral, no man's territory hemmed by the huge heights +of Switzerland and Italy. Leaving Annecy, we followed a picturesque road +through a wild, weird land, along gorges and awesome brinks, under a +somber sky. At times we seemed to be on the back of the world; at others +diving to its recesses. It was the kind of way that one might take to +supernatural regions, and it was the kind of evening to start.</p> + +<p>Here and there on the slopes were flocks and herds, attended by +grave-faced women, who were knitting as they slowly walked. They barely +noticed us or their charges. They never sat down, but followed along, +knitting, knitting, as though they were patterning the fates of men. +Sometimes we met or passed a woman on the road, always knitting, like +the others. It was uncanny. Probably for every human being there is +somewhere among those dark mountains a weird woman, knitting the pattern +of his life. That night at Thones, a forgotten hamlet, lost there in the +Haute-Savoie, a storm broke, the wind tore about our little inn, the +rain dashed fearsomely, all of which was the work of those knitting +women, beyond doubt.</p> + +<p>But the sun came up fresh and bright, and we took the road for Geneva. +For a time it would be our last day in France. All the forenoon we were +among the mountain peaks, skirting precipices that one did not care to +look over without holding firmly to something.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> But there were no steep +grades and the brinks were protected by solid little walls.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of a long slope a soldier stepped out of a box of a house +and presented arms. I dodged, but his intent was not sanguinary. He +wanted to see our papers—we were at the frontier—so I produced our +customs receipts, called <i>triptyques</i>, our T. C. de F. membership card, +our car license, our driving license, and was feeling in my pocket for +yet other things when he protested, "<i>Pas nécessaire, pas nécessaire</i>" +and handed all back but the French <i>triptyque</i>, which he took to his +<i>bureau</i>, where, with two other military <i>attachés</i>, he examined, +discussed, finally signed and witnessed it, and waved us on our way.</p> + +<p>So we were not passing the Swiss customs yet, but only leaving the +French outpost. The ordeal of the Swiss <i>douane</i> was still somewhere +ahead; we had entered the neutral strip. We wished we might reach the +Swiss post pretty soon and have the matter over with. We had visions of +a fierce person looking us through, while he fired a volley of French +questions, pulled our baggage to pieces, and weighed the car, only to +find that the result did not tally with the figures on our triple-folded +sheet. I had supplied most of those figures from memory, and I doubted +their accuracy. I had heard that of all countries except Russia, +Switzerland was about the most particular. So we went on and on through +that lofty scenery, expecting almost anything at every turn.</p> + +<p>But nothing happened—nothing except that at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> one place the engine +seemed to be running rather poorly. I thought at first that there was +some obstruction in the gasoline tube, and my impulse was to light a +match and look into the tank to see what it might be. On second thought +I concluded to omit the match. I remembered reading of a man who had +done that, and almost immediately his heirs had been obliged to get a +new car.</p> + +<p>We passed villages, but no <i>douane</i>. Then all at once we were in the +outskirts of a city. Why, this was surely Geneva, and as we were driving +leisurely along a fat little man in uniform came out and lifted his +hand. We stopped. Here it was, then, at last.</p> + +<p>For a moment I felt a slight attack of weakness, not in the heart, but +about the knees. However, the little man seemed friendly. He held out +his hand and I shook it cordially. But it was the papers he was after, +our Swiss <i>triptyque</i>. I said to myself, "A minute more and we probably +shall be on the scales, and the next in trouble." But he only said, +"<i>Numero de moteur.</i>" I jerked open the hood, scrubbed off the grease, +and showed it to him. He compared it, smiled, and handed back our paper. +Then he waved me to a <i>bureau</i> across the street. Now it was coming; he +had doubtless discovered something wrong at a glance.</p> + +<p>There was an efficient-looking, sinister-looking person in the office +who took the <i>triptyque</i>, glanced at it, and threw something down before +me. I thought it was a warrant, but it proved to be a copy of the Swiss +law and driving regulations, with a fine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> road map of Switzerland, and +all information needed by motorists; "Price, 2 Frs." stamped on the +cover. I judged that I was required to buy this, but I should have done +it, anyway. It was worth the money, and I wished to oblige that man. He +accepted my two francs, and I began to feel better. Then he made a few +entries in something, handed me my <i>triptyque</i>, said "<i>Bonjour, et bon +voyage</i>," and I was done.</p> + +<p>I could hardly believe it. I saw then what a nice face he had, while the +little fat man across the street was manifestly a lovely soul. He had +demanded not a thing but the number of the motor. Not even the number of +the car had interested him. As for the weight, the bore of the +cylinders, the number of the chassis, and all those other statistics +said to be required, they were as nonexistent to him as to me. Why, he +had not even asked us to unstrap our baggage. It was with feelings akin +to tenderness that we waved him good-by and glided across the imaginary +line of his frontier into Switzerland.</p> + +<p>We glided very leisurely, however. "Everybody gets arrested in +Switzerland"—every stranger, that is—for breaking the speed laws. +This, at least, was our New York information. So we crept along, and I +kept my eye on the speedometer all the way through Geneva, for we were +not going to stop there at present, and when we had crossed our old +friend, the Rhone, variously bridged here, skirted the gay water-front +and were on the shore road of that loveliest of all lakes—Lake Léman, +with its blue water, its snow-capped mountains, its terraced vineyards, +we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> still loafed and watched the <i>gendarmes</i> to see if they were timing +us, and came almost to a stop whenever an official of any kind hove in +sight. Also we used the mellow horn, for our book said that horns of the +Klaxon type are not allowed in Switzerland.</p> + +<p>We were on soft pedal, you see, and some of the cars we met were equally +subdued. But we observed others that were not—cars that were just +bowling along in the old-fashioned way, and when these passed us, we +were surprised to find that they were not ignorant, strange cars, but +Swiss cars, or at least cars with Swiss number-plates and familiar with +the dangers. As for the whistles, they were honking and snorting and +screeching just as if they were in Connecticut, where there is no known +law that forbids anything except fishing on Sunday. Indeed, one of the +most sudden and violent horns I have ever heard overtook us just then, +and I nearly jumped over the windshield when it abruptly opened on me +from behind.</p> + +<p>"Good G—, that is, goodness!" I said, "this is just like France!" and I +let out a few knots and tooted the Klaxonette, and was doing finely when +suddenly a mounted policeman appeared on the curve ahead. I could feel +myself scrouging as we passed, going with great deliberation. He did not +offer to molest me, but we did not hurry again—not right away. Not that +we cared to hurry; the picture landscape we were in was worth all the +time one could give it. Still, we were anxious to get to Lausanne before +dusk, and little by little we saw and heard things which convinced us +that "Everybody gets arrested<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> in Switzerland" is a superstition, the +explosion of which was about due. Fully half the people we met, <i>all</i> +that passed us, could properly have been arrested anywhere. By the time +we reached Lausanne we should have been arrested ourselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XVII" id="Chapter_A_XVII"></a>Chapter XVII</h2> + +<h3>SOME SWISS IMPRESSIONS</h3> + +<p>Now, when one has reached Switzerland, his inclination is not to go on +traveling, for a time at least, but to linger and enjoy certain +advantages. First, of course, there is the scenery; the lakes, the +terraced hills, and the snow-capped mountains; the châteaux, chalets, +and mossy villages; the old inns and brand-new, heaven-climbing hotels. +And then Switzerland is the land of the three F's—French, Food, and +Freedom, all attractive things. For Switzerland is the model republic, +without graft and without greed; its schools, whether public or private, +enjoy the patronage of all civilized lands, and as to the matter of +food, Switzerland is the <i>table d'hôte</i> of the world.</p> + +<p>Swiss landlords are combined into a sort of trust, not, as would be the +case elsewhere, to keep prices up, but to keep prices down! It is the +result of wisdom, a far-seeing prudence which says: "Our scenery, our +climate, our pure water—these are our stock in trade. Our profit from +them is through the visitor. Wherefore we will encourage visitors with +good food, attractive accommodations, courtesy; and we will be content +with small profit from each, thus inviting a general, even if modest, +prosperity; also, incidentally, the cheerfulness and good will of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> our +patrons." It is a policy which calls for careful management, one that +has made hotel-keeping in Switzerland an exact science—a gift, in fact, +transmitted down the generations, a sort of magic; for nothing short of +magic could supply a spotless room, steam heated, with windows opening +upon the lake, and three meals—the evening meal a seven-course dinner +of the first order—all for six francs fifty (one dollar and thirty +cents) a day.<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p> + +<p>It is a policy which prevails in other directions. Not all things are +cheap in Switzerland, but most things are—the things which one buys +oftenest—woolen clothing and food. Cotton goods are not cheap, for +Switzerland does not grow cotton, and there are a few other such items. +Shoes are cheap enough, if one will wear the Swiss make, but few +visitors like to view them on their own feet. They enjoy them most when +they hear them clattering along on the feet of Swiss children, the +wooden soles beating out a rhythmic measure that sounds like a coopers' +chorus. Not all Swiss shoes have wooden soles, but the others do not +gain grace by their absence.</p> + +<p>Swiss cigars are also cheap. I am not a purist in cigars, but at home I +have smoked a good many and seldom with safety one that cost less than +ten cents, straight. One pays ten centimes, or two cents, in +Switzerland, and gets a mild, evenly burning article. I judge it is made +of tobacco, though the head of the family suggested other things that +she thought it smelled like. If she had smoked one of them, she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> would +not have noticed this peculiarity any more. Wine is cheap, of course, +for the hillsides are covered with vines; also, whisk—but I am +wandering into economic statistics without really meaning to do so. They +were the first things that impressed me.</p> + +<p>The next, I believe, was the lack of Swiss politics. Switzerland is a +republic that runs with the exactness of a Swiss watch, its machinery as +hermetically concealed. I had heard that the Swiss Republic sets the +pattern of government for the world, and I was anxious to know something +of its methods and personnel. I was sorry that I was so ignorant. I +didn't even know the name of the Swiss President, and for a week was +ashamed to confess it. I was hoping I might see it in one of the French +papers I puzzled over every evening. But at the end of the week I +timidly and apologetically inquired of our friendly landlord as to the +name of the Swiss Chief Executive.</p> + +<p>But then came a shock. Our landlord grew confused, blushed, and +confessed that he didn't know it, either! He had known it, he said, of +course, but it had slipped his mind. Slipped his mind! Think of the name +of Roosevelt, or Wilson, or Taft slipping the mind of anybody in +America—and a landlord! I asked the man who sold me cigars. He had +forgotten, too. I asked the apothecary, but got no information. I was +not so timid after that. I asked a fellow passenger—guest, I mean, an +American, but of long Swiss residence—and got this story. I believe +most of it. He said:</p> + +<p>"When I came to Switzerland and found out what a wonderful little +country it was, its government so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> economical, so free from party +corruption and spoils, from graft and politics, so different from the +home life of our own dear Columbia, I thought, 'The man at the head of +this thing must be a master hand; I'll find out his name.' So I picked +out a bright-looking subject, and said:</p> + +<p>"'What is the name of the Swiss President?'</p> + +<p>"He tried to pretend he didn't understand my French, but he did, for I +can tear the language off all right—learned it studying art in Paris. +When I pinned him down, he said he knew the name well enough, +<i>parfaitement</i>, but couldn't think of it at that moment.</p> + +<p>"That was a surprise, but I asked the next man. He couldn't think of it, +either. Then I asked a police officer. Of course he knew it, all right; +'<i>oh oui, certainement, mais</i>'—then he scratched his head and +scowled, but he couldn't dig up that name. He was just a plain +prevaricator—<i>toute simplement</i>—like the others. I asked every man I +met, and every one of them knew it, had it right on the end of his +tongue; but somehow it seemed to stick there. Not a man in Vevey or +Montreux could tell me the name of the Swiss President. It was the same +in Fribourg, the same even in Berne, the capital. I had about given it +up when one evening, there in Berne, I noticed a sturdy man with an +honest face, approaching. He looked intelligent, too, and as a last +resort I said:</p> + +<p>"'Could you, by any chance, tell me the name of the Swiss President?'</p> + +<p>"The effect was startling. He seized me by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> arm and, after looking +up and down the street, leaned forward and whispered in my ear:</p> + +<p>"<i>'Mon Dieu! c'est moi!</i> <i>I</i> am the Swiss President; but—ah <i>non</i>, +don't tell anyone! I am the only man in Switzerland who knows it!'</p> + +<p>"You see," my friend continued, "he is elected privately, no torchlight +campaigns, no scandal, and only for a year. He is only a sort of +chairman, though of course his work is important, and the present able +incumbent has been elected a number of times. His name is—is—is—ah +yes, that's my tram. So sorry to have to hurry away. See you to-night at +dinner."</p> + +<p>One sees a good many nationalities in Switzerland, and some of them I +soon learned to distinguish. When I saw a man with a dinky Panama hat +pulled down about his face, and wearing a big black mustache or beard, I +knew he was a Frenchman. When I met a stout, red-faced man, with a pack +on his back and with hobnailed shoes, short trousers, and a little felt +hat with a feather stuck in it, I knew him for a German. When I noticed +a very carefully dressed person, with correct costume and gaiters—also +monocle, if perfect—saying, "Aw—Swiss people—so queah, don't you +know," I was pretty sure he was an Englishman. When I remarked a tall, +limber person, carrying a copy of the Paris <i>Herald</i> and asking every +other person he met, "Hey, there! Vooly voo mir please sagen—" all the +rest incomprehensible, I knew him for an American of the deepest dye. +The Swiss themselves have no such distinguishing mark. They are just +sturdy, plainly dressed, unpretentious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> people, polite and friendly, +with a look of capability, cleanliness, and honesty which invites +confidence.</p> + +<p>An Englishwoman said to me:</p> + +<p>"I have heard that the Swiss are the best governed and the least +intelligent people in the world."</p> + +<p>I reflected on this. It had a snappy sound, but it somehow did not seem +to be firm at the joints. "The best governed and the least +intelligent"—there was something drunken about it. I said:</p> + +<p>"It doesn't quite seem to fit. And how about the magnificent Swiss +public-school system, and the manufacturing, and the national railway, +with all the splendid engineering that goes with the building of the +funiculars and tunnels? And the Swiss prosperity, and the medical +practice, and the sciences? I always imagined those things were in some +way connected with intelligence."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," she said, "I suppose they do go with intelligence of a kind; +but then, of course, you know what I mean."</p> + +<p>But I was somehow too dull for her epigram. It didn't seem to have any +sense in it. She was a grass widow and I think she made it herself. +Later she asked me whereabouts in America I came from. When I said +Connecticut, she asked if Connecticut was as big as Lausanne. A woman +like that ought to go out of the epigram business.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, a good many foreigners are inclined to say rather +peevish things about sturdy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> little, thriving little, happy little +Switzerland. I rather suspect they are a bit jealous of the +pocket-de-luxe nation that shelters them, and feeds them, and entertains +them, and cures them, cheaper and better and kindlier than their home +countries. They are willing to enjoy these advantages, but they +acknowledge rather grudgingly that Switzerland, without a great standing +army, a horde of grafters, or a regiment of tariff millionaires to +support, can give lessons in national housekeeping to their own larger, +more pretentious lands.</p> + +<p>I would not leave the impression, by the way, that the Swiss are +invariably prosperous. Indeed, some of them along the lake must have +been very poor just then, for the grape crop had failed two years in +succession, and with many of them their vineyard is their all. But there +was no outward destitution, no rags, no dirt, no begging. Whatever his +privation, the Swiss does not wear his poverty on his sleeve.</p> + +<p>Switzerland has two other official languages besides French—German and +Italian. Government documents, even the postal cards, are printed in +these three languages. It would seem a small country for three +well-developed tongues, besides all the canton dialects, some of which +go back to the old Romanic, and are quite distinct from anything modern. +The French, German, and Italian divisions are geographical, the lines of +separation pretty distinct. There is rivalry among the cantons, a +healthy rivalry, in matters of progress and education. The cantons are +sufficiently a unit on all national questions, and together they form +about as compact and sturdy a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> little nation as the world has yet +seen—a nation the size and shape of an English walnut, and a hard nut +for any would-be aggressor to crack. There are not many entrances into +Switzerland, and they would be very well defended. The standing army is +small, but every Swiss is subject to a call to arms, and is trained by +enforced, though brief, service to their use. He seems by nature to be +handy with a rifle, and never allows himself to be out of practice. +There are regular practice meets every Sunday, and I am told the +government supplies the cartridges. Boys organize little companies and +regiments and this the government also encourages. It is said that +Switzerland could put half a million soldiers in the field, and that +every one would be a crack shot.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> The German Kaiser, once reviewing +the Swiss troops, remarked, casually, to a sub-officer, "You say you +could muster half a million soldiers?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Your Majesty."</p> + +<p>"And suppose I should send a million of my soldiers against you. What +would you do then?"</p> + +<p>"We should fire two shots apiece, Your Majesty."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="ILL_005" id="ILL_005"></a> +<img src="images/ill_005.jpg" width="500" height="489" alt="MARCHÉ VEVEY "In Each Town There Is an Open Square, Which Twice a Week Is +Picturesquely Crowded"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">MARCHÉ VEVEY<br /><br />"<span class="smcap">In Each Town There Is an Open Square, Which Twice a Week Is +Picturesquely Crowded</span>"</span> +</div> + +<p>In every Swiss town there are regular market days, important events +where one may profitably observe the people. The sale of vegetables and +flowers must support many families. In each town there is an open +square, which twice a week is picturesquely crowded, and there one may +buy everything to eat and many things to wear; also, the wherewith to +improve the home, the garden, and even the mind;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> for besides the +garden things there are stalls of second-hand books, hardware, +furniture, and general knick-knacks. Flanking the streets are displays +of ribbons, laces, hats, knitted things, and general dry-goods +miscellany; also antiques, the scrapings of many a Swiss cupboard and +corner.</p> + +<p>But it is in the open square itself that the greater market +blooms—really blooms, for, in season, the vegetables are truly floral +in their rich vigor, and among them are pots and bouquets of the posies +that the Swiss, like all Europeans, so dearly love. Most of the flower +and vegetable displays are down on the ground, arranged in baskets or on +bits of paper, and form a succession of gay little gardens, ranged in +long narrow avenues of color and movement, a picture of which we do not +grow weary. Nor of the setting—the quaint tile-roofed buildings; the +blue lake, with its sails and swans and throng of wheeling gulls; the +green hills; the lofty snow-capped mountains that look down from every +side. How many sights those ancient peaks have seen on this same +square!—markets and military, battles and buffoonery. There are no +battles to-day, but the Swiss cadets use it for a drill ground, and +every little while lightsome shows and merry-go-rounds establish +themselves in one end of it, and the little people skip about, and go +riding around and around to the latest ragtime, while the mountains look +down with their large complaisance, just as they watched the capering +ancestors of these small people, ages and ages ago; just as they will +watch their light-footed descendants for a million years, maybe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>The market is not confined entirely to the square. On its greater days, +when many loads of wood and hay crowd one side of it, it overflows into +the streets. Around a floral fountain may be found butter, eggs, and +cheese—oh, especially cheese, the cheese of Gruyère, with every size +and pattern of holes, in any quantity, cut and weighed by a handsome +apple-faced woman who seems the living embodiment of the cheese +industry. I have heard it said—this was in America—that the one thing +not to be obtained in Switzerland is Swiss cheese. The person who +conceived that smartness belongs with the one who invented the +"intelligence" epigram.</p> + +<p>On the market days before Christmas our square had a different look. The +little displays were full of greenery, and in the center of the market +place there had sprung up a forest of Christmas trees. They were not in +heaps, lying flat; but each, mounted on a neat tripod stand, stood +upright, as if planted there. They made a veritable Santa Claus forest, +and the gayly dressed young people walking among them, looking and +selecting, added to this pretty sight.</p> + +<p>The Swiss make much of Christmas. Their shop windows are overflowing +with decorations and attractive things. Vevey is "Chocolate Town." Most +of the great chocolate factories of Europe are there, and at all holiday +seasons the grocery and confectionary windows bear special evidence of +this industry. Chocolate Santa Clauses—very large—chickens, rabbits, +and the like—life size; also trees, groups, set pieces, ornaments—the +windows are wildernesses of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> the rich brown confection, all so +skillfully modeled and arranged.</p> + +<p>The toy windows, too, are fascinating. You would know at once that you +were looking into a Swiss toy window, from the variety of carved bears; +also, from the toy châteaux—very fine and large, with walled courts, +portcullises, and battlements—with which the little Swiss lad plays +war. The dolls are different, too, and the toy books—all in French. But +none of these things were as interesting as the children standing +outside, pointing at them and discussing them—so easily, so glibly—in +French. How little they guessed my envy of them—how gladly I would buy +out that toy window for, say, seven dollars, and trade it to them for +their glib unconsciousness of gender and number and case.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon before Christmas the bells began. From the high +mountainsides, out of deep ravines that led back into the hinterland, +came the ringing. The hills seemed full of bells—a sound that must go +echoing from range to range, to the north and to the south, traveling +across Europe with the afternoon. Then, on Christmas Day, the trees. In +every home and school and hotel they sparkled. We attended four in the +course of the day, one, a very gorgeous one in the lofty festooned hall +of a truly grand hotel, with tea served and soft music stealing from +some concealed place—a slow strain of the "Tannenbaum," which is like +our "Maryland," only more beautiful—and seemed to come from a source +celestial. And when one remembered that in every corner of Europe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +something of the kind was going on, and that it was all done in memory +and in honor of One who, along dusty roadsides and in waste places, +taught the doctrine of humility, one wondered if the world might not be +worth saving, after all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XVIII" id="Chapter_A_XVIII"></a>Chapter XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE LITTLE TOWN OF VEVEY</h3> + +<p>It would seem to be the French cantons along the Lake of Geneva (or +Léman) that most attract the deliberate traveler. The north shore of +this lake is called the Swiss Riviera, for it has a short, mild winter, +with quick access to the mountaintops. But perhaps it is the schools, +the <i>pensionnats</i>, that hold the greater number. The whole shore of the +Lake of Geneva is lined with them, and they are filled with young +persons of all ages and nations, who are there mainly to learn French, +though incidentally, through that lingual medium, other knowledge is +acquired. Some, indeed, attend the fine public schools, where the drill +is very thorough, even severe. Parents, as well as children, generally +attend school in Switzerland—visiting parents, I mean. They undertake +French, which is the thing to do, like mountain climbing and winter +sports. Some buy books and seclude their struggles; others have private +lessons; still others openly attend one of the grown-up language +schools, or try to find board at French-speaking <i>pensions</i>. Their +progress and efforts form the main topic of conversation. In a way it +makes for a renewal of youth.</p> + +<p>We had rested at Vevey, that quiet, clean little picture-city, not so +busy and big as Lausanne, or so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> grand and stylish as Montreux, but more +peaceful than either, and, being more level, better adapted for motor +headquarters. Off the main street at Montreux, the back or the front +part of a car is always up in the air, and it has to be chained to the +garage. We found a level garage in Vevey, and picked out <i>pensionnats</i> +for Narcissa and the Joy, and satisfactory quarters for ourselves. +Though still warm and summer-like, it was already late autumn by the +calendar, and not a time for long motor adventures. We would see what a +Swiss winter was like. We would wrestle with the French idiom. We would +spend the months face to face with the lake, the high-perched hotels and +villages, the snow-capped, cloud-capped hills.</p> + +<p>Probably everybody has heard of Vevey, but perhaps there are still some +who do not know it by heart, and will be glad of a word or two of +details. Vevey has been a place of habitation for a long time. A +wandering Asian tribe once came down that way, rested a hundred years or +so along the Léman shore, then went drifting up the Rhone and across the +Simplon to make trouble for Rome. But perhaps there was no Rome then; it +was a long time ago, and it did not leave any dates, only a few bronze +implements and trifles to show the track of the storm. The Helvetians +came then, sturdy and warlike, and then the Romans, who may have +preserved traditions of the pleasant land from that first wandering +tribe.</p> + +<p>Cæsar came marching down the Rhone and along this waterside, and his +followers camped in the Vevey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> neighborhood a good while—about four +centuries, some say. Certain rich Romans built their summer villas in +Switzerland, and the lake shore must have had its share. But if there +were any at Vevey, there is no very positive trace of them now. In the +depths of the Castle of Chillon, they show you Roman construction in the +foundations, but that may have been a fortress.</p> + +<p>I am forgetting, however. One day, when we had been there a month or +two, and were clawing up the steep hill—Mount Pelerin—that rises back +of the hotel to yet other hotels, and to compact little villages, we +strayed into a tiny lane just below Chardonne, and came to a stone +watering trough, or fountain, under an enormous tree. Such troughs, with +their clear, flowing water, are plentiful enough, but this one had a +feature all its own. The stone upright which held the flowing spout had +not been designed for that special purpose. It was, in fact, the upper +part of a small column, capital and all, very old and mended, and +<i>distinctly of Roman design</i>. I do not know where it came from, and I do +not care to inquire too deeply, for I like to think it is a fragment of +one of those villas that overlooked the Lake of Geneva long ago.</p> + +<p>There are villas enough about the lake to-day, and châteaux by the +dozen, most of the latter begun in the truculent Middle Ages and +continued through the centuries down to within a hundred years or so +ago. You cannot walk or drive in any direction without coming to them, +some in ruins, but most of them well preserved or carefully restored, +and habitable;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> some, like beautiful Blonay, holding descendants of +their ancient owners. From the top of our hotel, with a glass, one could +pick out as many as half a dozen, possibly twice that number. They were +just towers of defense originally, the wings and other architectural +excursions being added as peace and prosperity and family life +increased. One very old and handsome one, la Tour de Peilz, now gives +its name to a part of Vevey, though in the old days it is said that +venomous little wars used to rage between Vevey proper and the village +which clustered about the château de Peilz. Readers of <i>Little Women</i> +will remember la Tour de Peilz, for it was along its lake wall that +Laurie proposed to Amy.</p> + +<p>But a little way down the lake there is a more celebrated château than +la Tour de Peilz; the château of Chillon, which Byron's poem of the +prisoner Bonivard has made familiar for a hundred years.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> Chillon, +which stands not exactly on the lake, but on a rock <i>in</i> the lake, has +not preserved the beginning of its history. Those men of the bronze age +camped there, and, if the evidences shown are genuine, the Romans built +a part of the foundation. Also, in one of its lower recesses there are +the remains of a rude altar of sacrifice.</p> + +<p>It is a fascinating place. You cross a little drawbridge, and through a +heavy gateway enter a guardroom and pass to a pretty open court, where +to-day there are vines and blooming flowers. Then you descend to the big +barrack room, a hall of ponderous masonry, pass through a small room, +with its perfectly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> black cell below for the condemned, through another, +where a high gibbet-beam still remains, and into a spacious corridor of +pillars called now the "Prison of Bonivard."</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">There are seven pillars of gothic mold</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">In Chillon's dungeons deep and old;...</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">Dim with a dull imprisoned ray,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">A sunbeam which has lost its way ...</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">And in each pillar there is a ring</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">And in each ring there is a chain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">That iron is a cankering thing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">For in these limbs its teeth remain....</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Bonivard's ring is still there, and the rings of his two brothers who +were chained, one on each side of him; chained, as he tells us, so +rigidly that</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">We could not move a single pace;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">We could not see each other's face.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>We happened to be there, once, when a sunbeam that "had lost its way" +came straying in, a larger sunbeam now, for the narrow slits that serve +for windows were even narrower in Bonivard's time, and the place, light +enough to-day in pleasant weather, was then somber, damp, and probably +unclean.</p> + +<p>Bonivard was a Geneva patriot, a political prisoner of the Duke of +Savoy, who used Chillon as his château. Bonivard lived six years in +Chillon, most of the time chained to a column, barely able to move, +having for recreation shrieks from the torture chamber above, or the +bustle of execution from the small adjoining cell. How he lived, how his +reason survived, are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> things not to be understood. Both his brothers +died, and at last Bonivard was allowed more liberty. The poem tells us +that he made a footing in the wall, and climbed up to look out on the +mountains and blue water, and a little island of three trees, and the +"white-walled distant town"—Bouveret, across the lake. He was delivered +by the Bernese in 1536, regaining his freedom with a sigh, according to +the poem. Yet he survived many years, dying in 1570, at the age of +seventy-four.</p> + +<p>On the columns in Bonivard's dungeon many names are carved, some of them +the greatest in modern literary history. Byron's is there, Victor +Hugo's, Shelley's, and others of the sort. They are a tribute to the +place and its history, of course, but even more to Bonivard—the +Bonivard of Byron.</p> + +<p>Prisoners of many kinds have lived and died in the dungeons of +Chillon—heretics, witches, traitors, poor relations—persons +inconvenient for one reason or another—it was a vanishing point for the +duke's undesirables, who, after the execution, were weighted and dropped +out a little door that opens directly to an almost measureless depth of +blue uncomplaining water. Right overhead is the torture chamber, with +something ghastly in its very shape and color, the central post still +bearing marks of burning-irons and clawing steel. Next to this chamber +is the hall of justice, and then the splendid banquet hall; everything +handy, you see, so that when the duke had friends, and the wine had been +good, and he was feeling particularly well, he could say, "Let's go in +and torture a witch"; or, if the hour was late and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> time limited, "Now +we'll just step down and hang a heretic to go to bed on." The duke's +bedroom, by the way, was right over the torture chamber. I would give +something for that man's conscience.</p> + +<p>One might go on for pages about Chillon, but it has been told in detail +so many times. It is the pride to-day of this shore—pictures of it are +in every window—postal cards of it abound. Yet, somehow one never grows +tired of it, and stops to look at every new one.</p> + +<p>For a thousand years, at least, Chillon was the scene of all the phases +of feudalism and chivalry; its history is that of the typical castle; +architecturally it is probably as good an example as there is in +Switzerland. It has been celebrated by other authors besides Byron. Jean +Jacques Rousseau has it in his <i>Nouvelle Héloïse</i>, Hugo in <i>Le Rhin</i>, +and it has been pictured more or less by most of the writing people who +have found their way to Léman's pleasant shore. These have been legion. +The Vevey and Montreux neighborhood has been always a place for poor but +honest authors. Rousseau was at Vevey in 1732, and lodged at the Hotel +of the Key, and wrote of it in his <i>Confessions</i>, though he would seem +to have behaved very well there. The building still stands, and bears a +tablet with a medallion portrait of Rousseau and an extract in which he +says that Vevey has won his heart. In his <i>Confessions</i> he advises all +persons of taste to go to Vevey, and speaks of the beauty and majesty of +the spectacle from its shore.</p> + +<p>When Lord Byron visited Lake Léman he lodged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> in Clarens, between Vevey +and Montreux, and a tablet now identifies the house. Voltaire also +visited here, lodging unknown. Dumas the elder was in Vevey in the +thirties of the last century, and wrote a book about Switzerland—a book +of extraordinary interest, full of duels, earthquakes, and other +startling things, worthy of the author of <i>Monte Cristo</i> and <i>The Three +Musketeers</i>. Switzerland was not so closely reported in those days; an +imagination like Dumas' had more range. Thackeray wrote a portion of the +<i>Newcomes</i> at the hotel Trois Couronnes in Vevey, and it was on the wide +terrace of the same gay hostelry that Henry James's <i>Daisy Miller</i> had +her parasol scene. We have already mentioned Laurie and Amy on the wall +of Tour de Peilz, and one might go on citing literary associations of +this neighborhood. Perhaps it would be easier to say that about every +author who has visited the continent has paused for a little time at +Vevey, a statement which would apply to travelers in general.</p> + +<p>Vevey is not a great city; it is only a picturesque city, with curious, +winding streets of constantly varying widths, and irregular little open +spaces, all very clean, also very misleading when one wishes to go +anywhere with direction and dispatch. You give that up, presently. You +do not try to save time by cutting through. When you do, you arrive in +some new little rectangle or confluence, with a floral fountain in the +middle, and neat little streets winding away to nowhere in particular; +then all at once you are back where you started. In this, as in some +other points of resemblance, Vevey might be called<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> the Boston of +Switzerland. Not that I pretend to a familiarity with Boston—nobody has +that—but I have an aunt who lives there, and every time I go to see her +I am obliged to start in a different direction for her house, though she +claims to have been living in the same place for thirty years. Some +people think Boston is built on a turn-table. I don't know; it sounds +reasonable.</p> + +<p>To come back to Vevey—it is growing—not in the wild, woolly, New York, +Chicago, and Western way, but in a very definite and substantial way. +They are building new houses for business and residence, solid +structures of stone and cement, built, like the old ones, to withstand +time. They do not build flimsy fire-traps in Switzerland. Whatever the +class of the building, the roofs are tile, the staircases are stone. We +always seem to court destruction in our American residential +architecture. We cover our roofs with inflammable shingles to invite +every spark, and build our stairways of nice dry pine, so that in the +event of fire they will be the first thing to go. This encourages +practice in jumping out of top-story windows.</p> + +<p>By day Vevey is a busy, prosperous-looking, though unhurried, place, its +water-front gay with visitors; evening comes and glorifies the lake into +wine, turns to rose the snow on <i>Grammont</i>, the <i>Dents de Midi</i>, and the +<i>Dents de Morcles</i>. As to the sunset itself, not many try to paint it +any more. Once, from our little balcony we saw a monoplane pass up the +lake and float into the crimson west, like a great moth or bird. Night +in Vevey is full of light and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> movement, but not of noise. There is no +wild clatter of voices and outbursts of nothing in particular, such as +characterize the towns of Italy and southern France. On the hilltops +back of Vevey the big hotels are lighted, and sometimes, following the +dimmer streets, we looked up to what is apparently a city in the sky, +suggesting one's old idea of the New Jerusalem, a kind of vision of +heaven, as it were—heaven at night, I mean.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XIX" id="Chapter_A_XIX"></a>Chapter XIX</h2> + +<h3>MASHING A MUD GUARD</h3> + +<p>One does not motor a great deal in the immediate vicinity of Vevey; the +hills are not far enough away for that. One may make short trips to +Blonay, and even up Pelerin, if he is fond of stiff climbing, and there +are wandering little roads that thread cozy orchard lands and lead to +secluded villages tucked away in what seem forgotten corners of a bygone +time. But the highway skirts the lake-front and leads straight away +toward Geneva, or up the Rhone Valley past Martigny toward the Simplon +Pass. It has always been a road, and in its time has been followed by +some of the greatest armies the world has ever seen—the troops of +Cæsar, of Charlemagne, of Napoleon.</p> + +<p>We were not to be without our own experience in motor mountain climbing. +We did not want it or invite it; it was thrust upon us. We were +returning from Martigny late one Sunday afternoon, expecting to reach +Vevey for dinner. It was pleasant and we did not hurry. We could not, in +fact, for below Villeneuve we fell in with the homing cows, and traveled +with attending herds—beside us, before us, behind us—fat, sleek, +handsome animals, an escort which did not permit of haste. Perhaps it +was avoiding them that caused our mistake; at any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> rate, we began to +realize presently that we were not on our old road. Still, we seemed +headed in the right direction and we kept on. Then presently we were +climbing a hill—climbing by a narrow road, one that did not permit of +turning around.</p> + +<p>Very well, we said, it could not be very high or steep; we would go over +the hill. But that was a wrong estimate. The hill was high and it was +steep. Up and up and up on second speed, then back to first, until we +were getting on a level with the clouds themselves. It was a good road +of its kind, but it had no end. The water was boiling in the +radiator—boiling over. We must stop to reduce temperature a little and +to make inquiries. It was getting late—far too late to attempt an +ascension of the Alps.</p> + +<p>We were on a sort of bend, and there was a peasant chalet a few rods +ahead. I went up there, and from a little old woman in short skirts got +a tub of cool water, also some information. The water cooled off our +engine, and the information our enthusiasm for further travel in that +direction. We were on the road to Château d'Oex, a hilltop resort for +winter sports.</p> + +<p>We were not in a good place to turn around, there on the edge of a +semi-precipice, but we managed to do it, and started back. It was a +steep descent. I cut off the spark and put the engine on low speed, +which made it serve as a brake, but it required the foot and emergency +brake besides. It would have been a poor place to let the car get away. +Then I began to worry for fear the hind wheels were sliding, which would +quickly cut through the tires. I don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> know why I thought I could see +them, for mud guards make that quite impossible. Nevertheless I leaned +out and looked back. It was a poor place to do that, too. We were +hugging a wall as it was, and one does not steer well looking backward. +In five seconds we gouged into the wall, and the front guard on that +side crumpled up like a piece of tinfoil. I had to get out and pull and +haul it before there was room for the wheel to turn.</p> + +<p>I never felt so in disgrace in my life. I couldn't look at anything but +the disfigured guard all the way down the mountain. The passengers were +sorry and tried to say comforting things, but that guard was fairly +shrieking its reproach. What a thing to go home with! I felt that I +could never live it down.</p> + +<p>Happily it was dark by the time we found the right road and were drawing +into Montreux—dark and raining. I was glad it was dark, but the rain +did not help, and I should have been happier if the streets had not been +full of dodging pedestrians and vehicles and blinding lights. The +streets of Montreux are narrow enough at best, and what with a busy tram +and all the rest of the medley, driving, for a man already in disgrace, +was not real recreation. A railway train passed us just below, and I +envied the engineer his clear right of way and fenced track, and decided +that his job was an easy one by comparison. One used to hear a good deal +about the dangers of engine driving, and no doubt an engineer would be +glad to turn to the right or left now and then when meeting a train head +on—a thing, however, not likely to happen often, though I suppose once +is about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> enough. All the same, a straight, fenced and more or less +exclusive track has advantages, and I wished I had one, plunging, +weaving, diving through the rain as we were, among pedestrians, +cyclists, trams, carriages, other motors, and the like; misled by the +cross lights from the shops, dazzled by oncoming headlights, blinded by +rain splashing in one's face.</p> + +<p>It is no great distance from Montreux to Vevey, but in that night it +seemed interminable. And what a relief at last were Vevey's quiet +streets, what a path of peace the semi-private road to the hotel, what a +haven of bliss the seclusion of the solid little garage! Next morning +before anybody was astir I got the car with that maltreated mud guard to +the shop. It was an awful-looking thing. It had a real expression. It +looked as if it were going to cry. I told the repair man that the roads +had been wet and the car had skidded into a wall. He did not care how it +happened, of course, but I did; besides, it was easier to explain it +that way in French.</p> + +<p>It took a week to repair the guard. I suppose they had to straighten it +out with a steam roller. I don't know, but it looked new and fine when +it came back, and I felt better. The bill was sixteen francs. I never +got so much disgrace before at such a reasonable figure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XX" id="Chapter_A_XX"></a>Chapter XX</h2> + +<h3>JUST FRENCH—THAT'S ALL</h3> + +<p>Perhaps one should report progress in learning French. Of course +Narcissa and the Joy were chattering it in a little while. That is the +way of childhood. It gives no serious consideration to a great matter +like that, but just lightly accepts it like a new game or toy and plays +with it about as readily. It is quite different with a thoughtful person +of years and experience. In such case there is need of system and +strategy. I selected different points of assault and began the attack +from all of them at once—private lessons; public practice; daily +grammar, writing and reading in seclusion; readings aloud by persons of +patience and pronunciation.</p> + +<p>I hear of persons picking up a language—grown persons, I mean—but if +there are such persons they are not of my species. The only sort of +picking up I do is the kind that goes with a shovel. I am obliged to +excavate a language—to loosen up its materials, then hoist them with a +derrick. My progress is geological and unhurried. Still, I made +progress, of a kind, and after putting in five hours a day for a period +of months I began to have a sense of results. I began to realize that +even in a rapid-fire conversation the sounds were not all exactly alike, +and to distinguish scraps of meaning in conversations not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> aimed +directly at me, with hard and painful distinctness. I began even to +catch things from persons passing on the street—to distinguish French +from patois—that is to say, I knew, when I understood any of it, that +it was not patois. I began to be proud and to take on airs—always a +dangerous thing.</p> + +<p>One day at the pharmacy I heard two well-dressed men speaking. I +listened intently, but could not catch a word. When they went I said to +the drug clerk—an Englishman who spoke French:</p> + +<p>"Strange that those well-dressed men should use patois."</p> + +<p>He said: "Ah, but that was not patois—that was very choice +French—Parisian."</p> + +<p>I followed those men the rest of the afternoon, at a safe distance, but +in earshot, and we thus visited in company most of the shops and sights +of Vevey. If I could have followed them for a few months in that way it +is possible—not likely, but possible—that their conversation might +have meant something to me.</p> + +<p>Which, by the way, suggests the chief difference between an acquired and +an inherited language. An acquired language, in time, comes to <i>mean</i> +something, whereas the inherited language <i>is</i> something. It is bred +into the fiber of its possessor. It is not a question of considering the +meaning of words—what they convey; they do not come stumbling through +any anteroom of thought, they are embodied facts, forms, sentiments, +leaping from one inner consciousness to another, instantaneously and +without friction. Probably every species of animation, from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> the atom to +the elephant, has a language—perfectly understood and sufficient to its +needs—some system of signs, or sniffs, or grunts, or barks, or +vibrations to convey quite as adequately as human speech the necessary +facts and conditions of life. Persons, wise and otherwise, will tell you +that animals have no language; but when a dog can learn even many words +of his master's tongue, it seems rather unkind to deny to him one of his +own. Because the oyster does not go shouting around, or annoy us with +his twaddle, does not mean that he is deprived of life's lingual +interchanges. It is not well to deny speech to the mute, inglorious +mollusk. Remember he is our ancestor.</p> + +<p>To go back to French: I have acquired, with time and heavy effort, a +sort of next-room understanding of that graceful speech—that is to say, +it is about like English spoken by some one beyond a partition—a fairly +thick one. By listening closely I get the general drift of +conversation—a confusing drift sometimes, mismeanings that generally go +with eavesdropping. At times, however, the partition seems to be +thinner, and there comes the feeling that if somebody would just come +along and open a door between I should understand.</p> + +<p>It is truly a graceful speech—the French tongue. Plain, homely things +of life—so bald, and bare, and disheartening in the Anglo-Saxon—are +less unlovely in the French. Indeed, the French word for "rags" is so +pretty that we have conferred "chiffon" on one of our daintiest fabrics. +But in the grace of the language lies also its weakness. It does not +rise to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> the supreme utterances. I have been reading the bible texts on +the tombstones in the little cemetery of Chardonne. "<i>L'éternel est mon +berger</i>" can hardly rank in loftiness with "The Lord is my shepherd," +nor "<i>Que votre cœur ne se trouble point</i>" with "Let not your heart +be troubled." Or, at any rate, I can never bring myself to think so.</p> + +<p>Any language is hard enough to learn—bristling with difficulties which +seem needless, even offensively silly to the student. We complain of the +genders and silent letters of the French, but when one's native tongue +spells "cough" and calls it "cof," "rough" and calls it "ruff," "slough" +and calls it "slu" or "sluff," by choice, and "plough" and is unable to +indicate adequately without signs just how it should be pronounced, he +is not in a position to make invidious comparisons. I wonder what a +French student really thinks of those words. He has rules for his own +sound variations, and carefully indicates them with little signs. We +have sound signs, too, but an English page printed with all the +necessary marks is a cause for anguish. I was once given a primary +reader printed in that way, and at sight of it ran screaming to my +mother. So we leave off all signs in English and trust in God for +results. It is hard to be an American learning French, but I would +rather be that than a Frenchman learning American.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_A_XXI" id="Chapter_A_XXI"></a>Chapter XXI</h2> + +<h3>WE LUGE</h3> + +<p>When winter comes in America, with a proper and sufficient thickness of +ice, a number of persons—mainly young people—go out skating, or +coasting, or sleighing, and have a very good time. But this interest is +incidental—it does not exclude all other interests—it does not even +provide the main topic of conversation.</p> + +<p>It is not like that in Switzerland. Winter sport is a religion in +Switzerland; the very words send a thrill through the dweller—native or +foreign—among the Swiss hills. When the season of white drift and +congealed lake takes possession of the land, other interests and +industries are put aside for the diversions of winter.</p> + +<p>Everything is subserved to the winter sports. French, German, and +English papers report each day the thickness of snow at the various +resorts, the conditions of the various courses, the program of events. +Bills at the railway stations announce the names of points where the +sports are in progress, with a schedule of the fares. Hotels publish +their winter attractions—their coasting (they call it "luging"—soft +g), curling, skating, ski-ing accommodations, and incidentally mention +their rooms. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> also cover their hall carpetings with canvas to +protect them from the lugers' ponderous hobnailed shoes. To be truly +sporty one must wear those shoes; also certain other trimmings, such as +leggings, breeches, properly cut coat, cap and scarf to match. One +cannot really enjoy the winter sports without these decorations, or keep +in good winter society. Then there are the skis. One must carry a pair +of skis to be complete. They must be as tall as the owner can reach, and +when he puts them on his legs will branch out and act independently, +each on its own account, and he will become a house divided against +itself, with the usual results. So it is better to carry them, and look +handsome and graceful, and to confine one's real activities to the more +familiar things.</p> + +<p>Our hotel was divided on winter sports. Not all went in for it, but +those who did went in considerably. We had a Dutch family from Sumatra, +where they had been tobacco planting for a number of years, and in that +tropic land had missed the white robust joys of the long frost. They +were a young, superb couple, but their children, who had never known the +cold, were slender products of an enervating land. They had never seen +snow and they shared their parents' enthusiasm in the winter prospect. +The white drifts on the mountaintops made them marvel; the first light +fall we had made them wild.</p> + +<p>That Dutch family went in for the winter sports. You never saw anything +like it. Their plans and their outfit became the chief interest of the +hotel. They engaged far in advance their rooms at Château<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> d'Oex, one of +the best known resorts, and they daily accumulated new and startling +articles of costume to make their experience more perfect. One day they +would all have new shoes of wonderful thickness and astonishing nails. +Then it would be gorgeous new scarfs and caps, then sweaters, then +skates, then snowshoes, then skis, and so on down the list. Sometimes +they would organize a drill in full uniform. But the children were less +enthusiastic then. Those slim-legged little folks could hardly walk, +weighted with several pounds of heavy hobnailed shoes, and they +complained bitterly at this requirement. Their parents did not miss the +humor of the situation, and I think enjoyed these preparations and +incidental discomforts for the sake of pleasure as much as they could +have enjoyed the sports themselves, when the time came. We gave them a +hearty send-off, when reports arrived that the snow conditions at +Château d'Oex were good, and if they had as good a time as we wished +them, and as they gave us in their preparations, they had nothing to +regret.</p> + +<p>As the winter deepened the winter sport sentiment grew in our midst, +until finally in January we got a taste of it ourselves. We found that +we could take a little mountain road to a point in the hills called Les +Avants, then a funicular to a still higher point, and thus be in the +white whirl for better or worse, without being distinctly of it, so to +speak. We could not be of it, of course, without the costumes, and we +did not see how we could afford these and also certain new adjuncts +which the car would need in the spring. So we went primarily as +spectators—that is, the older<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> half of the family. The children had +their own winter sports at school.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 363px;"><a name="ILL_006" id="ILL_006"></a> +<img src="images/ill_006.jpg" width="363" height="500" alt=""You Can See Son Loup from the Hotel Steps in Vevey, but +It Takes Hours to Get to It"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<span class="smcap">You Can See Son Loup from the Hotel Steps in Vevey, but +It Takes Hours to Get to It</span>"</span> +</div> + +<p>We telephoned to the Son Loup hotel at the top of the last funicular, +and got an early start. You can see Son Loup from the hotel steps in +Vevey, but it takes hours to get to it. The train goes up, and up, along +gorges and abysses, where one looks down on the tops of Christmas trees, +gloriously mantled in snow. Then by and by you are at Les Avants and in +the midst of everything, except the ski-ing, which is still higher up, +at Son Loup.</p> + +<p>We got off at Les Avants and picked our way across the main street among +flying sleds of every pattern, from the single, sturdy little bulldog +<i>luge</i> to the great polly-straddle bob, and from the safe vantage of a +café window observed the slide.</p> + +<p>It was divided into three parts—one track for bobsledders—the wild +riders—a track for the more daring single riders, and a track for fat +folks, old folks, and children. Certainly they were having a good time. +Their ages ranged from five to seventy-five, and they were all children +together. Now and then there came gliding down among them a big native +sled, loaded with hay or wood, from somewhere far up in the hills. It +was a perfect day—no cold, no wind, no bright sun, for in reality we +were up in the clouds—a soft white veil of vapor was everywhere.</p> + +<p>By and by we crossed the track, entered a wonderful snow garden +belonging to a hotel, and came to a little pond where some old men and +fat men were curling. Curling is a game where you try to drive a sort of +stone decoy duck from one end of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> pond to the other and make it +stop somewhere and count something. Each man is armed with a big broom +to keep the ice clean before and after his little duck. We watched them +a good while and I cannot imagine anything more impressive than to see a +fat old man with a broom padding and puffing along by the side of his +little fat stone duck, feverishly sweeping the snow away in front of it, +so that it will get somewhere and count. When I inadvertently laughed I +could see that I was not popular. All were English there—all but a few +Americans who pretended to be English.</p> + +<p>Beyond the curling pond was a skating pond, part of it given over to an +international hockey match, but somehow these things did not excite us. +We went back to our café corner to watch the luging and to have +luncheon. Then the lugers came stamping in for refreshments, and their +costumes interested us. Especially their shoes. Even the Dutch family +had brought home no such wonders as some of these. They were of +appalling size, and some of them had heavy iron claws or toes such as +one might imagine would belong to some infernal race. These, of course, +were to dig into the snow behind, to check or guide the flying sled. +They were useful, no doubt, but when one saw them on the feet of a tall, +slim girl the effect was peculiar.</p> + +<p>By the time we had finished luncheon we had grown brave. We said we +would luge—modestly, but with proper spirit. There were sleds to let, +by an old Frenchman, at a little booth across the way, and we looked +over his assortment and picked a small bob<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> with a steering attachment, +because to guide that would be like driving a car. Then we hauled it up +the fat folks' slide a little way and came down, hoo-hooing a warning to +those ahead in the regulation way. We did this several times, liking it +more and more. We got braver and tried the next slide, liking it still +better. Then we got reckless and crossed into the bobsled scoot and +tried that. Oh, fine! We did not go to the top—we did not know then how +far the top was; but we went higher each time, liking it more and more, +until we got up to a place where the sleds stood out at a perpendicular +right angle as they swirled around a sudden circle against a constructed +ice barrier. This looked dangerous, but getting more and more reckless, +we decided to go even above that.</p> + +<p>We hauled our sled up and up, constantly meeting bobsleds coming down +and hearing the warning hoo-hoo-hooing of still others descending from +the opaque upper mist. Still we climbed, dragging our sled, meeting bob +after bob, also loads of hay and wood, and finally some walking girls +who told us that the top of the slide was at Son Loup—that is, at the +top of the funicular, some miles away.</p> + +<p>We understood then; all those bobsledders took their sleds up by +funicular and coasted down. We stopped there and got on our sled. The +grade was very gradual at first, and we moved slowly—so slowly that a +nice old lady who happened along gave us a push. We kept moving after +that. We crossed a road, rounded a turn, leaped a railway track and +struck into the straightway, going like a streak. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> had thought it a +good distance to the sharp turn, with its right-angle wall of ice, but +we were there with unbelievable suddenness. Then in a second we were on +the wall, standing straight out into space; then in another we had shot +out of it; but our curve seemed to continue.</p> + +<p>There was a little barnyard just there and an empty hay sled—placed +there on purpose, I think now. At any rate, the owner was there watching +the performance. I think he had been expecting us. When all motion +ceased he untelescoped us, and we limped about and discussed with him in +native terms how much we ought to pay for the broken runner on his hay +sled, and minor damages. It took five francs to cure the broken runner, +which I believe had been broken all the time and was just set there +handy to catch inadvertent persons like ourselves. We finished our slide +then and handed in our sled, which the old Frenchman looked at fondly +and said: "<i>Très bon—très vite.</i>" He did not know how nearly its speed +had come to landing us in the newspapers.</p> + +<p>We took the funicular to Son Loup, and at the top found ourselves in +what seemed atmospheric milk. We stood at the hotel steps and watched +the swift coasters pass. Every other moment they flashed by, from a +white mystery above—a vision of faces, a call of voices—to the +inclosing mystery again. It was like life; but not entirely, for they +did not pass to silence. The long, winding hill far below was full of +their calls'—muffled by the mist—their hoo-hoo-hoos of warning to +those ahead and to those who followed. But it was suggestive, too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> It +was as if the lost were down there in that cold whiteness.</p> + +<p>The fog grew thicker, more opaque, as the day waned. It was an +impalpable wall. We followed the road from the hotel, still higher into +its dense obscurity. When a tree grew near enough to the road for us to +see it, we beheld an astonishing sight. The mist had gathered about the +evergreen branches until they were draped, festooned, fairly clotted +with pendulous frost embroidery.</p> + +<p>We had been told that there was ski-ing up there and we were anxious to +see it, but for a time we found only blankness and dead silence. Then at +last—far and faint, but growing presently more distinct—we heard a +light sound, a movement, a "swish-swish-swirl"—somewhere in the mist at +our right, coming closer and closer, until it seemed right upon us, and +strangely mysterious, there being no visible cause. We waited until a +form appeared, no, grew, materialized from the intangible—so +imperceptibly, so gradually, that at first we could not be sure of it. +Then the outlines became definite, then distinct; an athletic fellow on +skis maneuvered across the road, angled down the opposite slope, +"swish-swish-swirl"—checking himself every other stroke, for the +descent was steep—faded into unknown deeps below—the whiteness had +shut him in. We listened while the swish-swish grew fainter, and in the +gathering evening we felt that he had disappeared from the world into +ravines of dark forests and cold enchantments from which there could be +no escape.</p> + +<p>We climbed higher and met dashing sleds now and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> then, but saw no other +ski-ers that evening. Next morning, however, we found them up there, +gliding about in that region of vapors, appearing and dissolving like +cinema figures, their voices coming to us muffled and unreal in tone. I +left the road and followed down into a sort of basin which seemed to be +a favorite place for ski practice. I felt exactly as if I were in a +ghostly aquarium.</p> + +<p>I was not much taken with ski-ing, as a whole. I noticed that even the +experts fell down a good many times and were not especially graceful +getting up.</p> + +<p>But I approve of coasting under the new conditions—<i>i. e.</i> with +funicular assistance. In my day coasting was work—you had to tug and +sweat up a long slippery incline for a very brief pleasure. Keats (I +think it was Keats, or was it Carolyn Wells?) in his, or her, well-known +and justly celebrated poem wrote:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">It takes a long time to make the climb,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">And a minute or less to come down;</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>But that poetry is out of date—in Switzerland. It no longer takes a +long time to make the climb, and you do it in luxury. You sit in a +comfortable seat and your sled is loaded on an especially built car. +Switzerland is the most funiculated country in the world; its hills are +full of these semi-perpendicular tracks. They make you shudder when you +mount them for the first time, and I think I never should be able to +discuss frivolous matters during an ascent, as I have seen some do. +Still, one gets hardened, I suppose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>They are cheap. You get commutation tickets for very little, and all day +long coasters are loading their sleds on the little shelved flatcar, +piling themselves into the coach, then at the top snatching off their +sleds to go whooping away down the long track to the lower station. +Coasters get killed now and then, and are always getting damaged in one +way and another; for the track skirts deep declivities, and there are +bound to be slips in steering, and collisions. We might have stayed +longer and tried it again, but we were still limping from our first +experiment. Besides, we were not dressed for the real thing. Dress may +not make the man, but it makes the sportsman.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Part II</h2> + +<h3>MOTORING THROUGH THE GOLDEN AGE</h3> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_I" id="Chapter_B_I"></a>Chapter I</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW PLAN</h3> + +<p>But with the breaking out of the primroses and the hint of a pale-green +beading along certain branches in the hotel garden, the desire to be +going, and seeing, and doing; to hear the long drowse of the motor and +look out over the revolving distances; to drop down magically, as it +were, on this environment and that—began to trickle and prickle a +little in the blood, to light pale memories and color new plans.</p> + +<p>We could not go for a good while yet. For spring is really spring in +Switzerland—not advance installments of summer mixed with left-overs +from winter, but a fairly steady condition of damp coolness—sunlight +that is not hot, showers that are not cold—the snow on the +mountainsides advancing and retreating—sometimes, in the night, getting +as low down as Chardonne, which is less than half an hour's walk above +the hotel.</p> + +<p>There is something curiously unreal about this Swiss springtime. We saw +the trees break out into leaf, the fields grow vividly green and fresh, +and then become gay with flowers, without at all feeling the reason for +such a mood. In America such a change is wrought by hot days—cold ones, +too, perhaps, but certainly hot ones; we have sweltered in April,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +though we have sometimes snowballed in May. The Swiss spring was +different. Three months of gradual, almost unnoticeable, mellowing kept +us from getting excited and gave us plenty of time to plan.</p> + +<p>That was good for us—the trip we had in mind now was no mere matter of +a few days' journey, from a port to a destination; it was to be a +wandering that would stretch over the hills and far away, through some +thousands of kilometers and ten weeks of time. That was about all we had +planned concerning it, except that we were going back into France, and +at one point in those weeks we expected to touch Cherbourg and pick up a +missing member of the family who would be dropped there by a passing +ship. We studied the maps a good deal, and at odd times I tinkered with +the car and wondered how many things would happen to it before we +completed the long circle, and if I would return only partially crippled +or a hopeless heap of damage and explanations. Never mind—the future +holds sorrow enough for all of us. Let us anticipate only its favors.</p> + +<p>So we planned. We sent for a road map of France divided into four +sections, showing also western Germany and Switzerland. We spread it out +on the table and traced a variety of routes to Cherbourg; by Germany, by +Paris direct, by a long loop down into southern France. We favored the +last-named course. We had missed some things in the Midi—Nîmes, Pont du +Gard, Orange—and then there was still a quality in the air which made +us feel that the south would furnish better motor weather in May.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ah, me! There is no place quite like the Provence. It is rather dusty, +and the people are drowsy and sometimes noisy, and there are mosquitoes +there, and maybe other unpleasant things; but in the light chill of a +Swiss spring day there comes a memory of rich mellowness and September +roadsides, with gold and purple vintage ripening in the sun, that lights +and warms the soul. We would start south, we said. We were not to reach +Cherbourg until June. Plenty of time for the north, then, and later.</p> + +<p>We discussed matters of real importance—that is to say, expenses. We +said we would give ourselves an object lesson, this time, in what could +really be done in motor economies. On our former trip we had now and +again lunched by the roadside, with pleasing results. This time we would +always do it. Before, we had stopped a few times at small inns in +villages instead of seeking out hotels in the larger towns. Those few +experiments had been altogether satisfactory, both as to price and +entertainment. Perhaps this had been merely our good fortune, but we +were willing to take further chances. From the fifty francs a day +required for our party of four we might subtract a franc or so and still +be nourished, body and soul. Thus we planned. When it was pleasant we +enjoyed shopping for our roadside outfit; a basket, square, and of no +great size; some agate cups and saucers; some knives and forks; also an +alcohol stove, the kind that compacts itself into very small compass, +aluminum, and very light— I hope they have them elsewhere than in +Switzerland, for their usefulness is above price.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_II" id="Chapter_B_II"></a>Chapter II</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW START</h3> + +<p>It was the first week in May when we started—the 5th, in fact. The car +had been thoroughly overhauled, and I had spent a week personally on it, +scraping and polishing, so that we might make a fine appearance as we +stood in front of the hotel in the bright morning sunlight where our +fellow guests would gather to see us glide away.</p> + +<p>I have had many such showy dreams as that, and they have turned out +pretty much alike. We did not start in the bright morning. It was not +bright. It was raining, and it continued to rain until after eleven +o'clock. By that time our fellow guests were not on hand. They had got +tired and gone to secluded corners, or to their rooms, or drabbling into +the village. When the sun finally came out only a straggler or two +appeared. It was too bad.</p> + +<p>We glided away, but not very far. I remembered, as we were passing +through the town, that it might be well to take some funds along, so we +drove around to the bank to see what we could raise in that line. We +couldn't raise anything—not a centime. It was just past twelve o'clock +and, according to Swiss custom, the bank was closed for two hours. Not a +soul was there—the place was locked, curtained, barred. Only dynamite +would have opened it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>We consulted. We had some supplies in our basket to eat by the roadside +as soon as we were well into the country. Very good; we would drive to +some quiet back street in the suburbs and eat them now. We had two hours +to wait—we need feel no sense of hurry. So we drove down into Vevey la +Tour and, behind an old arch, where friends would not be likely to +notice us, we sat in the car and ate our first luncheon, with a smocked +boy for audience—a boy with a basket on his arm, probably delaying the +machinery of his own household to study the working economies of ours. +Afterward we drove back to the bank, got our finances arranged, slipped +down a side street to the lake-front, and fled away toward Montreux +without looking behind us. It was not at all the departure we had +planned.</p> + +<p>It rained again at Montreux, but the sun was shining at Chillon, and the +lake was blue. Through openings in the trees we could see the picture +towns of Territet, Montreux, Clarens, and Vevey, skirting the shore—the +white steamers plying up and down; the high-perched hotels, half lost in +cloudland, and we thought that our travels could hardly provide a more +charming vision than that. Then we were in Villeneuve, then in the open +flat fields of the Rhone Valley, where, for Europe, the roads are poor; +on through a jolty village to a bridge across the Rhone, and so along +the south shore by Bouveret, to St. Gingolph, where we exhibited our +papers at the Swiss <i>douane</i>, crossed a little brook, and were again in +France. We were making the circuit of the lake, you see. All winter we +had looked across to that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> shore, with its villages and snow-mantled +hills. We would now see it at close range.</p> + +<p>We realized one thing immediately. Swiss roads are not bad roads, by any +means, but French roads are better. In fact, I have made up my mind that +there is nothing more perfect in this world than a French road. I have +touched upon this subject before, and I am likely to dwell upon it +unduly, for it always excites me. Those roads are a perfect network in +France, and I can never cease marveling at the money and labor they must +have cost. They are so hard and smooth, so carefully graded and curved, +so beautifully shaded, so scrupulously repaired—it would seem that half +the wealth and effort of France must be expended on her highways. The +road from St. Gingolph was wider than the one we had left behind. It was +also a better road and in better repair. It was a floor. Here and there +we came to groups of men working at it, though it needed nothing, that +we could see. It skirted the mountains and lake-front. We could look +across to our own side now—to Vevey and those other towns, and the +cloud-climbing hotels, all bright in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>We passed a nameless village or two and were at Evian, a watering-place +which has grown in fame and wealth these later years—a resort of fine +residences and handsome hotels—not our kind of hotels, but plenty good +enough for persons whose tastes have not been refined down to our budget +and daily program of economies.</p> + +<p>It was at Thonon—quaint old Thonon, once a residence of the Counts and +Dukes of Savoy—that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> we found a hostelry of our kind. It had begun +raining again, and, besides, it was well toward evening. We pulled up in +front of the Hôtel d'Europe, one of the least extravagant of the +red-book hostelries, and I went in. The "<i>Bureau</i>" as the French call +the office, was not very inviting. It was rather dingy and somber, and +nobody was there. I found a bell and rang it and a woman appeared—not a +very attractive woman, but a kindly person who could understand my +"<i>Vous avez des chambres?</i>" which went a good ways. She had "<i>des +chambres</i>" and certainly no fault could be found with those. They were +of immense size, the beds were soft, smooth, and spotlessly clean. Yes, +there was a garage, free. I went back with my report. The dinner might +be bad, we said, but it would only be for once—besides, it was raining +harder. So we went in, and when the shower passed we took a walk along +the lake-front, where there is an old château, once the home of royalty, +now the storehouse of plaster or something, and we stopped to look at a +public laundry—a square stone pool under a shed, where the women get +down on their knees and place the garments on a board and scrub them +with a brush, while the cold water from the mountains runs in and out +and is never warmed at all.</p> + +<p>Returning by another way, we found about the smallest church in the +world, built at one corner of the old domain. A woman came with a key +and let us into it and we sat in the little chairs and inspected the +tiny altar and all the sacred things with especial interest, for one of +the purposes of our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> pilgrimages was to see churches—the great +cathedrals of France. Across from the church stood a ruined tower, +matted with vines, the remains of a tenth-century château—already old +when the one on the lake-front was new. We speak lightly of a few +centuries more or less, but, after all, there was a goodly period +between the tenth and the fourteenth, a period long enough to cover +American history from Montezuma to date. These old towers, once filled +with life and voices and movement, are fascinating things. We stood +looking at this one while the dusk gathered. Then it began sprinkling +again and it was dinner time.</p> + +<p>So we returned to the hotel and I may as well say here, at once, that I +do not believe there are any bad dinners in France. I have forgotten +what we had, but I suppose it was fish and omelet, and meat and chicken, +and salad and dessert, and I know it was all hot and delicious, and +served daintily in courses, and we went to those soft beds happy and +soothed, fell asleep to the sound of the rain pattering outside, and +felt not a care in the world.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_III" id="Chapter_B_III"></a>Chapter III</h2> + +<h3>INTO THE JURAS</h3> + +<p>It was still drizzling next morning, so we were in no hurry to leave. We +plodded about the gray streets, picking up some things for the lunch +basket, and Narcissa and the Joy got a chance to try their nice new +French on real French people and were gratified to find that it worked +just the same as it did on Swiss people. Then the sky cleared and I +backed the car out of the big stable where it had spent the night, and +we packed on our bags and paid our bill—twenty-seven francs for all, or +about one dollar and thirty-five cents each for dinner, lodging, and +breakfast—tips, one franc each to waitress, chambermaid, and garageman. +If they were dissatisfied they did not look it, and presently we were +once more on the road, all the cylinders working and bankruptcy not yet +in sight. It was glorious and fresh along the lake-front—also +appetizing. We stopped by and by for a little mid-morning luncheon, and +a passing motorist, who probably could not believe we would stop merely +to eat at that hour, drew up to ask if anything was wrong with our car +and if he could help. They are kindly people, these French and Swiss. +Stop your car by the roadside and begin to hammer something, or to take +off a tire,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> and you will have offers of assistance from four out of +every five cars that pass.</p> + +<p>There is another little patch of Switzerland again at the end of the +lake, and presently you run into Geneva, and trouble. Geneva is +certainly a curious place. The map of it looks as easy as nothing and +you go gliding into it full of confidence, and presently find yourself +in a perfect mess of streets that are not on the map at all, while all +the streets that <i>are</i> on the map certainly have changed their names, +for you cannot find them where they should be, and no one has ever heard +of them. Besides, the wind is generally blowing—the <i>bise</i>—which does +not simplify matters. Narcissa inquired and I inquired, and then the +Joy, who, privately, I think, speaks the best French of any of us, also +inquired; but the combined result was just a big coalyard which a very +good-looking street led us straight into, making it necessary to back +out and apologize and feel ashamed. Then we heard somebody calling us, +and, looking around, saw the man in gray who had last directed us, and +who also felt ashamed, it seemed—of us, or himself, or something—and +had run after us to get us out of the mess. So he directed us again and +we started, but the labyrinth closed in once more—the dust and narrow +streets and blind alleys—and once again we heard a voice, and there was +the man in gray—he must have run a half a mile this time—waving and +calling and pointing the path out of the maze. It seemed that they were +fixing all the good streets and we must get through by circuitous bad +ones to the side of the city toward France. I asked him why<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> they didn't +leave the good streets alone and fix the bad ones, but he only smiled +and explained some more, and once more we went astray, and yet once more +his voice came calling down the wind and he came up breathlessly, and +this time followed with us, refusing even standing room on the +running-board, until he got us out of the city proper and well headed +for France. We had grown fond of that man and grieved to see him go. We +had known him hardly ten minutes, I think, but friendships are not to be +measured by time.</p> + +<p>On a pretty hill where a little stream of water trickled we ate our +first real luncheon—that is to say, we used our new stove. We cooked +eggs and made coffee, and when there came a sprinkle we stood under our +umbrellas or sat in the car and felt that this was really a kind of +gypsying, and worth while.</p> + +<p>There was a waving meadow just above the bank and I went up there to +look about a little. No house was in sight, but this meadow was a part +of some man's farm. It was familiar in every corner to him—he had known +it always. Perhaps he had played in it as a child—his children had +played in it after him—it was inseparable from the life and happiness +of a home. Yet to us it was merely the field above our luncheon place—a +locality hardly noticed or thought of—barely to be remembered at all.</p> + +<p>Crossing another lonely but fertile land, we entered the hills. We +skirted mountainsides—sometimes in sun, sometimes in shower—descended +a steep road, and passed under a great arched battlement that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> was part +of a frowning fortress guarding the frontier of France. Not far beyond, +at the foot of a long decline, lay a beautiful city, just where the +mountains notched to form a passage for the Rhone. It was Bellegarde, +and as we drew nearer some of the illusions of beauty disappeared. +French cities generally show best from a distance. Their streets are not +very clean and they are seldom in repair. The French have the best roads +and the poorest streets in the world.</p> + +<p>We drew up in front of the custom house, and exhibited our French +<i>triptyque</i>. It was all right, and after it was indorsed I thought we +were through. This was not true. A long, excited individual appeared +from somewhere and began nervously to inspect our baggage. Suddenly he +came upon a small empty cigar box which I had put in, thinking it might +be useful. Cigars are forbidden, and at sight of the empty box our +wild-eyed attenuation had a fit. He turned the box upside down and shook +it; he turned it sidewise and looked into it; shook it again and knocked +on it as if bound to make the cigars appear. He seemed to decide that I +had hidden the cigars, for he made a raid on things in general. He +looked into the gasoline tank, he went through the pockets of the +catch-all and scattered our guidebooks and maps; then he had up the +cushion of the back seat and went into the compartment where this time +was our assortment of hats. You never saw millinery fly as it did in +that man's hands, with the head of the family and Narcissa and the Joy +grabbing at their flowers and feathers, and saying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> things in English +that would have hurt that man if he could have understood them. As for +him, he was repeating, steadily, "<i>Pas dérange</i>"—"<i>Pas dérange</i>," when +all the time he was deranging ruthlessly and even permanently. He got +through at last, smiled, bowed, and retired—pleased, evidently, with +the thoroughness of his investigation. But for some reason he entirely +overlooked our bags strapped on the footboard. We did not remind him.</p> + +<p>The Pert of the Rhone is at Bellegarde. The pert is a place where in dry +weather the Rhone disappears entirely from sight for the space of +seventy yards, to come boiling up again from some unknown mystery. +Articles have been thrown in on one side—even live animals, it is +said—but they have never reappeared on the other. What becomes of them +is a matter of speculation. Perhaps some fearful underground maelstrom +holds them. There was no pert when we were there—there had been too +much rain. The Rhone went tearing through a gorge where we judged the +pert should be located in less watery seasons.</p> + +<p>During the rest of the afternoon we had rather a damp time—showery and +sloppy, for many of the roads of these Jura foothills were in the +process of repair, and the rain had stopped the repairs halfway. It was +getting toward dusk when we came to Nantua—a lost and forgotten town +among the Jura cliffs. We stopped in front of the showier hotel there, +everything looked so rain-beaten and discouraging, but the woman who ran +it was even showier than her hotel and insisted on our taking a parlor +suite at some fabulous price. So we drove away and drew up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> rather sadly +at the Hôtel du Lac, which on that dull evening was far from +fascinating. Yet the rooms they showed us were good, and the dinner—a +surprise of fresh trout just caught, served sizzling hot, fine baked +potatoes and steak, with good red wine aplenty—was such as to make us +forswear forevermore the showy hotels for the humbler inns of France.</p> + +<p>But I am moving too fast. Before dinner we walked for a little in the +gray evening and came to an old church—one of the oldest in France, it +is said, built in the ninth century and called St. Michels. It is over a +thousand years old and looks it. It has not been much rebuilt, I think, +for invasion and revolution appear seldom to have surmounted the natural +ramparts of Nantua, and only the stormbeat and the corrosion of the +centuries have written the story of decay. Very likely it is as little +changed as any church of its time. The hand of restoration has troubled +it little. We slipped in through the gathering dusk, and tiptoed about, +for there were a few lights flickering near the altar and the outlines +of bowed heads. Presently a priest was silhouetted against the altar +lights as he crossed and passed out by a side door. He was one of a long +line that stretched back through more than half of the Christian era and +most of the history of France. When the first priest passed in front of +that altar France was still under the Carlovingian dynasty—under +Charles the Fat, perhaps; and William of Normandy would not conquer +England for two hundred years. Then nearly four hundred years more would +creep by—dim mediæval years—before Joan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> of Arc should unfurl her +banner of victory and martyrdom. You see how far back into the mists we +are stepping here. And all those evenings the altar lights have been lit +and the ministration of priests has not failed.</p> + +<p>There is a fine picture by Eugene Delacroix in the old church, and we +came back next morning to look at it. It is a St. Sebastian, and not the +conventional, ridiculous St. Sebastian of some of the old masters—a +mere human pincushion—but a beautiful youth, prostrate and dying, +pierced by two arrows, one of which a pitying male figure is drawing +from his shoulder. It must be a priceless picture. How can they afford +to keep it here?</p> + +<p>The weather seemed to have cleared, and the roads, though wet, were +neither soft nor slippery. French roads, in fact, are seldom either—and +the fresh going along the lake-front was delightful enough. But we were +in the real Juras now, and one does not go through that range on a water +grade. We were presently among the hills, the road ahead of us rising to +the sky. Then it began to rain again, but the road was a good firm one +and the car never pulled better.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 336px;"><a name="ILL_007" id="ILL_007"></a> +<img src="images/ill_007.jpg" width="336" height="500" alt="Descending the Juras" title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Descending the Juras</span></span> +</div> + +<p>It was magnificent climbing. On the steepest grades and elbow turns we +dropped back to second, but never to low, and there was no lagging. On +the high levels we stopped to let the engine cool and to add water from +the wayside hollows. We were in the clouds soon, and sometimes it was +raining, sometimes not. It seemed for the most part an uninhabited +land—no houses and few fields—the ground<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> covered with a short bushy +growth, grass and flowers. A good deal of it was rocky and barren.</p> + +<p>On the very highest point of the Jura range, where we had stopped to +cool the motor, a woman came along, leading three little children. She +came up and said a few words in what sounded like an attempt at English. +We tried our French on her, but it did not seem to get inside. I said +she must speak some mountain patois, for we had used those same words +lower down with good results. But then she began her English again—it +was surely English this time, and, listening closely, we got the fringes +and tag ends of a curious story. She was Italian, and had been in New +York City. There, it seemed, she had married a Frenchman from the Juras, +who, in time, when his homeland had called him, had brought her back to +the hills. There he had died, leaving her with six children. She had a +little hut up the side lane, where they were trying to scratch a living +from the stony soil. Yes, she had chickens, and could let us have some +eggs. She also brought a pail with water for the radiator.</p> + +<p>A little farther along we cooked the eggs and laid out all our nice +lunch things on natural stone tables and looked far down the Jura slope +on an ancient village and an old castle, the beginning of the world +across the range.</p> + +<p>It was not raining now, and the air was soft and pleasant and the spot +as clean and sweet as could be. Presently the water was boiling and the +coffee made—instantaneous coffee, the George Washington kind. And +nothing could be fresher than those eggs, nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> unless it was the +butter—unsalted butter, which with jam and rolls is about the best +thing in the world to finish on.</p> + +<p>We descended the Jura grades on the engine brake—that is, I let in the +clutch, cut off the gasoline supply and descended on first or second +speed, according to the grade. That saves the wheel brake and does no +damage to the motor. I suppose everybody knows the trick, but I did not +learn it right away, and there may be others who know as little. It was +a long way to the lower levels, and some of the grades were steep. Then +they became gradual, and we coasted—then the way flattened and we were +looking across a level valley, threaded by perfectly ordered roads to a +distant town whose roofs and spires gleamed in the sunlight of the May +afternoon. It was Bourg, and one of the spires belonged to the church of +Brou.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_IV" id="Chapter_B_IV"></a>Chapter IV</h2> + +<h3>A POEM IN ARCHITECTURE</h3> + +<p>The church of Brou is like no other church in the world. In the first +place, instead of dragging through centuries of building and never quite +reaching completion, it was begun and finished in the space of +twenty-five years—from 1511 to 1536—and it was supervised and paid for +by a single person, Margaret of Austria, who built it in fulfillment of +a vow made by her mother-in-law, Margaret of Bourbon. The last Margaret +died before she could undertake her project, and her son, Philibert II, +Duke of Savoy, called "The Handsome," followed before he could carry out +her wishes. So his duchess, the other Margaret, undertook the work, and +here on this plain, between the Juras and the Saône, she wrought a +marvel in exquisite church building which still remains a marvel, almost +untouched by any blight, after four hundred turbulent years. Matthew +Arnold wrote a poem on the church of Brou which may convey the wonder of +its beauty. I shall read it some day, and if it is as beautiful as the +church I shall commit it, and on days when things seem rather ugly and +harsh and rasping I will find some quiet corner and shut my eyes and say +the lines and picture a sunlit May afternoon and the church of Brou. +Then, perhaps, I shall not remember any more the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> petty things of the +moment but only the architectural shrine which one woman reared in honor +of another, her mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>It is not a great cathedral, but it is by no means a little church. Its +lofty nave is bare of furnishings, which perhaps lends to its impression +of bigness. But then you pass through the carved doors of a magnificent +<i>juba</i> screen, and the bareness disappears. The oaken choir seats are +carved with the richness of embroidery, and beyond them are the +tombs—those of the two Margarets, and of Philibert—husband and son.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 336px;"><a name="ILL_008" id="ILL_008"></a> +<img src="images/ill_008.jpg" width="336" height="500" alt="The Tomb of Margaret of Austria, Church of Brou" title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Tomb of Margaret of Austria, Church of Brou</span></span> +</div> + +<p>I suppose the world can show no more exquisitely wrought tombs than +these. Perhaps their very richness defeats their art value, but I would +rather have them so, for it reveals, somehow, the thoroughness and +sincerity of Margaret's intent—her determination to fulfill to the +final letter every imagined possibility in that other's vow.</p> + +<p>The mother's tomb is a sort of bower—a marble alcove of great splendor, +within and without. Philibert's tomb, which stands in the center of the +church, between the other two, is a bier, supported by female figures +and fluted columns and interwoven decorations, exquisitely chiseled. Six +cupids and a crouching lion guard the royal figure above; and the whole, +in spite of its richness, is of great dignity. The tomb of the Duchess +Margaret herself is a lofty canopy of marble incrustations, the +elaborateness of which no words can tell. It is the superlative of +Gothic decoration at a period when Gothic extravagance was supreme.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>Like her husband Margaret sleeps in double effigy, the sovereign in +state above, the figure of mortality, compassed by the marble supports, +below. The mortality of the queen is draped, but in the case of +Philibert, the naked figure, rather dim through the interspaces, has a +curiously lifelike, even startling effect.</p> + +<p>If the Duchess Margaret made her own tomb more elaborate, it is at least +not more beautiful than the others, while an altar to the Virgin is +still more elaborate—more beautiful, its grouped marble figures in such +high relief that angels and cherubs float in the air, apparently +unsupported. Here, as elsewhere, is a wealth of ornamentation; and +everywhere woven into its intricacies one may find the initials P and +M—Philibert and Margaret—and the latter's motto, "<i>Fortune, infortune, +fort une.</i>" It has been called a mysterious motto, and different +meanings have been twisted out of it. But my French is new and fresh and +takes things quite obviously. "Fortune and misfortune strengthens or +fortifies one" strikes me as a natural rendering. That last verb +<i>fortifier</i> may seem to be abbreviated without warrant, but Margaret was +a queen and could have done that for the sake of euphony and word-play.</p> + +<p>The unscarred condition and the purity of these precious marbles is +almost as astonishing as their beauty, when one considers the centuries +of invasion and revolution, with a vandalism that respected nothing +sacred, least of all symbols of royalty. By careful search we could +discover a broken detail here and there, but the general effect was +completeness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> and the white marble—or was it ivory tinted?—seen +under the light of the illumined stained windows seemed to present the +shapes and shades of things that, as they had never been new, neither +would they ever be old.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_V" id="Chapter_B_V"></a>Chapter V</h2> + +<h3>VIENNE IN THE RAIN</h3> + +<p>It is about forty miles from Bourg to Lyons, a country of fair fields, +often dyed deeply red at this season with crimson clover, a country rich +and beautiful, the road a straight line, wide and smooth, the trees on +either side vividly green with spring. But Lyons is not beautiful—it is +just a jangling, jarring city of cobbled crowded streets and mainly +uninteresting houses and thronging humanity, especially soldiers. It is +a place to remain unloved, unhonored, and unremembered.</p> + +<p>The weather now put aside other things and really got down to the +business of raining. It was fair enough when we left Lyons, but as we +reached the top of a hill that overlooked the world I saw down the +fields a spectral light and far deepening dusk which looked ominous. By +the time we got our top up there was a steady downpour. We did not visit +any wayside villages, though some of them looked interesting enough. +French villages are none too clean at any time and rain does not seem to +help them. Attractive old castles on neighboring hilltops received +hardly a glance; even one overhanging our very road barely caused us to +check up. How old it looked in its wet desolation, the storm eating into +its crumbling walls!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>We pulled up at last at Vienne, at the end of the bridge facing the +cathedral. History has been written about Vienne, and there are +monuments of the past which it is not good form to overlook. The head of +the family said she was not very particular about form and that she was +particular about being wet and discomforted on a chill spring day. +France was full of monuments of the past, she said, and she had not +started out to make her collection complete. She would study the +cathedral from the car, and would the rest of us please remember to +bring some fresh rolls for luncheon. So the rest of us went to the +church of St. Maurice, which begins to date with the twelfth century and +looks even older. Surrounded by comparatively modern buildings and +soaked with rain it appeared, one of the most venerable relics I had +ever seen. I do not think we found the inside very interesting. It was +dead and dusky, and the seventh-century sarcophagus of St. Leoninus was, +in the French phrase, not gay. On the whole there seemed a good deal of +mutilation and not much taste.</p> + +<p>We paddled through streets, asking directions to the Roman temple. +Vienne was an important town under the Romans, the capital of one of the +provinces of Gaul. Of course the Romans would leave landmarks—the kind +that would last. When we found the temple of Augustus and Livia at last, +it did not look so much older than the church, though it is more than as +old again. It was so positively Roman and so out of place among its +modern French surroundings that it looked exactly like something that +had been brought there and set up for exhibition. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> took a heavy +strain of imagination to see it as an integral part of the vanished +Roman capital.</p> + +<p>All about the temple lay fragments of that ancient city—exhibition +pieces, like the temple. One felt that they should not be left out in +the rain.</p> + +<p>We hunted farther and found an Arch of Triumph, which the Romans +generally built in conquered territory. It was hard to tell where the +arch began and where it ended, such a variety of other things had grown +up around and against it. Still, there was at least a section standing, +Roman, and of noble proportions. It will still be Roman, and an arch, +when those later incrustations have crumbled away. Roman work is not +trivial stuff.</p> + +<p>We might have lingered a little in the winding streets and made further +discoveries, but the Joy had already sighted a place where the most +attractive rolls and French cakes filled the window. The orders, she +said, were very strict about the luncheon things. We must get them at +once or we should not be able to locate the place again.</p> + +<p>Curious things can happen in a brief absence. We returned to the car to +find one of the back tires perfectly flat, the head of the family +sitting serenely unconscious of her misfortune. We had picked up one of +those flat-headed boot nails that Europeans love so well, and the tire +had slowly and softly settled. There are cleaner, pleasanter things than +taking off a tire and putting it on again in the rain, but I utilized a +deep doorway on the corner for the dry work, and Narcissa held the +umbrella while I pulled and pushed and grunted and pumped, during the +more strenuous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> moments. Down the river a way we drew up in a grassy +place under some trees and sat in the car and ate the <i>gâteaux</i> and +other things, and under the green shelter I made coffee and eggs, the +little cooker sitting cozily on the running-board. Then all the +afternoon along the hard, wet, shining road that follows the Rhone to +Valence, where we spent two days, watching the steady beat from the +hotel windows, reading, resting, and eating a good deal of the time; +doing not much sight-seeing, for we had touched Valence on our northward +trip eight months before.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_VI" id="Chapter_B_VI"></a>Chapter VI</h2> + +<h3>THE CHÂTEAU I DID NOT RENT</h3> + +<p>In a former chapter I have mentioned the mighty natural portrait in +stone which Mark Twain found, and later named the Lost Napoleon, because +he could not remember its location, and how we rediscovered it from +Beauchastel on the Rhone, not far below Valence. We decided now that we +would have at least another glimpse of the great stone face, it being so +near. The skies had cleared this morning, though there was a good deal +of wind and the sun was not especially warm. But we said we would go. We +would be getting on toward the south, at any rate.</p> + +<p>We did not descend on the Beauchastel side, there being a bridge shown +on the map, at La Voulte, where we would cross. The reader may also +remember the mention of a château below Beauchastel, with a sign on it +which said that the property was to let, and my failure to negotiate for +it. Very well, here is the sequel: When we got to the end of the bridge +opposite La Voulte, we looked across to one of the closely packed +mediæval villages of France with a great castle rising from its central +height. It was one of the most picturesque things we had seen and I +stopped to photograph it, declaring we must certainly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> visit it. So we +crossed the bridge and at the end turned away toward Beauchastel, +deciding to visit La Voulte later.</p> + +<p>We were back almost immediately. The day was not as clear as it looked +and the Lost Napoleon was veiled, behind a white horizon. Very likely it +would be better by morning, we said, so we dropped our belongings at the +tiny Beauchastel inn and made an afternoon excursion to the château. +Imagine my feelings when, on looking up from the road, I suddenly +discovered once more the big sign, "<i>Château A Louer.</i>" It was our +château—the one I had formerly been discouraged from taking. It was +providence, I said, knocking a second time at our door.</p> + +<p>The others had another view. They said unless I would promise not to +rent the premises I would not be permitted to examine them. I tried to +make better terms, but finally submitted. We drove up into the narrow, +ancient, cobbled streets a distance and left the car. Then we climbed. +It was a steep and tortuous way, winding around scary edges and through +doubtful-looking passages where, in weird holes and crannies, old and +crooked people lived and were doing what they had always done since time +began. I don't remember exactly how we finally made our way through +crumble and decay—such surroundings as I have often known in dreams—to +a grassy court where there was a semblance of genuine life. An old +caretaker was there and he agreed to show us through.</p> + +<p>It was called <i>La Voulte sur Rhone</i>, he said, and gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> its name to the +village. No one knew just when it had been begun, but some of it had +been there in the eleventh century, when it had belonged to Adon de +Clerieu. It had passed through many hands and had been more than once +reconstructed. At one time Guillaume de Fay held it; also Philippe IV +and Louis de Bourbon Condé, and the great family of De Rohan. Kings had +been entertained there, among them Louis XIII, an interesting fact, but +I wished they had given better accommodations than the rambling, +comfortless, and rather blind succession of boxes shown us as the royal +suite. I also objected to the paper on the walls until our guide +explained that it had been put there by an American tenant of the early +Andrew Johnson period. He told us then that the château had been +recently bought by a French author of two volumes of poetry, who was +restoring portions of it and had reserved a row of rooms along the high +terrace to let to other poets and kindred souls, so they might live side +by side and look out over the fair land of France and interchange their +fancies and dream long dreams. Standing on that lofty green vantage and +looking out across the river and the valley of the Rhone, I was tempted +to violate my treaty and live there forever after.</p> + +<p>The only portion really restored, so far, is a large assembly room, now +used as a sort of museum. I hope the owner will reclaim, or at least +clean, some of the other rooms, and that he will not carry the work to +the point where atmosphere and romance seem to disappear. Also, I truly +hope he won't give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> up the notion of that row of poets along the +terrace, even if I can't be one of them; and I should like to slip up +there sometime and hear them all striking their harps in unison and +lifting a memnonic voice to the sunrise.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_VII" id="Chapter_B_VII"></a>Chapter VII</h2> + +<h3>AN HOUR AT ORANGE</h3> + +<p>Our bill at Beauchastel for the usual accommodation—dinner, lodging, +and breakfast—was seventeen francs-twenty, including the tips to two +girls and the stableman. This was the cheapest to date; that is to say, +our expense account was one dollar each, nothing for the car.</p> + +<p>The Beauchastel inn is not really a choice place, but it is by no means +a poor place—not from the point of view of an American who has put up +at his own little crossroad hotels. We had the dining room to ourselves, +with a round table in the center, and the dinner was good and plentiful +and well served. If the rooms were bare they were at least clean, and +the landlady was not to blame that it turned cold in the night, which +made getting up a matter to be considered.</p> + +<p>Still, we did get up pretty promptly, for we wanted to see if our +natural wonder was on view. It was, and we took time and sketched it and +tried to photograph it, though that was hopeless, for the distance was +too great and the apparition too actinic—too blue. But it was quite +clear, and the peaceful face impressed us, I think, more than ever. The +best view is from the railway embankment.</p> + +<p>We got another reward for stopping at Beauchastel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> We saw the old Rhone +stagecoach come in, Daudet's coach, and saw descend from it Daudet's +characters, <i>le Camarguais</i>, <i>le boulanger</i>, <i>le remouleur</i>, and the +rest. At least they might have been those, for they belonged with the +old diligence, and one could imagine the knife grinder saying to the +hectoring baker, "<i>Tais-toi, je t'en prie" si navrant et si doux</i>.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p> + +<p>But now we felt the breath of the south. It was no longer chilly. The +sun began to glow warm, the wind died. Sometime in the afternoon we +arrived at Orange. Orange is not on the Rhone and we had missed it in +our northward journey in September. It was one of our special reasons +for returning to the south of France. Not the town of Orange itself, +which is of no particular importance, but for the remnants of the Roman +occupation—a triumphal arch and the chief wall of a Roman theater, both +of such fine construction and noble proportions that they are to be +compared with nothing else of their kind in France.</p> + +<p>We came to the arch first—we had scarcely entered the town when we were +directly facing it. It stands in a kind of circular grass plot a little +below the present level, with short flights of steps leading down to it. +At the moment of our arrival a boy of about fifteen was giving an +exhibition by riding up and down these steps on a bicycle. I sincerely +wished he would not do it.</p> + +<p>Whatever its relation to its surroundings nineteen centuries ago, the +arch of Orange is magnificently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> out of place to-day. Time-beaten and +weather-stained—a visible manifest of a race that built not for the +generations or the centuries, but for "the long, long time the world +shall last"—supreme in its grandeur and antiquity, it stands in an +environment quite modern, quite new, and wholly trivial.</p> + +<p>The arch is really three arches—the highest in the center, and the +attic, as they call the part above, is lofty, with rich decorations, +still well preserved. There are restored patches here and there, but +they do little injury.</p> + +<p>From whatever direction you look the arch is beautiful, imposing, and +certainly it seems eternal. When the present Orange has crumbled and has +been followed by successive cities, it will still be there, but I trust +the boy with the bicycle will not survive.</p> + +<p>The theater is at the other end of town. It is not an amphitheater or an +inclosure of any kind, but a huge flat wall, about as solid as the hills +and one of the biggest things in France. Strictly speaking, it was never +part of any building at all. It was simply a stage property, a sort of +permanent back scene for what I judge to have been an open-air theater. +There is no doubt about its permanency. It is as high as an ordinary +ten-or twelve-story building, longer than the average city block, and it +is fifteen feet thick. That is the Roman idea of scenery. They did not +expect to shift it often. They set up some decorative masonry in front +of it, with a few gods and heroes solidly placed, and let it go at that. +Their stage would be just in front of this, rather narrow, and about on +a ground level. The whole was built facing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> a steep rocky hillside, +which was carved into a semi-circle of stone seats, in the old fashion +which Rome borrowed from Greece. This natural stonework did not stand +the wash of centuries, or it may have been quarried for the château +which the princes of Orange built at the summit of the hill. The château +is gone to-day, and the seats have been restored, I dare say, with some +of the original material. Every August now a temporary stage is erected +in the ancient theater, and the Comédie Française gives performances +there.</p> + +<p>The upper works of the hill, where the château was, are rather +confusing. There are cave-like places and sudden drops and rudimentary +passages, all dimly suggesting dungeons, once black and horrible, now +happily open to the sun. And, by the way, I suppose that I am about the +only person in the world who needed to be told that a line of kings +originated at Orange. I always supposed that William of Orange took his +name from an Irish society whose colors, along with a shamrock, he wore +in his hat.</p> + +<p>By some oversight the guidebook does not mention the jam that is sold at +Orange. It is put up in tin pails, and has in it all the good things in +the world—lumps of them—price, one franc per pail.</p> + +<p>We did not stop at Avignon, for we had been there before, but followed +around outside the ancient wall and came at last to the Rhone bridge, +and to the island of our smoke adventure in the days of our +inexperience, eight months earlier. This time we camped on the island in +a pretty green nook by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> water's edge, left the car under a tree, and +made tea and had some of that excellent jam and some fresh rolls and +butter, and ate them looking across to ancient Villeneuve and the tower +of Philip le Bel.</p> + +<p>Oh, the automobile is the true flying carpet—swift, willing, always +ready, obeying at a touch. Only this morning we were at Beauchastel; a +little while ago we were under the ancient arch at Orange and sat in the +hoary theater. A twist of the crank, a little turning of the wheel, a +brief flight across wood and meadow, and behold! the walls of Avignon +and a pleasant island in the river, where we alight for a little to make +our tea in the greenery, knowing that we need only to rub the magic lamp +to sail lightly away, resting where we will.</p> + +<p>Our tea ended, the genii awoke and dropped us into Villeneuve, where, in +an open market, we realized that it was cherry season. I thought I had +seen cherries before, but never in this larger sense. Here there were +basketfuls, boxfuls, bucketfuls, barrelfuls, wagonloads—the whole +street was crowded with wagons, and every wagon heaped high with the +crimson and yellow fruit. Officials seemed to be weighing them and +collecting something, a tax, no doubt. But what would be done with them +later? Could they ship all those cherries north and sell them? And +remember this was only one evening and one town. The thought that every +evening and every town in the Midi was like this in cherry time was +stupefying. We had to work our way among cherry wagons to get to the +open road again, and our "flying carpet" came near getting damaged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> by +one of them, because of my being impatient and trying to push ahead when +an approaching cherry wagon had the right of way. As it was, I got a +vigorous admonishment in French profanity, which is feathery stuff, +practically harmless. I deserved something much more solid.</p> + +<p>Consider for a moment this French profanity: About the most violent +things a Frenchman can say are "<i>Sacre bleu</i>" and "<i>Nom d'un chien!</i>" +One means "Sacred blue" and the other "Name of a dog." If he doubles the +last and says "Name of a name of a dog," he has gone his limit. I fail +to find anything personal or destructive or profane in these things. +They don't seem to hit anything, not even the dog. And why a dog? +Furthermore, concerning the color chosen for profane use—why blue? why +not some shade of Nile green, or—or— Oh, well, let it go, but I do +wish I could have changed places with that man a few minutes!</p> + +<p>We considered returning to Avignon for the night, but we went to +Tarascon instead, and arrived after dark at a bright little inn, where +we were comfortably lodged, and a relative of Tartarin brought us a good +supper and entertained us with his adventures while we ate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_VIII" id="Chapter_B_VIII"></a>Chapter VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE ROAD TO PONT DU GARD</h3> + +<p>It is a wide, white road, bordered by the rich fields of May and the +unbelievable poppies of France. Oh, especially the poppies! I have not +spoken of them before, I think. They had begun to show about as soon as +we started south—a few here and there at first, splashes of blood amid +the green, and sometimes mingling a little with the deep tones of the +crimson clover, with curious color effect. They became presently more +plentiful. There were fields where the scarlet and the vivid green of +May were fighting for the mastery, and then came fields where the +scarlet conquered, was supreme, and stretched away, a glowing, radiant +sheen of such splendid color as one can hardly believe, even for the +moment that he turns away. It was scarlet silk unrolled in the sun. It +was a tide of blood. It was as if all the world at war had made this +their battlefield. And it did not grow old to us. When we had seen a +hundred of those fields they still fascinated us; we still exclaimed +over them and could not tear our eyes away.</p> + +<p>We passed wagonloads of cherries now. In fact, we did not pass loads of +anything else. Cherry harvest was at its height. Everybody was carrying +baskets, or picking, or hauling to market. We stopped and asked an old +man drowsing on a load to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> sell us some. He gave us about a half a peck +for eight cents and kept piling on until I had to stop him. Then he +picked up a specially tied bunch of selected ones, very handsome, and +laid them on top and pointed at Narcissa—"For the demoiselle." We +thanked him and waved back to him, but he had settled down into his seat +and was probably asleep again. All drivers sleep in the Provence. They +are children of the south and the sun soothes them. They give their +horses the rein and only waken to turn out when you blow or shout very +loudly. You need an especially strong Klaxonette in the Provence.</p> + +<p>Baedeker says: "The Pont du Gard is one of the grandest Roman structures +in existence." I am glad Baedeker said that, for with my limited +knowledge I should have been afraid to do it, but I should always have +thought so. A long time ago I visited the Natural Bridge of Virginia. I +had been disappointed in natural wonders, and I expected no great things +of the Natural Bridge. I scaled my imagination down by degrees as I +followed a path to the viewpoint, until I was prepared to face a reality +not so many times bigger than the picture which my school geography had +made familiar. Then all at once I turned a corner and stood speechless +and stupefied. Far up against the blue a majestic span of stone +stretched between two mighty cliffs. I have seen the Grand Cañon since, +and Niagara Falls, but nothing ever quite overwhelmed me as did that +stupendous Virginia stone arch—nothing until we rounded a bend in the +road and stopped facing the Pont du Gard. Those two are of the same +class—bridges<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> supreme—the one of nature, the other of art. Neither, I +think, was intended as a bridge originally. The Romans intended these +three colossal tiers of columns, one above the other, merely as supports +for the aqueduct at the top, which conducted water to Nîmes. I do not +know what the Almighty intended his for—possibly for decoration. To-day +both are used as bridges—both are very beautiful, and about equally +eternal, I should think, for the Roman builders came nearer to the +enduring methods of the Original Builder than any other architects save, +possibly, the Egyptians. They did not build walls of odds and ends of +stone with mortar plastered between; they did not face their building +stones to look pretty outside and fill in behind with chips and mortar, +mostly mortar. They took the biggest blocks of stone they could find, +squared them, faced them perfectly on all sides, and laid them one on +top of the other in such height and in such thickness as they deemed +necessary for a lasting job. Work like that does not take an account of +time. The mortar did not crumble from between them with the centuries. +There was none to crumble. The perfectly level, perfectly matched stones +required no cementing or plaster patching. You cannot to-day insert a +thin knife blade between these matched stones.</p> + +<p>The Pont du Gard is yellow in tone and the long span against the blue +sky is startlingly effective. A fine clear stream flows under it, the +banks are wild with rock and shrub, the lower arches frame landscape +bits near or more distant. I don't know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> why I am trying to describe +it— I feel that I am dwarfing it, somehow—making it commonplace. It is +so immense—so overwhelming to gaze upon. Henry James discovered in it a +"certain stupidity, a vague brutality." I judge it seemed too positive, +too absolute, too literal and everlasting for the author of the <i>Golden +Bowl</i>. He adds, however, that "it would be a great injustice not to +insist upon its beauty." One must be careful not to do injustice to the +Pont du Gard.</p> + +<p>We made our luncheon camp a little way from the clear stream, and +brought water from it and cooked eggs and made coffee (but we carry +bottled water for that), and loafed in the May sun and shade, and looked +at that unique world-wonder for an hour or more. The Joy discovered a +fine school of fish in the stream—trout, maybe.</p> + +<p>A hundred years ago and more the lower arches of the Pont du Gard were +widened to make a bridge, and when at last we were packed and loaded +again we drove across this bridge for the nearer view. It was quite +impossible to believe in the age of the structure—its preservation was +so perfect. We drove to the other end and, turning, drove slowly back. +Then lingeringly we left that supreme relic in the loneliness where, +somehow, it seemed to belong, and followed the broad white road to +Nîmes. There is a Roman arena at Nîmes, and a temple and baths—the +Romans built many such things; but I think they could have built only +one Pont du Gard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_IX" id="Chapter_B_IX"></a>Chapter IX</h2> + +<h3>THE LUXURY OF NÎMES</h3> + +<p>When the Romans captured a place and established themselves in it they +generally built, first an Arch of Triumph in celebration of their +victory; then an arena and a theater for pleasure; finally a temple for +worship. Sometimes, when they really favored the place and made it a +resort, they constructed baths. I do not find that they built an Arch of +Triumph at Nîmes, but they built an arena, baths, and a temple, for they +still stand. The temple is the smallest. It is called the "Maison +Carrée," and it is much like the temple we saw at Vienne that day in the +rain, but in a finer state of preservation. Indeed, it is said to be one +of the best preserved Roman temples in existence. It is graceful and +exquisite, and must have suited Henry James, who did not care for Roman +arenas because they are not graceful and exquisite, as if anything built +for arena purposes would be likely to be anything less than solid and +everlasting. We did not go into the Maison Carrée. It is a museum now, +and the fact that it has also been used as a warehouse and stable +somehow discouraged us. It would be too much done over. But the outside +was fascinating.</p> + +<p>We thought the garden of the Roman baths and fountain would be well to +see in the evening. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> drove along the quay by the side of the walled +river which flows down the middle of the street, and came to the gates +of the garden and, leaving the car, entered.</p> + +<p>At first it seemed quite impossible to believe that a modern city of no +great size or importance should have anything so beautiful as this +garden, or, having it, should preserve it in such serene beauty and +harmony. But then one remembered that this was France, and of France it +was the Provence and not really a part of the sordid, scrambling world +at all.</p> + +<p>It is a garden of terraces and of waterways and of dim, lucent pools to +which stairways descend, and of cypresses, graying statuary, and marble +bridges and fluted balustrades; and the water is green and mysterious, +and there is a background of dark, wooded hills, with deep recesses and +lost paths. We climbed part way up the hillside and found a place where +we could look out on the scene below. In the fading light it seemed a +place of enchantment.</p> + +<p>It is not easy to tell what part of this garden the Romans built and +what was added from time to time during the centuries. It seems to have +been liberally reconstructed a hundred or so years ago, and the statuary +is none of it of the Roman period. But if there was ever any incongruity +the blurring hand of time has left it invisible to our unpracticed eyes. +We lingered in this magic garden, and spoke softly of the generations +that for nineteen centuries have found their recreation there, and we +turned often for a last look, reluctant to leave something that seemed +likely to vanish the moment one turned away.</p> + +<p>Our hotel was on the square in which stands the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> arena, so that it was +but a step away at any time. We paid it one thorough visit, and sat in +the seats, and scaled the upper heights, and looked down on the spot +where tragedy and horror had been employed as means of pleasure for a +good portion of the world's history. I am sorry the Provence is still +rather cruel minded, though I believe they do not always kill the bull +now in the Sunday-afternoon fights. It is only a few times in each +season that they have a fight to the death. They had one the Sunday +before our arrival, according to the bills still posted at the entrance. +In the regular Sunday games anyone has the privilege of snatching a bow +of red ribbon from the bull's forehead. I had a fever to try it, but, +this being only Tuesday, it did not seem worth while to wait.</p> + +<p>On the whole I think we did not find the arena at Nîmes as interesting +as the one at Arles, perhaps because we had seen Arles first. It is +somewhat smaller than the Arles circus, and possibly not so well +preserved, but it is of majestic proportions, and the huge layers of +stone, laid without cement in the Roman fashion, have never moved except +where Vandal and Saracen and the building bishops have laid despoiling +hands.</p> + +<p>Not all the interest of Nîmes is ancient; Alphonse Daudet was born in +Nîmes, and the city has set up a statue and named a street in his honor. +Daudet's birthplace is not on the street that bears his name, but on the +Boulevard Gambetta, one of the wide thoroughfares. Daudet's house is a +part of the Bourse du Commerce now, and I do not think it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> was ever the +"<i>habitation commode, tout ombragée de plantanes</i>" of which he writes so +fondly in Le Petit Chose—the book which we have been told is, in part, +at least, his own history. There is nothing now to indicate that it was +ever the birthplace of anyone, except the plaque at the door, and as we +sat reading this we realized that by a coincidence we had come at a +fortunate time. The plaque said, "Born May 13, 1840." Now, seventy-four +years later, the date was the same. It was the poet's birthday!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_X" id="Chapter_B_X"></a>Chapter X</h2> + +<h3>THROUGH THE CÉVENNES</h3> + +<p>The drowsy Provence, with its vineyard slopes and poppied fields, warm +lighted and still, is akin to Paradise. But the same Provence, on a +windy day, with the chalk dust of its white roads enveloping one in +opaque blinding clouds, suggests Sherman's definition of war. We got a +taste of this aspect leaving Nîmes on our way north. The roads were +about perfect, hard and smooth, but they were white with dust, and the +wind did blow. I have forgotten whether it was the mistral or the +tramontane, and I do not think it matters. It was just wind—such wind +as I used to meet a long time ago in Kansas.</p> + +<p>Our first town was Alais, but when we inquired about Alai, according to +the French rule of pronunciation, they corrected us and said +Alais—sounding the s. That is Provençal, I take it, or an exception to +the rule. Alais itself was of no importance, but along the way there +were villages perched on hilltops, with castles crowning the high +central points, all as picturesque and mediæval as anything well could +be. We were always tempted to go up to them, but the climb was likely to +be steep; then those villages seen from the inside might not be as +poetry-picturelike as when viewed from below, looking up an orchard +slope to their weathered balconies and vine-hung walls.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>We were in the Cévennes about as soon as we had passed Alais. The +Cévennes are mountains—not mere hills, but towering heights, with roads +that wind and writhe up them in a multiplicity of convolutions, though +always on perfect grade, always beautiful, bringing to view deep vistas +and wide expanses at every turn.</p> + +<p>There was little wind now—the hills took care of that—and we were warm +and comfortable and happy in this fair, lonely land. There were few +habitations of any kind; no automobiles; seldom even a cart. Water was +scarce, too; it was hard to find a place to replenish our bottles. But +we came at last to a cabin in the woods—a sort of wayside café it +proved—where a woman sold us half a liter of red wine for about five +cents, and supplied us with spring water free. A little farther along, +where the road widened a bit, we halted for luncheon. On one side a +steep ascent, wooded, on the other a rather abrupt slope, grass-covered +and shady with interspaced trees. By and by we noticed that all the +trees were of one variety—chestnut. It was, in fact, a chestnut +orchard, and proclaimed the industry of this remote land. We saw many +such during the afternoon; probably the district is populous enough +during the chestnut harvest.</p> + +<p>Through the long afternoon we went winding upward among those unpeopled +hills, meeting almost nothing in the way of human life, passing through +but one village, Grenolhac, too small even to be set down in the road +book. In fact, the first place mentioned beyond Alais was Villefort, +with a small population<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> and one inn, a hostelry indicated in the book +merely by a little wineglass, and not by one of the tiny houses which, +in their varied sizes, picture the recommended hotels and the relative +importance thereof. There was no mention of rooms in connection with the +Café Marius Balme; the outlook for accommodation overnight was not very +cheerful.</p> + +<p>It was chilly, too, for evening was closing in and we were well up in +the air. The prospect of camping by the roadside, or even of sitting up +in a café until morning, did not attract a person of my years, though +Narcissa and the Joy declared that to build a camp fire and roll up in +the steamer rugs would be "lovely." As there were only three rugs, I +could see that somebody was going to be overlooked in the arrangement; +besides, a night in the mountains in May, let it begin ever so gayly, is +pretty sure to develop doubtful features before morning. I have done +some camping in my time, and I have never been able to get together +enough steamer rugs to produce a really satisfactory warmth at, say, +three or four o'clock in the morning, when the frost is embroidering the +bushes and the stars have a glitter that drills into your very marrow. +Langogne, the first town marked with a hotel, was at least thirty-five +miles farther along, and I could tell by the crinkly look of the road as +it appeared on our map that it was no night excursion. Presently we +descended into a sort of gorge, and there was Villefort, an isolated, +ancient little hamlet forgotten among the Cévennes hilltops. We came to +an open space and there, sure enough, was the Café Balme, and by the +side of it, happy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> vision, another little building with the sign "Hôtel +Balme."</p> + +<p>It was balm indeed. To my faithful inquiry, "<i>Vous avez des chambres?</i>" +Yes, they had chambers—they were across the open square, over the +garage—that is to say, the stable—if the monsieur and his party would +accept them.</p> + +<p>"<i>Oui, certainement!</i>"</p> + +<p>They were not luxurious—they were just bare boxes, but they were clean, +with comfortable beds, and, dear me! how inviting on this particularly +chilly evening, when one has put in most of the day climbing narrow, +circuitous mountain roads—one-sided—that is to say, one side a wall, +the other falling off into unknown space.</p> + +<p>They were very quiet rooms, for we had the place to ourselves. The car +would sleep just under us, and we had a feeling of being nomads, the +kind that put up in barns and empty buildings. A better place could +hardly have made us happier, and a better dinner than we had could not +be produced anywhere. There was soup—French soup; hot fried trout, +taken that day from the mountain streams; then there was omelet of the +freshest eggs, served so hot that one must wait for it to cool; also a +dish of veal of the same temperature and of such tenderness that you +could cut it with a fork; and there was steak which we scarcely touched, +and a salad, and fruit and cakes and camembert cheese, with unlimited +wine throughout. How could they give a dinner like that, and a good bed, +and coffee and rolls with jam next morning, all for four francs—that +is, eighty cents, each?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> I will tell you: they did their own cooking, +and were lost so far in the mountains that they had not yet heard of the +"high cost of living." And if I have not mentioned it before, I wish to +say here that all the red road-book hotels are good, however small or +humble they appear. Indeed, I am inclined to believe that <i>all French</i> +hotels are good—at least that they have good food and beds. With the +French, to have good beds and good food is a religion.</p> + +<p>You notice I do not mention the coffee. That is because it is not real +coffee. It is— I don't quite know what it is. In the large hotels it +merely looks like coffee. In these small inns it looks like a dark, +ominous soup and tastes like that as much as anything. Also, it is not +served in cups, but bowls, porridge bowls, with spoons to match, and the +natives break chunks of bread in it and thus entirely carry out the soup +idea. This is the French conception of coffee in the remoter districts, +but the bread and jam or honey that go with it are generally good and +plentiful, and I suppose the fearful drink itself must be wholesome. One +hears a good deal in America of delicious French coffee, but the only +place to get it is in America, in New Orleans, say, or New York. I have +never found any really good coffee even in Paris.</p> + +<p>I think not many travelers visit the Cévennes. The road across the +mountains from Nîmes toward Paris seemed totally untraversed, at least +so far as tourists are concerned. No English is spoken anywhere—not a +word. This was France—not the France that is Paris, which is not France +at all any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> more than New York City is America, but the France which is +a blending of race and environment—of soil and sky and human struggle +into a unified whole that is not much concerned with the world at large, +and from generation to generation does not greatly change.</p> + +<p>One may suppose, for instance, that the market at Villefort, which we +saw next morning, was very much what it was a hundred years ago—that +the same sturdy women in black dresses and curious hats had carried the +same little bleating kids, one under each arm—that trout and +strawberries and cheese and cherries and all the products of that +mountain district were offered there, around the old stone fountain, in +the same baskets under the shadow of the same walls, with so little +difference in the general aspect that a photograph, if one could have +been taken then, might be placed beside the ones we made and show no +difference in the fashion of things at all.</p> + +<p>We bought some of the strawberries, great delicious dewy ones, and +Narcissa and the Joy wanted to buy one or even a dozen of the poor +little kids, offering to hold them in their laps constantly. But I knew +that presently I should be holding one or more of those kids in my own +lap and I was afraid I could not do that and drive with safety. I said +that some day when we had time we would build a wooden cage on wheels to +put behind the car and gradually collect a menagerie, but that I was +afraid we didn't have time just now. We must be getting on.</p> + +<p>Our landlady was a good soul. She invited us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> into the kitchen, neat, +trim, and shining, and showed us some trout caught that morning, and +offered to give us a mess to take along. The entire force of the hotel +assembled to see us go. It consisted of herself and her daughter, our +waitress of the night before. Our bill was sixteen francs. The old +life—the simple life—of France had not yet departed from Villefort.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XI" id="Chapter_B_XI"></a>Chapter XI</h2> + +<h3>INTO THE AUVERGNE</h3> + +<p>We had climbed two thousand feet from Nîmes to reach Villefort and +thought we were about on the top of the ridge. But that was a mistake; +we started up again almost as soon as we left, and climbed longer hills, +higher and steeper hills, than ever. Not that they were bad roads, for +the grades were perfect, but they did seem endless and they were still +one-sided roads, with a drop into space just a few feet away, not always +with protecting walls. Still there was little danger, if one did not get +too much interested in the scenery, which was beyond anything for its +limitless distances, its wide spaces and general grandeur.</p> + +<p>Whenever we got to a level spot I stopped the car to look at it while +the engine cooled. It is a good plan to stop the car when one wishes +really to admire nature. The middle of the road ahead is thought to be +the best place for the driver to look while skirting a mountainside.</p> + +<p>To return to roads just for a moment, there were miles of that winding +lofty way, apparently cut out of the solid face of the mountain, through +a country almost entirely uninhabited—a rocky, barren land that could +never be populous. How can the French afford those roads—how can they +pay for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> them and keep them in condition? I was always expecting to meet +a car on the short high turns, and kept the horn going, but never a car, +never a carriage—only now and then a cart, usually the stone-cart of +some one mending the roads. The building and engineering of those roads +seems to me even a greater marvel than the architecture of cathedrals +and châteaux. They are as curly and crooked as a vine, but they ascend +and descend with a precision of scale that makes climbing them a real +diversion. We ascended those hills on high speed—all of them.</p> + +<p>We were about at the snow line now. We could see it but a little way +higher up, and if the weather had not been so bright and still we should +have been cold. Once we saw what we took to be a snowbank just ahead by +the roadside. But when we came nearer we saw it was narcissus, growing +there wild; later we saw whole fields of it. It flourished up there as +the poppies did lower down.</p> + +<p>The country was not all barren. There were stretches of fertile +mountain-top, with pastures and meadows and occasional habitations. Now +and then on some high point we saw a village clustering about an ancient +tower. Once—it was at Prévenchères, a tiny village of the Auvergne—we +stopped and bought eggs and bread. There were also a few picture postals +to be had there, and they showed the Bourrée, which is a native dance of +the Auvergne—a rather rough country café dance, I gathered, but +picturesque, in the native costume. I wish we might have seen it.</p> + +<p>The mountains dwindled to hills, humanity became<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> more plentiful. It was +an open, wind-swept country now—rolling and fruitful enough, but barren +of trees; also, as a rule, barren of houses. The people live in the +villages and their industry would seem to be almost entirely +pasturage—that is, cattle raising. I have never seen finer cattle than +we saw in the Auvergne, and I have never seen more uninviting, dirtier +villages. Barns and houses were one. There were no dooryards, and the +cattle owned the streets. A village, in fact, was a mere cattle yard. I +judge there are few more discouraging-looking communities, more +sordid-looking people, than in just that section. But my guess is that +they are a mighty prosperous lot and have money stuffed in the savings +bank. It is a further guess that they are the people that Zola wrote of +in <i>La Terre</i>. Of course there was nothing that looked like a hotel or +an inn in any of those places. One could not imagine a French hotel in +the midst of such a nightmare.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XII" id="Chapter_B_XII"></a>Chapter XII</h2> + +<h3>LE PUY</h3> + +<p>One of the finest things about a French city is the view of it from afar +off. Le Puy is especially distinguished in this regard. You approach it +from the altitudes and you see it lying in a basin formed by the hills, +gleaming, picturesque, many spired—in fact, beautiful. The evening sun +was upon it as we approached, which, I think, gave it an added charm.</p> + +<p>We were coasting slowly down into this sunset city when we noticed some +old women in front of a cottage, making lace. We had reached the +lacemaking district of the Auvergne. We stopped and examined their work +and eventually bought some of it and photographed them and went on down +into the city. Every little way other old women in front of humble +cottages were weaving lace. How their fingers did make the little +bobbins fly!</p> + +<p>I had never heard of a <i>puy</i> (pronounced "pwee") before we went to the +Auvergne and I should never have guessed what it was from its name. A +<i>puy</i> is a natural spire, or cone, of volcanic stone, shooting straight +up into the air for several hundred or several thousand feet, often slim +and with perpendicular sides. Perhaps we should call them "needles." I +seem to remember that we have something of the kind in Arizona known by +that name.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Auvergne has been a regular <i>puy</i> factory in its time. It was in the +Quaternary era, and they were volcanic chimneys in the day of their +first usefulness. Later—a good deal later—probably several million +years, when those flues from the lower regions had become filled up and +solidified, pious persons began building churches on the tops of them, +which would seem pretty hazardous, for if one of those chimneys ever +took a notion to blow out, it would certainly lift the church sky high. +Here at Le Puy the chimney that gives it its name is a slender cone two +hundred and eighty feet high, with what is said to be a curious +tenth-century church on the very tip of it. We were willing to take it +for granted. There are about five hundred steps to climb, and there is a +good deal of climbing in Le Puy besides that item. We looked up to it, +and across to it, and later—when we were leaving—down to it from +another higher point. I don't know why churches should be put in such +inconvenient places—to test piety, maybe. I am naturally a pious +person, but when I think of the piety that has labored up and down those +steps through rain and shine and cold and heat for a thousand years I +suffer.</p> + +<p>We did climb the stair of the cathedral of Notre Dame de Puy, which +sweeps upward in broad majesty, like a ladder to heaven. There are over +a hundred steps, and they were originally designed so the overflow +congregation could occupy them and look into the church and see the +officiating priest. An architectural change has made this impossible +to-day, so perhaps the congregation no longer overflows. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> fact, there +was a time when great pilgrimages were made to Notre Dame du Puy, and it +was then that the steps were filled. There are little shops on each rise +of this great flight—ascending with it—shops where religious charms +and the like are sold. At the earlier period the merchants displayed +their wares on small tables, and the street is called <i>Rue des Tables</i> +to this day.</p> + +<p>The church is built of black and white stone, and has a curiously +Turkish look. It all seems very foreign to France, and indeed the whole +place was not unlike a mosque, though more somber, less inviting. It was +built in the twelfth century, and under its porch are two of the +original cedar doors, with Latin inscriptions.</p> + +<p>I am sure Le Puy is a religious place. On every high point there is a +church or a saint, or something inspiring. A statue of Notre Dame de +France is on the highest point of all, four hundred and thirty-five feet +above the town. This statue was cast from the metal of two hundred +Russian cannons taken at Sebastopol. You can ascend to it by some six or +seven hundred steps cut in the solid rock. We did not go up there, +either. Even the statement that we could ascend another flight of steps +inside the statue and stand in its very head did not tempt us. Americans +have been spoiled for these things. The lift has made loafers of us all.</p> + +<p>What I think we enjoyed most in Le Puy was its lacemakers. At every +turn, in every little winding street, one saw them—singly and in +groups; they were at the front of every door. They were of all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> ages, +but mainly, I think, they were old women. Many of them wore the Auvergne +costume—quaint hats or caps, and little shawls, and wooden shoes. +Lacemaking is the industry of the Haute-Loire district, and is said to +employ ninety thousand women. I think that is an underestimate. It +seemed to me we saw as many as that ourselves in front of those mediæval +doorways of Le Puy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XIII" id="Chapter_B_XIII"></a>Chapter XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE CENTER OF FRANCE</h3> + +<p>It is grand driving from Le Puy northward toward Clermont-Ferrand and +Vichy. It is about the geographical center of France, an unspoiled, +prosperous-looking land. Many varieties of country are there—plain, +fertile field, rich upland slopes. All the way it is picture +country—such country as we have seen in the pictures and seldom +believed in before. Cultivated areas in great squares and strips, fields +of flowers—red, blue, white—the French colors; low solid-looking +hills, with little cities halfway to the summit, and always, or nearly +always, a castle or two in their midst; winding, shining rivers with +gray-stone bridges over them, the bright water appearing and reappearing +at every high turn.</p> + +<p>Our road made no special attempt to reach the towns. We viewed them from +a distance, and there were narrower roads that turned in their +direction, but our great national highway—it was No. 9 now—was not +intended for their special accommodation. When it did reach a town it +was likely to be a military center, with enormous barracks—new, many of +them—like those at Issoire, a queer old place where we spent the night +and where I had a real adventure.</p> + +<p>It was my custom to carry under the back seat a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> bottle of Scotch whisky +in event of severe illness, or in case of acute motor trouble. For +reasons I do not at the moment recall—perhaps the cork had leaked—our +supply seemed low at Issoire, and I decided to see what I could find. I +had little hope, for in France even the word "whisky" is seldom +recognized. Still, I would make diligent inquiry, our case being pretty +desperate. There was not enough in the bottle to last till morning— I +mean, of course, in case anything serious should happen.</p> + +<p>I had the usual experience at the cafés. The attendants repeated the +word "whisky" vaguely, and in various ways, and offered me all sorts of +gayly tinted liquids which I did not think would cure anything I was +likely to have. I tried a drug store, where a gentle pharmacist listened +awhile to my French, then dug out from the back of a lower drawer a +circular on Esperanto. Imagine!</p> + +<p>I was about ready to give it up when I happened to notice a low, dim +shop the shelves of which seemed filled with fancy bottles. The place +had an ancient, mellow look, but I could see at a glance that its +liquids were too richly colored for my taste—needs, I mean. I could +try, however.</p> + +<p>The little gray man who waited on me pronounced the word in several ways +and scratched his head.</p> + +<p>"<i>Wisky</i>," he said, "<i>visky-viskee!</i>"</p> + +<p>Then he seemed to explode. A second later he was digging a dusty book +out of a dusty pile, and in a moment was running his fingers down a +yellow page. I dare say it was an old stock list, for suddenly he +started up, ran to a dark, remote shelf,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> pulled away some bottles, and +from the deeper back recesses dragged a bottle and held it up in +triumph.</p> + +<p>"<i>Voilà!</i>" he said, "<i>veeskee! Veeskee Eereesh!</i>"</p> + +<p>Shades of St. Patrick! It was old Irish whisky—old, how old—perhaps +laid in by his grandfather, for a possible tourist, a hundred years +before. I tried to seem calm—indifferent.</p> + +<p>"<i>Encore?</i>" I said.</p> + +<p>But no, there was no <i>encore</i>—just this one. The price, oh yes, it was +four francs.</p> + +<p>Imagine!</p> + +<p>Issoire is a quaint place and interesting. I shall always remember it.</p> + +<p>To motorists Clermont-Ferrand is about the most important city in +France. It is the home of tire manufacturers, and among them the great +benevolent one that supplies the red road book, and any desired special +information, free. We felt properly grateful to this factory and drove +out to visit it. They were very good to us; they gave us a brand-new +red-book and a green-book for Germany and Switzerland. The factory is a +large one, and needs to be. About four-fifths of the cars of Europe go +rolling along on its products, while their owners, without exception, +use its wonderfully authentic guides. Each year the road books +distributed free by this firm, piled one upon the other, would reach to +a height of more than five miles. They cover about all the countries, +and are simply priceless to the motorist. They are amusing, too. The +funny fat motor man made of tires, shown in little marginal drawings and +tailpieces in all the picturesque dilemmas of the road, becomes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> a +wonderfully real personality on short acquaintance. We learned to love +the merry Michelin man, and never grew tired of sharing his joys and +misfortunes.</p> + +<p>Clermont-Ferrand is also the home of a man with two wooden legs that +need oiling. I know, for he conducted us to the cathedral, and his +joints squeaked dismally at every step. I said I would go back to the +car and get the oil can, but he paid no attention to the suggestion. He +also objected to the tip I gave him, though I could not see why an +incomplete guide like that, especially one not in good repair, should +expect double rates. Besides, his cathedral was not the best. It was not +built of real stone, but of blocks of lava from the <i>puys</i> of the +neighborhood.</p> + +<p>We came near getting into trouble descending a hill to Vichy. The scene +there was very beautiful. Vichy and the river and valley below present a +wonderful picture. Absorbed in it, I was only dimly conscious of an old +woman trudging along at our left, and did not at all notice a single +chicken quite on the opposite side. In any case I could not well know +that it was her chicken, or that it was so valuable that she would risk +her life to save it. She was a very old person—in the neighborhood of +several hundred, I should think, wearing an improperly short skirt, her +legs the size and shape of a tightly folded umbrella, terminating below +in the largest pair of wooden shoes in the world. Familiar with the +habits of chickens, she probably thought her property would wait till we +were opposite and then start to race across in front of the car. To +prevent this she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> decided to do it herself! Yet I suppose if I had +damaged that prehistoric old lady, instead of missing her by the breadth +of half a hair, her relatives would have made us pay for her at fancy +rates.</p> + +<p>We did not tarry at Vichy. It is a gay place—stylish and costly, and +worth seeing a little, when one can drive leisurely through its clean, +handsome streets. Perhaps if we could have invented any maladies that +would have made a "cure" necessary we might have lingered with those +other sallow, sad-eyed, stylish-looking people who collect in the +pavilions where the warm healing waters come bubbling up and are +dispensed free for the asking. But we are a healthy lot, and not +stylish. We drove about for a pleasant hour, then followed along evening +roads to St. Germain des Fosses, where the Hôtel du Porc was a wayside +inn of our kind, with clean, quiet rooms, good food—and prices, oh, +very moderate indeed! But I do wonder why garages are always put in such +inconvenient places. I have driven in and backed out of a good many in +my time, and I cannot now recall more than one or two that were not +tucked away in an alley or around some impossible corner, making it +necessary to scrape and writhe and cringe to get in and out without +damaging something. I nearly knocked a corner from an out-house in St. +Germain, backing out of its free and otherwise satisfactory garage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XIV" id="Chapter_B_XIV"></a>Chapter XIV</h2> + +<h3>BETWEEN BILLY AND BESSEY</h3> + +<p>To those tourists who are looking for out-of-the-way corners of Europe I +commend Billy. It is not pronounced in our frivolous way, but "Bee-yee," +which you see gives it at once the French dignity. I call Billy +"out-of-the-way" because we saw no tourists in the neighborhood, and we +had never before heard of the place, which has a bare three-line mention +in Baedeker.</p> + +<p>Billy is on the Allier, a beautiful river, and, seen from a distance, +with its towering ruin, is truly picturesque. Of course the old castle +is the chief feature of Billy—a ruin of great extent, and unrestored! +The last item alone makes it worth seeing. A good many of the ruins of +France have been restored under the direction of that great recreator of +the architectural past, Viollet le Duc, who has done his work supremely +well and thoroughly—oh, thoroughly, no name! I am glad he did it, for +it means preservation for the ages, but I am so glad that there is now +and then a ruin that</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">Monsieur V. le Duc</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">Happened to overlook.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>I even drift into bad poetry when I think of it.</p> + +<p>The Château de Billy seems to have been built<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> about 1232 by one of the +sires of Bourbon Robert of Clermont, son of St. Louis, to control the +river traffic. It was a massive edifice of towers and bastions, and +walls of enormous thickness. A good portion of the walls and some of the +towers still stand. And there is a dungeon into which no light or air +could come, once used to convince refractory opposition. They put a man +in there for an hour. When they took him out he was either convinced or +dead, and so, in either case, no longer troublesome.</p> + +<p>The guardian of Billy was a little old woman as picturesque as the +ruins, and lived in a little house across the way, as picturesque as +herself. When we had seen the castle she let us look into her house. It +consisted of just one small room with a tiny stove in one corner and a +bed in the other. But the stove, with its accessories of pans and other +ware all so shining and neat, and her tiny, high-posted, canopied bed so +spotless and pretty with its white counterpane and gay little curtains, +set us to wondering why anybody in the world needed a home more ample or +attractive than that.</p> + +<p>It seemed amusing to us that the name of the next place along that route +should be Bessey. We lunched between Billy and Bessey, on a green level +roadside, under some big trees, where there was a little stream which +furnished our cooking water. It is not always easy to select the +luncheon place. A dry spot with water and shade is not everywhere to be +had, and then we do not always instantly agree on the conveniences of a +place, and while we are discussing it we are going right along at a +fifteen or twenty-mile<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> rate and that place has drifted a mile or two +behind before the conference ends. But there always <i>is</i> a place +somewhere that has most of the things we want, and it lies around the +next turn or over the next hill, and it is always so new and strange and +foreign, so away and away from the world we have known, so intimately a +part of a land and of lives we have never seen before and shall never +see again.</p> + +<p>A gypsy of very poor class came along while we were at luncheon. His +little wagon-house was quite bare of furnishings. The man walked outside +beside the meager donkey—a young woman with a baby sat on the floor in +the wagon.</p> + +<p>Gypsies, by the way, are an institution in France. The French call them +<i>nomades</i>, and provide them with special ordinances and road +limitations. At first, when we saw signs "<i>Limites de Nomades</i>" in the +outskirts of villages we wondered what was meant, and did not associate +the notice with the comfortable and sometimes luxurious house-wagons +that we met or overtook, or found solidly established by some pleasant +waterside. Then it dawned upon us that these gypsy folk were the +<i>nomades</i> and that the signs were provided for their instruction.</p> + +<p>We met them, presently, everywhere. France, with its level roads and +liberal laws, is gypsy heaven. A house on wheels, a regular little flat, +with parlor, bedroom and kitchen, big enough to hold a family and its +belongings, can be drawn by a single horse over the hard, perfectly +graded highways. They work north in the summer, no doubt, and in the +autumn the Midi calls them. Every little way we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> saw them camped, +working at their basketry or some kindred industry. Not all the villages +limit them, and often we found them located in the midst of a busy town. +I do not think they do any harm, and I always envied them. Some of their +little houses are so cozy and neat, with tiny lace curtains and flower +pots, and pictures on the walls. When we first saw such wagons we +thought they belonged to artists.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XV" id="Chapter_B_XV"></a>Chapter XV</h2> + +<h3>THE HAUTE-LOIRE</h3> + +<p>The particular day of which I am now writing was Sunday, and when we +came to Moulin, the ancient capital of the Bourbonnais, there was a +baptismal ceremony going on in the cathedral; the old sexton in the +portico outside was pulling the rope that led up to the great booming +bell. He could pull and talk too, and he told us that the bell was only +rung for baptisms, at least that was what we thought he said as he flung +himself aloft with the upward sweep, and alow with the downward sweep, +until his chin nearly touched the stone floor. I got into the swing of +it directly, and signified that I should like to ring the bell a little +myself. I realize now that it was decidedly brazen to ask to assist at a +sacred function like that, but he let me do it, and I took the rope and +for a minute or two swayed up and down in a pride I can hardly express, +ringing that five-hundred-year-old bell to notify the world of the +latest baptism in France.</p> + +<p>We came upon an unexpected treat at Moulin—the Souvigny bible, an +illuminated manuscript of 1115, with one hundred and twenty-two +marvelously executed pictorial designs. The bible was in a museum across +from the cathedral, a splendid museum indeed for little Moulin, being +the reconstructed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> château of the Bourbons, filled with beautiful things +of the Bourbon period. The bible is in a room by itself in a glass case, +but the guardian opened it for us and turned the leaves. This bible, +discovered at the old priory of the little town of Souvigny, is in +perfect condition and presents a gorgeous piece of hand illumination. +The drawing itself is naturally primitive, but the coloring is rich +beyond telling, the lettering marvelously perfect. J. Pierpont Morgan is +said to have offered a million francs for the Souvigny bible, a vast sum +to little Moulin. I am glad they did not sell it. It seems better in the +quiet, choice museum which was once the castle of the Bourbon dukes.</p> + +<p>It is curious how conventions establish themselves in the different +districts and how absolutely they prevail in the limits of those +districts. In certain sections, for instance, we found the furnishings +in each hotel exactly alike. The same chairs, the same little table, the +same bedsteads and wardrobes, the same tableware. We could tell by the +change of furnishing when we had reached a new district. A good portion +of the Auvergne remains to us the "Land of Squatty Pitchers," because in +every bedroom the water pitcher was a very short, very corpulent and +saucy-looking affair that amused us each evening with its absurd shape. +Then there were the big coffee bowls and spoons. They got larger and +larger from Nîmes northward until we reached Issoire. There the bowls +were really immense and the spoons had grown from dessert spoons to +table spoons, from table spoons to soup spoons until at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> Issoire they +were like enormous vegetable spoons, such as cooks use to stir the pot +with. From Moulin northward we entered the "Land of Little Ladders." All +the houses outside the larger towns were story-and-a-half affairs, built +facing the road, and the half-story was not reached by an inside +stairway, but by a short outside ladder that led up to a central gable +window, which was really a door. It was curious to see a string of these +houses, all with the little ladders, and all just alike. Our first +thought was that the ladders were used because they were cheaper to +build than a stairway, and saved inside room. But, reflecting later, I +thought it more likely that they originated in the old need of defense. +I think there was a time when the family retired to the loft at night +and drew the ladder up after them, to avoid a surprise.</p> + +<p>It had been raining softly when we left Moulin. Somehow we had strayed +from the main road, and through the misty mid-region of the Haute-Loire +followed ways uncharted, but always good—always interesting, and +somewhere in that lost borderland we came to Dornes, and the daintiest +inn, kept by the daintiest gray-haired woman, who showed us her kitchen +and her flower garden and her tame pheasants, and made us love her +dearly. Next day at St. Pierre le Moutier we got back on our route, and +when Narcissa, out of the book she had been reading, reminded us that +Joan of Arc had once fought a battle there the place became glorified. +Joan must have been at Nevers, too, though we found no record of it.</p> + +<p>I think we should have stayed longer at Nevers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> There was an ancient +look about portions of it that in a brighter day would have invited us. +Crossing the Loire and entering the city, with its ancient bastioned +walls, carried one back a good way into the centuries. But it was still +dull and drizzly, and we had a feeling for the open road and a cozier +lodgment.</p> + +<p>The rain ceased, the sun tried to break through the mist. The glistening +world became strangely luminous, a world not of hard realities at all. +The shining river winding away into mystery; far valley reaches fading +into haze; blurred lines of ancient spires and towers—these things +belonged only to a land of romance. Long ago I saw a painting entitled a +dream of Italy. I did not believe then that any real land could be as +beautiful— I thought it only an artist's vision. I was mistaken. No +painting was ever so beautiful—so full of richness and light and color +as this haze-haunted valley of the Loire.</p> + +<p>We rested at Neuvy, at the little red-book inn, Hôtel de la Paix, clean +and inviting like the rest. It is the best compliment we can pay these +little hotels that we always want to remain in them longer, and plan +some day to come back to them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XVI" id="Chapter_B_XVI"></a>Chapter XVI</h2> + +<h3>NEARING PARIS</h3> + +<p>There are more fine-looking fishing places in France than in any country +I ever saw. There are also more fishermen. In every river town the +water-fronts are lined with them. They are a patient lot. They have been +sitting there for years, I suppose, and if they have ever caught +anything the fact has been concealed. I have talked with numbers of +them, but when I came to the question of their catch they became vague, +not to say taciturn. "<i>Pas grande chose</i>" ("No great thing"), has been +the reply, and there was no exhibit. I have never seen one of those +fishermen get a nibble.</p> + +<p>But the water is certainly seductive. Following the upper Loire from +Neuvy to Gien, I was convinced that with a good rod I could stop almost +anywhere and fill the car. Such attractive eddies, such fascinating, +foam-flecked pools! Probably it is just as well I did not have the rod. +I like to persuade myself that the fish were there.</p> + +<p>Gien on the Loire is an old place, but not much that is old remains. +Joan of Arc stopped there on her way to the king at Chinon, and it was +from Gien, following the delivery of Orléans and the battle of Patay, +that she set out with Charles VII for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> coronation at Rheims. But +there are no Joan relics in Gien to-day. There are, however, two +interesting features here: the two-story wells and the hard-working +dogs. The wells have a curb reaching to the second story, with an +opening below for the downstairs tenants. It seems a good idea, and the +result is picturesque. The dogs are hitched to little wagons and the +Giennese—most of whom seem to be large and fat—first load those wagons +and then get in themselves and ride. We saw one great hulk of a man +approaching in what at first seemed to be some sort of a go-cart. It was +not until he got close up that we discovered the dog—a little +sweltering dog, his eyes popping out, his tongue nearly dragging the +ground. I think the people of Gien are lazy and without shame.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="ILL_009" id="ILL_009"></a> +<img src="images/ill_009.jpg" width="500" height="367" alt=""Through Hillside Villages Where Never a Stone Had Been +Moved, I Think, in Centuries"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<span class="smcap">Through Hillside Villages Where Never a Stone Had Been +Moved, I Think, in Centuries</span>"</span> +</div> + +<p>We missed the road leaving Gien and wandered off into narrow, solid +little byways that led across fields and along hedges, through hillside +villages where never a stone had been moved, I think, in centuries. Once +we turned into what seemed a beautiful wood road, but it led to a grand +new château and a private drive which had a top dressing of deep soft +sand. Fortunately nobody was at home, for we stalled in the sand and the +head of the family and Narcissa and the Joy were obliged to get out and +push while I put on all backing power and made tracks in that new sand +that would have horrified the owner. We are the right sort, however. We +carefully repaired the scars, then made tracks of another kind, for +remoter districts.</p> + +<p>Miles away from anywhere, by a pool at the edge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> of a field of bushes, +we established a luncheon place, and in a seclusion of vines and +shrubbery the Joy set up a kitchen and made coffee and boiled eggs and +potatoes and "kept house" for an hour or so, to her heart's content. We +did not know where we were, or particularly care. We knew that the road +would lead somewhere, and that somewhere would be a wayside village with +a little hotel that had been waiting for us ever so long, with inviting +comforts and generous hospitality. Often we said as we drove along, +"What little hotel do you suppose is waiting for us to-night?" But we +did not worry, for we always knew we should find it.</p> + +<p>The "little hotel" this time proved to be at Souppes on the Loing, and +if I had to award a premium to any of the little hotels that thus far +had sheltered us, I think I should give it to the Hôtel du Mouton, +Souppes. The name naturally amused us, and we tried to make jokes out of +it, but the dainty rooms and the delicious dinner commanded only our +approval. Also the price; nineteen francs and forty centimes, or less +than four dollars, for our party of four, dinner, lodging, and +breakfast, garage free.</p> + +<p>Souppes is a clean town, with a wide central street. Most of the towns +up this way were cleaner than those of the farther south. Also, they had +better buildings, as a rule. I mean the small towns. Villages not large +enough even to be set down on the map have churches that would do credit +in size and luxury to New York City. Take Bonny, for instance. We halted +there briefly to watch some quaintly dressed people who were buying and +selling at a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> butter and egg market, and then we noticed a big, +gray, ancient-looking church somewhat farther along. So we went over +there and wandered about in its dim coolness, and looked at its +beautiful treasures—among them the fine marble statue of Joan which one +meets to-day in most of the churches in France. How could Bonny, a mere +village, ever have built a church like that—a church that to-day would +cost a million dollars?</p> + +<p>Another thing we noticed up this way was the "sign of the bush." Here +and there along the road and in the villages there would be a house with +an upward-slanting hole in the outside wall, about halfway to the eaves, +and in the hole a branch of a tree, usually evergreen. When we had seen +a few of these we began to wonder as to their meaning. Then we noticed +that houses with those branches were all cafés, and some one suddenly +remembered a proverb which says, "A good wine needs no bush," and how, +in a former day, at least, the sign of the bush had indicated a wine +shop. That it still does so in France became more and more evident as we +went along. Every wine shop had its branch of green. I do not think +there was one along that road that considered its wine superior to the +traditional announcement.</p> + +<p>Just outside of Souppes there is a great flinty rock upon which some +prehistoric race used to sharpen knives. I suppose it was back before +Cæsar's time, but in that hard stone, so hard that my own knife would +not scratch it, the sharpening grooves and surfaces are as fresh as if +those old fellows had left<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> there only yesterday. I wish I could know +how they looked.</p> + +<p>We came to the woods of Fontainebleau and ate our luncheon in its deep +lucent shade. There is romance in the very name of Fontainebleau, but we +would return later to find it. We drove a little through the wide +avenues of that splendid forest that for three centuries or more was a +hunting ground and pleasure park for kings, then we headed away for +Juvisy on the Seine, where we spent the night and ate on a terrace in +the open air, in a company not altogether to our liking—it being rather +noisy, rather flashy, rather unwholesome—in a word, Parisian. We had +left the region of simple customs and unpretentious people. It was not a +pleasant change.</p> + +<p>Also, we had left the region of good roads. All that I have said about +the perfection of French roads I wish to retract, so far as those in the +environs of Paris are concerned. Leaving Juvisy, we were soon on what is +called the "pave," a road paved with granite blocks, poorly laid to +begin with, and left unrepaired for years. It is full of holes and humps +and wallows, and is not really a road at all, but a stone quarry on a +jamboree. We jiggled and jumped and bumped, and only by going at the +slowest permissible speed could stand it. Cars passed us going quite +fast, but I could see that their occupants were not enjoying themselves. +They were holding on to the backs of the seats, to the top supports, to +one another. They were also tearing their cars to pieces, though the +average Frenchman does not mind that. I love France, and every Frenchman +is my friend,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> but I do not wish him to borrow my car. He drives +helter-skelter, lickety-split, and never takes care of his car at all. +When the average Frenchman has owned a car a year it is a rusty, +smoking, clattering box of tinware, ready for the can-heap.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XVII" id="Chapter_B_XVII"></a>Chapter XVII</h2> + +<h3>SUMMING UP THE COST</h3> + +<p>The informed motorist does not arrive at the gates of Paris with a +tankful of gasoline. We were not informed, and when the <i>octroi</i> +officials had measured our tank they charged us something like four +dollars on its contents. The price of gasoline is higher inside, but not +that much higher, I think. I did not inquire, for our tankful lasted us +the week of our stay.</p> + +<p>To tell the truth, we did but little motoring in Paris. For one thing, +the streets are just a continuation of the pave, and then the traffic +regulations are defective. I mean there are no regulations. It's just a +go-as-you-please, each one for himself. Push, crowd, get ahead of the +fellow in front of you—that is the rule. Here and there a <i>gendarme</i> +stands waving his arms and shouting, "<i>Sacre bleu!</i>" but nobody pays the +least attention to him. The well-trained American motorist finds his +hair getting gray after an hour or two of that kind of thing.</p> + +<p>But we enjoyed Paris, though I am not going to tell about it. No one +attempts to tell of Paris any more—it has all been told so often. But I +may hint to the conservative motorist that below the Seine, in the +neighborhood of the Luxembourg Gardens, about where the rue de Vaugirard +crosses the Boulevard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> St. Michel, he will find choice little hotels, +with rooms very moderate indeed.</p> + +<p>And perhaps here is a good place to speak of the cost of our travel. We +had stinted ourselves in nothing except style. We had traveled +leisurely, happily, enjoying everything to the full, and our average +expense was a trifle less than forty francs a day—that is, eight +dollars for four persons and the car. Our bill each day at the little +hotels for dinner, lodging, and <i>petit déjeuner</i> (rolls, coffee, and +jam) averaged about twenty-two francs, garage free.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> That, of course, +is absurdly cheap.</p> + +<p>The matter of gasoline is different. "<i>Essence</i>" or benzine, as they +call it, is high in Europe, and you would think it was some fine +liqueur, the way they handle it. They put it up in sealed five-liter +cans, and I have seen motorists, native motorists, buy one can—a trifle +more than a gallon—probably fearing evaporation, or that somebody would +rob the tank. One of those cans cost us about fifty cents, and, being of +extra refined quality, it would carry us on French roads between +eighteen and twenty miles. Sixty miles a day was about our average, +which is aplenty for sight-seeing, even for an American. Our gasoline +and oil expense came to about eight francs a day. The remainder of our +eight dollars went for luncheon by the roadside and for tips. The picnic +luncheon—bread and butter (delicious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> unsalted butter), jam, eggs, +tinned meats, cheese, sausage, etc.—rarely cost to exceed four francs, +and was usually cheaper. Our hotel tips were about 10 per cent of the +bill, which is the correct amount, and was always satisfactory. When one +gives more he gains nothing but servility, and makes it difficult for +those who follow him. On the other hand an American cannot give less and +keep his self-respect. There were usually but two servants at little +inns, a waitress and a chambermaid. They were entitled to a franc each, +and the boy at the garage to another. Two or three francs a day was +quite enough for incidental tips at churches, ruined castles, and the +like, unless there should be a fee, which would naturally be reckoned +outside the regular budget. In any case, such fees were small and +infrequent. I think I will add a brief summary of the foregoing figures +which I seem to have strung along in a rather loose, confusing way.</p> + +<h4>SUMMARY</h4> + +<h4>AVERAGE DAILY COST OF MOTORING TOR FOUR PERSONS, 1914</h4> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>Average daily cost of dinner, lodging, and breakfast</td><td align='right'>22 francs ($4.40)</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Average daily cost of gasoline and oil</td><td align='right'>8 francs ( 1.60)</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Average daily cost of roadside luncheon</td><td align='right'>4 francs (</td><td align='right'>.80)</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Average daily cost of tips at hotel</td><td align='right'>3 francs (</td><td align='right'>.60)</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Average daily cost for sight-seeing</td><td align='right'>3 francs (</td><td align='right'>.60)</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'>————————-</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Total</td><td align='right'>40 francs ($8.00)</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>That was reasonable motor travel, and our eight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> dollars bought as much +daily happiness as any party of four is likely to find in this old +world.<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p> + +<p>Another thing I wish to record in this chapter is the absolute +squareness we found everywhere. At no hotel was there the slightest +attempt to misrepresent, to ring in extras, to encourage side-adventures +in the matter of wines or anything of the sort. We had been led to +believe that the motorist was regarded as fair game for the continental +innkeeper. Possibly there were localities where this was true, but I am +doubtful. Neither did the attendants gather hungrily around at parting. +More than once I was obliged to hunt up our waitress, or to leave her +tip with the girl or man who brought the bags. The conclusion grew that +if the motorist is robbed and crucified in Europe, as in the beginning a +friend had prophesied we should be, it is mainly because he robs and +crucifies himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XVIII" id="Chapter_B_XVIII"></a>Chapter XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE ROAD TO CHERBOURG</h3> + +<p>It is easy enough to get into almost any town or city, but it is +different when you start to leave it. All roads lead to Rome, but there +is only here and there one that leads out of it. With the best map in +the world you can go wrong.</p> + +<p>We worked our way out of Paris by the Bois de Boulogne, but we had to +call on all sorts of persons for information before we were really in +the open fields once more. A handsome young officer riding in the Bois +gave us a good supply. He was one of the most polite persons I ever met; +also, the most loquacious. The sum of what he told us was to take the +first turn to the right, but he told it to us for fully five minutes, +with all the variations and embroideries of a young and lively fancy +that likes to hear itself in operation. He explained how the scenery +would look when we had turned to the right; also how it would continue +to look when there was no longer a necessity of turning in either +direction and what the country would be in that open land beyond the +Bois. On the slightest provocation I think he would have ridden with us, +even into Cherbourg. He was a boon, nevertheless, and we were truly +grateful.</p> + +<p>Beyond the Bois de Boulogne lay the <i>pave</i>, miles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> of it, all as bad as +it could be. Sometimes we could not really tell when we were in the +road. Once I found myself on a sort of private terrace without knowing +how I got there or how to get down. We went through St. Germain, but we +did not stop. We wished to get far from Paris—back to the simple life +and good roads. It was along the Seine, at last, that we found them and +the quiet villages. Imagine the luxury of following a silent, tranquil +road by that placid stream, through the sweetness of a May afternoon. +Imagine the peace of it after the jar and jolt and clatter and dazzle of +detestable, adorable Paris.</p> + +<p>I am sorry not to be able to recommend the hotel at Rosny. For a time it +looked as if it were going to be one of the best of our selections, but +it did not turn out so. When we found a little toy garden at the back, +our rooms a string of tiny one-story houses facing it, with roses +blooming at every doorway, we were delighted. Each of us had a toy house +to himself, and there was another for the car at the back. It was a real +play place, and we said how nice it was and wished we might stay a good +while. Then we went for a walk down to the river and in the sunset +watched a curious ferryboat run back and forth on a wire, taking over +homefaring teams, and some sheep and cattle, to the village on the +farther bank of the little, but historic, river. In the early gloaming +we walked back to our hotel.</p> + +<p>The dinner was very good—all dinners in France are that—but alas for +our pretty playhouse rooms! When candles were brought in we saw what I +had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> begun to suspect from the feeling, the walls were damp—worse, they +were soaked—almost dripping. It seems they were built against a hill +and the recent rains had soaked them through. We could not risk it—the +landlady must give us something in the main house. She was a good +soul—full of regrets, even grief. She had not known about those walls, +she said, and, alas! she had no rooms in the main house. When we +insisted that she <i>must</i> find <i>something</i>, she admitted that there was, +indeed, just one room, but so small, so humble—fine folk like us could +never occupy it.</p> + +<p>She was right about its being small, but she was wrong in thinking we +could not occupy it. She brought in cots and bedding, and when we were +all in place at last we just about filled it from side to side. Still, +it was dry and ventilated; those other places had been neither. But it +seemed to us amusing that our fine pretension of a house apiece opening +on a garden had suddenly dwindled to one inconsiderable room for the +four of us.</p> + +<p>We were in Normandy, now, and enjoying it. Everything was quite +different from the things of the south. The picturesque thatched-roof +houses; the women in dainty caps, riding on donkeys, with great brass +milk jugs fore and aft; the very ancient cross-timber architecture; +those, to us, were new things in France.</p> + +<p>The architecture and some of the costumes were not new to one who had +visited England. William the Norman must have carried his thatched-roof +and cross-timber architecture across the Channel; also, certain dresses +and smocks and the pattern of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> men's whiskers. In some of these +towns one might almost believe himself in rural England.</p> + +<p>Lisieux, especially, is of the type I mean. It has a street which might +be in Shrewsbury, though I think the Shrewsbury houses would not be as +old as those of Lisieux, one of which—"The House of the Salamander"—so +called from the decoration on its carved façade—we were permitted to +visit. Something about it gave me more the feeling of the ancient life +than I have found in most of the castles. Perhaps because it is wood, +and wood holds personality longer than stone.</p> + +<p>There is an old church at Lisieux, and it has a chapel built by Cauchon, +Bishop of Beauvais, who hounded Joan of Arc to the stake. Cauchon earned +the Beauvais appointment by convicting Joan, but later, especially after +Joan had been rehabilitated, he became frightened of the entertainment +which he suspected Satan was preparing for him and built this chapel in +expiation, hoping to escape the fire. It is a beautiful chapel, but I +think Cauchon wasted his money. If he didn't there is something wrong +with justice.</p> + +<p>The Normandy road to Cherbourg is as wonderful as any in France. All the +way it is lined with trees, and it goes straight on, mile after mile, up +hill and down—long, long hills that on the approach look as if they +reached to the sky, but that flatten out when you get to them, and offer +a grade so gradual and a surface so smooth that you need never shift +your speed levers. Workmen are always raking and touching up those +roads. We had something more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> than two days of them, and if the weather +had not been rather windy and chilly out on that long peninsula the +memory of that run would be about perfect.</p> + +<p>Cherbourg is not the great city we had imagined it to be. It is simply a +naval base, heavily fortified, and a steamer landing. Coming in on the +Paris road you are in the center of activities almost as soon as you +reach the suburbs and there is none of the crush of heavy traffic that +one might expect. There is a pleasant beach, too, and if travelers were +not always going somewhere else when they arrive at Cherbourg, the +little city might become a real resort. We were there a week before our +ship came in, then sailed out one quiet June evening on the harbor +tender to meet the missing member and happily welcome her to France. Our +hotel had a moving-picture show in the open air, and we could look down +on it from our windows. The Joy especially liked this, and we might have +stayed there permanently, but the long roads and still unvisited glories +of France were calling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XIX" id="Chapter_B_XIX"></a>Chapter XIX</h2> + +<h3>BAYEUX, CAEN, AND ROUEN</h3> + +<p>We had barely hesitated at Bayeux on the way to Cherbourg, but now we +stopped there for the night. Bayeux, which is about sixty miles from +Cherbourg, was intimately associated with the life of William the +Conqueror, and is to-day the home of the famous Bayeux tapestry, a piece +of linen two hundred and thirty feet long and eighteen inches wide, on +which is embroidered in colored wools the story of William's conquest of +England.</p> + +<p>William's queen, Matilda, is supposed to have designed this marvelous +pictorial document, and even executed it, though probably with the +assistance of her ladies. Completed in the eleventh century, it would +seem to have been stored in the Bayeux cathedral, where it lay scarcely +remembered for a period of more than six hundred years. Then attention +was called to its artistic and historic value, and it became still more +widely known when Napoleon brought it to Paris and exhibited it at the +Louvre to stir the French to another conquest of England. Now it is back +in Bayeux, and has a special room in the museum there, and a special +glass case, so arranged that you can walk around it and see each of its +fifty-eight tableaux.</p> + +<p>It was the closing hour when we got to the Bayeux<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> museum, but the +guardian gave us plenty of time to walk around and look at all the +marvelous procession of horses and men whose outlines have remained firm +and whose colors have stayed fresh for more than eight hundred years.</p> + +<p>Matilda was ahead of her time in art. She was a futurist—anybody can +see that who has been to one of the later exhibitions. But she was +exactly abreast in the matter of history. It is likely that she +embroidered the events as they were reported to her, and her records are +above price to-day. I suppose she sat in a beautiful room with her maids +about her, all engaged at the great work, and I hope she looked as +handsome as she looks in the fine painting of her which hangs above the +case containing her masterpiece.</p> + +<p>There is something fine and stirring about Matilda's tapestry. No matter +if Harold does seem to be having an attack of pleurisy when he is only +putting on his armor, or if the horses appear to have detachable legs. +Matilda's horses and men can get up plenty of swift action on occasion, +and the events certainly do move. Tradition has it that the untimely +death of the queen left the tapestry unfinished, for which reason +William's coronation does not appear. I am glad we stopped at Bayeux. I +would rather have seen Matilda's faithfully embroidered conquest than a +whole gallery full of old masters.</p> + +<p>Next day at Caen we visited her grave. It stands in a church which she +herself founded in expiation of some fancied sin connected with her +marriage. Her remains have never been disturbed. We also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> visited the +tomb of the Conqueror, on the other side of the city at the church of +St. Étienne. But the Conqueror's bones are not there now; they were +scattered by the Huguenots in 1562.</p> + +<p>We enjoyed Caen. We wandered about among its ancient churches and still +more ancient streets. At one church a wedding was going on, and Narcissa +and I lingered a little to assist. One does not get invited to a +Normandy wedding every day, especially in the old town where William I +organized his rabble to invade England. No doubt this bride and groom +were descendants of some of William's wild rascals, but they looked very +mild and handsome and modern to us. Narcissa and I attended quite a +variety of ceremonials in the course of our travels: christenings, +catechisms, song services, high mass, funerals—there was nearly always +something going on in those big churches, and the chantings and +intonings, and the candles, and the incense, and the processions and +genuflections, and the robes of the priests and the costumes of the +assemblages all interested us.</p> + +<p>Caen became an important city under William the Conqueror. Edward III of +England captured and pillaged it about the middle of the fourteenth +century, at which time it was larger than any city in England, except +London. It was from Caen that Charlotte Corday set out to assassinate +Marat. To-day Caen has less than fifty thousand inhabitants and is +mainly interesting for its art treasures and its memories.</p> + +<p>We left the Paris-Cherbourg road at Caen. Our program included Rouen, +Amiens, and Beauvais,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> cathedral cities lying more to the northward. +That night we lay at the little Norman village of Bourg-Achard, in an +inn of the choicest sort, and next morning looked out of our windows on +a busy cattle market, where men in clean blue smocks and women in neat +black dresses and becoming headgear were tugging their beasts about, +exhibiting them and discussing them—eating, meantime, large pieces of +gingerbread and other convenient food. A near-by orchard was filled with +these busy traders. At one place our street was lined with agricultural +implements which on closer inspection proved to be of American +manufacture. From Bourg-Achard to Rouen the distance seemed all too +short—the road was so beautiful.</p> + +<p>It was at Rouen that we started to trace backward the sacred footprints +of Joan of Arc, saint and savior of France. For it is at Rouen that the +pathway ends. When we had visited the great cathedral, whose fairy-like +façade is one of the most beautiful in the world, we drove to a corner +of the old Market Place, and stopped before a bronze tablet which tells +that on this spot on a certain day in May, 1431 (it was the 29th), the +only spotless soul in France, a young girl who had saved her country +from an invading and conquering enemy, was burned at the stake. That was +five hundred years ago, but time has not dulled the misery of the event, +its memory of torture, its humiliation. All those centuries since, the +nation that Joan saved has been trying to atone for her death. Streets +have been named for her; statues have been set up for her in every +church and in public<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> squares, but as we read that sorrowful tablet I +could not help thinking that all of those honors together are not worth +a single instant of her fiendish torture when the flames had found her +tender flesh. Cauchon, later Bishop of Beauvais, her persecutor, taunted +his victim to the last. If the chapel of expiation he built later at +Lisieux saved him, then chapels must indeed be held in high esteem by +those who confer grace.</p> + +<p>Nothing is there to-day that was there then, but one may imagine an open +market place thronged with people, and the horrid structure of death on +which stood Joan while they preached to her of her sins. Her sins! when +she was the only one among them that was not pitch black, steeped to the +hair in villainy. Cauchon himself finished the sermon by excommunicating +her, cutting off the church's promise of salvation. On her head she wore +a cap on which was printed: <span class="smcap">Heretic, Relapsed, Apostate, Idolater</span>. +Cauchon had spared nothing to make her anguish complete. It is curious +that he allowed her to pray, but he did, and when she prayed—not for +herself, but for the king who had deserted her—for his glory and +triumph, Cauchon himself summoned the executioners, and they bound her +to the stake with chains and lighted the fire.</p> + +<p>There is little more to see of Joan in Rouen. The cathedral was there in +her time, but she was never permitted to enter it. There is a wall which +was a part of the chapel where she had her final hearing before her +judges; there are some houses which she must have passed, and there is a +tower which belonged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> to the castle in which she was confined, though it +is not certain that it is Joan's tower. There is a small museum in it, +and among its treasures we saw the manuscript article <i>St. Joan of Arc</i>, +by Mark Twain, who, in his <i>Personal Recollections</i>, has left to the +world the loveliest picture of that lovely life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XX" id="Chapter_B_XX"></a>Chapter XX</h2> + +<h3>WE COME TO GRIEF</h3> + +<p>It was our purpose to leave Rouen by the Amiens road, but when we got to +it and looked up a hill that about halfway to the zenith arrived at the +sky, we decided to take a road that led off toward Beauvais. We could +have climbed that hill well enough, and I wished later we had done so. +As it was, we ran along quite pleasantly during the afternoon, and +attended evening services in an old church at Grandvilliers, a place +that we had never heard of before, but where we found an inn as good as +any in Normandy.</p> + +<p>It is curious with what exactness Fate times its conclusions. If we had +left Grandvilliers a few seconds earlier or later it would have made all +the difference, or if I had not pulled up a moment to look at a lovely +bit of brookside planted with poplars, or if I had driven the least bit +slower or the least bit faster, during the first five miles, or—</p> + +<p>Oh, never mind—what happened was this: We had just mounted a long steep +hill on high speed and I had been bragging on the car, always a +dangerous thing to do, when I saw ahead of us a big two-wheeled cart +going in the same direction as ourselves, and beyond it a large car +approaching. I could have speeded up and cut in ahead of the cart, but I +was feeling well, and I thought I should do the courteous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> thing, the +safe thing, so I fell in behind it. Not far enough behind him, however, +for as the big car came opposite, the sleepy driver of the cart pulled +up his horse short, and we were not far enough behind for me to get the +brakes down hard and suddenly enough to stop before we touched him. It +was not a smash. It was just a push, but it pushed a big hole in our +radiator, mashed up one of our lamps, and crinkled up our left mudguard. +The radiator was the worst. The water poured out; our car looked as if +it had burst into tears.</p> + +<p>We were really stupefied at the extent of our disaster. The big car +pulled up to investigate and console us. The occupants were Americans, +too, from Washington—kindly people who wanted to shoulder some of the +blame. Their chauffeur, a Frenchman, bargained with the cart driver who +had wrecked us to tow us to the next town, where there were garages. +Certainly pride goes before a fall. Five minutes before we were sailing +along in glory, exulting over the prowess of our vehicle. Now all in the +wink of an eye our precious conveyance, stricken and helpless, was being +towed to the hospital, its owners trudging mournfully behind.</p> + +<p>The village was Poix, and if one had to be wrecked anywhere, I cannot +think of a lovelier spot for disaster than Poix de la Somme. It is just +across in Picardy, and the Somme there is a little brook that ripples +and winds through poplar-shaded pastures, sweet meadows, and deep +groves. In every direction were the loveliest walks, with landscape +pictures at every turn. The village itself was drowsy, kindly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +simple-hearted. The landlady at our inn was a motherly soul that during +the week of our stay the Joy and I learned to love.</p> + +<p>For the others did not linger. Paris was not far away and had a good +deal in the way of shopping to recommend it. The new radiator ordered +from London might be delayed. So early next morning they were off for +Paris by way of Amiens and Beauvais, and the Joy and I settled down to +such employments and amusements as we could find, while waiting for +repairs.</p> + +<p>We got acquainted with the garageman's family, for one thing. They lived +in the same little court with the shop, and we exchanged Swiss French +for their Picardese, and were bosom friends in no time. We spruced up +the car, too, and every day took long walks, and every afternoon took +some luncheon and our little stove and followed down the Somme to a tiny +bridge, and there made our tea. Then sometimes we read, and once when I +was reading aloud from Mark Twain's <i>Joan of Arc</i>, and had finished the +great battle of Patay, we suddenly remembered that it had happened on +the very day on which we were reading, the 18th of June. How little we +guessed that in such a short time our peaceful little river would give +its name to a battle a thousand times greater than any that Joan ever +fought!</p> + +<p>Once when we were resting by the roadside a little old lady with a +basket stopped and sat with us while she told us her history—how her +husband had been a great physician and invented cures that to-day are +used in all the hospitals of France. Now she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> was poor, she said, and +lived alone in a little house, but if we would visit her she would give +us some good Picardese cooking. I wish we might have gone. One day I +hired a bicycle for the Joy and entertained the village by pushing her +around the public square until she learned to ride alone. Then I hired +one for myself and we went out on the road together. About the end of +the third day we began to look for our radiator, and visited the express +office with considerable regularity. Presently the village knew us, why +we were there and what we were expecting. They became as anxious about +it as ourselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXI" id="Chapter_B_XXI"></a>Chapter XXI</h2> + +<h3>THE DAMAGE REPAIRED—BEAUVAIS AND COMPIÈGNE</h3> + +<p>One morning as we started toward the express office a man in a wagon +passed and called out something. We did not catch it, but presently +another met us and with a glad look told us that our goods had arrived +and were now in the delivery wagon on the way to the garage. We did not +recognize either of those good souls, but they were interested in our +welfare. Our box was at the garage when we arrived there, and in a +little more it was opened and the new radiator in place. The other +repairs had been made, and once more we were complete. We decided to +start next morning to join the others in Paris.</p> + +<p>Morning comes early on the longest days of the year, and we had eaten +our breakfast, had our belongings put into the car, and were ready to be +off by seven o'clock. What a delicious morning it was! Calm, glistening, +the dew on everything. As long as I live I shall remember that golden +morning when the Joy, aged eleven, and I went gypsying together, +following the winding roads and byways that led us through pleasant +woods, under sparkling banks, and along the poplar-planted streams of +Picardy. We did not keep to highways at all. We were in no hurry and we +took any lane that seemed to lead in the right direction,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> so that much +of the time we appeared to be crossing fields—fields of flowers, many +of them, scarlet poppies, often mingled with blue cornflowers and yellow +mustard—fancy the vividness of that color.</p> + +<p>Traveling in that wandering fashion, it was noon before we got down to +Beauvais, where we stopped for luncheon supplies and to see what is +perhaps the most remarkable cathedral in the world. It is one of the +most beautiful, and, though it consists only of choir and transepts, it +is one of the largest. Its inner height, from floor to vaulting, is one +hundred and fifty-eight feet. The average ten-story building could sit +inside of it. There was once a steeple that towered to the giddy heights +of five hundred feet, but in 1573, when it had been standing three +hundred years, it fell down, from having insufficient support. The inner +work is of white stone, marble, and the whole place seems filled with +light. It was in this cool, heavenly sanctuary that Cauchon, who hounded +Joan to the stake, officiated as bishop. I never saw a place so unsuited +to a man. I should think that spire would have tumbled off then instead +of waiting until he had been dead a hundred years. There is a clock in +this church—a modern clock—that records everything, even the age of +the world, which at the moment of our visit was 5,914 years. It is a +very large affair, but we did not find it very exciting. In the public +square of Beauvais there is a bronze statue of Jeanne Laine, called +"Jeanne Hachette," because, armed with a hatchet, she led others of her +sex against Charles the Bold in 1472 and captured a banner with her own +hands.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<p>Beauvais has many interesting things, but the day had become very warm +and we did not linger. We found some of the most satisfactory pastries I +have ever seen in France, fresh and dripping with richness; also a few +other delicacies, and, by and by, under a cool apple tree on the road to +Compiègne, the Joy and I spread out our feast and ate it and listened to +some little French birds singing, "<i>Vite! Vite! Vite!</i>" meaning that we +must be "Quick! Quick! Quick!" so they could have the crumbs.</p> + +<p>It was at Compiègne that Joan of Arc was captured by her enemies, just a +year before that last fearful day at Rouen. She had relieved Orléans, +she had fought Patay, she had crowned the king at Rheims; she would have +had her army safely in Paris if she had not been withheld by a weakling, +influenced by his shuffling, time-serving counselors. She had delivered +Compiègne the year before, but now again it was in trouble, besieged by +the Duke of Burgundy. Joan had been kept in partial inactivity in the +Loire district below Paris during the winter, but with the news from +Compiègne she could no longer be restrained.</p> + +<p>"I will go to my good friends of Compiègne," she said, and, taking such +force as she could muster, in number about six hundred cavalry, she went +to their relief.</p> + +<p>From a green hill commanding the valley of the Oise we looked down upon +the bright river and pretty city which Joan had seen on that long-ago +afternoon of her final battle for France. Somewhere on that plain the +battle had taken place, and Joan's little force for the first time had +failed. There had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> a panic; Joan, still fighting and trying to +rally her men, had been surrounded, dragged from her horse, and made a +prisoner. She had led her last charge.</p> + +<p>We crossed a bridge and entered the city and stopped in the big public +square facing Leroux's beautiful statue of Joan, which the later +"friends of Compiègne" have raised to her memory. It is Joan in +semi-armor, holding aloft her banner, and on the base in old French is +inscribed "<i>Je Yray voir mes bons amys de Compiègne</i>" ("I will go to see +my good friends of Compiègne").</p> + +<p>Many things in Compiègne are beautiful, but not many of them are very +old. Joan's statue looks toward the handsome and richly ornamented Hôtel +de Ville, but Joan could not have seen it in life, for it dates a +hundred years after death. There are two handsome churches, in one or +both of which she doubtless worshiped when she had first delivered the +city; possibly a few houses of that ancient time still survive.</p> + +<p>We looked into the churches, but they seemed better on the outside. Then +I discovered that one of our back tires was down, and we drew up in a +secluded nook at the rear of St. Jacques for repairs. It was dusk by the +time we had finished, the end of that long June day, and we had no time +to hunt for a cozy inn. So we went to a hotel which stands opposite the +great palace which the architect Gabriel built for Louis XV, and looked +across to it while we ate our dinner, and talked of our day's +wanderings, and of palaces in general and especially queens; also of +Joan, and of the beautiful roads and fields of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> flowers, and of the +little birds that tried to hurry us along, and so were very happy and +very tired indeed.</p> + +<p>Next morning we visited the palace. It has been much occupied by +royalty, for Compiègne was always a favorite residence of the rulers of +France. Napoleon came there with the Empress Marie Louise, and Louis +Philippe and Napoleon III both found retirement there.</p> + +<p>I think it could not have been a very inviting or restful home. There +are long halls and picture galleries, all with shiny floors and stiffly +placed properties, and the royal suites are just a series of square, +prettily decorated and upholstered boxes, strung together, with doors +between. One might as well set up a series of screens in a long hall. +Even with the doors shut there could not have been much sense of +privacy, certainly none of snugness. But then palaces were not meant to +be cozy. We saw the bedrooms and dressing rooms and what not of the +various queens, and we looked from an upper window down a long forest +avenue that was finer than anything inside. Then we went back to the car +and drove into the big forest for ten miles or more, to an old feudal +castle—such a magnificent old castle, all towers and turrets and +battlements—the château of Pierrefonds, one of the finest in France.</p> + +<p>It stands upon a rocky height overlooking a lake, and it does not seem +so old, though it had been there forty years when Joan of Arc came, and +it looks as if it might be there about as long as the hill it stands on. +It was built by Louis of Orléans, brother of Charles VI, and the storm +of battle has raged often about its base. Here and there it still shows +the mark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> of bombardment, and two cannon balls stick fast in the wall of +one of its solid towers. Pierrefonds was in bad repair, had become +well-nigh a ruin, in fact, when Napoleon III, at his own expense, +engaged Viollet le Duc to restore it, in order that France might have a +perfect type of the feudal castle in its original form. It stands to-day +as complete in its structure and decoration as it was when Louis of +Orléans moved in, more than five hundred years ago, and it conveys +exactly the solid home surroundings of the mediæval lord. It is just a +show place now, and its vast court, its chapel and its halls of state +are all splendid enough, though nothing inside can be quite so +magnificent as its mighty assemblage of towers and turrets rising above +the trees and reflecting in the blue waters of a placid lake.</p> + +<p>It began raining before we got to Paris, so we did not stop at +Crépy-en-Valois, or Senlis, or Chantilly, or St. Denis, though all that +land has been famous for kings and castles and bloodshed from a time +farther back than the days of Cæsar. We were interested in all those +things, but we agreed we could not see everything. Some things we saw as +we went by; great gray walls and crumbling church towers, and then we +were at the gates of Paris and presently threading our way through a +tangle of streets, barred, many of them, because the top of the subway +had been tumbling in a few days before and travel was dangerous. It was +Sunday, too, and the streets were especially full of automobiles and +pedestrians. It was almost impossible to keep from injuring something. I +do not care for Paris, not from the driving seat of a car.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXII" id="Chapter_B_XXII"></a>Chapter XXII</h2> + +<h3>FROM PARIS TO CHARTRES AND CHÂTEAUDUN</h3> + +<p>In fact, neither the Joy nor I hungered for any more Paris, while the +others had seen their fill. So we were off, with only a day's delay, +this time taking the road to Versailles. There we put in an hour or two +wandering through the vast magnificence of the palace where the great +Louis XIV lived, loved, and died, and would seem to have spent a good +part of his time having himself painted in a variety of advantageous +situations, such as riding at the head of victorious armies, or +occupying a comfortable seat in Paradise, giving orders to the gods.</p> + +<p>They were weak kings who followed him. The great Louis reigned +seventy-two years—prodigal years, but a period of military and artistic +conquest—the golden age of French literature. His successor reigned +long enough—fifty-nine years—but he achieved nothing worth while, and +the next one lost his head. We saw the little balcony where the doomed +Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette showed themselves to the mob—the +"deluge" which the greater Louis had once predicted.</p> + +<p>The palace at Versailles is like other royal palaces of France—a fine +show place, an excellent museum, but never in its day of purest +domesticity could it have been called "a happy little home." Everything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +is on too extended a scale. Its garden was a tract of marshy land sixty +miles in circumference until Louis XIV set thirty-six thousand men at +it, turning it into fairyland. Laborers died by the score during the +work, and each night the dead were carted away. When this was mentioned +to the king he was troubled, fearing his supply of men might not last. +However, the garden was somehow completed. Possibly Louis went out and +dug in it a little himself.</p> + +<p>It is still a Garden of Eden, with leafy avenues, and lakes, and +marvelous fountains, and labyrinths of flowers. Looking out over it from +the palace windows we remembered how the king had given Madame Maintenon +a summer sleigh-ride, causing long avenues to be spread with sugar and +salt to gratify her idly-expressed whim. I am sorry, of course, that the +later Louis had to lose his head, but on the whole I think it is very +well that France discouraged that line of kings.</p> + +<p>Versailles is full of palaces. There is the Grand Trianon, which Louis +XIV built for Madame Maintenon when she had grown weary of the great +palace, and the Petit Trianon, which Louis XV gave to Du Barry and where +Marie Antoinette built her Swiss village and played at farm life. There +is no reason I should dwell on these places. Already volumes have been +written of the tragic, gay, dissolute life they have seen, the gorgeous +moving panoramas that might have been pictures passing in a +looking-glass for all the substance they have left behind.</p> + +<p>Somewhere below Versailles, in the quietest spot we could find, by a +still stream that ran between the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> meadow and the highroad, we made our +luncheon and were glad we were not kings. Being royalty was a gaudy +occupation, but too doubtful, too open to criticism. One of those Louis +families, for instance, could never have stopped their motor by the +roadside and prepared their luncheon in our modest, unostentatious way. +They would have had all manner of attendants and guards watching them, +and an audience would have collected, and some excited person might have +thrown a brick and hit the jam. No, we would rather be just plain, +unobtrusive people, without audience, and with no attendance but the +car, waiting there in the shade to carry us deeper into this Land of +Heart's Desire.</p> + +<p>It was at Rambouillet that we lodged, an ancient place with a château +and a vast park; also an excellent inn—the Croix Blanche—one of those +that you enter by driving through to an inner court. Before dinner we +took a walk into the park, along the lakeside and past the château, +which is a curious architectural mixture and not very sightly. But it is +mingled with history. Francis I died there in 1547, and as late as 1830 +the last Charles, the tenth of that name, signed his abdication there.</p> + +<p>It was too late for the place to be open, and in any case we did not +care to go in. We had had enough of palaces for one day. We followed +around the lake to an avenue of splendid Louisiana cypresses which some +old king had planted. Beyond the avenue the way led into deeper +wildernesses—a noble wood. We made a backward circuit at length, for it +was evening and the light was fading. In the mysterious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> half-light +there was something almost spectral in that sylvan place and we spoke in +hushed voices. Presently we came to a sort of bower, and then to an +artificial grotto—old trysting places. Ah, me! Monsieur and +mademoiselle, or madame, are no longer there; the powdered hair, the +ruffled waist-coat and looped gown, the silken hose and dainty footgear, +the subdued laugh and whispered word, all have vanished. How vacant +those old places seemed! We did not linger—it was a time for ghosts.</p> + +<p>We were off next morning, halting for a little at Maintenon on the road +to Chartres. The château attracted us and the beautiful river Eure. The +widow of the poet Scarron, who married Louis XIV and became Marquise de +Maintenon, owned the château, and it belongs to the family to this day. +An attendant permitted us to see the picture gallery and a portion of +the grounds. All seemed as luxurious as Versailles. It is thirty-five +miles from Maintenon to Versailles, but Louis started to build an +aqueduct to carry the waters of the Eure to his gardens. He kept thirty +thousand soldiers working on it for four years, but they died faster +than he could replace them, which was such a bother that he abandoned +the undertaking.</p> + +<p>Following the rich and lovely valley of the Eure, we came to Chartres, +and made our way to the Cathedral square. We had seen the towers from a +long distance, and remembered the saying that "The choir of Beauvais, +the nave of Amiens, the portal of Rheims, and the towers of Chartres +would together make the finest church in the world." To<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> confess the +truth, I did not think the towers of Chartres as handsome as those of +either Rouen or Amiens. But then I am not a purist in cathedral +architecture. Certainly the cathedral itself is glorious. I shall not +attempt to describe it. Any number of men have written books, trying to +do that, and most of them have failed. I only know that the wonder of +its architecture—the marvel of its relief carving, "lace in stone," and +the sublime glory of its windows—somehow possessed us, and we did not +know when to go. I met a woman once who said she had spent a month at +Chartres and had put in most of it sitting in the cathedral looking at +those windows. When she told me of it I had been inclined to be +scornful. I was not so any more. Those windows, made by some unknown +artist, dead five hundred years, invite a lifetime of contemplation.</p> + +<p>It is about nine hundred years since the cathedral of Chartres was +begun, and it has known many changes. Four hundred years ago one of its +towers was rebuilt in an altogether different pattern from the other. I +believe this variation is regarded as a special feature of their +combined beauty. Chapels have been added, wings extended; changes inside +and out were always going on during the first five hundred years or so, +but if the builders made any mistakes we failed to notice them. It +remains a unity, so far as we could see—a supreme expression of the old +faith, whose material labor was more than half spiritual, and for whom +no sacrifice of money or endeavor was too great.</p> + +<p>We left Chartres by one of the old city gates, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> took the wrong road, +and presently found ourselves in an open field, where our way dwindled +out and stopped. Imagine a road good enough to be mistaken for a +highway, leading only to a farmer's grainfield. So we went back and got +set right, and through a heavenly June afternoon followed the straight +level way to Châteaudun, an ancient town perched upon the high cliffs +above the valley of the Loir, which is a different river from the +Loire—much smaller and more picturesque.</p> + +<p>The château itself hangs on the very edge of the cliffs with startling +effect and looks out over a picture valley as beautiful as any in +France. This was the home of Dunois, Bastard of Orléans, who left it to +fight under Joan of Arc. He was a great soldier, one of her most loved +and trusted generals. We spent an hour or more wandering through +Dunois's ancient seat, with an old guardian who clearly was in love with +every stone of it, and who time and again reminded us that it was more +interesting than many of the great châteaux of the Loire, Blois +especially, in that it had been scarcely restored at all. About the +latest addition to Châteaudun was a beautiful open stairway of the +sixteenth century, in perfect condition to-day. On the other side is +another fine façade and stairway, which Dunois himself added. In a niche +there stands a fine statue of the famous soldier, probably made from +life. If only some sculptor or painter might have preserved for us the +features of Joan!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXIII" id="Chapter_B_XXIII"></a>Chapter XXIII</h2> + +<h3>WE REACH TOURS</h3> + +<p>Through that golden land which lies between the Loir and the Loire we +drifted through a long summer afternoon and came at evening to a noble +bridge that crossed a wide, tranquil river, beyond which rose the towers +of ancient Tours, capital of Touraine. One can hardly cross the river +Loire for the first time without long reflections. Henry James calls the +Touraine "a gallery of architectural specimens ... the heart of the old +French monarchy," and adds, "as that monarchy was splendid and +picturesque, a reflection of the splendor still glitters in the Loire. +Some of the most striking events of French history have occurred on the +banks of that river, and the soil it waters bloomed for a while with the +flower of the Renaissance."</p> + +<p>Touraine was a favorite place for kings, and the early Henrys and +Francises, especially, built their magnificent country palaces in all +directions. There are more than fifty châteaux within easy driving +distance of Tours, and most of the great ones have been owned or +occupied by Francis I, or by Henry II, or by one of their particular +favorites.</p> + +<p>We did not intend to visit all of the châteaux by any means, for château +visiting, from a diversion may easily degenerate into labor. We +intended<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> especially to visit Chinon, where Joan of Arc went to meet the +king to ask for soldiers, and a few others, but we had no wish to put in +long summer days mousing about old dungeons and dim corridors, or being +led through stiffly set royal suites, garishly furnished and restored. +It was better to glide restfully along the poppied way and see the +landscape presentment of those stately piles crowning the hilltops or +reflected in the bright waters of the Loire. The outward semblance of +the land of romance remains oftenest undisturbed; cross the threshold +and the illusion is in danger.</p> + +<p>At the Central Hotel of Tours, an excellent place of modest charges, we +made our headquarters, and next morning, with little delay, set out for +Chinon and incidental châteaux. "Half the charm of the Loire," says +James, "is that you can travel beside it." He was obliged to travel very +leisurely beside it when that was written; the "flying carpet" had not +then been invented, and James, with his deliberate locomotion, was +sometimes unable to return to Tours for the night. I imagine he enjoyed +it none the less for that, lazily watching the smooth water of the wide +shallow stream, with never a craft heavier than a flat-bottomed hay +boat; the wide white road, gay with scarlet poppies, and some tall +purple flower, a kind of foxglove.</p> + +<p>I do not remember that James makes mention of the cliff-dwellers along +the Loire. Most of them live in houses that are older, I suspect, than +the oldest château of Touraine. In the beginning there must have been in +these cliffs natural caves occupied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> by our earliest troglodyte +ancestors. In time, as mentality developed and, with it, imagination, +the original shelters were shaped and enlarged by excavation, also new +ones built, until these perpendicular banks facing the Loire became the +dwelling place for hundreds, even thousands.</p> + +<p>They are still numerously inhabited. The rooms or houses—some of them +may be flats—range one above the other in stories, all up the face of +the cliff, and there are smoke-places and little chimneys in the fields +at the top. Such houses must have been here before the kings came to +Touraine. Some of them look very ancient; some have crumbled in; some +have been faced with stone or plaster. The cliff is honeycombed with +them. Do their occupants have traditional rights from some vague time +without date? Do they pay rent, and to whom? We might have found the +answers to these questions had we cared to seek for them. It seemed +better to content oneself with speculation. We did not visit the +cliff-dwellers of the Loire.</p> + +<p>Neither did we visit the château of Luynes or of Langeais. Luynes is a +fine old feudal pile on a hilltop just below Tours, splendid from the +road, but it had no compelling history and we agreed that closer view +could not improve it. Besides, it was hot, sizzling, for a climb; so hot +that one of our aging tubes popped presently, and Narcissa and I had to +make repairs in a place where there was a world of poppies, but no shade +for a mile. That was one of the reasons we did not visit Langeais. +Langeais was exactly on the road, but it had a hard, hot, forbidding<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +look. Furthermore, our book said that it had been restored and converted +into a museum, and added that its chief claim on history lay in the fact +that Anne of Brittany was here married to Charles VIII in 1491. That +fact was fine to realize from the outside, under the cool shadow of +those gray walls. One could lose it among shiny restorations and stuffy +museum tapestries.</p> + +<p>The others presently noticed a pastry shop opposite the château and +spoke of getting something extra for luncheon. While they were gone I +discovered a café below the château and, being pretty dry, I slipped +down there for a little seltzer, or something. The door was open, but +the place was empty. There was the usual display of bottles, but not a +soul was in sight. I knocked, then called, but nobody came. I called and +knocked louder, but nothing happened. Then I noticed some pennies lying +by an empty glass on the bar. The amount was small and I left them +there. A side door was open and I looked out into a narrow passage +opening into a court at the back. I went out there, still signaling my +distress. The sun was blazing and I was getting dryer every minute. +Finally a stout, smiling woman appeared, wiping her hands—from the +washtub, I judge. She went with me into the café, gathered up the loose +change on the counter, and set out refreshments. Then she explained that +I could have helped myself and left the money. Langeais is an honest +community.</p> + +<p>Following down the Loire we came to a bridge, and, crossing to the other +bank, presently found ourselves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> in a country where there were no +visible houses at all. But there was shade, and we camped under it and I +did some tire repairing while the others laid out the luncheon and set +the little cooker going. Later we drowsed in the shade for an hour or +more, with desultory talk of Joan, and of Anne of Brittany, and of the +terrible Catherine de Medici, whose son the feeble Francis II had +brought his young wife, Marie Stuart, the doomed Queen of Scots, to +Chenonceaux for their honeymoon. It was strange to think that this was +the environment of those half-romantic figures of history. Some of them, +perhaps all, had passed this very spot. And so many others! the Henrys, +the Charleses, the Louises—the sovereigns and soldiers and court +favorites for four hundred years. What a procession—the pageant of the +Renaissance!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXIV" id="Chapter_B_XXIV"></a>Chapter XXIV</h2> + +<h3>CHINON, WHERE JOAN MET THE KING, AND AZAY</h3> + +<p>Chinon is not on the Loire, but on a tributary a little south of it, the +Vienne, its ruined castle crowning the long hill or ridge above the +town. Sometime during the afternoon we came to the outskirts of the +ancient place and looked up to the wreck of battlements and towers where +occurred that meeting which meant the liberation of France.</p> + +<p>We left the car below and started to climb, then found there was a road, +a great blessing, for the heat was intense. There is a village just +above the castle, and we stopped there.</p> + +<p>The château of Chinon to-day is the remains of what originally was three +châteaux, built at different times, but so closely strung together that +in ruin they are scarcely divided. The oldest, Coudray, was built in the +tenth century and still shows three towers standing, in one of which +Joan of Arc lived during her stay at Chinon. The middle château is not +as old by a hundred years. It was built on the site of a Roman fort, and +it was in one of its rooms, a fragment of which still remains, that +Charles VII received the shepherd girl from Domremy. The château of St. +George was built in the twelfth century by Henry II of England, who died +there in 1189.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> Though built two hundred years after Coudray, nothing of +it survives but some foundations.</p> + +<p>Chinon is a much more extensive ruin than we had expected. Even what +remains to-day must be nearly a quarter of a mile in length, and its +vast crumbling walls and towers make it strikingly picturesque. But its +ruin is complete, none the less. Once through the entrance tower and you +are under nothing but the sky, with your feet on the grass; there is no +longer a shelter there, even for a fugitive king. You wander about, +viewing it scarcely more than as a ruin, at first, a place for painting, +for seclusion, for dreaming in the sun. Then all at once you are facing +a wall in which, halfway up where once was the second story, there is a +restored fireplace and a tablet which tells you that in this room +Charles VII received Joan of Arc. It is not a room now; it is just a +wall, a fragment, with vines matting its ruined edges.</p> + +<p>You cross a stone footbridge to the tower where Joan lived, and that, +too, is open to the sky, and bare and desolate. Once, beyond it, there +was a little chapel where she prayed. There are other fragments and +other towers, but they merely serve as a setting for those which the +intimate presence of Joan made sacred.</p> + +<p>The Maid did not go immediately to the castle on her arrival in Chinon. +She put up at an inn down in the town and waited the king's pleasure. +His paltering advisers kept him dallying, postponing his consent to see +her, but through the favor of his mother-in-law, Yolande, Queen of +Sicily, Joan and her suite were presently housed in the tower of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +Coudray. One wonders if the walls were as bare as now. It was old even +then; it had been built five hundred years. But Queen Yolande would have +seen to it that there were comforts, no doubt; some tapestries, perhaps, +on the walls; a table, chairs, some covering for the stone floor. +Perhaps it was even luxurious.</p> + +<p>The king was still unready to see Joan. She was only a stone's throw +away, but the whisperings of his advisers kept her there, while a +commission of priests went to Domremy to inquire as to her character. +When there were no further excuses for delay they contrived a trick—a +deception. They persuaded the king to put another on the throne, one +like him and in his royal dress, so that Joan might pay homage to this +make-believe king, thus proving that she had no divine power or +protection which would assist her in identifying the real one.</p> + +<p>In the space where now is only green grass and sky and a broken wall +Charles VII and his court gathered to receive the shepherd girl who had +come to restore his kingdom. It was evening and the great hall was +lighted, and at one end of it was the throne with its imitation king, +and I suppose at the other the fireplace with a blazing fire. Down the +center of the room were the courtiers, formed in two ranks, facing so +that Joan might pass between them to the throne. The occasion was one of +great ceremony—Joan and her suite were welcomed with fine honors. +Banners waved, torches flared; trumpets blown at intervals marked the +stages of her progress down the great hall; every show was made of +paying her great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> honor—everything that would distract her and blind +her to their trick.</p> + +<p>Charles VII, dressed as a simple courtier, stood a little distance from +the throne. Joan, advancing to within a few steps of the pretended king, +raised her eyes. Then for a moment she stood silent, puzzled. They +expected her to kneel and make obeisance, but a moment later she turned +and, hurrying to the rightful Charles, dropped on her knees and gave him +heartfelt salutation. She had never seen him and was without knowledge +of his features. Her protectors, or her gifts, had not failed. It was +perhaps the greatest moment in French history.</p> + +<p>We drove down into Chinon, past the house where it is said that Rabelais +was born, and saw his statue, and one of Joan which was not very +pleasing. Then we threaded some of the older streets and saw houses +which I think cannot have changed much since Joan was there. It was +getting well toward evening now, and we set out for Tours, by way of +Azay.</p> + +<p>The château of Azay-le-Rideau is all that Chinon is not. Perfect in +condition, of rare beauty in design and ornamentation, fresh, almost new +in appearance, Azay presents about the choicest flowering of the +Renaissance. Joan of Arc had been dead a hundred years when Azay was +built; France was no longer in dread of blighting invasion; a residence +no longer needed to be a fortress. The royal châteaux of the Loire are +the best remaining evidence of what Joan had done for the security of +her kings. Whether they deserved it or not is another matter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + +<p>Possibly Azay-le-Rideau might not have looked so fresh under the glare +of noonday, but in the mellow light of evening it could have been the +home of one of our modern millionaires (a millionaire of perfect taste, +I hasten to add), and located, let us say, in the vicinity of Newport. +It was difficult to believe that it had been standing for four +centuries.</p> + +<p>Francis I did not build Azay-le-Rideau. But he liked it so much when he +saw it (he was probably on a visit to its owner, the French treasurer, +at the time) that he promptly confiscated it and added it to the +collection of other châteaux he had built, or confiscated, or had in +mind. Nothing very remarkable seems to have happened there—just the +usual things—plots, and liaisons, and intrigues of a general sort, with +now and then a chapter of real lovemaking, and certain marriages and +deaths—the latter hurried a little sometimes to accommodate the +impatient mourners.</p> + +<p>But how beautiful it is! Its towers, its stately façades, its rich +ornamentation reflected in the water of the wide stream that sweeps +about its base, a natural moat, its background of rich foliage—these, +in the gathering twilight, completed a picture such as Hawthorne could +have conceived, or Edgar Poe.</p> + +<p>I suppose it was too late to go inside, but we did not even apply. Like +Langeais, it belongs to France now, and I believe is something of a +museum, and rather modern. One could not risk carrying away anything +less than a perfect memory of Azay.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXV" id="Chapter_B_XXV"></a>Chapter XXV</h2> + +<h3>TOURS</h3> + +<p>In the quest for outlying châteaux one is likely to forget that Tours +itself is very much worth while. Tours has been a city ever since France +had a history, and it fought against Cæsar as far back as 52 <span class="smcap">b.c</span>. It +took its name from the Gallic tribe of that section, the Turoni, +dwellers in those cliffs, I dare say, along the Loire.</p> + +<p>Following the invasion of the Franks there came a line of counts who +ruled Touraine until the eleventh century. What the human aspect of this +delectable land was under their dominion is not very clear. The oldest +castle we have seen, Coudray, was not begun until the end of that +period. There are a thousand years behind it which seem filled mainly +with shields and battle axes, roving knights and fair ladies, +industrious dragons and the other properties of poetry. Yet there may +have been more prosaic things. Seedtime and harvest probably did not +fail.</p> + +<p>Tours was beloved by French royalty. It was the capital of a province as +rich as it was beautiful. Among French provinces Touraine was always the +aristocrat. Its language has been kept pure. To this day the purest +French in the world is spoken at Tours. The mechanic who made some +repairs for me at the garage leaned on the mud guard, during a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> brief +intermission of that hottest of days, and told me about the purity of +the French at Tours; and if there was anything wrong with his own +locution my ear was not fine enough to detect it. To me it seemed as +limpid as something distilled. Imagine such a thing happening in—say +New Haven. Tours is still proud, still the aristocrat, still royal.</p> + +<p>The Germans held Tours during the early months of 1871, but there is no +trace of their occupation now. It was a bad dream which Tours does not +care even to remember.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> + +<p>Tours contains a fine cathedral, also the remains of what must have been +a still finer one—two noble towers, so widely separated by streets and +buildings that it is hard to imagine them ever having belonged to one +structure. They are a part of the business of Tours, now. Shops are +under them, lodgings in them. If they should tumble down they would +create havoc. I was so sure they would crumble that we did not go into +them; besides, it was very warm. The great church which connected these +towers was dedicated to St. Martin, the same who divided his cloak with +a beggar at Amiens and became Bishop of Tours in the fourth century. It +was destroyed once and magnificently rebuilt, but it will never be +rebuilt now. One of these old relics is called the Clock tower, the +other the tower of Charlemagne, because Luitgard, his third queen, was +buried beneath it.</p> + +<p>The cathedral at the other end of town appears not to have suffered much +from the ravages of time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> and battle, though one of the towers was +undergoing some kind of repairs that required intricate and lofty +scaffolding. Most of the cathedrals are undergoing repairs, which is not +surprising when one remembers the dates of their beginnings. This one at +Tours was commenced in 1170 and the building continued during about four +hundred years. Joan of Arc worshiped in it when she was on her way to +Chinon and again when she had set out to relieve Orléans.</p> + +<p>The face of the cathedral is indeed beautiful—"a jewel," said Henry IV, +"of which only the casket is wanting." It does not seem to us as +beautiful as Rouen, or Amiens, or Chartres, but its fluted truncated +towers are peculiarly its own and hardly less impressive.</p> + +<p>The cathedral itself forms a casket for the real jewel—the tomb of the +two children of Charles VIII and Anne of Brittany, a little boy and +girl, exquisitely cut, resting side by side on a slab of black marble, +guarded at their head and feet by kneeling angels. Except the slab, the +tomb is in white marble carved with symbolic decorations. It is all so +delicate and conveys such a feeling of purity and tenderness that even +after four hundred years one cannot fail to feel something of the love +and sorrow that placed it there.</p> + +<p>Tours is full of landmarks and localities, but the intense heat of the +end of June is not a good time for city sight-seeing. We went about a +little and glanced at this old street—such as Place Plumeran—and that +old château, like the Tour de Guise, now a barrack, and passed the +Théâtre Municipal, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> house where Balzac was born, and stood +impressed and blinking before the great Palace of Justice, blazing in +the sun and made more brilliant, more dazzling by the intensely +red-legged soldiers that in couples and groups are always loitering +before it. I am convinced that to touch those red-hot trousers would +take the skin off one's fingers.</p> + +<p>We might have examined Tours more carefully if we had been driving +instead of walking. I have spoken of the car being in the garage. We +cracked the leaf of a spring that day at Chinon, and then our tires, old +and worn after five thousand miles of loyal service, required +reënforcement. They really required new ones, but our plan was to get +home with these if we could. Besides, one cannot buy new tires in +American sizes without sending a special order to the factory—a matter +of delay. The little man at the hotel, who had more energy than anyone +should display in such hot weather, pumped one of our back tires until +the shoe burst at the rim. This was serious. I got a heavy canvas +lining, and the garageman patched and vulcanized and sold me a variety +of appliances. But I could foresee trouble if the heat continued.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXVI" id="Chapter_B_XXVI"></a>Chapter XXVI</h2> + +<h3>CHENONCEAUX AND AMBOISE</h3> + +<p class="center">(From my notebook)</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>This morning we got away from Tours, but it was after a +strenuous time. It was one of those sweltering mornings, and +to forward matters at the garage I helped put on all those +repaired tires and appliances, and by the time we were +through I was a rag. Narcissa photographed me, because she +said she had never seen me look so interesting before. She +made me stand in the sun, bareheaded and holding a tube in +my hand, as if I had not enough to bear already.</p></div> + +<p>Oh, but it was cool and delicious gliding along the smooth, shaded road +toward Chenonceaux! One can almost afford to get as hot and sweltering +and cross and gasping as I was for the sake of sitting back and looking +across the wheel down a leafy avenue facing the breeze of your own +making, a delicious nectar that bathes you through and cools and rests +and soothes—an anodyne of peace.</p> + +<p>By and by, being really cool in mind and body, we drew up abreast of a +meadow which lay a little below the road, a place with a brook and +overspreading shade, and with some men and women harvesting not far +away. We thought they would not mind if we lunched there, and I think +they must have been as kind-hearted as they were picturesque, for they +did not offer to disturb us. It was a lovely spot, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> did not seem to +belong to the present-day world at all. How could it, with the home of +Diana of Poitiers just over there beyond the trees, with nesting places +of Mary, Queen of Scots, all about, and with these haymakers, whose +fashion in clothes has not much minded the centuries, to add the living +human note of the past that makes imagination reality?</p> + +<p>Chenonceaux, the real heart of the royal district, like Chinon, is not +on the Loire itself, but on a small tributary, the Cher. I do not +remember that I noticed the river when we entered the grounds, but it is +a very important part of the château, which indeed is really a bridge +over it—a supremely beautiful bridge, to be sure, but a bridge none the +less, entirely crossing the pretty river by means of a series of high +foundation arches. Upon these arches rises the rare edifice which Thomas +Bohier, a receiver-general of taxes, began back in 1515 and Catherine +de' Medici finished after she had turned out Diana of Poitiers and +massacred the Huguenots, and needed a quiet place for retirement and +religious thought. Bohier did not extend Chenonceaux entirely across the +river. The river to him merely served as a moat. The son who followed +him did not have time to make additions. Francis I came along, noticed +that it was different from the other châteaux he had confiscated, and +added it to his collection. Our present-day collectors cut a poor figure +by the side of Francis I. Think of getting together assortments of bugs +and postage stamps and ginger jars when one could go out and pick up +châteaux!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was Francis's son, Henry II, that gave it to Diana of Poitiers. Henry +had his own kind of a collection and he used his papa's châteaux to keep +it in. As he picked about the best one for Diana, we may believe that he +regarded her as his choicest specimen. Unfortunately for Diana, Henry's +queen, the terrible Catherine, outlived him; and when, after the +funeral, Catherine drove around by Chenonceaux and suggested to Diana +that perhaps she would like to exchange the place for a very excellent +château farther up the road, Chaumont, we may assume that Diana moved +with no unseemly delay. Diana tactfully said she liked Chaumont ever so +much, for a change, that perhaps living on a hilltop was healthier than +over the water, anyway. Still, it must have made her sigh, I think, to +know that her successor was carrying out the plan which Diana herself +had conceived of extending Chenonceaux across the Cher.</p> + +<p>We stopped a little to look at the beautiful façade of Chenonceaux, then +crossed the drawbridge, or what is now the substitute for it, and were +welcomed at the door by just the proper person—a fine, dignified woman +of gentle voice and perfect knowledge. She showed us through the +beautiful home, for it is still a home, the property to-day of M. +Meunier of chocolate fame and fortune. I cannot say how glad I am that +M. Meunier owns Chenonceaux. He has done nothing to the place to spoil +it, and it is not a museum. The lower rooms which we saw have many of +the original furnishings. The ornaments, the tapestries, the pictures +are the same. I think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> Diana must have regretted leaving her fine +private room, with its chimney piece, supported by caryatids, and its +rare Flemish tapestry. We regretted leaving, too. We do not care for +interiors that have been overhauled and refurbished and made into +museums, but we were in no hurry to leave Chenonceaux. There is hardly +any place, I think, where one may come so nearly stepping back through +the centuries.</p> + +<p>We went out into the long wing that is built on the arches above the +river, and looked down at the water flowing below. Our conductor told us +that the supporting arches had been built on the foundations of an +ancient mill. The beautiful gallery which the bridge supports must have +known much gayety; much dancing and promenading up and down; much +lovemaking and some heartache.</p> + +<p>Jean Jacques Rousseau seems to have been everywhere. We could not run +amiss of him in eastern France and in Switzerland; now here again he +turns up at Chenonceaux. Chenonceaux in the eighteenth century fell to +M. Claude Dupin, farmer-general, who surrounded himself with the +foremost artists and social leaders of his time. He engaged Rousseau to +superintend the education of his son.</p> + +<p>"We amused ourselves greatly at this fine place," writes Rousseau; "the +living was of the best, and I became as fat as a monk. We made a great +deal of music and acted comedies."</p> + +<p>The period of M. Dupin's ownership, one of the most brilliant, and +certainly the most moral in the earlier history of Chenonceaux, has left +many memories.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> Of the brief, insipid honeymoon of the puny Francis II +and Mary Stuart no breath remains.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Amboise is on the Loire, and there is a good inn on the quay. It was +evening when we got there, and we did nothing after dinner but sit on +the high masonry embankment that buttresses the river, and watch the men +who fished, while the light faded from the water; though we occasionally +turned to look at the imposing profile of the great château on the high +cliff above the Loire.</p> + +<p>We drove up there next morning—that is, we drove as high as one may +drive, and climbed stairs the remaining distance. Amboise is a splendid +structure from without, but, unlike Chenonceaux, it is interesting +within only for what it has been. It is occupied by the superannuated +servants of the present owner, one of the Orléans family, which is fine +for them, and proper enough, but bad for the atmosphere. There are a +bareness and a whitewashed feeling about the place that are death to +romance. Even the circular inclined plane by which one may ride or drive +to the top of the great tower suggested some sort of temporary structure +at an amusement park rather than a convenience for kings. I was more +interested in a low doorway against the lintel of which Charles VIII +knocked his head and died. But I wish I could have picked Charles VII +for that accident, to punish him for having abandoned Joan of Arc.</p> + +<p>Though about a hundred years older, Amboise, like Chenonceaux, belongs +mainly to the period of Francis I, and was inhabited by the same +society. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> Francises and the Henrys enjoyed its hospitality, and +Catherine de' Medici, and Mary, Queen of Scots. Also some twelve or +fifteen hundred Huguenots who were invited there, and, at Catherine's +suggestion, butchered on the terrace just in front of the castle +windows. There is a balcony overlooking the terrace, and it is said that +Catherine and Mary, also Mary's husband and his two brothers, sat on the +balcony better to observe the spectacle. Tradition does not say whether +they had ices served or not. Some of the Huguenots did not wait, and the +soldiers had to drown what they could catch of them in the Loire, +likewise in view from the royal balcony. When the show was over there +was suspended from the balcony a fringe of Huguenot heads. Those were +frivolous times.</p> + +<p>There is a flower garden to-day on the terrace where the Huguenots were +murdered, and one may imagine, if he chooses, the scarlet posies to be +brighter for that history. But then there are few enough places in +France where blossoms have not been richened by the human stain. +Consider those vivid seas of poppies! Mary Stuart, by the way, seems +entitled to all the pity that the centuries have accorded her. There +were few influences in her early life that were not vile.</p> + +<p>On the ramparts at Amboise we were shown a chapel, with the grave of +Leonardo Da Vinci, who was summoned to Amboise by Francis I, and died +there in 1519. There is a question about da Vinci's ashes resting here, +I believe, but it does not matter—it is his grave.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>If I were going back to Amboise I would view it only from the outside. +With its immense tower and its beautiful Gothic and Renaissance façade +surmounting the heights above the Loire, nothing—nothing in the world +could be more beautiful.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXVII" id="Chapter_B_XXVII"></a>Chapter XXVII</h2> + +<h3>CHAMBORD AND CLÉRY</h3> + +<p>Francis I had a fine taste for collecting châteaux picturesquely +located, but when he built one for himself he located it in the most +unbeautiful situation in France. It requires patience and talent to find +monotony of prospect in France, but our hero succeeded, and discovered a +dead flat tract of thirteen thousand acres with an approach through as +dreary a level of unprosperous-looking farm district as may be found on +the continent of Europe.</p> + +<p>It is not on the Loire, but on a little stream called the Cosson, and +when we had left the Loire and found the country getting flatter and +poorer and less promising with every mile, we could not believe that we +were on the right road. But when we inquired, our informants still +pointed ahead, and by and by, in the midst of nowhere and surrounded by +nothing, we came to a great inclosure of undersized trees, with an +entrance. Driving in, we looked down a long avenue to an expanse of +architecture that seemed to be growing from a dead level of sandy park, +and to have attained about two thirds its proper height.</p> + +<p>An old man was raking around the entrance and we asked him if one was +allowed to lunch in the park. He said, "Oh yes, anywhere," and gave a +general wave that comprehended the whole tract. So we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> turned into a +side road and found a place that was shady enough, but not cool, for +there seemed to be no large overspreading trees in this park, but only +small, close, bushy ones. It is said that Francis built Chambord for two +reasons, one of them being the memory of an old sweetheart who used to +live in the neighborhood, the other on account of the abundant game to +be found there. I am inclined to the latter idea. There is nothing in +the location to suggest romance; there is everything to suggest game. +The twenty square miles of thicket that go with Chambord could hardly be +surpassed as a harbor for beast and bird.</p> + +<p>If Chambord was built, so to speak, as a sort of hunting lodge, it is +the largest one on record. Francis kept eighteen hundred men busy at it +for twelve years, and then did not get it done. He lived in it, more or +less, for some seven years, however; then went to Rambouillet to die, +and left his son, Henry II, to carry on the work. Henry did not care for +Chambord—the marshy place gave him fever, but he kept the building +going until he was killed in a tourney, when the construction stopped. +His widow, the bloody Catherine de' Medici, retired to Chambord in her +old age, and set the place in order. She was terribly superstitious and +surrounded herself with astrologers and soothsayers. At night she used +to go up to the great lantern tower to read her fortune in the stars. It +is my opinion that she did not go up there alone, not with that record +of hers.</p> + +<p>Mansard, who laid a blight on architecture that lasted for two hundred +years, once got hold of Chambord<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> and spoiled what he could, and had +planned to do worse things, but something—death, perhaps—interfered. +That was when Louis XIV brought Queen Maria Theresa to Chambord, and +held high and splendid court there, surrounding himself with brilliant +men and women, among them Molière and the widow of the poet Scarron, +Françoise d'Aubigné, the same that later became queen, under the title +of Madame de Maintenon. That was the heyday of Chambord's history. A +large guardroom was gilded and converted into a theater. Molière gave +first presentations there and received public compliment from the king. +Diversion was the order of the day and night.</p> + +<p>"The court is very gay—the king hunts much," wrote Maintenon; "one eats +always with him; there is one day a ball, and the next a comedy."</p> + +<p>Nothing very startling has happened at Chambord since Louis' time. Its +tenants have been numerous enough, and royal, or distinguished, but they +could not maintain the pace set by Louis XIV. Stanislas Leckzinski, the +exiled Polish king, occupied it during the early years of the eighteenth +century, and succeeded in marrying his daughter to the dissolute Louis +XV. Seventy years later the revolution came along. An order was issued +to sell the contents of Chambord, and a greedy rabble came and stripped +it clean. There was a further decree to efface all signs of royalty, but +when it was discovered that every bit of carving within and without the +vast place expressed royalty in some manner, and that it would cost +twenty thousand dollars to cut it away,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> this project was happily +abandoned. Chambord was left empty but intact. Whatever has been done +since has been in the way of restoration.</p> + +<p>There is not a particle of shade around Chambord. It stands as bare and +exposed to the blazing sky to-day as it did when those eighteen hundred +workmen laid down their tools four hundred years ago. There is hardly a +shrub. Even the grass looks discouraged. A location, indeed, for a royal +palace!</p> + +<p>We left the car under the shade of a wall and crossed a dazzling open +space to the entrance of a court where we bought entrance tickets. Then +we crossed the blinding court and were in a cool place at last, the wide +castle entrance. We were surprised a little, though, to find a ticket +box and a registering turnstile. Things are on a business basis at +Chambord. I suppose the money collected is used for repairs.</p> + +<p>The best advertised feature of Chambord is the one you see first, the +great spiral double stairway arranged one flight above the other, so +that persons may be ascending without meeting others who are descending +at the same moment. Many persons would not visit Chambord but for this +special show feature. Our conductor made us ascend and descend to prove +that this unrivaled attraction would really work as advertised. It is +designed on the principle of the double stripes on a barber pole.</p> + +<p>But there are other worth-while features at Chambord. We wandered +through the great cool rooms, not furnished, yet not empty, containing +as they do some rare pictures, old statuary and historic furniture, +despoiled by the revolutionists, now restored<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> to their original +setting. Chambord is not a museum. It belongs to a Duke of Parma, a +direct descendant from Louis XIV. Under Louis XVIII the estate was sold, +but in 1821 three hundred thousand dollars was raised by public +subscription to purchase the place for the remaining heir of the Bourbon +dynasty, the Duke of Bordeaux, who accepted with the gift the title of +the Count of Chambord. But he was in exile and did not come to see his +property for fifty years; even then only to write a letter renouncing +his claim to the throne and to say once more good-by to France. He +willed the property to the children of his sister, the Duchess of Parma, +and it is to the next generation that it belongs to-day. Our conductor +told us that the present Duke of Parma comes now and then for the +shooting, which is still of the best.</p> + +<p>We ascended to the roof, which is Chambord's chief ornament. It is an +architectural garden. Such elaboration of turrets with carved leafwork +and symbolism, such richness of incrustation and detail, did, in fact, +suggest some fantastic and fabulous culture. If it had not been all +fairly leaping with heat I should have wished to stay longer.</p> + +<p>But I would not care to go to Chambord again. As we drove down the long +drive, and turned a little for a last look at that enormous frontage, +those immense low towers, that superb roof structure—all that +magnificence dropped down there in a dreary level—I thought, "If ever a +house was a white elephant that one is, and if one had to rename it it +might well be called Francis's Folly."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> + +<p>I suppose it was two hours later when we had been drifting drowsily up +the valley of the Loire that we stopped in a village for water. There +was an old church across the way, and as usual we stepped inside, as +much for the cool refreshment as for anything, expecting nothing else +worth while.</p> + +<p>How easily we might have missed the wealth we found there. We did not +know the name of the village. We did not recognize Cléry, even when we +heard it, and the guidebook gives it just four lines. But we had been +inside only a moment when we realized that the Church of Our Lady of +Cléry is an ancient and sacred shrine. A great tablet told us that since +1325 kings of France, sinners and saints have made pilgrimages there; +Charles IV, Philippe VI, Charles VII, St. François Xavier, and so down +the centuries to Marshal MacMahon of our own time. But to us greater +than all the rest are the names of Dunois and Joan of Arc. Joan had +passed this way with her army, of course; for the moment we had +forgotten that we were following her footsteps to Orléans.</p> + +<p>The place was rich in relics. Among these the tomb of Louis XI and a +column which inclosed the heart of Charles VIII. There could hardly have +been a shrine in France more venerated in the past than this forgotten +church by the roadside, in this forgotten village where, I suppose, +tourists to-day never stop at all. It was hard to believe in the reality +of our discovery, even when we stood there. But there were the tablets +and inscriptions—they could not be denied.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> + +<p>We wandered about, finding something new and precious at every turn, +until the afternoon light faded. Then we crossed a long bridge over the +Loire to the larger village of Meung, where there was the Hôtel St. +Jacques, one of the kind we like best and one of the best of the kind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXVIII" id="Chapter_B_XXVIII"></a>Chapter XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>ORLÉANS</h3> + +<p>There is some sight-seeing to be done in Meung, but we were too anxious +to get to Orléans to stop for it. Yet we did not hurry through our last +summer morning along the Loire. I do not know what could be more lovely +than our leisurely hour—the distance was fifteen miles—under cool, +outspreading branches, with glimpses of the bright river and vistas of +happy fields.</p> + +<p>We did not even try to imagine, as we approached the outskirts, that the +Orléans of Joan's time presented anything of its appearance to-day. +Orléans is a modern, or modernized, city, and, except the river, there +could hardly be anything in the present prospect that Joan saw. That it +is the scene of her first military conquest and added its name to the +title by which she belongs to history is, however, enough to make it one +of the holy places of France.</p> + +<p>It has been always a military city, a place of battles. Cæsar burned it, +Attila attacked it, Clovis captured it—there was nearly always war of +one sort or another going on there. The English and Burgundians would +have had it in 1429 but for the arrival of Joan's army. Since then war +has visited Orléans less frequently. Its latest experience was with the +Germans who invested it in 1870-71.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> + +<p>Joan was misled by her generals, whose faith in her was not complete. +Orléans lies on the north bank of the Loire; they brought her down on +the south bank, fearing the prowess of the enemy's forces. Discovering +the deception, the Maid promptly sent the main body of her troops back +some thirty-five miles to a safe crossing, and, taking a thousand men, +passed over the Loire and entered the city by a gate still held by the +French. That the city was not completely surrounded made it possible to +attack the enemy simultaneously from within and without, while her +presence among the Orléanese would inspire them with new hope and valor. +Mark Twain in his <i>Recollections</i> pictures the great moment of her +entry.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It was eight in the evening when she and her troops rode in +at the Burgundy gate.... She was riding a white horse, and +she carried in her hand the sacred sword of Fierbois. You +should have seen Orléans then. What a picture it was! Such +black seas of people, such a starry firmament of torches, +such roaring whirlwinds of welcome, such booming of bells +and thundering of cannon! It was as if the world was come to +an end. Everywhere in the glare of the torches one saw rank +upon rank of upturned white faces, the mouths wide open, +shouting, and the unchecked tears running down; Joan forged +her slow way through the solid masses, her mailed form +projecting above the pavement of heads like a silver statue. +The people about her struggled along, gazing up at her +through their tears with the rapt look of men and women who +believe they are seeing one who is divine; and always her +feet were being kissed by grateful folk, and such as failed +of that privilege touched her horse and then kissed their +fingers.</p></div> + +<p>This was the 29th of April. Nine days later, May 8, 1429, after some +fierce fighting during which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> Joan was severely wounded, the besiegers +were scattered, Orléans was free. Mark Twain writes:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>No other girl in all history has ever reached such a summit +of glory as Joan of Arc reached that day.... Orléans will +never forget the 8th of May, nor ever fail to celebrate it. +It is Joan of Arc's day—and holy.</p></div> + +<p>Two days, May 7th and 8th, are given each year to the celebration, and +Orléans in other ways has honored the memory of her deliverer. A wide +street bears her name, and there are noble statues, and a museum, and +holy church offerings. The Boucher home which sheltered Joan during her +sojourn in Orléans has been preserved; at least a house is still shown +as the Boucher house, though how much of the original structure remains +no one at this day seems willing to decide.</p> + +<p>We drove there first, for it is the only spot in Orléans that can claim +even a possibility of having known Joan's actual impress. It is a house +of the old cross-timber and brick architecture, and if these are not the +veritable walls that Joan saw they must at least bear a close +resemblance to those of the house of Jacques Boucher, treasurer of the +Duke of Orléans, where Joan was made welcome. The interior is less +convincing. It is ecclesiastical, and there is an air of general newness +and reconstruction about it that suggests nothing of that long-ago +occupancy. It was rather painful to linger, and we were inclined now to +hesitate at the thought of visiting the ancient home of Agnes Sorel, +where the Joan of Arc Museum is located.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> + +<p>It would have been a mistake not to do so, however. It is only a few +doors away on the same street, rue du Tabour, and it is a fine old +mansion, genuinely old, and fairly overflowing with objects of every +conceivable sort relating to Joan of Arc. Books, statuary, paintings, +armor, banners, offerings, coins, medals, ornaments, engravings, +letters—thousands upon thousands of articles gathered there in the +Maid's memory. I think there is not one of them that her hand ever +touched, or that she ever saw, but in their entirety they convey, as +nothing else could, the reverence that Joan's memory has inspired during +the centuries that have gone since her presence made this sacred ground. +Until the revolution Orléans preserved Joan's banner, some of her +clothing, and other genuine relics; but then the mob burned them, +probably because Joan delivered France to royalty. One finds it rather +easy to forgive the revolutionary mob almost anything—certainly +anything more easily than such insane vandalism. We were shown an +ancient copy of the banner, still borne, I believe, in the annual +festivals. Baedeker speaks of arms and armor worn at the siege of +Orléans, but the guardian of the place was not willing to guarantee +their genuineness. I wish he had not thought it necessary to be so +honest. He did show us a photograph of Joan's signature, the original of +which belongs to one of her collateral descendants. She wrote it +"Jehanne," and her pen must have been guided by her secretary, Louis de +Conte, for Joan could neither read nor write.</p> + +<p>We drove to the Place Martroi to see the large equestrienne statue of +Joan by Foyatier, with reliefs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> by Vital Dubray. It is very imposing, +and the reliefs showing the great moments in Joan's career are really +fine. We did not care to hunt for other memorials. It was enough to +drive about the city trying to pick out a house here and there that +looked as if it might have been standing five hundred years, but if +there were any of that age—any that had looked upon the wild joy of +Joan's entrance and upon her triumphal departure, they were very few +indeed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXIX" id="Chapter_B_XXIX"></a>Chapter XXIX</h2> + +<h3>FONTAINEBLEAU</h3> + +<p>We turned north now, toward Fontainebleau, which we had touched a month +earlier on the way to Paris. It is a grand straight road from Orléans to +Fontainebleau, and it passes through Pithiviers, which did not look +especially interesting, though we discovered when it was too late that +it is noted for its almond cakes and lark pies. I wanted to go back +then, but the majority was against it.</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon we entered for the second time the majestic forest +of Fontainebleau and by and by came to the palace and the little town, +and to a pretty hotel on a side street that was really a village inn for +comfort and welcome. There was still plenty of daylight, mellow, waning +daylight, and the palace was not far away. We would not wait for it +until morning.</p> + +<p>I think we most enjoy seeing palaces about the closing hours. There are +seldom any other visitors then, and the waning afternoon sunlight in the +vacant rooms mellows their garish emptiness, and seems somehow to bring +nearer the rich pageant of life and love and death that flowed by there +so long and then one day came to an end, and now it is not passing any +more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was really closing time when we arrived at the palace, but the +custodian was lenient and for an hour we wandered through gorgeous +galleries, and salons, and suites of private apartments where queens and +kings lived gladly, loved madly, died sadly, for about four hundred +years. Francis I built Fontainebleau, on the site of a mediæval castle. +He was a hunter, and the forests of Fontainebleau, like those of +Chambord, were always famous hunting grounds. Louis XIII, who was born +in Fontainebleau, built the grand entrance staircase, from which two +hundred years later Napoleon Bonaparte would bid good-by to his generals +before starting for Elba. Other kings have added to the place and +embellished it; the last being Napoleon III, who built for Eugénie the +Bijou theater across the court.</p> + +<p>It may have been our mood, it may have been the tranquil evening light, +it may have been reality that Fontainebleau was more friendly, more +alive, more a place for living men and women to inhabit than any other +palace we have seen. It was hard to imagine Versailles as having ever +been a home for anybody. At Fontainebleau I felt that we were +intruding—that Madame de Maintenon, Marie Antoinette, Marie Louise, or +Eugénie might enter at any moment and find us there. Perhaps it was in +the apartments of Marie Antoinette that one felt this most. There is a +sort of personality in the gorgeousness of her bedchamber that has to +do, likely enough, with the memory of her tragic end, but certainly it +is there. The gilded ceiling sings of her; the satin hangings—a +marriage gift from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> the city of Lyons—breathe of her; even the iron +window-fastenings are not without personal utterance, for they were +wrought by the skillful hands of the king himself, out of his love for +her.</p> + +<p>The apartments of the first Napoleon and Marie Louise tell something, +too, but the story seems less intimate. Yet the table is there on which +Napoleon signed his abdication while an escort waited to take him to +Elba.</p> + +<p>For size and magnificence the library is the most impressive room in +Fontainebleau. It is lofty and splendid, and it is two hundred and +sixty-four feet long. It is called the gallery of Diana, after Diana of +Poitiers, who for a lady of tenuous moral fiber seems to have inspired +some pretty substantial memories. The ballroom, the finest in Europe, +also belongs to Diana, by special dedication of Henry II, who decorated +it magnificently to suit Diana's charms. Napoleon III gave great hunting +banquets there. Since then it has been always empty, except for +visitors.</p> + +<p>The custodian took us through a suite of rooms called the "Apartments of +the White Queens," because once they were restored for the widows of +French kings, who usually dressed in white. Napoleon used the rooms for +another purpose. He invited Pope Pius VII to Fontainebleau to sanction +his divorce from Josephine, and when the pope declined, Napoleon +prolonged the pope's visit for eighteen months, secluding him in this +luxurious place, to give him a chance to modify his views. They visited +together a good deal, and their interviews were not always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> calm. +Napoleon also wanted the pope to sign away the states of the Church, and +once when they were discussing the matter rather earnestly the emperor +boxed the pope's ears. He had a convincing way in those days. I wonder +if later, standing on the St. Helena headland, he ever recalled that +incident. If he did, I dare say it made him smile.</p> + +<p>The light was getting dim by the time we reached the pretty theater +which Louis Napoleon built for Eugénie. It is a very choice place, and +we were allowed to go on the stage and behind the scenes and up in the +galleries, and there was something in the dusky vacancy of that little +playhouse, built to amuse the last empress of France, that affected us +almost more than any of the rest of the palace, though it was built not +so long ago and its owner is still alive.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> It is not used, the +custodian told us—has never been used since Eugénie went away.</p> + +<p>From a terrace back of the palace we looked out on a pretty lake where +Eugénie's son used to sail a miniature full-rigged ship—large enough, +if one could judge from a picture we saw, to have held the little prince +himself. There was still sunlight on the treetops, and these and the +prince's little pavilion reflecting in the tranquil water made the place +beautiful. But the little vessel was not there. I wished, as we watched, +that it might come sailing by. I wished that the prince had never been +exiled and that he had not grown up and gone to his death in a South +African jungle. I wished that he might be back to sail his ship again, +and that Eugénie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> might have her theater once more, and that Louis +Napoleon's hunting parties might still assemble in Diana's painted +ballroom and fill the vacant palace with something besides mere +curiosity and vain imaginings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXX" id="Chapter_B_XXX"></a>Chapter XXX</h2> + +<h3>RHEIMS</h3> + +<p>We had meant to go to Barbizon, but we got lost in the forest next +morning, and when we found ourselves we were a good way in the direction +of Melun, so concluded to keep on, consoling ourselves with the thought +that Barbizon is not Barbizon any more, and would probably be a +disappointment, anyway. We kept on from Melun, also, after buying some +luncheon things, and all day traversed that beautiful rolling district +which lies east of Paris and below Rheims, arriving toward evening at +Épernay, the Sparnacum of antiquity and the champagne center of to-day. +Épernay was ancient once, but it is all new now, with wide streets and +every indication of business progress. We had no need to linger there. +We were anxious to get to Rheims.</p> + +<p>There had been heavy rains in the champagne district, and next morning +the gray sky and close air gave promise of more. The roads were not the +best, being rather slippery and uneven from the heavy traffic of the +wine carts. But the vine-covered hills between Épernay and Rheims, with +their dark-green matted leafage, seemed to us as richly productive as +anything in France.</p> + +<p>We were still in the hills when we looked down on the valley of the +Vesle and saw a city outspread<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> there, and in its center the +architectural and ecclesiastical pride of the world, the cathedral of +Rheims. Large as the city was, that great central ornament dwarfed and +dominated its surroundings. Thus Joan of Arc had seen it when at the +head of her victorious army she conducted the king to Rheims for his +coronation. She was nearing the fulfillment of her assignment, the +completion of the great labor laid upon her by the voices of her saints. +Mark Twain tells of Joan's approach to Rheims, of the tide of cheers +that swept her ranks at the vision of the distant towers:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>And as for Joan of Arc, there where she sat her horse, +gazing, clothed all in white armor, dreamy, beautiful, and +in her face a deep, deep joy, a joy not of earth; oh, she +was not flesh, she was spiritual! Her sublime mission was +closing—closing in flawless triumph. To-morrow she could +say, "It is finished—let me go free."</p></div> + +<p>It was the 16th of July that Joan looked down upon Rheims, and now, four +hundred and eighty-five years later, it was again July, with the same +summer glory on the woods, the same green and scarlet in the poppied +fields, the same fair valley, the same stately towers rising to the sky. +But no one can ever feel what Joan felt, can ever put into words, ever +so faintly, what that moment and that vision meant to the Domremy +shepherd girl.</p> + +<p>Descending the plain, we entered the city, crossed a bridge, and made +our way to the cathedral square. Then presently we were at the doorway +where Joan and her king had entered—the portal which has been called +the most beautiful this side of Paradise.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + +<p>How little we dreamed that we were among the last to look upon it in its +glory—that disfigurement and destruction lay only a few weeks ahead!</p> + +<p>It is not required any more that one should write descriptively of the +church of Rheims. It has been done so thoroughly, and so often, by those +so highly qualified for the undertaking, that such supplementary remarks +as I might offer would hardly rise even to the dignity of an +impertinence. Pergussen, who must have been an authority, for the +guidebook quotes him, called it, "perhaps the most beautiful structure +produced in the Middle Ages."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Nothing [he says] can exceed the majesty of its deeply +recessed portals, the beauty of the rose window that +surmounts them, or the elegance of the gallery that +completes the façade and serves as a basement to the light +and graceful towers that crown the composition.</p></div> + +<p>The cathedral was already two hundred years old when Joan arrived in +1429. But it must have looked quite fresh and new then, for, nearly five +centuries later, it seemed to have suffered little. Some of the five +hundred and thirty statues of its entrance were weatherworn and scarred, +but the general effect was not disturbed.</p> + +<p>Many kings had preceded Joan and her sovereign through the sacred +entrance. Long before the cathedral was built French sovereigns had come +to Rheims for their coronation, to be anointed with some drops of the +inexhaustible oil which a white dove had miraculously brought from +heaven for the baptism of Clovis. That had been nearly a thousand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> years +before, but in Joan's day the sacred vessel and its holy contents were +still preserved in the ancient abbey of St. Remi, and would be used for +the anointing of her king. The Archbishop of Rheims and his canons, with +a deputy of nobles, had been sent for the awesome relic, after the +nobles had sworn upon their lives to restore it to St. Remi when the +coronation was over. The abbot himself, attended by this splendid +escort, brought the precious vessel, and the crowd fell prostrate and +prayed while this holiest of objects, for it had been made in heaven, +passed by. We are told that the abbot, attended by the archbishop and +those others, entered the crowded church, followed by the five mounted +knights, who rode down the great central aisle, clear to the choir, and +then at a signal backed their prancing steeds all the distance to the +great doors.</p> + +<p>It was a mighty assemblage that had gathered for the crowning of Joan's +king. France, overrun by an invader, had known no real king for +years—had, indeed, well-nigh surrendered her nationality. Now the +saints themselves had taken up their cause, and in the person of a young +girl from an obscure village had given victory to their arms and brought +redemption to their throne. No wonder the vast church was packed and +that crowds were massed outside. From all directions had come pilgrims +to the great event—persons of every rank, among them two shepherds, +Joan's aged father and uncle, who had walked from Domremy, one hundred +and twenty miles, to verify with their own eyes what their ears could +not credit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> + +<p>Very likely the cathedral at Rheims has never known such a throng since +that day, nor heard such a mighty shout as went up when Joan and the +king, side by side, and followed by a splendid train, appeared at the +great side entrance and moved slowly to the altar.</p> + +<p>I think there must have fallen a deep hush then—a petrified stillness +that lasted through the long ceremonial, while every eye feasted itself +upon the young girl standing there at the king's side, holding her +victorious standard above him—the banner that "had borne the burden and +had earned the victory," as she would one day testify at her trial. I am +sure that vast throng would keep silence, scarcely breathing, until the +final word was spoken and the dauphin had accepted the crown and placed +it upon his head. But then we may hear borne faintly down the centuries +the roar of renewed shouting that told to those waiting without that the +great ceremony was ended, that Charles VII of France had been anointed +king. In the <i>Recollections</i> Mark Twain makes the Sieur de Conte say:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>What a crash there was! All about us cries and cheers, and +the chanting of the choir and the groaning of the organ; and +outside the clamoring of the bells and the booming of the +cannon.</p> + +<p>The fantastic dream, the incredible dream, the impossible +dream of the peasant child stood fulfilled.</p></div> + +<p>It had become reality—perhaps in that old day it even <i>seemed</i> +reality—but now, after five hundred years, it has become once more a +dream—to-day <i>our</i> dream—and in the filmy picture we see the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> shepherd +girl on her knees, saying to the crowned king:</p> + +<p>"My work which was given me to do is finished; give me your peace and +let me go back to my mother, who is poor and old and has need of me."</p> + +<p>But the king raises her up and praises her and confers upon her nobility +and titles, and asks her to name a reward for her service, and in the +old dream we hear her ask favor for her village—that Domremy, "poor and +hard pressed by reason of the war," may have its taxes remitted.</p> + +<p>Nothing for herself—no more than that, and in the presence of all the +great assemblage Charles VII pronounces the decree that, by grace of +Joan of Arc, Domremy shall be free from taxes forever.</p> + +<p>Here within these walls it was all reality five hundred years ago. We do +not study this interior to discover special art values or to distinguish +in what manner it differs from others we have seen. For us the light +from its great rose window and upper arches is glorified because once it +fell upon Joan of Arc in that supreme moment when she saw her labor +finished and asked only that she might return to Domremy and her flocks. +The statuary in the niches are holy because they looked upon that scene, +the altar paving is sanctified because it felt the pressure of her feet.</p> + +<p>We wandered about the great place, but we came back again and again to +the altar, and, looking through the railing, dreamed once more of that +great moment when a frail shepherd girl began anew the history of +France.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> + +<p>Back of the altar was a statue of Joan unlike any we have seen +elsewhere, and to us more beautiful. It was not Joan with her banner +aloft, her eyes upward. It was Joan with her eyes lowered, looking at no +outward thing, her face passive—the saddest face and the saddest eyes +in the world. It was Joan the sacrifice—of her people and her king.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXXI" id="Chapter_B_XXXI"></a>Chapter XXXI</h2> + +<h3>ALONG THE MARNE</h3> + +<p>It may have been two miles out of Rheims that we met the flood. There +had been a heavy shower as we entered the city, but presently the sun +broke out, bright and hot, too bright and too hot for permanence. Now +suddenly all was black again, there was a roar of thunder, and then such +an opening of the water gates of the sky as would have disturbed Noah. +There was no thought of driving through such a torrent. I pulled over to +the side of the road, but the tall high-trimmed trees afforded no +protection. Our top was a shelter, but not a complete one—the wind +drove the water in, and in a moment our umbrellas were sticking out in +every direction, and we had huddled together like chickens. The water +seemed to fall solidly. The world was blotted out. I had the feeling at +moments that we were being swept down some great submarine current.</p> + +<p>I don't know how long the inundation lasted. It may have been five +minutes—it may have been thirty. Then suddenly it stopped—it was +over—the sun was out!</p> + +<p>There was then no mud in France—not in the high-roads—and a moment or +two later we had revived, our engine was going, and we were gliding +between fair fields—fresh shining fields where scarlet poppy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> patches +were as pools of blood. There is no lovelier land than the Marne +district, from Rheims to Chalons and to Vitry-le-François. It had often +been a war district—a battle ground, fought over time and again since +the ancient allies defeated Attila and his Huns there, checking the +purpose of the "Scourge of God," as he styled himself, to found a new +dynasty upon the wreck of Rome. It could never be a battle ground again, +we thought—the great nations were too advanced for war. Ah me! Within +two months from that day men were lying dead across that very road, +shells were tearing at the lovely fields, and another stain had mingled +with the trampled poppies.</p> + +<p>Chalons-sur-Marne, like Rheims and Épernay, is a champagne center and +prosperous. There were some churches there, but they did not seem of +great importance. We stopped for water at Vitry-le-François, a hot, +uninteresting-looking place, though it had played a part in much +history, and would presently play a part in much more. It was always an +outpost against vandal incursions from the north, and Francis I rebuilt +and strengthened it.</p> + +<p>At Vitry we left the Marne and kept the wide road eastward, for we were +bound now for the Vosges, for Domremy on the Meuse, Joan's starting +place. The sun burned again, the road got hot, and suddenly during the +afternoon one of our tires went off like a gun.</p> + +<p>One of our old shoes had blown out at the rim, and there was a doubtful +look about the others. Narcissa and I labored in the hot sun—for there +was no shade from those slim roadside poplars—and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> with inside patches +and outside patches managed to get in traveling order again, though +personally we were pretty limp by the time we were ready to move, and a +good deal disheartened. The prospect of reaching Vevey, our base of +supplies, without laying up somewhere to order new tires was not bright, +and it became even less so that evening, when in front of the hotel at +St. Dizier another tire pushed out at the rim, and in the gathering +dusk, surrounded by an audience, I had to make further repairs before I +could get into the garage.</p> + +<p>Early next morning I gave those tires all a pretty general overhauling. +I put in blow-out patches wherever there seemed to be a weak place and +doubled them at the broken spots. By the time I got done we were +carrying in our tires all the extra rubber and leather and general +aid-to-the-injured stuff that had formerly been under the back seat, and +I was obliged to make a trip around to the supply garages for more. +Fortunately the weather had changed overnight, and it was cool. Old +tires and even new ones hold better on cool roads.</p> + +<p>It turned still cooler as we proceeded—it became chilly—for the Fourth +of July it was winterish. At Chalons we had expended three whole francs +for a bottle of champagne for celebration purposes, and when we made our +luncheon camp in a sheltered cover of a pretty meadow where there was a +clear, racing brook, we were too cold to sit down, and drank standing a +toast to our national independence, and would have liked more of that +delicious liquid warmth, regardless of cost. There could hardly have +been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> a more beautiful spot than that, but I do not remember any place +where we were less inclined to linger.</p> + +<p>Yet how quickly weather can change. Within an hour it was warm +again—not hot, but mildly pleasant, even delightful.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXXII" id="Chapter_B_XXXII"></a>Chapter XXXII</h2> + +<h3>DOMREMY</h3> + +<p>We were well down in the Vosges now and beginning to inquire for +Domremy. How strange it seemed to be actually making inquiries for a +place that always before had been just a part of an old legend—a +half-mythical story of a little girl who, tending her sheep, had heard +the voices of angels. One had the feeling that there could never really +be such a place at all, that, even had it once existed, it must have +vanished long ago; that to ask the way to it now would be like those who +in some old fairy tale come back after ages of enchantment and inquire +for places and people long forgotten. Domremy! No, it was not possible. +We should meet puzzled, blank looks, pitying smiles, in answer to our +queries. We should never find one able to point a way and say, "That is +the road to Domremy." One could as easily say "the road to Camelot."</p> + +<p>Yet there came a time when we must ask. We had been passing through +miles of wonderful forest, with regularly cut roads leading away at +intervals, suggesting a vast preserved estate, when we came out to an +open hill land, evidently a grazing country, with dividing roads and no +definite markings. So we stopped a humble-looking old man and +hesitatingly, rather falteringly, asked him the road to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> Domremy. He +regarded us a moment, then said very gently, pointing, "It is down there +just a little way."</p> + +<p>So we were near—quite near—perhaps even now passing a spot where Joan +had tended her sheep. Our informant turned to watch us pass. He knew why +we were going to Domremy. He could have been a descendant of those who +had played with Joan.</p> + +<p>Even now it was hard to believe that Domremy would be just an old +village, such a village as Joan had known, where humble folk led humble +lives tending their flocks and small acres. Very likely it had become a +tourist resort—a mere locality, with a hotel. It was only when we were +actually in the streets of a decaying, time-beaten little hamlet and +were told that this was indeed Domremy, the home of Joan of Arc, that we +awoke to the actuality of the place and to the realization that in +character at least it had not greatly changed.</p> + +<p>We drove to the church—an ancient, weatherworn little edifice. The +invaders destroyed it the same year that Joan set out on her march, but +when Joan had given safety to France the fragments were gathered and +rebuilt, so if it is not in its entirety the identical chapel where Joan +worshiped, it contains, at least, portions of the original structure and +stands upon the same ground. In front of the church is a bronze statue +of the Maid, and above the entrance a painting of Joan listening to the +voices. But these are modern. Inside are more precious things.</p> + +<p>It is a plain, humble interior, rather too fresh and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> new looking for +its antiquity, perhaps because of the whitened walls. But near the altar +there is an object that does not disappoint. It is an ancient baptismal +font—the original font of the little ruined chapel—the vessel in which +Joan of Arc was baptized. I think there can be no question of its +authenticity. It would be a holy object to the people of Domremy; to +them Joan was already a saint at the time of her death, and any object +that had served her was sacred. The relic dug from the ruined chapel +would be faithfully guarded, and there would be many still alive to +identify it when the church's restoration was complete and the ancient +vessel set in place.</p> + +<p>It seems a marvelous thing to be able to look upon an object that may be +regarded as the ceremonial starting point of a grace that was to redeem +a nation. Surely, if ever angels stood by to observe the rites of men +they gathered with those humble shepherd folk about the little basin +where a tiny soul was being consecrated to their special service.</p> + +<p>In the church also is the headstone from the grave of Joan's godmother, +with an ancient inscription which one may study out, and travel back a +long way. Near it is another object—one that ranks in honor with the +baptismal font—the statuette of St. Marguerite, before which Joan +prayed. Like the font this would be a holy thing, even in Joan's +lifetime, and would be preserved and handed down. To me it seems almost +too precious to remain in that ancient, perishing church. It is +something that Joan of Arc not only saw and touched, but to which she +gave spiritual adoration. To me it seems the most precious,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> the most +sacred relic in France. The old church appears so poor a protection for +it. Yet I should be sorry to see it taken elsewhere.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="ILL_010" id="ILL_010"></a> +<img src="images/ill_010.jpg" width="500" height="394" alt="Birthplace of Joan of Arc" title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Birthplace of Joan of Arc</span></span> +</div> + +<p>Joan's house is only a step away—a remnant of a house, for, though it +was not demolished like the church, it has suffered from alterations, +and portions of it were destroyed. Whatever remained at the time of +Louis XI would seem to have been preserved about as it was then, though +of course restored; the royal arms of France, with those accorded by +Charles VII to Joan and her family, were combined ornamentally above the +door with the date, 1481, and the inscription, in old French, "<i>Vive +labeur; vive le roy Loys.</i>" The son of Joan's king must have felt that +it was proper to preserve the birthplace of the girl who had saved his +throne.</p> + +<p>Doubtless the main walls of the old house of Jacques d'Arc are the same +that Joan knew. Joan's mother lived there until 1438, and it was less +than fifty years later that Louis XI gave orders for the restoration. +The old walls were solidly built. It is not likely that they could have +fallen to complete ruin in that time. The rest is mainly new.</p> + +<p>What the inside of the old house was in Joan's time we can only imagine. +The entrance room was the general room, I suppose, and it was here, we +are told, that Joan was born. Mark Twain has imagined a scene in the +house of Jacques d'Arc where a hungry straggler comes one night and +knocks at the door and is admitted to the firelit room. He tells us how +Joan gave the wanderer her porridge—against her father's argument, for +those were times of sore stress—and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> how the stranger rewarded them all +with the great Song of Roland. The general room would be the setting of +that scene.</p> + +<p>Behind it is a little dungeon-like apartment which is shown as Joan's +chamber. The walls and ceiling of this poor place are very old; possibly +they are of Joan's time—no one can really say. In one wall there is a +recess, now protected by a heavy wire screen, which means that Joan set +up her shrine there, the St. Marguerite and her other holy things. She +would pray to them night and morning, but oftener I think she would +leave this dim prison for the consolation of the little church across +the way.</p> + +<p>The whole house is a kind of museum now, and the upper floor is +especially fitted with cases for books and souvenirs.</p> + +<p>In the grounds there is a fine statue by Mercié, and the whole place is +leafy and beautiful. It is not easy, however, to imagine there the +presence of Joan. That is easier in the crooked streets of the village, +and still easier along the river and the fields. The Fairy +Tree—<i>l'Arbre Fée de Bourlement</i>—where Joan and her comrades played, +and where later she heard the voices, is long since gone, and the spot +is marked by a church which we cared to view only from a distance. It +seems too bad that any church should be there, and especially that one. +The spot itself, marked by a mere tablet, or another tree, would be +enough.</p> + +<p>It was in January, 1429, that Joan and her uncle Laxart left Domremy for +Vaucouleurs to ask the governor to give her a military escort to the +uncrowned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> king at Chinon. She never came back. Less than half a year +later she had raised the siege at Orléans, fought Patay, and conducted +the king to his coronation at Rheims. She would have returned then, but +the king was afraid to let her go. Neither did he have the courage to +follow or support her brilliant leadership. He was weak and paltry. +When, as the result of his dalliance, she was captured at Compiègne, he +allowed her to suffer a year of wretched imprisonment, making no attempt +at rescue or ransom, and in the end to be burned at Rouen as a witch.</p> + +<p>I have read in an old French book an attempt to excuse the king, to show +that he did not have armed force enough to go to Joan's rescue, but I +failed to find there any evidence that he even contemplated such an +attempt. I do find that when Joan had been dead thirteen years and +France, strong and united, was safe for excursions, he made a trip to +Lorraine, accompanied by Dunois, Robert de Baudricourt, and others of +Joan's favorite generals. They visited Domremy, and Baudricourt pointed +out to the king that there seemed to be a sadness in the landscape. It +is said that this visit caused Charles to hasten the process of Joan's +rehabilitation—to reverse the verdict of heresy and idolatry and +witchcraft under which she had died. But as the new hearing did not +begin until eleven years after the king's visit to Domremy, nearly +twenty-five years after Joan's martyrdom, the word "hasten" does not +seem to apply. If Charles VII finally bestirred himself in that process, +it was rather to show before he died that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> he held his crown not by the +favor of Satan but of saints.</p> + +<p>The memory of Joan of Arc's fate must always be a bitter one to France, +and the generations have never ceased to make atonement. Her martyrdom +has seemed so unnecessary—such a reproach upon the nation she saved.</p> + +<p>Yet perhaps it was necessary. Joan in half a year had accomplished what +the French armies, without her, had been unable to do in three quarters +of a century—she had crippled the English power in France. Her work was +not finished—though defeated, the enemy still remained on French soil, +and unless relentlessly assailed would recover. After the coronation at +Rheims there would seem to have fallen, even upon Joan's loyal +followers, a reaction, a period of indifference and indolence. Joan's +fearful death at the stake awoke her people as nothing else could have +done.</p> + +<p>By a lonely roadside far up in Normandy we passed, one day, a small +stone column which recorded how upon this spot was delivered the battle +of Formigny, April 15th, in the year 1450, under the reign of Charles +VII, and how the French were victorious and the English armies forced to +abandon Norman soil. Joan of Arc had been dead nineteen years when that +final battle was fought, but it was her spirit that gave the victory.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXXIII" id="Chapter_B_XXXIII"></a>Chapter XXXIII</h2> + +<h3>STRASSBURG AND THE BLACK FOREST</h3> + +<p>Our tires were distressingly bad now. I had to do some quick repairing +at Domremy, also between Domremy and Vaucouleurs, where we spent the +night. Then next morning at Vaucouleurs, in an unfrequented back street +behind our ancient inn, I established a general overhauling plant, and +patched and relined and trepanned during almost an entire forenoon, +while the rest of the family scoured the town for the materials. We put +in most of our time at Vaucouleurs in this way. However, there was +really little to see in the old town. Our inn was as ancient as +anything, and our landlord assured us that Joan's knights probably +stopped there, and even Uncle Laxart, but he could not produce his +register to prove it. There are the remains of the château where Joan is +said to have met the governor, and a monument to the Maid's memory has +been begun, but remains unfinished through lack of funds. The real +interest in Vaucouleurs, to-day, is that it was the starting point of +Joan's great march. One could reflect upon that and repair tires +simultaneously.</p> + +<p>We got away in time to have luncheon in the beautiful country below +Toul, and then kept on to Nancy. At both places there seemed to be +nothing but soldiers and barracks, and one did not have to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> get out of +the car to see those. Not that Nancy is not a fine big town, but its +cathedral and its Arch of Triumph are both of the eighteenth century. +Such things seemed rather raw and new, while museums did not interest us +any more.</p> + +<p>Lorraine itself is beautiful. It seemed especially fair where we crossed +the line into Germany, and we did not wonder that France could not +forget her loss of that fertile land. There was no difficulty at the +customs. We were politely O. K.'d by the French officials and +courteously passed by the Germans, with no examination beyond our +<i>triptyques</i>. Then another stretch of fine road and fair fields, and we +were in a village of cobbled streets and soldiers—German soldiers—and +were told that it was Dieuze; also that there was an inn—a very good +inn—a little way down the street. So there was—an inn where they spoke +French and German and even a variety of English, and had plenty of good +food and good beds for a very modest sum indeed. Dieuze was soon to +become a war town, but beyond a few soldiers—nothing unusual—we saw no +signs of it that first week in July.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="ILL_011" id="ILL_011"></a> +<img src="images/ill_011.jpg" width="500" height="397" alt="Strassburg, Showing the Cathedral" title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Strassburg, Showing the Cathedral</span></span> +</div> + +<p>Strassburg was our next stopping place. We put in a day there wandering +about its fine streets, looking at its picturesque old houses, its royal +palace, and its cathedral. I do not think we cared for the cathedral as +we did for those of France. It is very old and very wonderful, and +exhibits every form of architecture that has been employed in church +building for nearly a thousand years; but in spite of its great size, +its imposing height, its rich façade, there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> was something repellant +about it all, and particularly in its great bare interior. It seemed to +lack a certain light of romance, of poetry, of spiritual sympathy that +belongs to every French church of whatever size.</p> + +<p>And we were disappointed in the wonderful clock. It was very wonderful, +no doubt, but we had expected too much. We waited for an hour for the +great midday exhibition, and collected with a jam of other visitors in +the little clock chapel, expecting all the things to happen that we had +dreamed of since childhood. They all did happen, too, but they came so +deliberately and with so little liveliness of demonstration that one had +to watch pretty closely sometimes to know that anything was happening at +all. I think I, for one, had expected that the saints and apostles, and +the months and seasons, would all come out and do a grand walk around to +lively music. As for the rooster that crows, he does not crow as well as +Narcissa, who has the gift of imitation and could have astonished that +crowd if she had let me persuade her to try.</p> + +<p>There have been several of these Strassburg clocks. There was one of +them in the cathedral as far back as 1352. It ran for about two +centuries, when another, finished in 1574, took its place. The mechanism +of the new clock was worn out in another two centuries, but its +framework forms a portion of the great clock of to-day, which dates from +1840. It does a number of very wonderful things, but in this age of +contrivance, when men have made mechanical marvels past all belief, the +wonder of the Strassburg clock is largely traditional. The rooster that +crows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> and flaps his wings is really the chief feature, for it is the +rooster of the original clock, and thus has daily amused the generations +for five hundred years.</p> + +<p>Gutenberg, the first printer, began his earliest experiments in a +cloister outside the Strassburg gates, and there is a small public +square named for him, and in the center of it a fine statue with relief +groups of the great printers of all nations. Of course Franklin was +there and some other Americans. It gave us a sort of proprietary +interest in that neighborhood, and a kindly feeling for the city in +general.</p> + +<p>It was afternoon when we left Strassburg, and by nightfall we were in +the Black Forest—farther in than we had intended to be, by a good deal. +With our tires in a steady decline we had no intention of wandering off +into dark depths inhabited by fairies and woodcutters and full of weird +enchantments, with all of which Grimm's tales had made us quite +familiar. We had intended merely to go in a little way, by a main road +that would presently take us to Freiburg, where there would be a new +supply of patches and linings, and even a possibility of tires, in case +our need became very sore.</p> + +<p>But the Black Forest made good its reputation for enchantments. When we +came to the spot where, by our map, the road should lead to Freiburg, +there were only a deserted mill, with a black depth of pine growing +where the road should have been. Following along, we found ourselves +getting deeper and deeper into the thick forest, while the lonely road +became steeper and narrower and more and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> more awesome in the gathering +evening. There were no villages, no more houses of any kind. There had +been rain and the steep hills grew harder to climb. But perhaps a good +fairy was helping us, too, a little, for our crippled tires held. Each +time we mounted a perpendicular crest I listened for the back ones to +go, but they remained firm.</p> + +<p>By and by we started down—down <i>where</i> we had no notion—but certainly +down. Being under a spell, I forgot to put on the engine brake, and by +the time we were halfway down the hill the brake bands were hot and +smoking. By the time we were down the greasy linings were afire. There +was a brook there, and we stopped and poured water on our hot-boxes and +waited for them to cool. A woodcutter—he must have been one, for only +woodcutters and fairies live in the Black Forest—came along and told us +we must go to Haslach—that there was no other road to Freiburg, unless +we turned around and went back nearly to Strassburg. I would not have +gone back up that hill and through those darkening woods for much money. +So we went on and presently came out into a more open space, and some +houses; then we came to Haslach.</p> + +<p>By our map we were in the depths of the Schwarzwald, and by observation +we could see that we were in an old, beautiful village, of the right +sort for that locality, and in front of a big inn, where frauleins came +out to take our bags and show us up to big rooms—rooms that had great +billowy beds, with other billowy beds for covering. After all, the +enchantment was not so bad. And the supper that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> night of <i>Wiener +schnitzel</i> and <i>pfannekuchen</i> was certainly good, and hot, and plentiful +beyond belief.</p> + +<p>But there was more trouble next morning. One of those old back tires was +in a desperate condition, and trying to improve it I seemed to make +matters worse. I took it off and put in a row of blow-out patches all +the way around, after which the inner tubes popped as fast as I could +put them in and blow them up. Three times I yanked that tire off, and +then it began to occur to me that all those inside patches took up too +much room. It would have occurred to any other man sooner, but it takes +a long and violent period of pumping exercise to get a brain like mine +really loosened up once it is caked by a good night's sleep.</p> + +<p>So I yanked those patches out and put on our last hope—a spare tire in +fairly decent condition, and patiently patched those bursted tubes—all +of which work was done in a hot place under the eyes of a kindly but +maddening audience.</p> + +<p>Three times in the lovely land between Haslach and Freiburg Narcissa and +I had to take off a tire and change tubes, those new patches being not +air-proof. Still, we got on, and the scenery made up for a good deal. +Nothing could be more picturesque than the Black Forest houses, with +their great overhanging thatched roofs—their rows and clusters of +little windows, their galleries and ladders, and their clinging vines. +And what kindly people they are. Many of the roads are lined with cherry +trees and this was cherry season. The trees were full of gatherers, and +we had only to stop and offer to buy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> to have them load us with the +delicious black fruit, the sweetest, juiciest cherries in the world. +They accepted money, but reluctantly; they seemed to prefer to give them +to us, and more than once a boy or a man ran along by the car and threw +in a great loaded branch, and laughed, and waved and wished us <i>gute +reise</i>. But this had happened to us in France, too, in the Lorraine.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXXIV" id="Chapter_B_XXXIV"></a>Chapter XXXIV</h2> + +<h3>A LAND WHERE STORKS LIVE</h3> + +<p>We were at Freiburg in the lower edge of the Black Forest some time +during the afternoon, one of the cleanest cities I have ever seen, one +of the richest in color scheme. Large towns are not likely to be +picturesque, but Freiburg, in spite of its general freshness, has a look +of solid antiquity—an antiquity that has not been allowed to go to +seed. Many of the houses, including the cathedral, are built of a rich +red stone, and some of them have outer decorations, and nearly all of +them have beautiful flowers in the windows and along the balconies. I +should think a dweller in Freiburg would love the place.</p> + +<p>Freiburg has been, and still is, celebrated for many things; its +universities, its cathedral, its ancient buildings, in recent years for +its discovery of "twilight sleep," the latest boon which science has +offered to sorrow-laden humanity.</p> + +<p>It is a curious road from Freiburg to Basle. Sometimes it is a highway, +sometimes it is merely a farm road across fields. More than once we felt +sure we were lost and must presently bring up in a farmyard. Then +suddenly we would be between fine hedges or trees, on a wide road +entering a village.</p> + +<p>We had seen no storks when we left Freiburg. We had been told there were +some in Strassburg, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> no one had been able to point them out. We were +disappointed, for we had pictured in our minds that, once really in the +Black Forest, there would be, in almost any direction, a tall chimney +surmounted by a big brushy nest, with a stork sitting in it, and +standing by, supported on one very slim, very long, very perpendicular +leg, another stork, keeping guard. This is the picture we had seen many +times in the books, and we were grieved, even rather resentful, that it +was not to be found in reality. We decided that it probably belonged +only in the books, fairy books, and that while there might have been +storks once, just as there had once been fairies, they had disappeared +from mortal vision about the same time—that nobody in late years had +really seen storks—that—</p> + +<p>But just then we really saw some ourselves—sure-enough storks on an old +steeple, two of them, exactly as they always are in the pictures, one +nice mother stork sitting in a brushy nest and one nice father stork +standing on his stiff, perpendicular leg.</p> + +<p>We stopped the car to gaze. The church was in an old lost-looking +village, which this stork seemed to own, for there were no others, and +the few people we saw did not appear to have anything like the stork's +proprietary interest. We could hardly take our eyes from that old +picture, suddenly made reality.</p> + +<p>We concluded, however, that it was probably the only stork family in +Germany; but that, also, was a mistake. A little farther along, at +another village, was another old stubby steeple, and another pair of +storks, both standing this time, probably to see us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> go by. Every +village had them now, but I think in only one village did we see more +than a single pair. That little corner of the Schwarzwald will always +remain to us a part separated from the rest of the world—a sort of +back-water of fairyland.</p> + +<p>The German customs office is on one side of a road, the Swiss on the +other, and we stopped in a shady place and interviewed both. We did not +dread these encounters any more. We had long since learned that if there +was one class of persons abroad likely to be more courteous than others +to travelers, that class is the customs officials.</p> + +<p>This particular frontier was in the edge of Basle, and presently we had +crossed a bridge and were in the city, a big, beautiful city, though not +so handsome as Freiburg, not so rich in color, not quite so clean and +floral.</p> + +<p>We did not stop in Basle. There are wonders to be seen, but, all things +considered, we thought it better to go on. With good luck we might reach +Vevey next day, our European headquarters and base of supplies. We had +been more than two months on the road already; it was important that we +get to headquarters—more important than we knew.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXXV" id="Chapter_B_XXXV"></a>Chapter XXXV</h2> + +<h3>BACK TO VEVEY</h3> + +<p>So we went wandering through a rather unpopulous, semi-mountainous +land—a prosperous land, from the look of it, with big isolated factory +plants here and there by strongly flowing streams. They seemed to be +making almost everything along those streams. The Swiss are an +industrious people. Toward evening we came to a place we had never heard +of before, a town of size and of lofty buildings—a place of much +manufacturing, completely lost up in the hills, by name Moutier. It was +better not to go farther that night, for I could see by our road map +that there was going to be some steep climbing between Moutier and the +Lake Geneva slope. There are at least two divides between Moutier and +Geneva, and Swiss watersheds are something more than mere gentle slopes +such as one might meet in Ohio, for instance, or Illinois. They are +generally scrambles—they sometimes resemble ladders, though the road +surface is usually pretty good, with a few notable exceptions. We met +one of these exceptions next morning below Moutier. There had been +rains, and the slippery roads between those perpendicular skyscraping +bluffs had not dried at all. Our route followed a rushing stream a +little way; then it turned into the hill, and at that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> point I saw ahead +of me a road that was not a road at all, but a semi-perpendicular wallow +of mud and stone that went writhing up and up until it was lost +somewhere among the trees. I had expected a good deal, but nothing as +bad as this. I gave one wild, hopeless thought to our poor crippled rear +tires, threw the lever from third to second, from second back to first, +and let in every ounce of gasoline the engine would take. It really +never occurred to me that we were going to make it. I did not believe +anything could hold in that mud, and I expected in another minute to be +on the side of the road, with nothing to do but hunt up an ox-team. +Whir! slop! slosh! slide!—grind!—on one side and on the other—into a +hole and out of it, bump! thump! bang!—why, certainly we are climbing, +but we would never make the top, never in the world—it was hardly to be +expected of any car; and with those old tires! Never mind, we would go +till we stalled, or skidded out of the road.</p> + +<p>We were at the turn! We had made the turn! We were going straight up the +last rise! Only a little more, now—ten feet—five feet, <i>six inches</i>! +<i>Hooray!</i> we were on top of the hill, b'gosh!</p> + +<p>I got out and looked at the back tires. It was incredible, impossible, +but they were as sound and solid as when we left Moutier. Practically +our whole weight had been on those tires all the way up that fearful +log-haul, for that is what it was, yet those old tubes and outer +envelopes had not shown a sign. Explain it if you can.</p> + +<p>There was really no trouble after that. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> were hills, but the roads +were good. Our last day was a panorama of Swiss scenery in every form; +deep gorges where we stopped on bridges to look down at rushing torrents +far below; lofty mountains with narrow, skirting roads; beautiful +water-fronts and lake towns along the lakes of Biel and Neufchâtel, a +final luncheon under a great spreading shade—a birthday luncheon, as it +happened—and then, toward the end of the lovely July afternoon, a +sudden vision, from high harvest meadows, of the snow-clad mountaintops +beyond Lake Geneva—the peaks of the true Alps. And presently one saw +the lake itself, the water—hazy, dreamy, summery, with little steamers +so gay and toylike, plying up and down—all far below us as yet, for we +were still among the high hayfields, where harvesters were pitching and +raking, while before and behind us our road was a procession of hay +wagons.</p> + +<p>It was a continuous coast, now, down to Lausanne—the lake, as it +seemed, rising up to meet us, its colors and outlines becoming more +vivid, the lofty mountains beyond it approaching a little nearer, while +almost underneath us a beautiful city was gleaming in the late afternoon +sunshine.</p> + +<p>We were by this time among the vineyards that terrace those south-facing +steeps to the water's edge. Then we were at the outskirts of the city +itself, still descending, still coasting, for Lausanne is built mainly +on a mountainside. When we came to a comparative level at last, we were +crossing a great bridge—one of those that tie the several slopes of the +city together; then presently we were at St.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> Frances's church, the +chief center, and felt almost at home, for we had been here a good many +times before.</p> + +<p>We did not stop. Vevey was twelve miles down the lake—we had a feverish +desire to arrive there without having to pump those tires again, if +possible. Leisurely, happily, we covered that final lap of our long +tour. There is no more beautiful drive in Europe than that along Lake +Geneva, from Lausanne to Vevey on a summer evening, and there never was +a calmer, sweeter summer evening than that of our return. Oh, one must +drive slowly on such an evening! We were anxious to arrive, but not to +have the drive ended. Far down the lake the little towns we knew so well +began to appear—Territet, Montreux, Clarens, Vevey la Tour—we could +even make out the towers of Chillon. Then we passed below the ancient +village hanging to the mountainside, and there was Vevey, and there at +its outskirts our pretty hotel with its big gay garden, the blue lake +just in front, the driveway open. A moment more and the best landlady in +Europe was welcoming us in the most musical French and German in the +world. Our long round was ended—three thousand miles of the happiest +travel to be found this side of paradise. By and by I went out to look +at our faithful car in the little hotel garage. It had stood up to the +last moment on those old tires. I suppose then the tension was too much. +The left rear was quite flat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXXVI" id="Chapter_B_XXXVI"></a>Chapter XXXVI</h2> + +<h3>THE GREAT UPHEAVAL</h3> + +<p>It was the 10th of July that we returned to Vevey, and it was just three +weeks later that the world—a world of peace and the social interchange +of nations—came to an end.</p> + +<p>We had heard at Tours of the assassination of the Austrian archduke and +his duchess, but no thought of the long-threatened European war entered +our minds. Neither did we discover later any indications of it. If there +was any tension along the Franco-German border we failed to notice it. +Arriving at Vevey, there seemed not a ripple on the drowsy summer days. +Even when Austria finally sent her ultimatum to Serbia there was +scarcely a suggestion of war talk. We had all the nations in our hotel, +but they assembled harmoniously in the little reading room after dinner +over the papers and innocuous games, and if the situation was discussed +at all, the word "arbitration" was oftenest heard.</p> + +<p>Neither did the news come to us gradually or gently. It came like a +bomb, exploded one evening by Billy Baker, an American boy of sixteen +and a bulletin of sorts. Billy had been for his customary after-dinner +walk uptown, and it was clear the instant he plunged in that he had +gathered something unusual.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Say, folks," he burst out, "did you know that Austria has declared war +against Serbia and is bombarding Belgrade, and now all the others are +going to declare, and that us Americans have got to beat it for home?"</p> + +<p>There was a general stir. Billy's items were often delivered in this +abrupt way, but his news facts were seldom questioned. He went on, +adding a quick, crisp detail, while the varied nationalities assumed +attitudes of attention. The little group around the green center table +forgot what they were there for. I had just drawn a spade when I needed +a heart, and did not mind the diversion. Billy concluded his dispatches:</p> + +<p>"We've all got to beat it, you know, <i>now</i>, before all the ships and +trains and things are used for mobilization and before the fighting +begins. If we don't we'll have to stay here all winter." Then, his +mission finished, Billy in his prompt way pulled a chair to the table. +"Let me in this, will you?" he said. "I feel awfully lucky to-night."</p> + +<p>Americans laugh at most things. We laughed now at Billy Baker—at the +dramatic manner of his news, with its picturesque even if stupendous +possibilities—at the vision in everyone's mind of a horde of American +tourists "beating it" out of Europe at the first drum-roll of war.</p> + +<p>But not all in the room laughed. The "little countesses"—two Russian +girls—and their white-haired companion, talked rapidly and earnestly +together in low voices. The retired French admiral—old and +invalided—rose, his long cape flung back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> across his shoulder, and +walked feebly up and down, stopping at each turn to speak to his aged +wife, who sat with their son, himself an officer on leave. An English +judge, with a son at home, fraternized with the Americans and tried to +be gay with them, but his mirth lacked freedom. A German family +instinctively separated themselves from the others and presently were no +longer in the room. Even one of the Americans—a Southern girl—laughed +rather hysterically:</p> + +<p>"All my baggage but one suit case is stored in Frankfort," she said. "If +Germany goes to war I'll have a gay time getting it."</p> + +<p>Morning brought confirmation of Billy Baker's news, at least so far as +Austria's action was concerned, and the imminence of what promised to be +a concerted movement of other great nations toward war. It was said that +Russia was already mobilizing—that troops were in motion in Germany and +in France. That night, or it may have been the next, a telegram came for +the young French officer, summoning him to his regiment. His little son +of nine or ten raced about excitedly.</p> + +<p>"<i>L'Allmagne a mobilisé—mon père va à la guerre!</i>"</p> + +<p>The old admiral, too feeble, almost, to be out of bed, seemed to take on +a new bearing.</p> + +<p>"I thought I was done with war," he said. "I am an invalid, and they +could not call on me. But if France is attacked I shall go and fight +once more for my country."</p> + +<p>The German family—there were two grown sons in it—had already +disappeared.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was about the third morning that I took a walk down to the American +Consulate. I had been there before, but had not found it exciting. It +had been a place of silence and inactivity. There were generally a few +flies drifting about, and a bored-looking man who spent an hour or two +there morning and afternoon, killing time and glad of any little +diversion in the way of company.</p> + +<p>The Consulate was no longer a place of silence and buzzing flies. +There was buzzing in plenty, but it was made by my fellow +countrymen—country-women, most of them—who were indeed making things +hum. I don't know whether the consul was bored or not. I know he was +answering questions at the rate of one per second, and even so not +keeping up with the demand for information.</p> + +<p>"Is there going to be a war?" "Is England going into it?" "Has Germany +declared yet?" "Will we be safe in Switzerland?" "Will all Americans be +ordered home?" "Are the trains going to be stopped?" "Will we have to +have passports?" "I have got a sailing in September. Will the ships be +running then?" "How can I send a letter to my husband in Germany?" "How +about money? Are the Swiss banks going to stop payment on letters of +credit?"—these, repeated in every varying form, and a hundred other +inquiries that only a first-class registered clairvoyant could have +answered with confidence. The consul was good-natured. He was also an +optimist. His replies in general conveyed the suggestion to "keep cool," +that everything was going to be all right.</p> + +<p>The Swiss banks, however, did stop payment on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> letters of credit and +various forms of checks forthwith. I had a very pretty-looking check +myself, and a day or two before I had been haggling with the bank man +over the rate of exchange, which had been gently declining. I said I +would hold it for better terms. But on the day that Germany declared war +I decided to cash it, anyway, just to have a little extra money in +case—</p> + +<p>Oh, well, never mind the details. I didn't cash it. The bank man looked +at it, smiled feebly, and pointed to a notice on the wall. It was in +French, but it was an "easy lesson." It said:</p> + +<p class="center">No more checks or letters of credit cashed until further +notice.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">By order of the Association.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>I don't know yet what "Association" it was that was heartless enough to +give an order like that, but I hoped it would live to repent it. The +bank man said that in view of my position as a depositor he might be +induced to advance me 10 per cent of the amount of the check. The next +day he even refused to take it for collection. Switzerland is prudent; +she had mobilized her army about the second day and sent it to the +frontier. We had been down to the big market place to see it go. I never +saw anything more quiet—more orderly. She had mobilized her cash in the +same prompt, orderly fashion and sent it into safe retirement.</p> + +<p>It was a sorrowful time, and it was not merely American—it was +international. Switzerland never saw such a "busted community" as her +tourists presented<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> during August, 1914. Every day was Black Friday. +Almost nobody had any real money. A Russian nobleman in our hotel with a +letter of credit and a roll of national currency could not pay for his +afternoon tea. The little countesses had to stop buying chocolates. An +American army officer, retired, was unable to meet his laundry bill. +Even Swiss bank notes (there were none less than fifty francs in the +beginning) were of small service, for there was no change. All the +silver had disappeared as if it had suddenly dissolved. As for +gold—lately so plentiful—one no longer even uttered the <i>word</i> without +emotion. Getting away, "beating it," as Billy had expressed it, was +still a matter of prime importance, but it had taken second place. The +immediate question was how and where to get money for the "beating" +process. The whole talk was money. Any little group collected on the +street might begin by discussing the war, but, in whatever language, the +discussion drifted presently to finance. The optimistic consul was still +reassuring. To some he advanced funds—he was more liberal than the Bank +of Switzerland.</p> + +<p>There was a percentage, of course—a lucky few—who had money, and these +were getting away. There were enough of them along the Simplon Railway +to crowd the trains. Every train for Paris went through with the seats +and aisles full. All schedules were disordered. There was no telling +when a train would come, or when it would arrive in Paris. Billy Baker +promptly mobilized his party and they left sometime in the night—or it +may have been in the morning,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> after a night of waiting. It was the last +regular train to go. We did not learn of its fortunes.</p> + +<p>No word came back from those who left us. They all went with promises to +let us know, but a veil dropped behind them. They were as those who pass +beyond the things of earth. We heard something of their belongings, +however. Sometimes on clear days a new range of mountains seemed to be +growing in the west. It was thought to be the American baggage heaped on +the French frontier. Very likely our friends wrote to us, but there was +no more mail. The last American, French, and English letters came August +3d. The last Paris <i>Herald</i> hung on the hotel file and became dingy and +tattered with rereading. No mails went out. One could amuse himself by +writing letters and dropping them in the post office, but he would know, +when he passed a week later, that they had remained there. You could +still cable, if you wished to do so—in French—and there must have been +a scramble in America for French dictionaries, and a brisk hunting for +the English equivalents of whatever terse Berlitz idiom was used to +convey:</p> + +<p>"Money in a hurry—dead broke."</p> + +<p>Various economies began to be planned or practiced. Guests began to do +without afternoon tea, or to make it themselves in their rooms. Few were +paying their hotel bills, yet some went to cheaper places, frightened at +the reckoning that was piling up against settling day. Others, with a +little store of money, took very modest apartments and did light +housekeeping to stretch their dwindling substance. Some, even among +those at the hotels, in view of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> general uncertainty, began to lay +in tinned meats and other durable food against a time of scarcity. It +was said that Switzerland, surrounded by war, would presently be short +of provisions. Indeed, grocers, by order of the authorities, had already +cut down the sale of staples, and no more than a pound or two of any one +article was sold to a single purchaser. Hotels were obliged to send +their servants, one after another, and even their guests, to get enough +sugar and coffee and salt to go around. Hotel bills of fare—always +lavish in Switzerland—began to be cut down, by <i>request of the guests +themselves</i>. It was a time to worry, or—to "beat it" for home.</p> + +<p>We fell into the habit of visiting the Consulate each morning. When we +had looked over the little local French paper and found what new nations +had declared war against Germany overnight, we strolled down to read the +bulletins on the Consulate windows, which generally told us what steamer +lines had been discontinued, and how we couldn't get money on our checks +and letters of credit. Inside, an active commerce was in progress. No +passport had been issued from that Consulate for years. Nobody in Europe +needed one. You could pass about as freely from Switzerland to France or +Germany as you could from Delaware to New Jersey.</p> + +<p>Things were different now. With all Europe going to war, passports +properly viséd were as necessary as train tickets. The consul, swamped +with applications, had called for volunteers, and at several little +tables young men were saying that they did not know most of the things +those anxious people—women,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> mainly—were asking about, but that +everything would surely be all right, soon. Meantime, they were helping +their questioners make out applications for passports.</p> + +<p>There were applications for special things—personal things. There was a +woman who had a husband lost somewhere in Germany and was convinced he +would be shot as a spy. There was a man who had been appointed to a post +office in America and was fearful of losing it if he did not get home +immediately. There were anxious-faced little school-teachers who had +saved for years to pay for a few weeks abroad, and were now with only +some useless travelers' checks and a return ticket on a steamer which +they could not reach, and which might not sail even if they reached it. +And what of their positions in America? Theirs were the sorrowful cases, +and there were others.</p> + +<p>But the crowd was good-natured, as a whole—Americans are generally +that. The stranded ones saw humor in their situation, and confessed to +one another—friends and strangers alike—their poverty and their +predicaments, laughing a good deal, as Americans will. But there were +anxious faces, too, and everybody wanted to know a number of things, +which he asked of everybody else, and of the consul—oh, especially of +the consul—until that good-natured soul was obliged to take an annex +office upstairs where he could attend to the manufacture of passports, +while downstairs a Brooklyn judge was appointed to supervise matters and +deal out official information in judicial form.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> + +<p>The judge was qualified for his appointment. Every morning before ten +o'clock—opening time—he got together all the matters—letters, +telegrams, and the like—that would be apt to interest the crowd, and +dealt this substance out in a speech, at the end of which he invited +inquiries on any point he had failed to make clear.</p> + +<p>He got them, too—mainly questions that he had already answered, because +there is a type of mind which does not consider information valid unless +delivered to it individually and, in person. I remember, once, when +among other wild rumors it had been reported that because of the food +scarcity all foreigners would be ordered out of Switzerland in five +days, a woman who had listened attentively to the judge's positive and +thrice-repeated denial of this canard promptly asked him if she could +stay in Switzerland if she wanted to.</p> + +<p>The judge's speech became the chief interest of the day. It was the +regular American program to assemble in front of the Consulate, +exchanging experiences and reading the bulletins until opening time. The +place was in a quiet side street of the quaint old Swiss city, a step +from the lake-front promenade, with a background of blue mountains and +still bluer water. Across the street stood a sixteenth-century château +with its gardens of greenery. At ten the Consulate doors opened and the +little group pressed in for the speech. I am sure no one in our stranded +assembly will easily forget those mornings.</p> + +<p>Promising news began to come. The judge announced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> one morning that five +hundred thousand francs had been placed to the consular credit in +Switzerland by America for the relief of her citizens. Great happiness +for the moment! Hope lighted every face. Then some mathematician +figured that five hundred thousand francs amounted to a hundred +thousand dollars, and that there were ten thousand Americans in +Switzerland—hence, ten dollars apiece. The light of hope grew dim. +There was not a soul in that crowd who needed less than two hundred +dollars to pay his board and get him home. Ten thousand times two +hundred—it is a sizable sum. And what of the rest of Europe? The +mathematician figured that there were a quarter of a million Americans +in Europe, all willing to go home, and that it would take fifty million +dollars and a fleet of five hundred fair-sized ships to deliver them in +New York.</p> + +<p>Still, that five hundred thousand francs served a good purpose. An +allotment of it found its way to our consul, to use at his discretion. +It came to the right man. Here and there were those who had neither +money nor credit. To such he had already advanced money from his own +limited supply. His allowance, now, would provide for those needy ones +until more came. It was not sufficient, however, to provide one woman +with three hundred francs to buy a set of furs she had selected, though +she raged up and down the office and threatened to report him to +Washington, and eventually flung some papers in his face. It turned out +later that she was not an American. I don't know what she was—mostly +wildcat, I judge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p> + +<p>Further news came—still better. The government would send a +battleship—the <i>Tennessee</i>—with a large sum of gold. The deposit of +this specie in the banks of Europe would make checks and letters of +credit good again. Various monies from American banks, cabled for by +individuals, would also arrive on this ship.</p> + +<p>Things generally looked brighter. With the British fleet protecting the +seas, English, French, and Dutch liners were likely to keep their +schedules; also, there were some Italian boats, though these were +reported to be overrun by "swell" Americans who were paying as high as +one thousand dollars for a single berth. Perhaps the report was true—I +don't know. None of our crowd cared to investigate.</p> + +<p>There were better plans nearer home—plans for "beating it" out of +Switzerland on a big scale. Special trains were to be provided—and +ships. A commission was coming on the <i>Tennessee</i> to arrange for these +things. The vessel had already left New York.</p> + +<p>The crowd at the Consulate grew larger and more feverishly interested. +Applications for passports multiplied. Over and over, and in great +detail, the Brooklyn judge explained just what was necessary to insure +free and safe departure from Europe when the time came to go. Over and +over we questioned him concerning all those things, and concerning ever +so many other things that had no particular bearing on the subject, and +he bore it and beamed on us and was fully as patient as was Moses in +that other wilderness we wot of.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> + +<p>Trains began to run again through France; at least they started, and I +suppose they arrived somewhere. Four days, six days, eight days was said +to be the time to Paris, with only third-class coaches, day and night, +all the aisles full—no food and no water except what was carried. It +was not a pleasant prospect and few of our people risked it. The +<i>Tennessee</i> was reported to have reached England and the special +American trains were promised soon. In fact, one was presently +announced. It went from Lindau, through Germany, and was too far east +for most of our crowd. Then there were trains from Lucerne and +elsewhere; also, special English trains. Then, at last a Simplon train +was scheduled: Territet, Montreux, Vevey, Lausanne, Geneva—all aboard +for Paris!</p> + +<p>Great excitement at the Consulate. The <i>Tennessee</i> money could arrive +any day now; everybody could pay up and start. The Brooklyn judge +rehearsed each morning all the old details and presented all the news +and requirements. The train, he said, would go through a nation that was +at war. It would be under military surveillance. Once on the train, one +must stay on it until it arrived in Paris. In Paris passengers must go +to the hotels selected, they must leave at the time arranged and by the +train provided, and must accept without complaint the ship and berth +assigned to each. It would be a big tourist party personally conducted +by the United States for her exiled citizens. The United States was not +ordering its citizens to leave Switzerland; it was merely providing a +means for those who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> must go at once and had not provided for +themselves. The coaches would be comfortable, the price as usual, red +cards insuring each holder a seat would be issued at the Consulate. +Tickets through to New York would be provided for those without funds. +The government could do no more. Any questions, please?</p> + +<p>Then a sharp-faced, black-haired, tightly hooked woman got up and wanted +to know just what style the coaches would be—whether they would have +aisles down the side; whether there would be room to lie down at will; +whether meals would be served on the train; whether there would be time +at Dijon to get off and see some friends; whether she could take her +dog; whether her ticket would be good on another train if she didn't +like this one when she saw it. The judge will probably never go into the +tourist-agency business, even if he retires from the law.</p> + +<p>Well, that particular train did not go, after all. Or, rather, it did +go, but few of our people went on it. There was a misunderstanding +somewhere. The Germans were getting down pretty close to Paris just +then, and from the invisible "somewhere" an order came countermanding +the train. The train didn't hear of it, however, and not all of the +people. Those who took it must have had plenty of room, and they must +have gone through safely. If the Germans got them we should have heard +of it, I think. Those who failed to take it were not entirely sorry. The +<i>Tennessee</i> money had not been distributed yet, and it was badly needed. +I don't know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> what delayed it. Somewhere—always in that invisible +"somewhere"—there was a hitch about that, too. It still had not arrived +when the <i>next</i> train was scheduled—at least, not much of it. It had +not come on the last afternoon of the last day, when the train was to go +early in the morning. It was too bad. There was a borrowing and an +arranging and a negotiating at the banks that had become somewhat less +obdurate these last days, with the <i>Tennessee</i> in the offing. But many +went away pretty short, and, but for the consul, the shortness would +have been shorter and more general.</p> + +<p>It was a fine, big, comfortable train that went next morning. A little +group of us who were not yet ready to "beat it" went down to see our +compatriots go. There seemed to be room enough, and at least some of the +coaches had aisles down the sides. I do not know whether the +sharp-faced, tightly hooked woman had her dog or not. There was a great +waving, and calling back, and much laughter as the train rolled away. +You could tell as easily as anything that the Americans were "beating +it" for home.</p> + +<p>Heavy installments of the <i>Tennessee</i> money began to arrive at the +Consulate next day. I got some of it myself.</p> + +<p>A day or two later I dropped into the Consulate. It had become a quiet +place again, as in the days that already seemed very long ago. It was +hard to believe in the reality of the eager crowd that used to gather +there every morning to tell their troubles and laugh over them, and to +collect the morning news.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> Now, again, the place was quite empty, except +for a few flies drowsing about and the rather tired, bored-looking man +who came to spend an hour or two there every morning, killing time and +glad of any little diversion in the way of company.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_B_XXXVII" id="Chapter_B_XXXVII"></a>Chapter XXXVII</h2> + +<h3>THE LONG TRAIL ENDS</h3> + +<p>It was not until near the end of October that we decided to go. We had +planned to remain for another winter, but the aspect of things did not +improve as the weeks passed. With nine tenths of Europe at war and the +other tenth drilling, there was a lack of repose beneath the outward +calm, even of Vevey. In the midst of so many nervous nations, to linger +until spring might be to remain permanently.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, our occupations were curtailed. Automobiles were +restricted, the gasoline supply cut off. The streets had a funereal +look. I was told that I could get a special permit to use the car, but +as our gasoline supply consisted of just about enough to take us over +the Simplon Pass into Italy, we decided to conserve it for that purpose. +The pass closes with the first big snow, usually the 15th of October. +The presence of many soldiers there would keep it open this year a +little longer. It could not be risked, however, later than the end of +the month.</p> + +<p>We debated the matter pretty constantly, for the days of opportunity +were wasting. We wasted ten of them making a little rail and pedestrian +trip around Switzerland, though in truth those ten glorious days of +October tramping along the lakes and through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> the hills are not likely +to be remembered as really wasted by any of us. When we returned I got a +military pass to take the car out of Switzerland, but it was still +another week before we packed our heavy baggage and shipped it to Genoa. +We were a fair example of any number of families, no longer enthralled +by Europe and not particularly needed at home. I think hesitation must +have nearly killed some people.</p> + +<p>It was the 27th of October—a perfect morning—when for the last time I +brought the car to the front of our hotel, and we strapped on our bags +and with sad hearts bade good-by to the loveliest spot and the best +people in Europe. Then presently we were working our way through the +gay, crowded market place (though we did not feel gay) down through the +narrow, familiar streets, with their pretty shops where we had bought +things, and their little <i>pâtisseries</i> where we had eaten things; down +through La Tour, and along the lake to Clarens and Montreux, and past +Chillon, and so up the valley of the Rhone to Brigue, the Swiss entrance +to the Simplon Pass.</p> + +<p>We had new tires now, and were not troubled about our going; but the +world had grown old and sad in three months, and the leaves were blowing +off of the trees, and the glory had gone out of life, because men were +marching and killing one another along those happy fields that such a +little while before had known only the poppy stain and the marching of +the harvesters—along those shady roads where good souls had run with +the car to hand us cherries and wish us "<i>Gute reise.</i>"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p> + +<p>We crossed the Simplon in the dullness of a gray mist, and at the top, +six hundred feet in the peaks, met the long-delayed snowstorm, and knew +that we were crossing just in time.</p> + +<p>Down on the Italian slope the snow turned to rain and the roads were not +good. The Italians dump rock into their roads and let the traffic wear +it down. We were delayed by a technicality on the Swiss border, and it +was dark by the time we were in Italy—dark and rainy. Along the road +are overhanging galleries—really tunnels, and unlighted. Our prestolite +had given out and our oil lamps were too feeble. I have never known a +more precarious drive than across that long stretch from Gondo to +Domodossola, through the night and pouring rain. It seemed endless, and +when the lights of the city first appeared I should have guessed the +distance still to be traveled at forty miles. But we did arrive; and we +laid up three days in a hotel where it was cold—oh, very cold—but +where blessedly there was a small open fire in a little sitting room. +Also, the food was good.</p> + +<p>It had not quit raining even then, but we started, anyway. One can get a +good deal of Domodossola in three days, though it is a very good town, +where few people stop, because they are always going somewhere else when +they get there. Our landlady gave us a huge bunch of flowers at parting, +too huge for our limited car space. A little way down the road I had to +get out and fix something; an old woman came and held an umbrella over +me, and, having no Italian change, I gave her the flowers, and a Swiss +nickel, and a German five-pfennig piece, and she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> thanked me just as if +I had contributed something valuable. The Italians are polite.</p> + +<p>We went to Stresa on Lake Maggiore, and stopped for the night, and +visited Isola Bella, of course, and I bought a big red umbrella which +the others were ashamed of, and fell away from me when I opened it as if +I had something contagious. They would rather get soaking wet, they +said, than be seen walking under that thing. Pride is an unfortunate +asset. But I didn't have the nerve myself to carry that umbrella on the +streets of Milan. Though Stresa is not far away, its umbrellas are +unknown in Milan, and when I opened it my audience congested traffic. I +didn't suppose anything could be too gay for an Italian.</p> + +<p>We left the car at Milan and made a rail trip to Venice. It was still +raining every little while and many roads were under water, so that +Venice really extended most of the way to Milan, and automobile travel +was thought to be poor in that direction. All the old towns over there +we visited, for we were going home, and no one could say when Europe +might be comfortable for tourists again. A good deal of the time it +rained, but a good deal of the time it didn't, and we slept in hotels +that were once palaces, and saw much, including Juliet's tomb at Verona, +and all the things at Padua, and we bought violets at Parma, and +sausages at Bologna. Then we came back to Milan and drove to Genoa, +stopping overnight at Tortona, because we thought we would be sure to +find there the ices by that name. But they were out of them, I suppose, +for we could not find any.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p> + +<p>Still we had no definite plans about America; but when at Genoa we found +we could ship the car on a pretty little Italian vessel and join the +same little ship ourselves at Naples, all for a very reasonable sum. I +took the shipping man to the hotel garage, turned the car over to him, +and the thing was done.</p> + +<p>So we traveled by rail to Pisa, to Florence, to Rome, to Naples and +Pompeii, stopping as we chose; for, as I say, no one could tell when +Europe would be a visiting place again, and we must see what we could.</p> + +<p>So we saw Italy, in spite of the rain that fell pretty regularly, and +the rather sharp days between-time. We did not know that those rains +were soaking down to the great central heat and would produce a terrible +earthquake presently, or we might have been rather more anxious to go. +As it was, we were glad to be there and really enjoyed all the things.</p> + +<p>Yet, there was a different feeling now. The old care-freedom was gone; +the future had become obscure. The talk everywhere was of the war; in +every city soldiers were marching, fine, beautiful regiments, commanded +by officers that were splendidly handsome in their new uniforms. We were +told that Italy would not go to war—at least not until spring, but it +was in the air, it was an ominous cloud. Nowhere in Europe was anything +the same.</p> + +<p>One day our little ship came down from Genoa, and we went aboard and +were off next morning. We lay a day at Palermo, and then, after some +days of calm sailing in the Mediterranean, launched out into the +Atlantic gales and breasted the storms for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> nearly two weeks, pitching +and rolling, but homeward bound.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A year and four months from a summer afternoon when we had stood on the +upper deck of a little French steamer in Brooklyn and looked down into +the hold at a great box that held our car, I went over to Hoboken and +saw it taken from another box, and drove it to Connecticut alone, for +the weather was cold, the roads icy. It was evening when I arrived, +Christmas Eve, and when I pushed back the wide door, drove into the +barn, cut off the engine, and in the dim winter light saw our capable +conveyance standing in its accustomed place, I had the curious feeling +of never having been away at all, but only for a winter's drive, +dreaming under dull skies of summertime and France. And the old +car—that to us had always seemed to have a personality and +sentience—had it been dreaming, too?</p> + +<p>It was cold there, and growing dark. I came out and locked the door. We +had made the circuit—our great adventure was over. Would I go again, +under the same conditions? Ah me! that wakens still another dream—for +days ahead. I suppose one should not expect more than one real glimpse +of heaven in this world, but at least one need not give up hoping.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The old rates of exchange are used in this book.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Our honey-dew melon is a mild approach to it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> The reader is reminded that this was in a day when few cars +cranked otherwise than by hand.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Written in 1913. Mistral died March 24th of the following +year.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Daudet in his <i>Lettres de Mon Moulin</i> says: +</p><p> +"<i>II y à quatre ans, lorsque l'Académie donna à l'auteur de 'Mireille' +le prix de trois mille francs. Mme. Mistral [sa mère] eut une idée.</i> +</p><p> +"'<i>Si nous faisons tapisser et plafonner ta chambre?' dit elle à son +fils.</i> +</p><p> +"'<i>Non! non!' répondit Mistral. 'Ca c'est l'argent des poëtes, on n'y +touche pas.'</i>"</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> The word arena derives its name from the sand, strewn to +absorb the blood.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Alphonse Daudet's "La Mule de Pape," in his <i>Lettres de Mon +Moulin</i>, gives a delightful picture of Avignon at this period.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> At Mark Twain's death his various literary effects passed +into the hands of his biographer, the present writer.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> In 1913-14. The rate to-day is somewhat higher.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> I have thought since that she may have meant that the +Swiss do not lead the world in the art and literary industries. She may +have connected those things with intelligence—you never can tell.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> When the call to arms came, August 1, 1914, Switzerland +put 250,000 men on her frontier in twenty-four hours.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Written at the Anchor Inn, Ouchy, Lausanne, in 1817.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> "<i>La Diligence de Baucoire</i>" in <i>Lettre de Mon Moulin</i>, +Alphonse Daudet.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> It was oftener from sixteen to eighteen francs, but the +time when we stopped at larger towns, like Le Puy, Lyons, and Valence, +brought up the average. These are antewar prices. I am told there is +about a 50-per-cent increase (on the dollar basis) to-day. The value of +the French franc is no longer a fixed quantity.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> The reader must continue to bear in mind that this was in +a golden age. The cost would probably be nearer 150 francs to-day +(1921), or $12 American money. Even so, it would be cheaper than staying +at home, in America.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Tours during the World War became a great training camp, +familiar to thousands of American soldiers.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> She lived six years longer, dying in 1920.</p></div> + +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 35068-h.txt or 35068-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/5/0/6/35068">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/0/6/35068</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Car That Went Abroad + Motoring Through the Golden Age + + +Author: Albert Bigelow Paine + + + +Release Date: January 25, 2011 [eBook #35068] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD*** + + +E-text prepared by Annie McGuire from page images generously made +available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 35068-h.htm or 35068-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35068/35068-h/35068-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35068/35068-h.zip) + + + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive. See + http://www.archive.org/details/carthatwentabroa00painuoft + + + + + +THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + + * * * * * + +BOOKS BY +ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + +_For Grown-ups_ + + THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + THE LURE OF THE MEDITERRANEAN + DWELLERS IN ARCADY + FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER + MOMENTS WITH MARK TWAIN + MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS + MARK TWAIN: A BIOGRAPHY + PEANUT: THE STORY OF A BOY + SHORT LIFE OF MARK TWAIN + LIFE OF THOMAS NAST + THE TENT-DWELLERS + +_For Young Readers_ + + THE BOYS' LIFE OF MARK TWAIN + HOLLOW TREE NIGHTS AND DAYS + THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP-WOODS BOOK + THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK + +_Small books of several stories each, selected from the above Hollow +Tree books:_ + + HOW MR. DOG GOT EVEN + HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL + MR. RABBIT'S BIG DINNER + MAKING UP WITH MR. DOG + MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT BALLOON TRIP + MR RABBIT'S WEDDING + MR. CROW AND THE WHITEWASH + MR. TURTLE'S FLYING ADVENTURE + WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY + +HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK +ESTABLISHED 1817 + + * * * * * + + +[Illustration: "THE NORMANDY ROAD TO CHERBOURG IS AS WONDERFUL AS ANY IN +FRANCE"--See p. 226] + + +THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + +Motoring Through the Golden Age + +by + +ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + +Author of +"Dwellers in Arcady," "The Ship Dwellers," etc. + +Illustrated from drawings by Walter Hale + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + +Harper & Brothers Publishers +New York and London + +Copyright, 1921, by Harper & Brothers + + + + +CONTENTS + + +Part I + +THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. DON'T HURRY THROUGH MARSEILLES 3 + II. MOTORING BY TRAM 9 + III. ACROSS THE CRAU 19 + IV. MISTRAL 27 + V. THE ROME OF FRANCE 30 + VI. THE WAY THROUGH EDEN 40 + VII. TO TARASCON AND BEAUCAIRE 43 + VIII. GLIMPSES OF THE PAST 48 + IX. IN THE CITADEL OF FAITH 52 + X. AN OLD TRADITION AND A NEW EXPERIENCE 58 + XI. WAYSIDE ADVENTURES 65 + XII. THE LOST NAPOLEON 72 + XIII. THE HOUSE OF HEADS 79 + XIV. INTO THE HILLS 85 + XV. UP THE ISERE 89 + XVI. INTO THE HAUTE-SAVOIE 94 + XVII. SOME SWISS IMPRESSIONS 101 + XVIII. THE LITTLE TOWN OF VEVEY 113 + XIX. MASHING A MUD GUARD 123 + XX. JUST FRENCH--THAT'S ALL 127 + XXI. WE LUGE 131 + + +Part II + +MOTORING THROUGH THE GOLDEN AGE + + I. THE NEW PLAN 143 + II. THE NEW START 146 + III. INTO THE JURAS 151 + IV. A POEM IN ARCHITECTURE 160 + V. VIENNE IN THE RAIN 164 + VI. THE CHATEAU I DID NOT RENT 168 + VII. AN HOUR AT ORANGE 172 + VIII. THE ROAD TO PONT DU GARD 178 + IX. THE LUXURY OF NIMES 182 + X. THROUGH THE CEVENNES 186 + XI. INTO THE AUVERGNE 193 + XII. LE PUY 196 + XIII. THE CENTER OF FRANCE 200 + XIV. BETWEEN BILLY AND BESSEY 205 + XV. THE HAUTE-LOIRE 209 + XVI. NEARING PARIS 213 + XVII. SUMMING UP THE COST 219 + XVIII. THE ROAD TO CHERBOURG 223 + XIX. BAYEUX, CAEN, AND ROUEN 228 + XX. WE COME TO GRIEF 234 + XXI. THE DAMAGE REPAIRED--BEAUVAIS AND COMPIEGNE 238 + XXII. FROM PARIS TO CHARTRES AND CHATEAUDUN 244 + XXIII. WE REACH TOURS 250 + XXIV. CHINON, WHERE JOAN MET THE KING, AND AZAY 255 + XXV. TOURS 260 + XXVI. CHENONCEAUX AND AMBOISE 264 + XXVII. CHAMBORD AND CLERY 271 + XXVIII. ORLEANS 278 + XXIX. FONTAINEBLEAU 283 + XXX. RHEIMS 288 + XXXI. ALONG THE MARNE 295 + XXXII. DOMREMY 299 + XXXIII. STRASSBURG AND THE BLACK FOREST 306 + XXXIV. A LAND WHERE STORKS LIVE 313 + XXXV. BACK TO VEVEY 316 + XXXVI. THE GREAT UPHEAVAL 320 + XXXVII. THE LONG TRAIL ENDS 336 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + "THE NORMANDY ROAD TO CHERBOURG IS AS WONDERFUL AS ANY IN + FRANCE" _Frontispiece_ + + "WHERE ROADS BRANCH OR CROSS THERE ARE SIGNBOARDS.... + YOU CAN'T ASK A MAN 'QUEL EST LE CHEMIN' FOR ANYWHERE WHEN + YOU ARE IN FRONT OF A SIGNBOARD WHICH IS SHOUTING THE + INFORMATION" _Facing p._ 46 + + MARK TWAIN'S "LOST NAPOLEON"--"THE COLOSSAL SLEEPING FIGURE + IN ITS SUPREME REPOSE" 80 + + MARCHE VEVEY--"IN EACH TOWN THERE IS AN OPEN SQUARE, WHICH + TWICE A WEEK IS PICTURESQUELY CROWDED" 108 + + "YOU CAN SEE SON LOUP FROM THE HOTEL STEPS IN VEVEY, BUT IT + TAKES HOURS TO GET TO IT" 134 + + DESCENDING THE JURAS 162 + + THE TOMB OF MARGARET OF AUSTRIA, CHURCH OF BROU 162 + + "THROUGH HILLSIDE VILLAGES WHERE NEVER A STONE HAD BEEN + MOVED, I THINK, IN CENTURIES" 214 + + BIRTHPLACE OF JOAN OF ARC 308 + + STRASSBURG, SHOWING THE CATHEDRAL 308 + + + + +PREFACE + + + FELLOW-WANDERER: + + The curtain that so long darkened many of the world's happy + places is lifted at last. Quaint villages, old cities, + rolling hills, and velvet valleys once more beckon to the + traveler. + + The chapters that follow tell the story of a small family + who went gypsying through that golden age before the war + when the tree-lined highways of France, the cherry-blossom + roads of the Black Forest, and the high trails of + Switzerland offered welcome to the motor nomad. + + The impressions set down, while the colors were fresh and + warm with life, are offered now to those who will give a + thought to that time and perhaps go happily wandering + through the new age whose dawn is here. + + A. B. P. + _June, 1921._ + + + + +Part I + + +THE CAR THAT WENT ABROAD + + + + +Chapter I + +DON'T HURRY THROUGH MARSEILLES + + +Originally I began this story with a number of instructive chapters on +shipping an automobile, and I followed with certain others full of +pertinent comment on ocean travel in a day when all the seas were as a +great pleasure pond. They were very good chapters, and I hated to part +with them, but my publisher had quite positive views on the matter. He +said those chapters were about as valuable now as June leaves are in +November, so I swept them aside in the same sad way that one disposes of +the autumn drift and said I would start with Marseilles, where, after +fourteen days of quiet sailing, we landed with our car one late August +afternoon. + +Most travelers pass through Marseilles hastily--too hastily, it may be, +for their profit. It has taken some thousands of years to build the +"Pearl of the Mediterranean," and to walk up and down the rue Cannebiere +and drink coffee and fancy-colored liquids at little tables on the +sidewalk, interesting and delightful as that may be, is not to become +acquainted with the "pearl"--not in any large sense. + +We had a very good and practical reason for not hurrying through +Marseilles. It would require a week or more to get our car through the +customs and obtain the necessary licenses and memberships for inland +travel. Meantime we would do some sight-seeing. We would begin +immediately. + +Besides facing the Old Port (the ancient harbor) our hotel looked on the +end of the Cannebiere, which starts at the Quai and extends, as the +phrase goes, "as far as India," meaning that the nations of the East as +well as those of the West mingle there. We understood the saying as soon +as we got into the kaleidoscope. We were rather sober-hued bits +ourselves, but there were plenty of the other sort. It was the end of +August, and Marseilles is a semi-tropic port. There were plenty of white +costumes, of both men and women, and sprinkled among them the red fezzes +and embroidered coats and sashes of Algiers, Morocco, and the Farther +East. And there were ladies in filmy things, with bright hats and +parasols; and soldiers in uniforms of red and blue, while the wide +pavements of that dazzling street were literally covered with little +tables, almost to the edges. And all those gay people who were not +walking up and down, chatting and laughing, were seated at the little +tables with red and green and yellow drinks before them and pitchers of +ice or tiny cups of coffee, and all the seated people were laughing and +chattering, too, or reading papers and smoking, and nobody seemed to +have a sorrow or a care in the world. It was really an inspiring sight, +after the long, quiet days on the ship, and we loitered to enjoy it. It +was very busy around us. Tramcars jangled, motors honked, truckmen and +cabmen cracked their whips incessantly. Newswomen, their aprons full of +long pockets stuffed with papers, offered us journals in phrases that I +did not recognize as being in my French phonograph; cabmen hailed us in +more or less English and wanted to drive us somewhere; flower sellers' +booths lined both sides of a short street, and pretty girls held up +nosegays for us to see. Now and then a beggar put out a hand. + +The pretty drinks and certain ices we saw made us covetous for them, but +we had not yet the courage to mingle with those gay people and try our +new machine-made French right there before everybody. So we slipped into +a dainty place--a _patisserie boulangerie_--and ordered coffee and +chocolate ice cream, and after long explanations on both sides got iced +coffee and hot chocolate, which was doing rather well, we thought, for +the first time, and, anyhow, it was quite delicious and served by a +pretty girl whose French was so limpid that one could make himself +believe he understood it, because it was pure music, which is not a +matter of arbitrary syllables at all. + +We came out and blended with the panaroma once more. It was all so +entirely French, I said; no suggestion of America anywhere. But +Narcissa, aged fifteen, just then pointed to a flaming handbill over the +entrance of a cinematograph show. The poster was foreign, too, in its +phrasing, but the title, "_L'aventures d'Arizona Bill_" certainly had a +flavor of home. The Joy, who was ten, was for going in and putting +other things by, but we overruled her. Other signs attracted us--the +window cards and announcements were easy lessons in French and always +interesting. + +By and by bouquets of lights breaking out along the streets reminded us +that it was evening and that we were hungry. There were plenty of +hotels, including our own, but the dining rooms looked big and warm and +expensive and we were dusty and economical and already warm enough. We +would stop at some open-air place, we said, and have something dainty +and modest and not heating to the blood. We thought it would be easy to +find such a place, for there were perfect seas of sidewalk tables, +thronged with people, who at first glance seemed to be dining. But we +discovered that they were only drinking, as before, and perhaps nibbling +at little cakes or rolls. When we made timid and rudimentary inquiries +of the busy waiters, they pointed toward the hotels or explained things +in words so glued together we could not sort them out. How different it +all was from New York, we said. Narcissa openly sighed to be back on +"old rue de Broadway," where there were restaurants big and little every +twenty steps. + +We wandered into side streets and by and by found an open place with a +tiny green inclosure, where a few people certainly seemed to be eating. +We were not entirely satisfied with the look of the patrons, but they +were orderly, and some of them of good appearance. The little tables had +neat white cloths on them, and the glassware shone brightly in the +electric glow. So we took a corner position and studied the rather +elaborate and obscure bill of fare. It was written, and the few things +we could decipher did not seem cheap. We had heard about food being +reasonable in France, but single portions of fish or cutlets at ".45" +and broiled chicken at "1.20" could hardly be called cheap in this +retired and unpretentious corner. One might as well be in a better +place--in New York. We wondered how these unfashionable people about us +could look so contented and afford to order such liberal supplies. Then +suddenly a great light came. The price amounts were not in dollars and +cents, but in francs and centimes. The decimals were the same, only you +divided by five to get American values. There is ever so much +difference.[1] + +The bill of fare suddenly took on a halo. It became almost unbelievable. +We were tempted to go--it was too cheap to be decent. But we were weary +and hungry, and we stayed. Later we were glad. We had those things which +the French make so well, no matter how humble the place--"_pot au feu, +bouillabaisse_" (the fish soup which is the pride of Marseilles--our +first introduction to it), lamb chops, a crisp salad, Gruyere cheese, +with a pint of red wine; and we paid--I try to blush when I tell it--a +total for our four of less than five francs--that is to say, something +under a dollar, including the tip, which was certainly large enough, if +one could judge from the lavish acknowledgment of the busy person who +served us. + +We lingered while I smoked, observing some curious things. The place +filled up with a democratic crowd, including, as it did, what were +evidently well-to-do tradesmen and their families, clerks with their +young wives or sweethearts, single derelicts of both sexes, soldiers, +even workmen in blouses. Many of them seemed to be regular customers, +for they greeted the waiters and chatted with them during the serving. +Then we discovered a peculiar proof that these were in fact steady +patrons. In the inner restaurant were rows of hooks along the walls, and +at the corners some racks with other hooks. Upon these were hanging, not +hats or garments, but dozens of knotted white cloths which we discovered +presently to be table napkins, large white serviettes like our own. +While we were trying to make out why they should be variously knotted +and hung about in that way a man and woman went in and, after a brief +survey of the hooks, took down two of the napkins and carried them to a +table. We understood then. The bill of fare stated that napkins were +charged for at the rate of five centimes (one cent) each. These were +individual leaseholdings, as it were, of those who came regularly--a +fine example of French economy. We did not hang up our napkins when we +went away. We might not come back, and, besides, there were no empty +hooks. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] The old rates of exchange are used in this book. + + + + +Chapter II + +MOTORING BY TRAM + + +A little book says: "Thanks to a unique system of tramways, Marseilles +may be visited rapidly and without fatigue." They do not know the word +"trolley" in Europe, and "tramway" is not a French word, but the French +have adopted it, even with its "w," a letter not in their alphabet. The +Marseilles trams did seem to run everywhere, and they were cheap. Ten +centimes (two cents) was the fare for each "zone" or division, and a +division long enough for the average passenger. Being sight-seers, we +generally paid more than once, but even so the aggregate was modest +enough. The circular trip around the Corniche, or shore, road has four +of these divisions, with a special rate for the trip, which is very long +and very beautiful. + +We took the Corniche trip toward evening for the sake of the sunset. The +tram starts at the rue de Rome and winds through the city first, across +shaded courts, along streets of varying widths (some of them so old and +ever so foreign, but always clean), past beautiful public buildings +always with deep open spaces or broad streets in front of them, for the +French do not hide their fine public architectures and monuments, but +plant them as a landscape gardener plants his trellises and trees. Then +all at once we were at the shore--the Mediterranean no longer blue, but +crimson and gold with evening, the sun still drifting, as it seemed, +among the harbor islands--the towers of Chateau d'If outlined on the +sky. On one side the sea, breaking against the rocks and beaches, +washing into little sheltered bays--on the other the abrupt or terraced +cliff, with fair villas set in gardens of palm and mimosa and the rose +trees of the south. Here and there among the villas were palace-like +hotels, with wide balconies that overlooked the sea, and down along the +shore were tea houses and restaurants where one could sit at little +tables on pretty terraces just above the water's edge. + +So we left the tram at the end of a zone and made our way down to one of +those places, and sat in a little garden and had fish, freshly caught, +and a cutlet, and some ripe grapes, and such things; and we watched the +sun set, and stayed until the dark came and the Corniche shore turned +into a necklace of twinkling lights. Then the tram carried us still +farther, and back into the city at last, by way of the Prado, a broad +residential avenue, with trees rising dark on either side. + +At the end of a week in Marseilles we had learned a number of +things--made some observations--drawn some conclusions. It is a very old +city--old when the Greeks settled there twenty-five hundred years +ago--but it has been ravaged and rebuilt too often through the ages for +any of its original antiquity to remain. Some of the buildings have +stood five or six hundred years, perhaps, and are quaint and +interesting, with their queer roofs and moldering walls which have +known siege and battle and have seen men in gaudy trappings and armor go +clanking by, stopping to let their horses drink at the scarred fountains +where to-day women wash their vegetables and their clothing. We were +glad to have looked on those ancient relics, for they, too, would soon +be gone. The spirit of great building and progress is abroad in +Marseilles--the old clusters of houses will come down--the hoary +fountains worn smooth by the hands of women and the noses of thirsty +beasts will be replaced by new ones--fine and beautiful, for the French +build always for art, let the race for commercial supremacy be ever so +swift. Fifty or one hundred years from now it will be as hard to find +one of these landmarks as it is to-day relics of the Greek and Roman +times, and of the latter we found none at all. Tradition has it that +Lazarus and his family came to Marseilles after his resuscitation, but +the house he occupied is not shown. Indeed, there is probably not a +thing above ground that Lucian the Greek saw when he lived here in the +second century. + +The harbor he sailed into remains. Its borders have changed, but it is +the same inclosed port that sheltered those early galleys and triremes +of commerce and of war. We looked down upon it from our balcony, and +sometimes in the dim morning, or in the first dusk of evening when its +sails were idle and its docks deserted, it seemed still to have +something of the past about it, something that was not quite reality. +Certain of its craft were old in fashion and quaint in form, and if even +one trireme had lain at anchor there, or had come drifting in, we might +easily have fancied this to be the port that somewhere is said to harbor +the missing ships. + +It is a busy place by day. Its quays are full of trucks and trams and +teams, and a great traffic going on. Lucian would hardly recognize any +of it at all. The noise would appall him, the smoking steamers would +terrify him, the _transbordeur_--an aerial bridge suspended between two +Eiffel towers, with a hanging car that travels back and forth like a +cash railway--would set him praying to the gods. Possibly the fishwives, +sorting out sea food and bait under little awnings, might strike him as +more or less familiar. At least he would recognize their occupation. +They were strung along the east quay, and I had never dreamed that the +sea contained so many strange things to eat as they carried in stock. +They had oysters and clams, and several varieties of mussels, and some +things that looked like tide-worn lumps of terra cotta, and other things +that resembled nothing else under heaven, so that words have not been +invented to describe them. + +Then they had _oursins_. I don't know whether an _oursin_ is a bivalve +or not. It does not look like one. The word "_oursin_" means hedgehog, +but this _oursin_ looked a great deal more like an old, black, +sea-soaked chestnut bur--that is, before they opened it. When the +_oursin_ is split open-- + +But I cannot describe an opened _oursin_ and preserve the proprieties. +It is too--physiological. And the Marseillais eat those things--eat them +raw! Narcissa and I, who had rather more limb and wind than the others, +wandered along the quay a good deal, and often stood spellbound watching +this performance. Once we saw two women having some of them for early +breakfast with a bottle of wine--fancy! + +By the way, we finally discovered the restaurants in Marseilles. At +first we thought that the Marseillais never ate in public, but only +drank. This was premature. There are restaurant districts. The rue +Colbert is one of them. The quay is another, and of the restaurants in +that precinct there is one that no traveler should miss. It is Pascal's, +established a hundred years ago, and descended from father to son to the +present moment. Pascal's is famous for its fish, and especially for its +_bouillabaisse_. If I were to be in Marseilles only a brief time, I +might be willing to miss the Palais Longchamps or a cathedral or two, +but not Pascal's and _bouillabaisse_. It is a glorified fish chowder. I +will say no more than that, for I should only dull its bloom. I started +to write a poem on it. It began: + + Oh, bouillabaisse, I sing thy praise. + +But Narcissa said that the rhyme was bad, and I gave it up. Besides, I +remembered that Thackeray had written a poem on the same subject. + +One must go early to get a seat at Pascal's. There are rooms and rooms, +and waiters hurrying about, and you must give your order, or point at +the bill of fare, without much delay. Sea food is the thing, and it +comes hot and delicious, and at the end you can have melon--from +paradise, I suppose, for it is pure nectar--a kind of liquid cantaloupe +such as I have seen nowhere else in this world.[2] You have wine if you +want it, at a franc a bottle, and when you are through you have spent +about half a dollar for everything and feel that life is a song and the +future made of peace. There came moments after we found Pascal's when, +like the lotus eaters, we felt moved to say: "We will roam no more. This +at last is the port where dreams come true." + +Our motor clearance required a full ten days, but we did not regret the +time. We made some further trips by tram, and one by water--to Chateau +d'If, on the little ferry that runs every hour or so to that historic +island fortress. To many persons Chateau d'If is a semi-mythical island +prison from which, in Dumas' novel, Edmond Dantes escapes to become the +Count of Monte Cristo, with fabulous wealth and an avenging sword. But +it is real enough; a prison fortress which crowns a barren rock, twenty +minutes from the harbor entrance, in plain view from the Corniche road. +Francois I laid its corner stone in 1524 and construction continued +during the next seventy years. It is a place of grim, stubby towers, +with an inner court opening to the cells--two ranges of them, one above +the other. The furniture of the court is a stone stairway and a well. + +Chateau d'If is about as solid and enduring as the rock it stands on, +and it is not the kind of place one would expect to go away from alive, +if he were invited there for permanent residence. There appears to be no +record of any escapes except that of Edmond Dantes, which is in a novel. +When prisoners left that island it was by consent of the authorities. I +am not saying that Dumas invented his story. In fact, I insist on +believing it. I am only saying that it was a remarkable exception to the +general habit of the guests in Chateau d'If. Of course it happened, for +we saw cell B where Dantes was confined, a rayless place; also cell A +adjoining, where the Abbe Faria was, and even the hole between, through +which the Abbe counseled Dantes and confided the secret of the treasure +that would make Dantes the master of the world. All of the cells have +tablets at their entrances bearing the names of their most notable +occupants, and that of Edmond Dantes is prominently displayed. It was +good enough evidence for us. + +Those cells are on the lower level, and are merely black, damp holes, +without windows, and with no floors except the unleveled surface of the +rock. Prisoners were expected to die there and they generally did it +with little delay. One Bernadot, a rich Marseilles merchant, starved +himself, and so found release at the end of the twelfth day; but +another, a sailor named Jean Paul, survived in that horrible darkness +for thirty-one years. His crime was striking his commander. Many of the +offenses were even more trifling; the mere utterance of a word offensive +to some one in power was enough to secure lodging in Chateau d'If. It +was even dangerous to have a pretty daughter or wife that a person of +influence coveted. Chateau d'If had an open door for husbands and +fathers not inclined to be reasonable in such matters. + +The second-story prisons are larger and lighter, but hardly less +interesting. In No. 5 Count Mirabeau lodged for nearly a year, by +suggestion of his father, who did not approve of his son's wild ways and +thought Chateau d'If would tame him. But Mirabeau put in his time +writing an essay on despotism and planning revolution. Later, one of the +neighboring apartments, No. 7, a large one, became the seat of the +_tribunal revolutionnaire_ which condemned there sixty-six to the +guillotine. + +Many notables were sent to Chateau d'If on the charge of disloyalty to +the sovereign. In one of the larger cells two brothers were imprisoned +for having shared the exile of one Chevalier Glendeves who was obliged +to flee from France because he refused to go down on his knees to Louis +XIV. Royalty itself has enjoyed the hospitality of Chateau d'If. Louis +Philippe of Orleans occupied the same large apartment later, which is +really quite a grand one for a prison, with a fireplace and space to +move about. Another commodious room on this floor was for a time the +home of the mysterious Man of the Iron Mask. + +These are but a few--one can only touch on the more interesting names. +"Dead after ten years of captivity"; "Dead after sixteen years of +captivity"; such memoranda close many of the records. Some of the +prisoners were released at last, racked with disease and enfeebled in +mind. Some went forth to the block, perhaps willingly enough. It is not +a place in which one wishes to linger. You walk a little way into the +blackest of the dungeons, stumbling over the rocks of the damp, +unleveled floor, and hurry out. You hesitate a moment in the larger, +lighter cells and try to picture a king there, and the Iron Mask; you +try to imagine the weird figure of Mirabeau raging and writing, and +then, a step away, the grim tribunal sorting from the nobility of France +material for the guillotine. It is the kind of thing you cannot make +seem real. You can see a picture, but it is always away somewhere--never +quite there, in the very place. + +Outside it was sunny, the sea blue, the cliffs high and sharp, with +water always breaking and foaming at their feet. The Joy insisted on +being shown the exact place where Dantes was flung over, but I was +afraid to try to find it. I was afraid that there would be no place +where he could be flung into the water without hitting the sharp rocks +below, and that would end the story before he got the treasure. I said +it was probably on the other side of the island, and besides it was +getting late. We sailed home in the evening light, this time into the +ancient harbor, and landed about where Lucian used to land, I should +think, such a long time ago. + +It was our last night in Marseilles. We had been there a full ten days, +altogether, and time had not hung upon our hands. We would still have +lingered, but there was no longer an excuse. Even the car could not +furnish one. Released from its prison, refreshed with a few liters of +gasoline--_essence_, they call it--and awakened with a gentle hitch or +two of the crank, it began its sweet old murmur, just as if it had not +been across some thousands of miles of tossing water. Then, the clutch +released, it slipped noiselessly out of the docks, through the narrow +streets, to a garage, where it acquired its new numbers and a bath, and +maybe a French lesson or two, so that to-morrow it might carry us +farther into France. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[2] Our honey-dew melon is a mild approach to it. + + + + +Chapter III + +ACROSS THE CRAU + + +There are at least two ways to leave Marseilles for the open plain of +the Provence, and we had hardly started before I wished I had chosen the +other one. We were climbing the rue de la Republique, or one of its +connections, when we met, coming down on the wrong side of the tram +line, one of the heaviest vehicles in France, loaded with iron castings. +It was a fairly crowded street, too, and I hesitated a moment too long +in deciding to switch to the wrong side, myself, and so sneak around the +obstruction. In that moment the monstrous thing decided to cross to its +own side of the road, which seemed to solve the problem. I brought the +car to a standstill to wait. + +But that was another mistake; I should have backed. The obstruction +refused to cross the tram track. Evidently the rails were slippery and +when the enormous wheels met the iron they slipped--slipped toward +us--ponderously, slowly, as inevitable as doomsday. I was willing to +back then, but when I shifted the lever I forgot something else and our +engine stopped. There was not enough gravity to carry us back without +it; neither was there room, or time, to crank.[3] So there we were, +with that mountain closing in upon us like a wall of Poe's collapsing +room. + +It was fascinating. I don't think one of us thought of jumping out and +leaving the car to its fate. The truck driver was frantically urging his +team forward, hoping the wheels would catch, but only making them slide +a little quicker in our direction. They were six inches away, now--five +inches--three inches--one inch--the end of the hub was touching our mud +guard. What we _might_ have done then--what _might_ have happened +remains guesswork. What did happen was that the huge steel tire reached +a joint in the tram rail and unhurriedly lifted itself over, just as if +that was what it had been intending to do all the time. I had strength +enough left to get out and crank up, then, but none to spare. A little +more paint off the front end of the mud guard, but that was nothing. I +had whetted those guards on a variety of things, including a cow, in my +time. At home I had a real passion for scraping them against the door +casing of the garage, backing out. + +Still, we were pretty thoughtful for several miles and missed a road +that turns off to Arles, and were on the way to Aix, which we had +already visited by tram. Never mind; Aix was on the way to Arles, too, +and when all the roads are good roads a few miles of motor travel more +or less do not count. Only it is such a dusty way to Aix, and we were +anxious to get into the cleaner and more inviting byways. + +We were at the outskirts, presently, and when we saw a military-looking +gentleman standing before a little house marked "_L'Octroi_" we stopped. +I had learned enough French to know that _l'octroi_ means a local +custom house, and it is not considered good form to pass one of them +unnoticed. It hurts the _l'octroi_ man's feelings and he is backed by +the _gendarmerie_ of France. He will let you pass, and then in his +sorrow he will telephone to the police station, just ahead. There you +will be stopped with a bayonet, or a club, or something, and brought +back to the _l'octroi_, where you will pay an _amend_ of six francs; +also costs; also for the revenue stamp attached to your bill of +particulars; also for any little thing which you may happen to have upon +which duty may be levied; also for other things; and you will stand +facing a half-open cell at the end of the corridor while your account is +being made up--all of which things happened to a friend of mine who +thought that because an _octroi_ man looked sleepy he was partly dead. +Being warned in this way, we said we would stop for an _octroi_ man even +if he were entirely dead; so we pulled up and nodded politely, and +smiled, and said, "Bon joor, messoor," and waited his pleasure. + +You never saw a politer man. He made a sweeping salute and said--well, +it doesn't matter just what he said--I took it to be complimentary and +Narcissa thought it was something about vegetables. Whatever it was, we +all smiled again, while he merely glanced in the car fore and aft, gave +another fine salute and said, "_Allay_" whereupon we understood, and +_allayed_, with counter-salutes and further smiles--all of which seemed +pleasanter than to be brought back by a _gendarme_ and stood up in front +of a cell during the reckoning process. + +Inquiring in Aix for the road to Arles we made a discovery, to wit: they +do not always pronounce it "Arl" in the French way, but "Arlah," which +is Provencal, I suppose, the remains of the old name "Arlate." One young +man did not seem even to recognize the name Arles, though curiously it +happened that he spoke English--enough, at least, to direct us when he +found that it was his Provencal "Arlah" that we wanted. + +So we left Aix behind us, and with it the dust, the trams, and about the +last traces of those modern innovations which make life so comfortable +when you need them and so unpeaceful when you prefer something else. The +one great modern innovation which bore us silently along those level +roads fell into the cosmic rhythm without a jar--becoming, as it seemed, +a sort of superhuman activity, such as we shall know, perhaps, when we +get our lost wings again. + +I don't know whether Provence roads are modern or not. I suspect they +were begun by the Roman armies a good while ago; but in any case they +are not neglected now. They are boulevards--no, not exactly that, for +the word "boulevard" suggests great width. They are avenues, then, ample +as to width, and smooth and hard, and planted on both sides with exactly +spaced and carefully kept trees. Leaving Aix, we entered one of these +highways running straight into the open country. Naturally we did not +expect it to continue far, not in that perfectly ordered fashion, but +when with mile after mile it varied only to become more beautiful, we +were filled with wonder. The country was not thickly settled; the road +was sparsely traveled. Now and then we passed a heavy team drawing a +load of hay or grain or wine barrels, and occasionally, very +occasionally, we saw an automobile. + +It was a fair, fertile land at first. There were rich, sloping fields, +vineyards, olive gardens, and plumy poplars; also, an occasional stone +farmhouse that looked ancient and mossy and picturesque, and made us +wish we could know something of the life inside its heavy walls. We said +that sometime we would stop at such a place and ask them to take us in +for the night. + +Now and then we passed through a village, where the streets became +narrow and winding, and were not specially clean. They were interesting +places enough, for they were old and queer, but they did not invite us +to linger. They were neither older nor more queer than corners of +Marseilles we had seen. Once we saw a kind of fair going on and the +people in holiday dress. + +At Salon, a still larger and cleaner place, we stopped to buy something +for our wayside luncheon. Near the corner of a little shaded square a +man was selling those delectable melons such as we had eaten in +Marseilles; at a shop across the way was a window full of +attractions--little cheeses, preserved meats, and the like. I gathered +up an assortment, then went into a _boulangerie_ for bread. There was +another customer ahead of me, and I learned something, watching his +transaction. Bread, it seemed, was not sold by the loaf there, but by +exact weight. The man said some words and the woman who waited on him +laid two loaves, each about a yard long, on the scales. Evidently they +exceeded his order, for she cut off a foot or so from one loaf. Still +the weight was too much, and she cut off a slice. He took what was left, +laid down his money, and walked out. I had a feeling that the end and +slice would lie around and get shopworn if I did not take them. I +pointed at them, and she put them on the scales. Then I laid down a +franc, and she gave me half a gill of copper change. It made the family +envious when they saw how exactly I had transacted my purchase. There is +nothing like knowing the language. We pushed on into the country again, +stopped in a shady, green place, and picnicked on those good things for +which we had spent nearly four francs. There were some things left over, +too; we could have done without the extra slice of bread. + +There were always mountains in view, but where we were the land had +become a level plain, once, ages ago, washed by the sea. We realized +this when the fertile expanse became, little by little, a barren--a mere +waste, at length, of flat smooth stones like cobble, a floor left by the +departing tides. "La Crau" it is called, and here there were no homes. +No harvest could grow in that land--nothing but a little tough grass, +and the artificially set trees on either side of the perfectly smooth, +perfectly straight road that kept on and on, mile after mile, until it +seemed that it must be a band around the world. How can they afford to +maintain such a road through that sterile land? + +The sun was dropping to the western horizon, but we did not hurry. I set +the throttle to a point where the speedometer registered fifteen miles +an hour. So level was the road that the figures on the dial seemed fixed +there. There was nothing to see but the unbroken barren, the perfectly +regular rows of sycamore or cypress, and the evening sky; yet I have +seldom known a drive more inspiring. Steadily, unvaryingly, and silently +heading straight into the sunset, we seemed somehow a part of the +planetary system, little brother to the stars. + +It was dusk when we reached the outskirts of Arles and stopped to light +the lamps. The wide street led us into the business region, and we hoped +it might carry us to the hotels. But this was too much to expect in an +old French, Provencal, Roman city. Pausing, we pronounced the word +"hotel," and were directed toward narrower and darker ways. We had +entered one of these when a man stepped out of the shadow and took +charge of us. I concluded that we were arrested then, and probably would +not need a hotel. But he also said "hotel," and, stepping on the +running-board, pointed, while I steered, under his direction. I have no +idea as to the way we went, but we came out into a semi-lighted square +directly in front of a most friendly-looking hostelry. Then I went in +and aired some of my phonograph French, inquiring about rooms on the +different _etages_ and the cost of _diners_ and _dejeuners_, and the +landlady spoke so slowly and distinctly that it made one vain of his +understanding. + +So we unloaded, and our guide, who seemed to be an _attache_ of the +place, directed me to the garage. I gathered from some of the sounds he +made that the main garage was _complet_--that is to say, full--and we +were going to an annex. It was an interesting excursion, but I should +have preferred to make it on foot and by daylight. We crossed the square +and entered a cobbled street--no, a passage--between ancient walls, lost +in the blackness above, and so close together below that I hesitated. It +was a place for armored men on horseback, not for automobiles. We crept +slowly through and then we came to an uphill corner that I was sure no +car without a hinge in the middle could turn. But my guard--guide, I +mean, signified that it could be done, and inch by inch we crawled +through. The annex--it was really a stable of the Middle Ages--was at +the end of the tunnel, and when we came away and left the car there I +was persuaded that I should never see it again. + +Back at the hotel, however, it was cheerful enough. It seemed an ancient +place of stone stairways and thick walls. Here and there in niches were +Roman vases and fragments found during the excavations. Somewhere +underneath us were said to be catacombs. Attractive things, all of them, +but the dinner we had--hot, fine and French, with _vin compris_ two +colors--was even more attractive to travelers who had been drinking in +oxygen under the wide sky all those steady miles across the Crau. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[3] The reader is reminded that this was in a day when few cars cranked +otherwise than by hand. + + + + +Chapter IV + +MISTRAL + +(From my notes, September 10, 1913) + + +Adjoining our hotel--almost a part of it, in fact, is a remnant of the +ancient Roman forum of Arles. Some columns, a piece of the heavy wall, +sections of lintel, pediment, and cornice still stand. It is a portion +of the Corinthian entrance to what was the superb assembly place of +Roman Arles. The square is called Place du Forum, and sometimes now +Place Mistral--the latter name because a bronze statue of the "Homer of +the Provence" has been erected there, just across from the forum +entrance. + +Frederic Mistral, still alive at eighty-three, is the light of the +modern Provence.[4] We had begun to realize something of this when we +saw his photographs and various editions of his poems in the windows of +Marseilles and Aix, and handbills announcing the celebration at St. Remy +of the fiftieth anniversary of Gounod's score of Mistral's great poem, +"Mireille." But we did not at all realize the fullness of the Provencal +reverence for "the Master," as they call him, until we reached Arles. To +the Provence Mistral is a god--an Apollo--the "central sun from which +other Provencal singers are as diverging rays." Whatever Mistral +touches is glorified. Provencal women talk with a new grace because +Mistral has sung of them. Green slopes and mossy ruins are viewed +through the light of Mistral's song. A Mistral anniversary is celebrated +like a Declaration of Independence or a Louisiana Purchase. They have +even named a wind after him. Or perhaps he was named after the wind. +Whichever way it was, the wind has taken second place and the people +smile tenderly now, remembering the Master, when its name is mentioned. + +I believe Mistral does not sing in these later days. He does not need +to. The songs he sang in youth go on singing for him, and are always +young. Outside of France they are not widely known; their bloom and +fragrance shrink under translation. George Meredith, writing to Janet +Ross in 1861, said: "Mistral I have read. He is really a fine poet." But +to Meredith the euphonies of France were not strange. + +And Mistral has loved the Provence. Not only has he sung of it, but he +has given his labor and substance to preserve its memories. When the +Academy voted him an award of three thousand francs he devoted it to the +needs of his fellow poets;[5] when he was awarded the Nobel prize he +forgot that he might spend it on himself, and bought and restored an old +palace, and converted it into a museum for Arles. Then he devoted his +time and energies to collecting Provencal relics, and to-day, with its +treasures and associations, the place has become a shrine. Everything +relating to the life and traditions of the Provence is there--Roman +sculpture, sarcophagi, ceramics, frescoes, furnishings, implements--the +place is crowded with precious things. Lately a room of honor has been +devoted to the poet himself. In it are cases filled with his personal +treasures; the walls are hung with illustrations used in his books. On +the mantel is a fine bust of the poet, and in a handsome reliquary one +finds a lock of hair, a little dress, and the cradle of the infant +Mistral. In the cradle lies the manuscript of Mistral's first and +greatest work, the "Mireille." The Provence has produced other noted +men--among them Alphonse Daudet, who was born just over at Nimes, and +celebrated the town of Tarascon with his Tartarin. But Daudet went to +Paris, which is, perhaps, a sin. The Provence is proud of Daudet, and +he, too, has a statue, at Nimes; but the Provence worships Mistral. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[4] Written in 1913. Mistral died March 24th of the following year. + +[5] Daudet in his _Lettres de Mon Moulin_ says: + +"_II y a quatre ans, lorsque l'Academie donna a l'auteur de 'Mireille' +le prix de trois mille francs. Mme. Mistral [sa mere] eut une idee._ + +"'_Si nous faisons tapisser et plafonner ta chambre?' dit elle a son +fils._ + +"'_Non! non!' repondit Mistral. 'Ca c'est l'argent des poetes, on n'y +touche pas._'" + + + + +Chapter V + +THE ROME OF FRANCE + + +There is no record of a time when there was not a city at Arles. The +Rhone divides to form its delta there--loses its swiftness and becomes a +smooth highway to the sea. + +"As at Arles, where the Rhone stagnates," wrote Dante, who probably +visited the place on a journey he made to Paris. There the flat +barrenness of the Crau becomes fertile slopes and watered fields. It is +a place for men to congregate and it was already important when Julius +Caesar established a Roman colony and built a fleet there, after which it +became still more important--finally, with its one hundred thousand +inhabitants, rivaling even Marseilles. It was during those earlier +years--along through the first and second centuries--that most of the +great building was done, remnants of which survive to this day. +Prosperity continued even into the fourth century, when the Christian +Emperor Constantine established a noble palace there and contemplated +making it the capital of his kingdom. + +But then the decline set in. In the next century or two clouds of +so-called barbarians swept down from the north and east, conquering, +plundering, and establishing new kingdoms. Gauls, Goths, Saracens, and +Francs each had their turn at it. + +Following came the parlous years of the middle period. For a brief time +it was an independent republic; then a monarchy. By the end of the +fifteenth century it was ready to be annexed to France. Always a battle +ground, raided and sacked so often that the count is lost, the wonder is +that any of its ancient glories survive at all. But the Romans built +well; their massive construction has withstood the wild ravage of +succeeding wars, the sun and storm of millennial years. + +We knew little of Arles except that it was the place where there was the +ruin of a Roman arena, and we expected not much from that. The Romans +had occupied France and had doubtless built amusement places, but if we +gave the matter any further thought it was to conclude that such +provincial circus rings would be small affairs of which only a few +vestiges, like those of the ruined Forum, would remain. We would visit +the fragments, of course, and meantime we drifted along one side of the +Place du Forum in the morning sunlight, looking in show windows to find +something in picture postals to send home. + +What we saw at first puzzled, then astonished us. Besides the pictures +of Mistral the cards were mostly of ruins--which we expected, perhaps, +but not of such ruins. Why, these were not mere vestiges. Ephesus, +Baalbec, Rome itself, could hardly show more impressive remains. The +arena on these cards seemed hardly a ruin at all, and here were other +cards which showed it occupied, filled with a vast modern audience who +were watching something--clearly a bull fight, a legitimate descendant +of Nero's Rome. I could not at first believe that these structures +could be of Arles, but the inscriptions were not to be disputed. Then I +could not wait to get to them. + +We did not drive. It was only a little way to the arena, they told us, +and the narrow streets looked crooked and congested. It was a hot +September morning, but I think we hurried. I suppose I was afraid the +arena would not wait. Then all at once we were right upon it, had +entered a lofty arch, climbed some stairs, and were gazing down on one +of the surviving glories of a dead empire. + +What a structure it is! An oval 448 by 352 feet--more than half as big +again as a city block; the inner oval, the arena itself,[6] 226 by 129 +feet, the tiers of stone seats rising terrace above terrace to a high +circle of arches which once formed the support for an enormous canvas +dome. + +All along the terraces arches and stairways lead down to spacious +recesses and the great entrance corridor. The twenty thousand spectators +which this arena once held were not obliged to crowd through any one or +two entrances, but could enter almost anywhere and ascend to their seats +from any point of the compass. They held tickets--pieces of parchment, I +suppose--and these were numbered like the seats, just as tickets are +numbered to-day. + +Down near the ringside was the pit, or _podium_, and that was the choice +place. Some of the seats there were owned, and bore the owners' names. +The upper seats are wide stone steps, but comfortable enough, and solid +enough to stand till judgment day. They have ranged wooden benches along +some of them now, I do not see why, for they are very ugly and certainly +not luxurious. They are for the entertainments--mainly bull fights--of +the present; for strange, almost unbelievable as it seems, the old arena +has become no mere landmark, a tradition, a monument of barbaric tastes +and morals, but continues in active service to-day, its purpose the +same, its morals not largely improved. + +It was built about the end of the first century, and in the beginning +stags and wild boars were chased and put to death there. But then Roman +taste improved. These were tame affairs, after all. So the arena became +a prize ring in which the combatants handled one another without +gloves--that is to say, with short swords--and were hacked into a mince +instead of mauled into a pulp in our more refined modern way. To vary +the games lions and tigers were imported and matched against the +gladiators, with pleasing effect. Public taste went on improving and +demanding fresh novelties. Rome was engaged just then in exterminating +Christians, and the happy thought occurred to make spectacles of them by +having them fight the gladiators and the wild beasts, thus combining +business and pleasure in a manner which would seem to have been highly +satisfactory to the public who thronged the seats and applauded and +laughed, and had refreshments served, and said what a great thing +Christianity was and how they hoped its converts would increase. +Sometimes, when the captures were numerous and the managers could +afford it, Christians on crosses were planted around the entire arena, +covered with straw and pitch and converted into torches. These were +night exhibitions, when the torches would be more showy; and the canvas +dome was taken away so that the smoke and shrieks could go climbing to +the stars. Attractions like that would always jam an amphitheater. This +one at Arles has held twenty-five thousand on one of those special +occasions. Centuries later, when the Christians themselves came into +power, they showed a spirit of liberality which shines by contrast. They +burned their heretics in the public squares, free. + +Only bulls and worn-out, cheap horses are tortured here to-day. It seems +a pretty tame sport after those great circuses of the past. But art is +long and taste is fleeting. Art will keep up with taste, and all that we +know of the latter is that it will change. Because to-day we are +satisfied with prize fights and bull fights is no sign that those who +follow us will not demand sword fights and wild beasts and living +torches. These old benches will last through the ages. They have always +been familiar with the sport of torture of one sort or another. They +await quite serenely for what the centuries may bring. + +It was hard to leave the arena. One would like to remain and review its +long story. What did the barbarians do there--those hordes that swarmed +in and trampled Rome? The Saracens in the eighth century used it for a +fortress and added four watch towers, but their masonry is not of the +everlasting Roman kind, and one of their towers has tumbled down. It +would be no harm if the others would tumble, too. They lend to the place +that romance which always goes with the name "Saracen," but they add no +beauty. + +We paid a franc admission when we came into the amphitheater, our +tickets being coupon affairs, admitting us to a variety of other +historic places. The proceeds from the ruins are devoted to their care +and preservation, but they cannot go far. Very likely the bull-fight +money is also used. That would be consistent. + +We were directed to the Roman Theater, near at hand, where the ruin is +ruin indeed. A flight of rising stone seats, two graceful Corinthian +columns still standing, the rest fragments. More graceful in its +architecture than the arena, the theater yielded more readily to the +vandalisms of the conquerors and the corrosions of time. As early as the +third century it was partially pulled down. Later it was restored, but +not for long. The building bishops came and wanted its materials and +ornaments for their churches. Not much was left after that, but to-day +the fragments remaining have been unearthed and set up and give at least +a hint of its former glory. One wonders if those audiences who watched +Christian slaughter at the arena came also to this chaste spot. Plays +are sometimes given here to-day, I am told, classic reproductions, but +it is hard to believe that they would blend with this desolated setting. +The bull fight in the arena is even better. + +We went over to the church of St. Trophime, which is not a ruin, though +very old. St. Trophime, a companion of St. Paul, was the founder of the +church of Arles. He is said to have set up a memorial to St. Etienne, +the first martyr, and on this consecrated spot three churches have been +built, one in the fourth century, another in the seventh, and this one, +dedicated to St. Trophime, in the twelfth, or earlier. It is of supreme +historical importance. By the faithful it is believed to contain the +remains of St. Trophime himself. Barbarossa and other great kings were +crowned here; every important ceremony of mediaeval Arles has been held +here. + +It is one of the oldest-looking places I ever saw--so moldy, so crumbly, +and so dim. Though a thousand years older, the arena looks fresh as +compared with it, because even sun and storm do not gnaw and corrode +like gloom and dampness. But perhaps this is a softer stone. The +cloister gallery, which was not built until the twelfth century, is so +permeated with decay that one almost fears to touch its delicately +carved ornamentations lest they crumble in his hands. Mistral has +celebrated the cloister portal in a poem, and that alone would make it +sacred to the Provence. The beautiful gallery is built around a court +and it is lined with sculpture and bas-relief, rich beyond words. Saints +and bible scenes are the subjects, and how old, how time-eaten and +sorrowful they look. One gets the idea that the saints and martyrs and +prophets have all contracted some wasting malady which they cannot long +survive now. But one must not be flippant. It is a place where the feet +of faith went softly down the centuries; and, taken as a whole, St. +Trophime, with its graceful architecture--Gothic and Byzantine, +combined with the Roman fragments brought long ago from the despoiled +theater--is beautiful and delicate and tender, and there hangs about it +the atmosphere that comes of long centuries of quiet and sacred things. + +Mistral's museum is just across from the church, but I have already +spoken of that--briefly, when it is worth a volume. One should be in a +patient mood for museums--either to see or to write of them--a mood that +somehow does not go with automobile wandering, however deliberate. But I +must give a word at least to two other such institutions of Arles, the +Musee Lapidaire, a magnificent collection of pagan and early Christian +sarcophagi and marble, mostly from the ancient burial field, the +Aliscamp--and the Musee Reattu. + +Reattu was an Arlesian painter of note who produced many pictures and +collected many beautiful things. His collections have been acquired by +the city of Arles, and installed in one of its most picturesque old +buildings--the ancient Grand Priory of the Knights of Malta. The +stairway is hung with tapestries and priceless arras; the rooms are +filled with paintings, bas-reliefs, medallions, marbles, armor,--a +wealth of art objects. One finds it hard to believe that such museums +can be owned and supported by this little city--ancient, half forgotten, +stranded here on the banks of the Rhone. Its population is given as +thirty thousand, and it makes sausages--very good ones--and there are +some railway shops that employ as many as fifteen hundred men. Some +boat building may still be done here, too. But this is about all Arles +can claim in the way of industries. It has not the look of what we call +to-day a thriving city. It seems, rather, a mediaeval setting for the +more ancient memories. Yet it has these three splendid museums, and it +has preserved and restored its ruins, just as if it had a J. Pierpont +Morgan behind it, instead of an old poet with a Nobel prize, and a +determined little community, too proud of its traditions and its taste +to let them die. Danbury, Connecticut, has as many inhabitants as Arles, +and it makes about all the hats that are worn in America. It is a busy, +rich place, where nearly everybody owns an automobile, if one may judge +by the street exhibit any pleasant afternoon. It is an old place, too, +for America, with plenty of landmarks and traditions. But I somehow +can't imagine Danbury spending the money and the time to establish such +superb institutions as these, or to preserve its prerevolutionary +houses. But, after all, Danbury is young. It will preserve something two +thousand years hence--probably those latest Greco-Roman facades which it +is building now. + +Near to the Reattu Museum is the palace of the Christian Emperor +Constantine. Constantine came here after his father died, and fell in +love with the beauty and retirement of the place. Here, on the banks of +the Rhone, he built a palace, and dreamed of passing his days in it--of +making Arles the capital of his empire. His mother, St. Helene, whose +dreams at Jerusalem located the Holy Sepulcher, the True Cross, and +other needed relics, came to visit her son, and while here witnessed +the treason and suicide of one Maximus Hercules, persecutor of the +Christians. That was early in the fourth century. The daughter of +Maximus seems to have been converted, for she came to stay at the palace +and in due time bore Constantine a son. Descendants of Constantine +occupied the palace for a period, then it passed to the Gauls, to the +Goths, and so down the invading and conquering line. Once a king, Euric +III, was assassinated here. Other kings followed and several varieties +of counts. Their reigns were usually short and likely to end with a good +deal of suddenness. It was always a good place for royalty to live and +die. Until the beginning of the nineteenth century it was known as the +"House of the King," but it was a ruin by that time. Only portions of it +remain now, chiefly a sort of rotunda of the grand hall of state. Very +little is left to show the ancient richness of its walls, but one may +invite himself to imagine something--its marbles and its hangings--also +that it was just here that M. Hercules and King Euric and their kind +went the violent way; it would be the dramatic place for those +occasions. + +One may not know to-day just what space the palace originally covered, +but it was very large. Portions of its walls appear in adjoining +buildings. Excavations have brought to light marbles, baths, rich +ornamentations, all attesting its former grandeur. Arles preserves it +for its memories, and in pride of the time when she came so near to +being the capital of the world. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[6] The word arena derives its name from the sand, strewn to absorb the +blood. + + + + +Chapter VI + +THE WAY THROUGH EDEN + + +There is so much to see at Arles. One would like to linger a week, then +a month, then very likely he would not care to go at all. The past would +get hold of him by that time--the glamour that hangs about the dead +centuries. + +There had been rain in the night when we left Arles, much needed, for it +was the season of drought. It was mid-morning and the roads were hard +and perfect, and led us along sparkling waysides and between refreshed +vineyards, and gardens, and olive groves. It seemed a good deal like +traveling through Eden, and I don't suppose heaven--the automobilist's +heaven (assuming that there is one)--is much better. + +I wish I could do justice to the Midi, but even Mistral could not do +that. It is the most fruitful, luscious land one can imagine. Everything +there seems good to eat, to smell of--to devour in some way. The vines +were loaded with purple and topaz grapes, and I was dying to steal some, +though for a few francs we had bought a basket of clusters, with other +luncheon supplies, in Arles. It finally became necessary to stop and eat +these things--those grape fields were too tempting. + +It is my opinion that nothing in the world is more enjoyable than an +automobile roadside luncheon. One does not need to lug a heavy basket +mile after mile until a suitable place is found, and compromise at last +because the flesh rebels. With a car, a mile, two miles, five miles, are +matters of a few minutes. You run along leisurely until you reach the +brook, the shade, the seclusion that invites you. Then you are fresh and +cool and deliberate. No need to hurry because of the long tug home +again. You enjoy the things you have brought, unfretted by fatigue, +undismayed by the prospect ahead. You are in no hurry to go. You linger +and smoke and laze a little and discuss the environment--the fields, the +growing things, the people through whose lands and lives you are cutting +a cross-section, as it seems. You wonder about their customs, their +diversions, what they do in winter, how it is in their homes. You +speculate on their history, on what the land was like in its primeval +period before there were any fields and homes--civilized homes--there at +all. Perhaps--though this is unlikely--you _know_ a little about these +things. It is no advantage; your speculations are just as valuable and +more picturesque. There are many pleasant things about motor gypsying, +but our party, at least, agreed that the wayside luncheon is the +pleasantest of all. + +Furthermore, it is economical. Unless one wants hot dishes, you can get +more things, and more delicious things, in the village shops or along +the way than you can find at the wayside hotel or restaurant, and for +half the amount. Our luncheon that day--we ate it between Arles and +Tarascon--consisted of tinned chicken, fresh bread with sweet butter, +Roquefort cheese, ripe grapes, and some French cakes--plenty, and all of +the best, at a cost of about sixty cents for our party of four. And when +we were finally ready to go, and had cleaned up and secreted every +particle of paper or other refuse (for the true motorist never leaves a +place unsightly) we felt quite as pleased with ourselves and the world, +and the things of the infinite, as if we had paid two or three times as +much for a meal within four walls. + + + + +Chapter VII + +TO TARASCON AND BEAUCAIRE + + +It is no great distance from Arles to Tarascon, and, leisurely as we +travel, we had reached the home of Tartarin in a little while. We were +tempted to stop over at Tarascon, for the name had that inviting sound +which always belongs to the localities of pure romance--that is to say, +fiction--and it has come about that Tarascon belongs more to Daudet than +to history, while right across the river is Beaucaire, whose name, at +least, Booth Tarkington has pre-empted for one of his earliest heroes. +After all, it takes an author to make a town really celebrated. +Thousands of Americans who have scarcely heard the name of Arles are +intimately familiar with that of Tarascon. Of course the town has to +contribute something. It must either be a place where something has +happened, or _could_ happen, or it must have a name with a fine sound, +and it should be located in about the right quarter of the globe. When +such a place catches the fancy of an author who has the gift of making +the ideal seem reality, he has but to say the magic words and the fame +of that place is sure. + +Not that Tarascon has not had real history and romance; it has had +plenty of both. Five hundred years ago the "Good King Rene" of Anjou, +who was a painter and a writer, as well as a king, came to Tarascon to +spend his last days in the stern, perpendicular castle which had been +built for him on the banks of the Rhone. It is used as a jail now, but +King Rene held a joyous court there and a web of romance clings to his +memory. King Rene's castle does not look like a place for romance. It +looks like an artificial precipice. We were told we could visit it by +making a sufficiently polite application to the _Mairie_, but it did not +seem worth while. In the first place, I did not know how to make a +polite application to visit a jail--not in French--and then it was +better to imagine King Rene's festivities than to look upon a reality of +misfortune. + +The very name of Tarascon has to do with story. Far back, in the dim +traditionary days, one St. Martha delivered the place from a very evil +dragon, the Tarasque, for whom they showed their respect by giving his +name to their town. + +Beaucaire, across the river, is lighted by old tradition, too. It was +the home of Aucassin and Nicollette, for one thing, and anyone who has +read that poem, either in the original or in Andrew Lang's exquisite +translation, will have lived, for a moment at least, in the tender light +of legendary tale. + +We drove over to Beaucaire, and Narcissa and I scaled a garden terrace +to some ruined towers and battlements, all that is left of the ancient +seat of the Montmorencys. It is a romantic ruin from a romantic day. It +was built back in the twelve hundreds--when there were still knights and +troubadours, and the former jousted at a great fair which was held +there, and the latter reclined on the palace steps, surrounded by ladies +and gallants in silken array, and sang songs of Palestine and the +Crusades. As time went on a light tissue of legend was woven around the +castle itself--half-mythical tales of its earlier centuries. Figures +like Aucassin and Nicollette emerged and were made so real by those who +chanted or recited the marvel of their adventures, that they still live +and breathe with youth when their gallant castle itself is no more than +vacant towers and fragmentary walls. The castle of Beaucaire looks +across to the defiant walls of King Rene's castle in Tarascon and I +believe there used to be some sturdy wars between them. If not, I shall +construct one some day, when I am less busy, and feeling in the romantic +form. It will be as good history as most castle history, and I think I +shall make Beaucaire win. King Rene was a good soul, but I am doubtful +about those who followed him, and his castle, so suitable to-day for a +jail, does not invite sympathy. The Montmorency castle was dismantled in +1632, according to the guidebook, by Richelieu, who beheaded its last +tenant--some say with a cleaver, a serviceable utensil for such work. + +Beaucaire itself is not a pretty town--not a clean town. I believe +Nicollette was shut up for a time in one of its houses--we did not +inquire which one--any of them would be bad enough to-day. + +[Illustration: "WHERE ROADS BRANCH OR CROSS THERE ARE SIGNBOARDS.... YOU +CAN'T ASK A MAN 'QUEL EST LE CHEMIN' FOR ANYWHERE WHEN YOU ARE IN FRONT +OF A SIGNBOARD WHICH IS SHOUTING THE INFORMATION"] + +It is altogether easy to keep to the road in France. You do not wind in +and out with unmarked routes crossing and branching at every turn. You +travel a hard, level way, often as straight as a ruling stick and +pointed in the right direction. Where roads branch, or cross, there are +signboards. All the national roads are numbered, and your red-book map +shows these numbers--the chances of mistake being thus further lessened. +We had practiced a good deal at asking in the politest possible French +the way to any elusive destination. The book said that in France one +generally takes off his hat in making such an inquiry, so I practiced +that until I got it to seem almost inoffensive, not to say jaunty, and +the formula "_Je vous demande pardon, but--quel est le chemin pour--_" +whatever the place was. Sometimes I could even do it without putting in +the "but," and was proud, and anxious to show it off at any opportunity. +But it got dusty with disuse. You can't ask a man "_quel est le chemin_" +for anywhere when you are on the straight road going there, or in front +of a signboard which is shouting the information. I only got to unload +that sentence twice between Arles and Avignon, and once I forgot to take +off my hat; when I did, the man didn't understand me. + +With the blue mountains traveling always at our right, with level garden +and vineland about us, we drifted up the valley of the Rhone and found +ourselves, in mid-afternoon, at the gates of Avignon. That is not merely +a poetic figure. Avignon has veritable gates--and towering crenelated +walls with ramparts, all about as perfect as when they were built, +nearly six hundred years ago. + +We had heard Avignon called the finest existing specimen of a mediaeval +walled city, but somehow one does not realize such things from hearing +the mere words. We stopped the car to stare up at this overtopping +masonry, trying to believe that it had been standing there already three +hundred years, looking just about as it looks to-day, when Shakespeare +was writing plays in London. Those are the things we never really +believe. We only acknowledge them and pass on. + +Very little of Avignon has overflowed its massive boundaries; the fields +were at our backs as we halted in the great portals. We halted because +we noticed the word "_L'Octroi_" on one of the towers. But, as before, +the _l'octroi_ man merely glanced into our vehicle and waved us away. + +We were looking down a wide shaded avenue of rather modern, even if +foreign, aspect, and full of life. We drove slowly, hunting, as we +passed along, for one of the hotels set down in the red-book as +"comfortable, with modern improvements," including "gar. _grat._"--that +is to say, garage gratis, such being the custom of this land. +Narcissa, who has an eye for hotels, spied one presently, a rather +imposing-looking place with a long, imposing name. But the management +was quite modest as to terms when I displayed our T. C. de France +membership card, and the "gar. _grat._"--this time in the inner court of +the hotel itself--was a neat place with running water and a concrete +floor. Not very ancient for mediaeval Avignon, but one can worry along +without antiquities in a hotel. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +GLIMPSES OF THE PAST + + +Avignon, like Arles, was colonized by the Romans, but the only remains +of that time are now in its museum. At Arles the Romans did great +things; its heyday was the period of their occupation. Conditions were +different at Avignon. Avenio, as they called it, seems to have been a +kind of outpost, walled and fortified, but not especially glorified. +Very little was going on at Avenio. Christians were seldom burned there. +In time a Roman emperor came to Arles, and its people boasted that it +was to become the Roman capital. Nothing like that came to Avenio; it +would require another thousand years and another Roman occupation to +mature its grand destiny. + +I do not know just how it worried along during those stormy centuries of +waiting, but with plenty of variety, no doubt. I suppose barbarians came +like summer leafage, conquered and colonized, mixing the blood of a new +race. It became a republic about twelve hundred and something--small, +but tough and warlike--commanding the respect of seigneurs and counts, +even of kings. Christianity, meantime, had prospered. Avignon had +contributed to the Crusades and built churches. Also, a cathedral, +though little dreaming that in its sacristy would one day lie the body +of a pope. + +Avignon's day, however, was even then at hand. Sedition was rife in +Italy and the popes, driven from Rome, sought refuge in France. Near +Avignon was a small papal dominion of which Carpentras was the capital, +and the pope, then Clement V, came often to Avignon. This was honor, but +when one day the Bishop of Avignon was made Pope John XXII, and +established his seat in his own home, the little city became suddenly +what Arles had only hoped to be--the capital of the world. + +If one were permitted American parlance at this point, he would say that +a boom now set in in Avignon.[7] Everybody was gay, everybody busy, +everybody prosperous. The new pope straightway began to enlarge and +embellish his palace, and the community generally followed suit. During +the next sixty or seventy years about everything that is to-day of +importance was built or rebuilt. New churches were erected, old ones +restored. The ancient Roman wall was replaced by the splendid new one. +The papal palace was enlarged and strengthened until it became a mighty +fortress--one of the grandest structures in Europe. The popes went back +to Rome, then, but their legates remained and from their strong citadel +administered the affairs of that district for four turbulent centuries. +In 1791, Avignon united her fortunes to those of France, and through +revolution and bloodshed has come again to freedom and prosperity and +peace. I do not know what the population of Avignon was in the day of +her greater glory. To-day it is about fifty thousand, and, as it is full +to the edges, it was probably not more populous then. + +We did not hurry in Avignon. We only loitered about the streets a little +the first afternoon, practicing our French on the sellers of postal +cards. It was a good place for such practice. If there was a soul in +Avignon besides ourselves with a knowledge of English he failed to make +himself known. Not even in our hotel was there a manager, porter, or +waiter who could muster an English word. + +Narcissa and I explored more than the others and discovered the City +Hall and a theater and a little open square with a big monument. We also +got a distant glimpse of some great towering walls which we knew to be +the Palace of the Popes. + +Now and again we were assailed by beggars--soiled and persistent small +boys who annoyed us a good deal until we concocted an impromptu cure. It +was a poem, in French--and effective: + + _Allez! Allez!_ + _Je n'ai pas de monnaie!_ + _Allez! Allez!_ + _Je n'ai pas de l'argent!_ + +A Frenchman might not have had the courage to mortify his language like +that, but we had, and when we marched to that defiant refrain the +attacking party fell back. + +We left the thoroughfare and wandered down into narrow side streets, +cobble-paved and winding, between high, age-stained walls--streets and +walls that have surely not been renewed since the great period when the +coming of the popes rebuilt Avignon. So many of the houses are +apparently of one age and antiquity they might all have sprung up on the +same day. What a bustle and building there must have been in those first +years after the popes came! Nothing could be too new and fine for the +chosen city. Now they are old again, but not always shabby. Many of +them, indeed, are of impressive grandeur, with carved casings and +ponderous doors. No sign of life about these--no glimpse of luxury, +faded or fresh--within. Whatever the life they hold--whatever its past +glories or present decline, it is shut away. Only the shabbier homes +were open--women at their evening duties, children playing about the +stoop. _They_ had nothing to conceal. Tradition, lineage, pride, +poverty--they had inherited their share of these things, but they did +not seem to be worrying about it. Their affairs were open to inspection; +and their habits of dress and occupation caused us to linger, until the +narrow streets grew dim and more full of evening echoes, while light +began to twinkle in the little basement shops where the ancestors of +these people had bought and sold for such a long, long time. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[7] Alphonse Daudet's "La Mule de Pape," in his _Lettres de Mon Moulin_, +gives a delightful picture of Avignon at this period. + + + + +Chapter IX + +IN THE CITADEL OF FAITH + + +We were not very thorough sight-seers. We did not take a guidebook in +one hand and a pencil in the other and check the items, thus cleaning up +in the fashion of the neat, businesslike tourist. We seldom even had a +program. We just wandered out in some general direction, and made a +discovery or two, looked it over, surmised about it and passed judgment +on its artistic and historical importance, just as if we knew something +of those things; then when we got to a quiet place we took out the book +and looked up what we had seen, and quite often, with the book's +assistance, reversed our judgments and went back and got an altogether +new set of impressions, and kept whichever we liked best. It was a loose +system, to be recommended only for its variety. At the church of St. +Agricole, for instance, which we happened upon when we started out one +morning, we had a most interesting half hour discussing the age and +beauty of its crumbling exterior and wandering about in its dimness, +speculating concerning its frescoes and stained marbles and ancient +tombs. When, later, we sat on the steps outside and looked it up and +found it had been established away back in 680, and twice since +restored; that the fifteenth-century holy-water basin was an especially +fine one; that the tombs and altar piece, the sculpture and frescoes +were regarded as "remarkable examples," we were deeply impressed and +went back to verify these things. Then we could see that it was all just +as the book said. + +But the procedure was somewhat different at the Palace of the Popes. We +knew where we were going then, for we saw its towers looming against the +sky, and no one could mistake that pile in Avignon. Furthermore, we paid +a small fee at its massive arched entrance, and there was a guardian, or +guide, to show us through. It is true he spoke only French--Provencal +French--but two gracious Italian ladies happened to be going through at +the same time and, like all cultured continentals, they spoke a variety +of tongues, including American. The touch of travel makes the whole +world kin, and they threw out a line when they saw us floundering, and +towed us through. It was a gentle courtesy which we accepted with +thankful hearts. + +We were in the central court first, the dull, sinister walls towering on +every side. The guide said that executions had taken place there, and +once, in later times--the period of the Revolution--a massacre in which +seventy perished. He also mentioned a bishop of the earlier period who, +having fallen into disfavor, was skinned alive and burned just outside +the palace entrance. Think of doing that to a bishop! + +Our conductor showed us something which we were among the first to see. +Excavation was going on, and near the entrance some workmen were +uncovering a large square basin--a swimming pool, he said--probably of +Roman times. Whatever had stood there had doubtless fallen into +obliterated ruin by the time the papal palace was begun. + +A survey of the court interior showed that a vast scheme of restoration +was going on. The old fortress had suffered from siege more than once, +and time had not spared it; but with that fine pride which the French +have in their monuments, and with a munificence which would seem to be +limitless, they were reconstructing perfectly every ruined part, and +would spend at least two million dollars, we were told, to make the +labor complete. Battered corners of towers had been carefully rebuilt, +tumbled parapets replaced. We stood facing an exquisite mullioned window +whose carved stone outlines were entirely new, yet delicately and finely +cut, certainly at a cost of many thousand francs. The French do not seem +to consider expense in a work of that sort. Concrete imitations will not +do. Whatever is replaced must be as it was in the beginning. + +Inside we found ourselves in the stately audience room, measuring some +fifty by one hundred and eighty feet, its lofty ceiling supported by +massive Gothic arches, all as complete as when constructed. Each missing +piece or portion has been replaced. It was scarcely more perfect when +the first papal audience was held there and when Queen Jeanne of Naples +came to plead for absolution, nearly six centuries ago. It was of +overpowering size and interest, and in one of the upper corners was a +picture I shall not soon forget. It was not a painting or tapestry, but +it might have been either of these things and less beautiful. It was a +living human being, a stone carver on a swinging high seat, dressed in +his faded blue cap and blouse and chopping away at a lintel. But he had +the face and beard and, somehow, the figure of a saint. He turned to +regard us with a mild, meditative interest, the dust on his beard and +dress completing the harmony with the gray wall behind him, the embodied +spirit of restoration. + +We ascended to the pontifical chapel, similar in size and appearance to +the room below. We passed to other gigantic apartments, some of them +rudely and elaborately decorated by the military that in later years +made this a garrison. We were taken to the vast refectory, where once +there was a great central table, the proportions of which were plainly +marked by an outline on the stone floor, worn by the feet of feasting +churchmen. Then we went to the kitchen, still more impressive in its +suggestion of the stouter needs of piety. Its chimney is simply a +gigantic central funnel that, rising directly from the four walls, goes +towering and tapering toward the stars. I judge the cooks built their +fires in the center of this room, hanging their pots on cranes, swinging +their meats barbecue fashion, opening the windows for air and draught. +Those old popes and legates were no weaklings, to have a kitchen like +that. Their appetites and digestions, like their faith, were of a robust +and militant sort. + +I dare say it would require a week to go through all this palace, so the +visitor is shown only samples of it. We ascended to one of the towers +and looked down, far down, on the roofs of Avignon--an expanse of brown +tiling, toned by the ages, but otherwise not greatly different from what +the popes saw when this tower and these housetops were new. Beyond are +the blue hills which have not changed. Somewhere out there Petrarch's +Laura was buried, but the grave has vanished utterly, the church is a +mere remnant. + +As we stood in the window a cold breath of wind suddenly blew in--almost +piercing for the season. "The mistral," our conductor said, and, though +he did not cross himself, we knew by his exalted smile that he felt in +it the presence of the poet of the south. + +Then he told us that Mistral had appointed him as one of those who were +commissioned to preserve in its purity the Provencal tongue. That he was +very proud of it was certain, and willing to let that wind blow on him +as a sort of benediction. It is said, however, that the mistral wind is +not always agreeable in Avignon. It blows away disease, but it is likely +to overdo its work. "Windy Avignon, liable to the plague when it has not +the wind, and plagued by the wind when it has it," is a saying at least +as old as this palace. + +We got a generous example of it when we at last descended to the street. +There it swirled and raced and grabbed at us until we had to button +everything tightly and hold fast to our hats. We took refuge in the old +cathedral of Notre Dame des Domes, where John XXII, who brought this +glory to Avignon, lies in his Gothic tomb. All the popes of Avignon were +crowned here; it was the foremost church of Christendom for the better +part of a century. We could see but little of the interior, for, with +the now clouded sky, the place was too dark. In the small chapel where +the tomb stands it was dim and still. It is the holy place of Avignon. + +A park adjoins the church and we went into it, but the mistral wind was +tearing through the trees and we crossed and descended by a long flight +to the narrow streets. Everywhere about us the lower foundations of the +papal palace joined the living rock, its towers seeming to climb upward +to the sky. It was as if it had grown out of the rock, indestructible, +eternal, itself a rock of ages. + +We are always saying how small the world is, and we had it suddenly +brought home to us as we stood there under the shadow of those +overtopping heights. We had turned to thank our newly made friends and +to say good-by. One of them said, "You are from America; perhaps you +might happen to know a friend of ours there," and she named one whom we +did know very well indeed--one, in fact, whose house we had visited only +a few months before. How strange it seemed to hear that name from two +women of Florence there in the ancient city, under those everlasting +walls. + + + + +Chapter X + +AN OLD TRADITION AND A NEW EXPERIENCE + + +Among the things I did on the ship was to read the _Automobile +Instruction Book_. I had never done it before. I had left all technical +matters to a man hired and trained for the business. Now I was going to +a strange land with a resolve to do all the things myself. So I read the +book. + +It was as fascinating as a novel, and more impressive. There never was a +novel like it for action and psychology. When I came to the chapter +"Thirty-seven reasons why the motor may not start," and feverishly read +what one had better try in the circumstances, I could see that as a +subject for strong emotional treatment a human being is nothing to an +automobile. + +Then there was the oiling diagram. A physiological chart would be +nowhere beside it. It was a perfect maze of hair lines and arrow points, +and looked as if it needed to be combed. There were places to be oiled +daily, others to be oiled weekly, some to be oiled monthly, some every +thousand miles. There were also places to be greased at all these +periods, and some when you happened to think of it. You had to put on +your glasses and follow one of the fine lines to the lubricating point, +then try to keep the point in your head until you could get under the +car, or over the car, or into the car, and trace it home. I could see +that this was going to be interesting when the time came. + +I did not consider that it had come when we landed at Marseilles. I said +to the garage man there, in my terse French idiom, "Make it the oil and +grease," and walked away. Now, at Avignon, the new regime must begin. In +the bright little, light little hotel garage we would set our car in +order. I say "we" because Narcissa, aged fifteen, being of a practical +turn, said she would help me. I would "make it the oil and grease," and +Narcissa would wash and polish. So we began. The Joy, aged ten, was +audience. + +Narcissa enjoyed her job. There was a hose in it, and a sponge and nice +rubbing rags and polish, and she went at it in her strenuous way, and +hosed me up one side and down the other at times when I was tracing some +blind lead and she wasn't noticing carefully. + +I said I would make a thorough job of it. I would oil and grease all the +daily, weekly, and monthly, and even the once-in-a-while places. We +would start fair from Avignon. + +I am a resolute person. I followed those tangled lines and labyrinthian +ways into the vital places of our faithful vehicle. Some led to caps, +big and little, which I filled with grease. Most of them were full +already, but I gave them another dab for luck. Some of the lines led to +tiny caps and holes into which I squirted oil. Some led to a dim +uncertainty, into which I squirted or dabbed something in a general way. +Some led to mere blanks, and I greased those. It sounds rather easy, +but that is due to my fluent style. It was not easy; it was a hot, +messy, scratchy, grunting job. Those lines were mostly blind leads, and +full of smudgy, even painful surprises. Some people would have been +profane, but I am not like that--not with Narcissa observing me. One +hour, two, went by, and I was still consulting the chart and dabbing +with the oil can and grease stick. The chart began to show wear; _it_ +would not need greasing again for years. + +Meantime Narcissa had finished her washing and polishing, and was +putting dainty touches on the glass and metal features to kill time. I +said at last that possibly I had missed some places, but I didn't think +they could be important ones. Narcissa looked at me, then, and said that +maybe I had missed places on the car but that I hadn't missed any on +myself. She said I was a sight and probably never could be washed clean +again. It is true that my hands were quite solidly black, and, while I +did not recall wiping them on my face, I must have done so. When +Narcissa asked how soon I was going to grease the car again, I said +possibly in about a thousand years. But that was petulance; I knew it +would be sooner. Underneath all I really had a triumphant feeling, and +Narcissa was justly proud of her work, too. We agreed that our car had +never looked handsomer and shinier since our first day of ownership. I +said I was certain it had never been so thoroughly greased. We would +leave Avignon in style. + +We decided to cross the Rhone at Avignon. We wanted at least a passing +glance at Villeneuve, and a general view of Avignon itself, which was +said to be finest from across the river. We would then continue up the +west bank--there being a special reason for this--a reason with a +village in it--one Beauchastel--not set down on any of our maps, but +intimately concerned with our travel program, as will appear later. + +We did not leave Avignon by the St. Benezet bridge. We should have liked +that, for it is one of those bridges built by a miracle, away back in +the twelfth century when they used miracles a good deal for such work. +Sometimes Satan was induced to build them overnight, but I believe that +was still earlier. Satan seems to have retired from active +bridge-building by the twelfth century. It was a busy period for him at +home. + +So the Benezet bridge was built by a boy of that name--a little shepherd +of twelve, who received a command in a dream to go to Avignon and build +a bridge across the Rhone. He said: + +"I cannot leave my sheep, and I have but three farthings in the world." + +"Your flocks will not stray," said the voice, "and an angel will lead +thee." + +Benezet awoke and found beside him a pilgrim whom he somehow knew to be +an angel. So they journeyed together and after many adventures reached +Avignon. Here the pilgrim disappeared and Benezet went alone to where a +bishop was preaching to the people. There, in the presence of the +assembly, Benezet stated clearly that Heaven had sent him to build a +bridge across the Rhone. Angry at the interruption, the bishop ordered +the ragged boy to be taken in charge by the guard and punished for +insolence and untruth. That was an ominous order. Men had been skinned +alive on those instructions. But Benezet repeated his words to the +officer, a rough man, who said: + +"Can a beggar boy like you do what neither the saints nor Emperor +Charlemagne has been able to accomplish? Pick up this stone as a +beginning, and carry it to the river. If you can do that I may believe +in you." + +It was a sizable stone, being thirteen feet long by seven +broad--thickness not given, though probably three feet, for it was a +fragment of a Roman wall. It did not trouble Benezet, however. He said +his prayers, and lightly lifted it to his shoulder and carried it across +the town! Some say he whistled softly as he passed along. + +I wish I had lived then. I would almost be willing to trade centuries to +see Benezet surprise those people, carrying in that easy way a stone +that reached up to the second-story windows. Benezet carried the stone +to the bank of the river and set it down where the first arch of the +bridge would stand. + +There was no trouble after that. Everybody wanted to stand well with +Benezet. Labor and contributions came unasked. In eleven years the great +work was finished, but Benezet did not live to see it. He died four +years before the final stones were laid, was buried in a chapel on the +bridge itself and canonized as a saint. There is another story about +him, but I like this one best. + +Benezet's bridge was a gay place during the days of the popes at +Avignon. Music and dancing were continuously going on there. It is ready +for another miracle now. Only four arches of its original eighteen are +standing. Storm and flood did not destroy it, but war. Besiegers and +besieged broke down the arches, and at last, more than two hundred years +ago, repairs were given up. It is a fine, firm-looking fragment that +remains. One wishes, for the sake of the little shepherd boy, that it +might be restored once more and kept solid through time. + +Passing along under the ramparts of Avignon, we crossed the newer, +cheaper bridge, and took the first turn to the right. It was a leafy +way, and here and there between the trees we had splendid glimpses of +the bastioned walls and castle-crowned heights of Avignon. Certainly +there is no more impressive mediaeval picture in all Europe. + +But on one account we were not entirely satisfied. It was not the view +that disturbed us; it was ourselves--our car. We were smoking--smoking +badly, disgracefully; one could not deny it. In New York City we would +have been taken in charge at once. At first I said it was only a little +of the fresh oil burning off the engine, and that it would stop +presently. But that excuse wore out. It would have taken quarts to make +a smudge like that. When the wind was with us we traveled in a cloud, +like prophets and deities of old, and the passengers grumbled. The Joy +suggested that we would probably blow up soon. + +Then we began to make another discovery; when now and then the smoke +cleared away a little, we found we were not in Villeneuve at all. We +had not entirely crossed the river, but only halfway; we were on an +island. I began to feel that our handsome start had not turned out well. + +We backed around and drove slowly to the bridge again, our distinction +getting more massive and solid every minute. Disaster seemed imminent. +The passengers were inclined to get out and walk. I said, at last, that +we would go back to a garage I had noticed outside the walls. I put it +on the grounds that we needed gasoline. + +It was not far, and the doors stood open. The men inside saw us coming +with our gorgeous white tail filling the landscape behind us, and got +out of the way. Then they gathered cautiously to examine us. + +"Too much oil," they said. + +In my enthusiasm I had overdone the thing. I had poured quarts into the +crank case when there was probably enough there already. I had not been +altogether to blame. Two little telltale cocks that were designed to +drip when there was sufficient oil had failed to drip because they were +stopped with dust. Being new and green, I had not thought of that +possibility. A workman poked a wire into those little cocks and drew off +the fuel we had been burning in that lavish way. So I had learned +something, but it seemed a lot of smoke for such a small spark of +experience. Still, it was a relief to know that it was nothing worse, +and while the oil was dripping to its proper level we went back into the +gates of Avignon, where, lunching in a pretty garden under some trees, +we made light of our troubles, as is our way. + + + + +Chapter XI + +WAYSIDE ADVENTURES + + +So we took a new start and made certain that we entirely crossed the +river this time. We were in Villeneuve-les-Avignon--that is, the "new +town"--but it did not get that name recently, if one may judge from its +looks. Villeneuve, in fact, is fourteen hundred years old, and shows its +age. It was in its glory six centuries ago, when King Philippe le Bel +built his tower at the end of Benezet's bridge, and Jean le Bon built +one of the sternest-looking fortresses in France--Fort St. Andre. Time +has made the improvements since then. It has stained the walls and +dulled the sharp masonry of these monuments; it has crushed and crumbled +the feebler structures and filled the streets with emptiness and +silence. Villeneuve was a thronging, fighting, praying place once, but +the throng has been reduced and the fighting and praying have become +matters of individual enterprise. + +I wish now we had lingered at Villeneuve-les-Avignon. I have rarely seen +a place that seemed so to invite one to forget the activities of life +and go groping about among the fragments of history. But we were under +the influence of our bad start, and impelled to move on. Also, +Villeneuve was overshadowed by the magnificence of the Palace of the +Popes, which, from its eternal seat on le Rocher des Doms, still claimed +us. We briefly visited St. Andre, the tower of Philippe le Bel, and +loitered a little in a Chartreuse monastery--a perfect wilderness of +ruin; then slipped away, following the hard, smooth road through a +garden and wonderland, the valley of the Rhone. + +I believe there are no better vineyards in France than those between +Avignon and Bagnols. The quality of the grapes is another matter; they +are probably sour. All the way along those luscious topaz and amethyst +clusters had been disturbing, but my conscience had held firm and I had +passed them by. Sometimes I said: "There are tons of those grapes; a few +bunches would never be missed." But Narcissa and the others said it +would be stealing; besides, there were houses in plain view. + +But there is a limit to all things. In a level, sheltered place below +Bagnols we passed a vineyard shut in by trees, with no house in sight. +And what a vineyard! Ripening in the afternoon sun, clustered such gold +and purple bunches as were once warmed by the light of Eden. I looked +casually in different directions and slowed down. Not a sign of life +anywhere. I brought the car to a stop. I said, "This thing has gone far +enough." + +Conscience dozed. The protests of the others fell on heedless ears. I +firmly crossed the irrigating ditch which runs along all those French +roads, stepped among the laden vines, picked one of those lucent, yellow +bunches and was about to pick another when I noticed something with a +human look stir to life a little way down the row. + +Conscience awoke with something like a spasm. I saw at once that taking +those grapes was wrong; I almost dropped the bunch I had. Narcissa says +I ran, but that is a mistake. There was not room. I made about two steps +and plunged into the irrigating canal, which I disremembered for the +moment, my eyes being fixed on the car. Narcissa says she made a grab at +my grapes as they sailed by. I seemed to be a good while getting out of +the irrigating ditch, but Narcissa thinks I was reasonably prompt. I had +left the engine running, and some seconds later, when we were putting +temptation behind us on third speed, I noticed that the passengers +seemed to be laughing. When I inquired as to what amused them they +finally gasped out that the thing which had moved among the grapevines +was a goat, as if that made any difference to a person with a sensitive +conscience. + +It is not likely that any reader of these chapters will stop overnight +at Bagnols. We should hardly have rested there, but evening was coming +on and the sky had a stormy look. Later we were glad, for we found +ourselves in an inn where d'Artagnan, or his kind, lodged, in the days +when knights went riding. Travelers did not arrive in automobiles when +that hostelry was built, and not frequently in carriages. They came on +horseback and clattered up to the open door and ordered tankards of good +red wine, and drank while their horses stretched their necks to survey +the interior scenery. The old worn cobbles are still at the door, and +not much has changed within. A niche holds a row of candles, and the +traveler takes one of them and lights himself to bed. His room is an +expanse and his bed stands in a curtained alcove--the bedstead an +antique, the bed billowy, clean, and comfortable, as all beds are in +France. Nothing has been changed there for a long time. The latest +conveniences are of a date not more recent than the reign of Marie +Antoinette, for they are exactly the kind she used, still to be seen at +Versailles. And the dinner was good, with red and white flagons strewn +all down the table--such a dinner as d'Artagnan and his wild comrades +had, no doubt, and if prices have not changed they paid five francs +fifty, or one dollar and ten cents each, for dinner, lodging, and _petit +dejeuner_ (coffee, rolls, and jam)--garage free. + +Bagnols is unimportant to the tourist, but it is old and quaint, and it +has what may be found in many unimportant places in France, at least one +beautiful work of art--a soldier's monument, in this instance; _not_ a +stiff effigy of an infantryman with a musket, cut by some gifted +tombstone sculptor, but a female figure of Victory, full of vibrant life +and inspiration--a true work of art. France is full of such things as +that--one finds them in most unexpected places. + +The valley of the Rhone grew more picturesque as we ascended. Now and +again, at our left, rocky bluffs rose abruptly, some of them crowned +with ruined towers and equally ruined villages, remnants of feudalism, +of the lord and his vassals who had fought and flourished there in that +time when France was making the romantic material which writers ever +since have been so busily remaking and adorning that those old originals +would stare and gasp if they could examine some of it now. How fine and +grand it seems to picture the lord and his men, all bright and shining, +riding out under the portcullis on glossy prancing and armored horses to +meet some aggressive and equally shining detachment of feudalism from +the next hilltop. In the valley they meet, with ringing cries and the +clash of steel. Foeman matches foeman--it is a series of splendid duels, +combats to be recounted by the fireside for generations. Then, at the +end, the knightly surrender of the conquered, the bended knee and +acknowledgment of fealty, gracious speeches from the victor as to the +bravery and prowess of the defeated, after which, the welcome of fair +ladies and high wassail for all concerned. Everybody happy, everybody +satisfied: wounds apparently do not count or interfere with festivities. +The dead disappear in some magic way. I do not recall that they are ever +buried. + +Just above Rochemaure was one of the most imposing of these ruins. The +castle that crowned the hilltop had been a fine structure in its day. +The surrounding outer wall which inclosed its village extended downward +to the foot of the hill to the road--and still inclosed a village, +though the more ancient houses seemed tenantless. It was built for +offense and defense, that was certain, and doubtless had been used for +both. We did not stop to dig up that romance. Not far away, by the +roadside, stood what was apparently a Roman column. It had been already +old and battered--a mere fragment of a ruin--when the hilltop castle and +its village were brave and new. + +It was above Rochemaure--I did not identify the exact point--that an +opportunity came which very likely I shall never have again. On a bluff +high above an ancient village, so old and curious that it did not belong +to reality at all, there was a great chateau, not a ruin--at least, not +a tumbled ruin, though time-beaten and gray--but a good complete +chateau, and across its mossy lintel a stained and battered wooden sign +with the legend, "_A Louer_"--that is, "To Let." + +I stopped the car. This, I said, was our opportunity. Nothing could be +better than that ancient and lofty perch overlooking the valley of the +Rhone. The "To Let" sign had been there certainly a hundred years, so +the price would be reasonable. We could get it for a song; we would +inherit its traditions, its secret passages, its donjons, its ghosts, +its-- I paused a moment, expecting enthusiasm, even eagerness, on the +part of the family. Strange as it may seem, there wasn't a particle of +either. I went over those things again, and added new and fascinating +attractions. I said we would adopt the coat of arms of that old family, +hyphenate its name with ours, and so in that cheap and easy fashion +achieve a nobility which the original owner had probably shed blood to +attain. + +It was no use. The family looked up the hill with an interest that was +almost clammy. Narcissa asked, "How would you get the car up there?" The +Joy said, "It would be a good place for bad dreams." The head of the +expedition remarked, as if dismissing the most trivial item of the +journey, that we'd better be going on or we should be late getting into +Valence. So, after dreaming all my life of living in a castle, I had to +give it up in that brief, incidental way. + + + + +Chapter XII + +THE LOST NAPOLEON + + +Now, it is just here that we reach the special reason which had kept us +where we had a clear view of the eastward mountains, and particularly to +the westward bank of the Rhone, where there was supposed to be a certain +tiny village, one Beauchastel--a village set down on none of our maps, +yet which was to serve as an important identifying mark. The reason had +its beginning exactly twenty-two years before; that is to say, in +September, 1891. Mark Twain was in Europe that year, seeking health and +literary material, and toward the end of the summer--he was then at +Ouchy, Switzerland--he decided to make a floating trip down the river +Rhone. He found he could start from Lake Bourget in France, and, by +paddling through a canal, reach the strong Rhone current, which would +carry him seaward. Joseph Very, his favorite guide (mentioned in _A +Tramp Abroad_), went over to Lake Bourget and bought a safe, +flat-bottomed boat, retaining its former owner as pilot, and with these +accessories Mark Twain made one of the most peaceful and delightful +excursions of his life. Indeed, he enjoyed it so much and so lazily that +after the first few days he gave up making extended notes and +surrendered himself entirely to the languorous fascination of drifting +idly through the dreamland of southern France. On the whole, it was an +eventless excursion, with one exception--a startling exception, as he +believed. + +One afternoon, when they had been drifting several days, he sighted a +little village not far ahead, on the west bank, an ancient "jumble of +houses," with a castle, one of the many along that shore. It looked +interesting and he suggested that they rest there for the night. Then, +chancing to glance over his shoulder toward the eastward mountains, he +received a sudden surprise--a "soul-stirring shock," as he termed it +later. The big blue eastward mountain was no longer a mere mountain, but +a gigantic portrait in stone of one of his heroes. Eagerly turning to +Joseph Very and pointing to the huge effigy, he asked him to name it. +The courier said, "Napoleon." The boatman also said, "Napoleon." It +seemed to them, indeed, almost uncanny, this lifelike, reclining figure +of the conqueror, resting after battle, or, as Mark Twain put it, +"dreaming of universal empire." They discussed it in awed voices, as one +of the natural wonders of the world, which perhaps they had been the +first to discover. They landed at the village, Beauchastel, and next +morning Mark Twain, up early, watched the sun rise from behind the great +stone face of his discovery. He made a pencil sketch in his notebook, +and recorded the fact that the figure was to be seen from Beauchastel. +That morning, drifting farther down the Rhone, they watched it until the +human outlines changed. + +Mark Twain's Rhone trip was continued as far as Arles, where the current +slackened. He said that some one would have to row if they went on, +which would mean work, and that he was averse to work, even in another +person. He gave the boat to its former owner, took Joseph, and rejoined +the family in Switzerland. + +Events thronged into Mark Twain's life: gay winters, summers of travel, +heavy literary work, business cares and failures, a trip around the +world, bereavement. Amid such a tumult the brief and quiet Rhone trip +was seldom even remembered. + +But ten or eleven years later, when he had returned to America and was +surrounded by quieter things, he happened to remember the majestic +figure of the first Napoleon discovered that September day while +drifting down the Rhone. He recalled no more than that. His memory was +always capricious--he had even forgotten that he made a sketch of the +figure, with notes identifying the locality. He could picture clearly +enough the incident, the phenomenon, the surroundings, but the name of +the village had escaped him, and he located it too far down, between +Arles and Avignon. + +All his old enthusiasm returned now. He declared if the presence of this +great natural wonder was made known to the world, tourists would flock +to the spot, hotels would spring up there--all other natural curiosities +would fall below it in rank. His listeners caught his enthusiasm. +Theodore Stanton, the journalist, declared he would seek and find the +"Lost Napoleon," as Mark Twain now called it, because he was unable to +identify the exact spot. He assured Stanton that it would be perfectly +easy to find, as he could take a steamer from Arles to Avignon, and by +keeping watch he could not miss it. Stanton returned to Europe and began +the search. I am not sure that he undertook the trip himself, but he +made diligent inquiries of Rhone travelers and steamer captains, and a +lengthy correspondence passed between him and Mark Twain on the subject. + +No one had seen the "Lost Napoleon." Travelers passing between Avignon +and Arles kept steady watch on the east range, but the apparition did +not appear. Mark Twain eventually wrote an article, intending to publish +it, in the hope that some one would report the mislaid emperor. However, +he did not print the sketch, which was fortunate enough, for with its +misleading directions it would have made him unpopular with disappointed +travelers. The locality of his great discovery was still a mystery when +Mark Twain died. + +So it came about that our special reason for following the west bank of +the Rhone--the Beauchastel side, in plain view of the eastward +mountains--was to find the "Lost Napoleon." An easy matter, it seemed in +prospect, for we had what the others had lacked--that is to say, exact +information as to its locality--the notes, made twenty-two years before +by Mark Twain himself[8]--the pencil sketch, and memoranda stating that +the vision was to be seen opposite the village of Beauchastel. + +But now there developed what seemed to be another mystery. Not only our +maps and our red-book, but patient inquiry as well, failed to reveal +any village or castle by the name of Beauchastel. It was a fine, +romantic title, and we began to wonder if it might not be a combination +of half-caught syllables, remembered at the moment of making the notes, +and converted by Mark Twain's imagination into this happy sequence of +sounds. + +So we must hunt and keep the inquiries going. We had begun the hunt as +soon as we left Avignon, and the inquiries when there was opportunity. +Then presently the plot thickened. The line of those eastward mountains +began to assume many curious shapes. Something in their formation was +unlike other mountains, and soon it became not difficult to imagine a +face almost anywhere. Then at one point appeared a real face, no +question this time as to the features, only it was not enough like the +face of the sketch to make identification sure. We discussed it +anxiously and with some energy, and watched it a long time, thinking +possibly it would gradually melt into the right shape, and that +Beauchastel or some similarly sounding village would develop along the +river bank. + +But the likeness did not improve, and, while there were plenty of +villages, there was none with a name the sound of which even suggested +Beauchastel. Altogether we discovered as many as five faces that day, +and became rather hysterical at last, and called them our collection of +lost Napoleons, though among them was not one of which we could say with +conviction, "Behold, the Lost Napoleon!" This brought us to Bagnols, and +we had a fear now that we were past the viewpoint--that somehow our +search, or our imagination, had been in vain. + +But then came the great day. Up and up the Rhone, interested in so many +things that at times we half forgot to watch the eastward hills, passing +village after village, castle after castle, but never the "jumble of +houses" and the castle that commanded the vision of the great chief +lying asleep along the eastern horizon. + +I have not mentioned, I think, that at the beginning of most French +villages there is a signboard, the advertisement of a firm of +auto-stockists, with the name of the place, and the polite request to +"_Ralentir_"--that is, to "go slow." At the other end of the village is +another such a sign, and on the reverse you read, as you pass out, +"_Merci_"--which is to say, "Thanks," for going slowly; so whichever way +you come you get information, advice, and politeness from these boards, +a feature truly French. + +Well, it was a little way above the chateau which I did not rent, and we +were driving along slowly, thinking of nothing at all, entering an +unimportant-looking place, when Narcissa, who always sees everything, +suddenly uttered the magical word "Beauchastel!" + +[Illustration: MARK TWAIN'S "LOST NAPOLEON" + +"THE COLOSSAL SLEEPING FIGURE IN ITS SUPREME REPOSE"] + +It was like an electric shock--the soul-stirring shock which Mark Twain +had received at the instant of his great discovery. Beauchastel! Not a +figment, then, but a reality--the veritable jumble of houses we had been +seeking, and had well-nigh given up as a myth. Just there the houses +interfered with our view, but a hundred yards farther along a vista +opened to the horizon, and there at last, in all its mightiness and +dignity and grandeur, lay the Lost Napoleon! It is not likely that any +other natural figure in stone ever gave two such sudden and splendid +thrills of triumph, first, to its discoverer, and, twenty-two years +later, almost to the day, to those who had discovered it again. There +was no question this time. The colossal sleeping figure in its supreme +repose confuted every doubt, resting where it had rested for a million +years, and would still rest for a million more. + +At first we spoke our joy eagerly, then fell into silence, looking and +looking, loath to go, for fear it would change. At every opening we +halted to look again, and always with gratification, for it did not +change, or so gradually that for miles it traveled with us, and still at +evening, when we were nearing Valence, there remained a great stone face +on the horizon. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[8] At Mark Twain's death his various literary effects passed into the +hands of his biographer, the present writer. + + + + +Chapter XIII + +THE HOUSE OF HEADS + + +I ought to say, I suppose, that we were no longer in Provence. Even at +Avignon we were in Venaissin, according to present geography, and when +we crossed the Rhone we passed into Languedoc. Now, at Valence, we were +in Dauphine, of which Valence is the "chief-lieu," meaning, I take it, +the official headquarters. I do not think these are the old divisions at +all, and in any case it all has been "the Midi," which to us is the +Provence, the vineland, songland, and storyland of a nation where vine +and song and story flourish everywhere so lavishly that strangers come, +never to bring, but only to carry away. + +At Valence, however, romance hesitates on the outskirts. The light of +other days grows dim in its newer electric glow. Old castles surmount +the hilltops, but one needs a field glass to see them. The city itself +is modern and busy, prosperous in its manufacture of iron, silk, +macaroni, and certain very good liquors. + +I believe the chief attraction of Valence is the "House of the Heads." +Our guidebook has a picture which shows Napoleon Bonaparte standing at +the entrance, making his adieus to Montalivet, who, in a later day, was +to become his minister. Napoleon had completed his military education +in the artillery school of Valence, and at the moment was setting out to +fulfill his dream of conquest. It is rather curious, when you think of +it, that the great natural stone portrait already described should be +such a little distance away. + +To go back to the House of the Heads: Our book made only the briefest +mention of its construction, and told nothing at all of its traditions. +We stood in front of it, gazing in the dim evening light at the +crumbling carved faces of its facade, peering through into its ancient +court where there are now apartments to let, wondering as to its +history. One goes raking about in the dusty places of his memory at such +moments; returning suddenly from an excursion of that sort, I said I +recalled the story of a house of carved heads--something I had heard, or +read, long ago--and that this must be the identical house concerning +which the story had been told. + +It was like this: There was a wealthy old bachelor of ancient days who +had spent his life in collecting rare treasures of art; pictures, +tapestries, choice metal-work, arms--everything that was beautiful and +rare; his home was a storehouse of priceless things. He lived among +them, attended only by a single servant--the old woman who had been his +nurse--a plain, masculine creature, large of frame, still strong and +brawny, stout of heart and of steadfast loyalty. When the master was +away gathering new treasures she slept in the room where the arms were +kept, with a short, sharp, two-edged museum piece by her couch, and +without fear. + +One morning he told her of a journey he was about to take, and said: "I +hesitate to leave you here alone. You are no longer young." + +But she answered: "Only by the count of years, not by the measure of +strength or vigilance. I am not afraid." + +So he left her, to return on the third day. But on the evening of the +second day, when the old servant went down to the lower basement for +fuel--silently, in her softly slippered feet--she heard low voices at a +small window that opened to the court. She crept over to it and found +that a portion of the sash had been removed; listening, she learned that +a group of men outside in the dusk were planning to enter and rob the +house. They were to wait until she was asleep, then creep in through the +window, make their way upstairs, kill her, and carry off the treasures. + +It seemed a good plan, but as the old servant listened she formed a +better one. She crept back upstairs, not to lock herself in and stand a +siege, but to get her weapon, the short, heavy sword with its two razor +edges. Then she came back and sat down to wait. While she was waiting +she entertained herself by listening to their plans and taking a little +quiet muscle exercise. By and by she heard them say that the old hag +would surely be asleep by this time. The "old hag" smiled grimly and got +ready. + +A man put his head in. It was pitch dark inside, but just enough light +came in from the stars for her to see where to strike. When half his +body was through she made a clean slicing swing of the heavy sword and +the robber's head dropped on a little feather bed which she had +thoughtfully provided. The old woman seized the shoulders and firmly +drew the rest of the man inside. Another head came in, slowly, the +shoulders following. With another swing of the sword they had parted +company, and the grim avenging hands were silently dragging in the +remnant. Another head and shoulders followed, another, and another, +until six heads and bodies were stacked about the executioner and there +was blood enough to swim in. The seventh robber did not appear +immediately; something about the silence within made him reluctant. He +was suspicious, he did not know of what. He put his head to the opening +and whispered, asking if everything was all right. The old woman was no +longer calm. The violent exercise and intense interest in her occupation +had unnerved her. She was afraid she could not control her voice to +answer, and that he would get away. She made a supreme effort and +whispered, "Yes, all right." So he put in his head--very +slowly--hesitated, and started to withdraw. The old woman, however, did +not hesitate. She seized him by the hair, brought the sword down with a +fierce one-hand swing, and the treasures of this world troubled him no +more. + +Then the old servant went crazy. Returning next morning, her master +found her covered with blood, brandishing her sword, and repeating over +and over, "Seven heads, and all mine," and at sight of him lost +consciousness. She recovered far enough to tell her story, then, +presently, died. But in her honor the master rebuilt the front of his +dwelling and had carved upon it the heads of the men she had so +promptly and justly punished. + +Now, I said, this must be the very house, and we regarded it with awe +and tried to locate the little cellar window where the execution had +taken place. It was well enough in the evening dimness, but in the +morning when we went around there again I privately began to have doubts +as to the legend's authenticity, at least so far as this particular +house was concerned. The heads, by daylight, did not look like the heads +of house breakers--not any house breakers of my acquaintance--and I +later consulted a guidebook which attached to them the names of Homer, +Hippocrates, Aristotle, Pythagoras, etc., and I don't think those were +the names of the parties concerned in this particular affair. It's very +hard to give up a good and otherwise perfectly fitting legend, but one +must either do that or change the guidebook. Ah, well, it isn't the +first sacrifice I've had to make for the sake of history. + +Valence has been always a place of culture and educational activity. It +was capital of Segalauni before the Romans came, and there was a +celebrated school there, even then. This information also came from the +guidebook, and it surprised me. It was the first time I had heard that +the Segalaunians had a school prior to the Roman conquest. It was also +the first time I had heard of the Segalaunians. I thought they were all +Gauls and Goths and Vandals up that way, and that their education +consisted in learning how to throw a spear convincingly, or to divert +one with a rawhide buckler. Now I discovered they had a college before +the Romans conquered them. One can hardly blame them for descending upon +those Romans later, with fire and sword. Valence shared the usual fate. +It was ravished by the so-called barbarians, and later hacked to pieces +by Christian kings. To-day again it is a fair city, with parks, wide +boulevards, and imposing monuments. + + + + +Chapter XIV + +INTO THE HILLS + + +Turning eastward from Valence, we headed directly for the mountains and +entered a land with all the wealth of increase we had found in Provence, +and with even more of picturesqueness. The road was still perfect--hard +and straight, with an upward incline, but with a grade so gradual and +perfect as to be barely noticeable. Indeed, there were times when we +seemed actually to be descending, even when the evidence of gravity told +us that we were climbing; that is to say, we met water coming toward +us--water flowing by the roadside--and more than once Narcissa and I +agreed that the said water was running uphill, which was not likely--not +in France. Of course, in England, where they turn to the left, it might +be expected. The village did not seem quite like those along the Rhone. +The streets were as narrow, the people as mildly interested in us, but, +on the whole, we thought the general aspect was less ancient, possibly +less clean. + +But they were interesting. Once we saw a man beating a drum, stopping on +every corner to collect a little crowd and read some sort of +proclamation, and once by the roadside we met a little negro child in a +straw hat and a bright dress, a very bit of the American South. +Everywhere were pretty gardens, along the walls gay flowers, and always +the valleys were rich in orchard and vineyard, plumed with tall poplars, +divided by bright rivers, and glorified with hazy September sunlight. + +We grew friendly with the mountains in the course of the afternoon, then +intimate. They sprang up before us and behind us; just across the +valleys they towered into the sky. Indeed, we suddenly had a most +dramatic proof that we were climbing one. We had been shut in by wooded +roads and sheltered farmsteads for an hour or two when we came out again +into the open valley, with the river flowing through. But we were no +longer _in_ the valley! Surprise of surprises! we were on a narrow, +lofty road hundreds of feet above it, skirting the mountainside! It +seemed incredible that our gradual, almost imperceptible, ascent had +brought us to that high perch, overlooking this marvelous Vale of +Cashmere. Everyone has two countries, it is said; his own and France. +One could understand that saying here, and why the French are not an +emigrating race. We stopped to gaze our fill, and as we went along, the +scenery attracted my attention so much that more than once I nearly +drove off into it. We were so engrossed by the picture that we took the +wrong road and went at least ten miles out of our way to get to +Grenoble. But it did not matter; we saw startlingly steep mountainsides +that otherwise we might not have seen, and dashing streams, and at the +end we had a wild and glorious coast of five or six miles from our +mountain fastness down into the valley of the Isere, a regular toboggan +streak, both horns going, nerves taut, teeth set, probable disaster +waiting at every turn. We had never done such a thing before, and +promised ourselves not to do it again. One such thrill was worth while, +perhaps, but the ordinary lifetime might not outlast another. + +Down in that evening valley we were in a wonderland. Granite walls rose +perpendicularly on our left; cottages nestled in gardens at our +right--bloom, foliage, fragrance, the flowing Isere. Surely this was the +happy valley, the land of peace and plenty, shut in by these lofty +heights from all the troubling of the world. Even the towers and spires +of a city that presently began to rise ahead of us did not disturb us. +In the evening light they were not real, and when we had entered the +gates of ancient Gratianopolis, and crossed the Isere by one of its +several bridges, it seemed that this modern Grenoble was not quite a +city of the eager world. + +The hotel we selected from the red-book was on the outskirts, and we had +to draw pretty heavily on our French to find it; but it was worth while, +for it was set in a wide garden, and from every window commanded the +Alps. We realized now that they _were_ the Alps, the Alps of the Savoy, +their high green slopes so near that we could hear the tinkle of the +goat bells. + +We did not take the long drive through the "impossibly beautiful" +valleys of Grenoble which we had planned for next morning. When we arose +the air was no longer full of stillness and sunlight. In fact, it was +beginning to rain. So we stayed in, and by and by for luncheon had all +the good French things, ending with fresh strawberries, great bowls of +them--in September--and apparently no novelty in this happy valley of +the Isere. All the afternoon, too, it rained, and some noisy French +youngsters raced up and down the lower rooms and halls, producing a +homelike atmosphere, while we gathered about the tables to study the +French papers and magazines. + +It was among the advertisements that I made some discoveries about +French automobiles. They are more expensive than ours, in proportion to +the horsepower, the latter being usually low. About twelve to fifteen +horsepower seems to be the strength of the ordinary five-passenger +machine. Our own thirty-horsepower engine, which we thought rather light +at home, is a giant by comparison. Heavy engines are not needed in +France. The smooth roads and perfectly graded hills require not half the +power that we must expend on some of our rough, tough, rocky, and steep +highways. Again, these lighter engines and cars take less gasoline, +certainly, and that is a big item, where gasoline costs at least 100 per +cent more than in America. I suppose the lightest weight car consistent +with strength and comfort would be the thing to take to Europe. There +would be a saving in the gasoline bill; and then the customs deposit, +which is figured on the weight, would not be so likely to cripple the +owner's bank account. + + + + +Chapter XV + +UP THE ISERE + + +Sometime in the night the rain ceased, and by morning Nature had +prepared a surprise for us. The air was crystal clear, and towering into +the sky were peaks no longer blue or green or gray, but white with +drifted snow! We were in warm, mellow September down in our valley, but +just up there--such a little way it seemed--were the drifts of winter. +With our glass we could bring them almost within snowballing distance. +Feathery clouds drifted among the peaks, the sun shooting through. It +was all new to us, and startling. These really were the Alps; there was +no further question. + +"Few French cities have a finer location than Grenoble," says the +guidebook, and if I also have not conveyed this impression I have meant +to do so. Not many cities in the world, I imagine, are more +picturesquely located. It is also a large city, with a population of +more than seventy-five thousand--a city of culture, and it has been +important since the beginning of recorded history. Gratian was its +patron Roman emperor, and the name Gratianopolis, assumed in his honor, +has become the Grenoble of to-day. Gratian lived back in the fourth +century and was a capable sort of an emperor, but he had one weak point. +He liked to array himself in outlandish garb and show off. It is a +weakness common to many persons, and seems harmless enough, but it was +not a healthy thing for Gratian, who did it once too often. He came out +one day habited like a Scythian warrior and capered up and down in front +of his army. He expected admiration, and probably the title of +Scythianus, or something. But the unexpected happened. The army jeered +at his antics, and eventually assassinated him. Scythian costumes for +emperors are still out of style. + +We may pass over the riot and ruin of the Middle Ages. All these towns +were alike in that respect. The story of one, with slight alterations, +fits them all. Grenoble was the first town to open its gates to +Napoleon, on his return from Elba, in 1815, which gives it a kind of +distinction in more recent times. Another individual feature is its +floods. The Isere occasionally fills its beautiful valley, and fifteen +times during the past three centuries Grenoble has been almost swept +away. There has been no flood for a long period now, and another is +about due. Prudent citizens of Grenoble keep a boat tied in the back +yard instead of a dog. + +We did not linger in Grenoble. The tomb of Bayard--_sans peur, sans +reproche_--is there, in the church of St. Andre; but we did not learn of +this until later. The great sight at Grenoble is its environment--the +superlative beauty of its approaches, and its setting--all of which we +had seen in the glory of a September afternoon. + +There were two roads to Chambery, one by the Isere, and another through +the mountains by way of Chartreuse which had its attractions. I always +wanted to get some of the ancient nectar at its fountainhead, and the +road was put down as "picturesque." But the rains had made the hills +slippery; a skidding automobile and old Chartreuse in two colors did not +seem a safe combination for a family car. So we took the river route, +and I am glad now, for it began raining soon after we started, and we +might not have found any comfortable ruined castle to shelter us if we +had taken to the woods and hills. As it was, we drove into a great +arched entrance, where we were safe and dry, and quite indifferent as to +what happened next. We explored the place, and were rather puzzled. It +was unlike other castles we have seen. Perhaps it had not been a castle +at all, but an immense granary, or brewery, or an ancient fortress. In +any case, it was old and massive, and its high main arch afforded us a +fine protection. + +The shower passed, the sun came out, and sent us on our way. The road +was wet, but hard, and not steep. It was a neighborly road, curiously +intimate with the wayside life, its domestic geography and economies; +there were places where we seemed to be actually in front dooryards. + +The weather was not settled; now and then there came a sprinkle, but +with our top up we did not mind. It being rather wet for picnicking, we +decided that we would lunch at some wayside inn. None appeared, however, +and when we came to think about it, we could not remember having +anywhere passed such an inn. There were plenty of cafes where one could +obtain wines and other beverages, but no food. In England and New +England there are plenty of hostelries along the main roads, but +evidently not in France. One must depend on the towns. So we stopped at +Challes-les-Eaux, a little way out of Chambery, a pretty place, where we +might have stayed longer if the September days had not been getting few. + +Later, at Chambery, we visited the thirteenth-century chateau of the Duc +de Savoy, which has been rebuilt, and climbed the great square tower +which is about all that is left of the original structure, a grand place +in its time. We also went into the gothic chapel to see some handsomely +carved wainscoting, with a ceiling to match. We were admiring it when +the woman who was conducting us explained by signs and a combination of +languages that, while the wainscoting was carved, the ceiling was only +painted, in imitation. It was certainly marvelous if true, and she +looked like an honest woman. But I don't know-- I wanted to get up there +and feel it. + +She was, at any rate, a considerate woman. When I told her in the +beginning that we had come to see the Duke of Savoy's old hat, meaning +his old castle, she hardly smiled, though Narcissa went into hysterics. +It was nothing--even a Frenchman might say "_chapeau_" when he meant +"_chateau_" and, furthermore--but let it go--it isn't important enough +to dwell upon. Anything will divert the young. + +Speaking of hats, I have not mentioned, I believe, the extra one that we +carried in the car. It belonged to the head of the family and when we +loaded it (the hat) at Marseilles it was a fresh and rather fluffy bit +of finery. There did not seem to be any good place for it in the heavy +baggage, shipped by freight to Switzerland, and decidedly none in the +service bags strapped to the running-board. Besides, its owner said she +might want to wear it on the way. There was plenty of space for an extra +hat in our roomy car, we said, and there did seem to be when we loaded +it in, all neatly done up in a trim package. + +But it is curious how things jostle about and lose their identity. I +never seemed to be able to remember what was in that particular package, +and was always mistaking it for other things. When luncheon time came I +invariably seized it, expecting some pleasant surprise, only to untie an +appetizing, but indigestible, hat. The wrapping began to have a +travel-worn look, the package seemed to lose bulk. When we lost the +string, at last, we found that we could tie it with a much shorter one; +when we lost that, we gave the paper a twist at the ends, which was +seldom permanent, especially when violently disturbed. Not a soul in the +car that did not at one time or another, feeling something bunchy, give +it a kick, only to expose our surplus hat, which always had a helpless, +unhappy look that invited pity. No concealment insured safety. Once the +Joy was found to have her feet on it. At another time the owner herself +was sitting on it. We seldom took it in at night, but once when we did +we forgot it, and drove back seven miles to recover. I don't know what +finally became of it. + + + + +Chapter XVI + +INTO THE HAUTE-SAVOIE + + +It is a rare and beautiful drive to Aix-les-Bains, and it takes one by +Lake Bourget, the shimmering bit of blue water from which Mark Twain set +out on his Rhone trip. We got into a street market the moment of our +arrival in Aix, a solid swarm of dickering people. In my excitement I +let the engine stall, and it seemed we would never get through. Aix did +not much interest us, and we pushed on to Annecy with no unnecessary +delay, and from Annecy to Thones, a comfortable day's run, including, as +it did, a drive about beautiful ancient Annecy, chief city of the +Haute-Savoie. We might have stayed longer at Annecy, but the weather had +an unsettled look, and there came the feeling that storms and winter +were gathering in the mountains and we would better be getting along +somewhere else. Also a woman backed her donkey cart into us at Annecy +and put another dent in our mudguard, which was somehow discouraging. As +it was, we saw the lake, said to be the most beautiful in France, though +no more beautiful, I think, than Bourget; an ancient chateau, now +transformed into barracks; the old prison built out in the river; the +narrow, ancient streets; and a house with a tablet that states that +Jean-Jacques Rousseau lived there in 1729, and there developed his +taste for music. + +The Haute-Savoie is that billowy corner of far-eastern France below Lake +Geneva--a kind of neutral, no man's territory hemmed by the huge heights +of Switzerland and Italy. Leaving Annecy, we followed a picturesque road +through a wild, weird land, along gorges and awesome brinks, under a +somber sky. At times we seemed to be on the back of the world; at others +diving to its recesses. It was the kind of way that one might take to +supernatural regions, and it was the kind of evening to start. + +Here and there on the slopes were flocks and herds, attended by +grave-faced women, who were knitting as they slowly walked. They barely +noticed us or their charges. They never sat down, but followed along, +knitting, knitting, as though they were patterning the fates of men. +Sometimes we met or passed a woman on the road, always knitting, like +the others. It was uncanny. Probably for every human being there is +somewhere among those dark mountains a weird woman, knitting the pattern +of his life. That night at Thones, a forgotten hamlet, lost there in the +Haute-Savoie, a storm broke, the wind tore about our little inn, the +rain dashed fearsomely, all of which was the work of those knitting +women, beyond doubt. + +But the sun came up fresh and bright, and we took the road for Geneva. +For a time it would be our last day in France. All the forenoon we were +among the mountain peaks, skirting precipices that one did not care to +look over without holding firmly to something. But there were no steep +grades and the brinks were protected by solid little walls. + +At the bottom of a long slope a soldier stepped out of a box of a house +and presented arms. I dodged, but his intent was not sanguinary. He +wanted to see our papers--we were at the frontier--so I produced our +customs receipts, called _triptyques_, our T. C. de F. membership card, +our car license, our driving license, and was feeling in my pocket for +yet other things when he protested, "_Pas necessaire, pas necessaire_" +and handed all back but the French _triptyque_, which he took to his +_bureau_, where, with two other military _attaches_, he examined, +discussed, finally signed and witnessed it, and waved us on our way. + +So we were not passing the Swiss customs yet, but only leaving the +French outpost. The ordeal of the Swiss _douane_ was still somewhere +ahead; we had entered the neutral strip. We wished we might reach the +Swiss post pretty soon and have the matter over with. We had visions of +a fierce person looking us through, while he fired a volley of French +questions, pulled our baggage to pieces, and weighed the car, only to +find that the result did not tally with the figures on our triple-folded +sheet. I had supplied most of those figures from memory, and I doubted +their accuracy. I had heard that of all countries except Russia, +Switzerland was about the most particular. So we went on and on through +that lofty scenery, expecting almost anything at every turn. + +But nothing happened--nothing except that at one place the engine +seemed to be running rather poorly. I thought at first that there was +some obstruction in the gasoline tube, and my impulse was to light a +match and look into the tank to see what it might be. On second thought +I concluded to omit the match. I remembered reading of a man who had +done that, and almost immediately his heirs had been obliged to get a +new car. + +We passed villages, but no _douane_. Then all at once we were in the +outskirts of a city. Why, this was surely Geneva, and as we were driving +leisurely along a fat little man in uniform came out and lifted his +hand. We stopped. Here it was, then, at last. + +For a moment I felt a slight attack of weakness, not in the heart, but +about the knees. However, the little man seemed friendly. He held out +his hand and I shook it cordially. But it was the papers he was after, +our Swiss _triptyque_. I said to myself, "A minute more and we probably +shall be on the scales, and the next in trouble." But he only said, +"_Numero de moteur._" I jerked open the hood, scrubbed off the grease, +and showed it to him. He compared it, smiled, and handed back our paper. +Then he waved me to a _bureau_ across the street. Now it was coming; he +had doubtless discovered something wrong at a glance. + +There was an efficient-looking, sinister-looking person in the office +who took the _triptyque_, glanced at it, and threw something down before +me. I thought it was a warrant, but it proved to be a copy of the Swiss +law and driving regulations, with a fine road map of Switzerland, and +all information needed by motorists; "Price, 2 Frs." stamped on the +cover. I judged that I was required to buy this, but I should have done +it, anyway. It was worth the money, and I wished to oblige that man. He +accepted my two francs, and I began to feel better. Then he made a few +entries in something, handed me my _triptyque_, said "_Bonjour, et bon +voyage_," and I was done. + +I could hardly believe it. I saw then what a nice face he had, while the +little fat man across the street was manifestly a lovely soul. He had +demanded not a thing but the number of the motor. Not even the number of +the car had interested him. As for the weight, the bore of the +cylinders, the number of the chassis, and all those other statistics +said to be required, they were as nonexistent to him as to me. Why, he +had not even asked us to unstrap our baggage. It was with feelings akin +to tenderness that we waved him good-by and glided across the imaginary +line of his frontier into Switzerland. + +We glided very leisurely, however. "Everybody gets arrested in +Switzerland"--every stranger, that is--for breaking the speed laws. +This, at least, was our New York information. So we crept along, and I +kept my eye on the speedometer all the way through Geneva, for we were +not going to stop there at present, and when we had crossed our old +friend, the Rhone, variously bridged here, skirted the gay water-front +and were on the shore road of that loveliest of all lakes--Lake Leman, +with its blue water, its snow-capped mountains, its terraced vineyards, +we still loafed and watched the _gendarmes_ to see if they were timing +us, and came almost to a stop whenever an official of any kind hove in +sight. Also we used the mellow horn, for our book said that horns of the +Klaxon type are not allowed in Switzerland. + +We were on soft pedal, you see, and some of the cars we met were equally +subdued. But we observed others that were not--cars that were just +bowling along in the old-fashioned way, and when these passed us, we +were surprised to find that they were not ignorant, strange cars, but +Swiss cars, or at least cars with Swiss number-plates and familiar with +the dangers. As for the whistles, they were honking and snorting and +screeching just as if they were in Connecticut, where there is no known +law that forbids anything except fishing on Sunday. Indeed, one of the +most sudden and violent horns I have ever heard overtook us just then, +and I nearly jumped over the windshield when it abruptly opened on me +from behind. + +"Good G--, that is, goodness!" I said, "this is just like France!" and I +let out a few knots and tooted the Klaxonette, and was doing finely when +suddenly a mounted policeman appeared on the curve ahead. I could feel +myself scrouging as we passed, going with great deliberation. He did not +offer to molest me, but we did not hurry again--not right away. Not that +we cared to hurry; the picture landscape we were in was worth all the +time one could give it. Still, we were anxious to get to Lausanne before +dusk, and little by little we saw and heard things which convinced us +that "Everybody gets arrested in Switzerland" is a superstition, the +explosion of which was about due. Fully half the people we met, _all_ +that passed us, could properly have been arrested anywhere. By the time +we reached Lausanne we should have been arrested ourselves. + + + + +Chapter XVII + +SOME SWISS IMPRESSIONS + + +Now, when one has reached Switzerland, his inclination is not to go on +traveling, for a time at least, but to linger and enjoy certain +advantages. First, of course, there is the scenery; the lakes, the +terraced hills, and the snow-capped mountains; the chateaux, chalets, +and mossy villages; the old inns and brand-new, heaven-climbing hotels. +And then Switzerland is the land of the three F's--French, Food, and +Freedom, all attractive things. For Switzerland is the model republic, +without graft and without greed; its schools, whether public or private, +enjoy the patronage of all civilized lands, and as to the matter of +food, Switzerland is the _table d'hote_ of the world. + +Swiss landlords are combined into a sort of trust, not, as would be the +case elsewhere, to keep prices up, but to keep prices down! It is the +result of wisdom, a far-seeing prudence which says: "Our scenery, our +climate, our pure water--these are our stock in trade. Our profit from +them is through the visitor. Wherefore we will encourage visitors with +good food, attractive accommodations, courtesy; and we will be content +with small profit from each, thus inviting a general, even if modest, +prosperity; also, incidentally, the cheerfulness and good will of our +patrons." It is a policy which calls for careful management, one that +has made hotel-keeping in Switzerland an exact science--a gift, in fact, +transmitted down the generations, a sort of magic; for nothing short of +magic could supply a spotless room, steam heated, with windows opening +upon the lake, and three meals--the evening meal a seven-course dinner +of the first order--all for six francs fifty (one dollar and thirty +cents) a day.[9] + +It is a policy which prevails in other directions. Not all things are +cheap in Switzerland, but most things are--the things which one buys +oftenest--woolen clothing and food. Cotton goods are not cheap, for +Switzerland does not grow cotton, and there are a few other such items. +Shoes are cheap enough, if one will wear the Swiss make, but few +visitors like to view them on their own feet. They enjoy them most when +they hear them clattering along on the feet of Swiss children, the +wooden soles beating out a rhythmic measure that sounds like a coopers' +chorus. Not all Swiss shoes have wooden soles, but the others do not +gain grace by their absence. + +Swiss cigars are also cheap. I am not a purist in cigars, but at home I +have smoked a good many and seldom with safety one that cost less than +ten cents, straight. One pays ten centimes, or two cents, in +Switzerland, and gets a mild, evenly burning article. I judge it is made +of tobacco, though the head of the family suggested other things that +she thought it smelled like. If she had smoked one of them, she would +not have noticed this peculiarity any more. Wine is cheap, of course, +for the hillsides are covered with vines; also, whisk--but I am +wandering into economic statistics without really meaning to do so. They +were the first things that impressed me. + +The next, I believe, was the lack of Swiss politics. Switzerland is a +republic that runs with the exactness of a Swiss watch, its machinery as +hermetically concealed. I had heard that the Swiss Republic sets the +pattern of government for the world, and I was anxious to know something +of its methods and personnel. I was sorry that I was so ignorant. I +didn't even know the name of the Swiss President, and for a week was +ashamed to confess it. I was hoping I might see it in one of the French +papers I puzzled over every evening. But at the end of the week I +timidly and apologetically inquired of our friendly landlord as to the +name of the Swiss Chief Executive. + +But then came a shock. Our landlord grew confused, blushed, and +confessed that he didn't know it, either! He had known it, he said, of +course, but it had slipped his mind. Slipped his mind! Think of the name +of Roosevelt, or Wilson, or Taft slipping the mind of anybody in +America--and a landlord! I asked the man who sold me cigars. He had +forgotten, too. I asked the apothecary, but got no information. I was +not so timid after that. I asked a fellow passenger--guest, I mean, an +American, but of long Swiss residence--and got this story. I believe +most of it. He said: + +"When I came to Switzerland and found out what a wonderful little +country it was, its government so economical, so free from party +corruption and spoils, from graft and politics, so different from the +home life of our own dear Columbia, I thought, 'The man at the head of +this thing must be a master hand; I'll find out his name.' So I picked +out a bright-looking subject, and said: + +"'What is the name of the Swiss President?' + +"He tried to pretend he didn't understand my French, but he did, for I +can tear the language off all right--learned it studying art in Paris. +When I pinned him down, he said he knew the name well enough, +_parfaitement_, but couldn't think of it at that moment. + +"That was a surprise, but I asked the next man. He couldn't think of it, +either. Then I asked a police officer. Of course he knew it, all right; +'_oh oui, certainement, mais_'--then he scratched his head and +scowled, but he couldn't dig up that name. He was just a plain +prevaricator--_toute simplement_--like the others. I asked every man I +met, and every one of them knew it, had it right on the end of his +tongue; but somehow it seemed to stick there. Not a man in Vevey or +Montreux could tell me the name of the Swiss President. It was the same +in Fribourg, the same even in Berne, the capital. I had about given it +up when one evening, there in Berne, I noticed a sturdy man with an +honest face, approaching. He looked intelligent, too, and as a last +resort I said: + +"'Could you, by any chance, tell me the name of the Swiss President?' + +"The effect was startling. He seized me by the arm and, after looking +up and down the street, leaned forward and whispered in my ear: + +"_'Mon Dieu! c'est moi!_ _I_ am the Swiss President; but--ah _non_, +don't tell anyone! I am the only man in Switzerland who knows it!' + +"You see," my friend continued, "he is elected privately, no torchlight +campaigns, no scandal, and only for a year. He is only a sort of +chairman, though of course his work is important, and the present able +incumbent has been elected a number of times. His name is--is--is--ah +yes, that's my tram. So sorry to have to hurry away. See you to-night at +dinner." + +One sees a good many nationalities in Switzerland, and some of them I +soon learned to distinguish. When I saw a man with a dinky Panama hat +pulled down about his face, and wearing a big black mustache or beard, I +knew he was a Frenchman. When I met a stout, red-faced man, with a pack +on his back and with hobnailed shoes, short trousers, and a little felt +hat with a feather stuck in it, I knew him for a German. When I noticed +a very carefully dressed person, with correct costume and gaiters--also +monocle, if perfect--saying, "Aw--Swiss people--so queah, don't you +know," I was pretty sure he was an Englishman. When I remarked a tall, +limber person, carrying a copy of the Paris _Herald_ and asking every +other person he met, "Hey, there! Vooly voo mir please sagen--" all the +rest incomprehensible, I knew him for an American of the deepest dye. +The Swiss themselves have no such distinguishing mark. They are just +sturdy, plainly dressed, unpretentious people, polite and friendly, +with a look of capability, cleanliness, and honesty which invites +confidence. + +An Englishwoman said to me: + +"I have heard that the Swiss are the best governed and the least +intelligent people in the world." + +I reflected on this. It had a snappy sound, but it somehow did not seem +to be firm at the joints. "The best governed and the least +intelligent"--there was something drunken about it. I said: + +"It doesn't quite seem to fit. And how about the magnificent Swiss +public-school system, and the manufacturing, and the national railway, +with all the splendid engineering that goes with the building of the +funiculars and tunnels? And the Swiss prosperity, and the medical +practice, and the sciences? I always imagined those things were in some +way connected with intelligence." + +"Oh, well," she said, "I suppose they do go with intelligence of a kind; +but then, of course, you know what I mean." + +But I was somehow too dull for her epigram. It didn't seem to have any +sense in it. She was a grass widow and I think she made it herself. +Later she asked me whereabouts in America I came from. When I said +Connecticut, she asked if Connecticut was as big as Lausanne. A woman +like that ought to go out of the epigram business.[10] + +As a matter of fact, a good many foreigners are inclined to say rather +peevish things about sturdy little, thriving little, happy little +Switzerland. I rather suspect they are a bit jealous of the +pocket-de-luxe nation that shelters them, and feeds them, and entertains +them, and cures them, cheaper and better and kindlier than their home +countries. They are willing to enjoy these advantages, but they +acknowledge rather grudgingly that Switzerland, without a great standing +army, a horde of grafters, or a regiment of tariff millionaires to +support, can give lessons in national housekeeping to their own larger, +more pretentious lands. + +I would not leave the impression, by the way, that the Swiss are +invariably prosperous. Indeed, some of them along the lake must have +been very poor just then, for the grape crop had failed two years in +succession, and with many of them their vineyard is their all. But there +was no outward destitution, no rags, no dirt, no begging. Whatever his +privation, the Swiss does not wear his poverty on his sleeve. + +Switzerland has two other official languages besides French--German and +Italian. Government documents, even the postal cards, are printed in +these three languages. It would seem a small country for three +well-developed tongues, besides all the canton dialects, some of which +go back to the old Romanic, and are quite distinct from anything modern. +The French, German, and Italian divisions are geographical, the lines of +separation pretty distinct. There is rivalry among the cantons, a +healthy rivalry, in matters of progress and education. The cantons are +sufficiently a unit on all national questions, and together they form +about as compact and sturdy a little nation as the world has yet +seen--a nation the size and shape of an English walnut, and a hard nut +for any would-be aggressor to crack. There are not many entrances into +Switzerland, and they would be very well defended. The standing army is +small, but every Swiss is subject to a call to arms, and is trained by +enforced, though brief, service to their use. He seems by nature to be +handy with a rifle, and never allows himself to be out of practice. +There are regular practice meets every Sunday, and I am told the +government supplies the cartridges. Boys organize little companies and +regiments and this the government also encourages. It is said that +Switzerland could put half a million soldiers in the field, and that +every one would be a crack shot.[11] The German Kaiser, once reviewing +the Swiss troops, remarked, casually, to a sub-officer, "You say you +could muster half a million soldiers?" + +"Yes, Your Majesty." + +"And suppose I should send a million of my soldiers against you. What +would you do then?" + +"We should fire two shots apiece, Your Majesty." + +[Illustration: MARCHE VEVEY + +"IN EACH TOWN THERE IS AN OPEN SQUARE, WHICH TWICE A WEEK IS +PICTURESQUELY CROWDED"] + +In every Swiss town there are regular market days, important events +where one may profitably observe the people. The sale of vegetables and +flowers must support many families. In each town there is an open +square, which twice a week is picturesquely crowded, and there one may +buy everything to eat and many things to wear; also, the wherewith to +improve the home, the garden, and even the mind; for besides the +garden things there are stalls of second-hand books, hardware, +furniture, and general knick-knacks. Flanking the streets are displays +of ribbons, laces, hats, knitted things, and general dry-goods +miscellany; also antiques, the scrapings of many a Swiss cupboard and +corner. + +But it is in the open square itself that the greater market +blooms--really blooms, for, in season, the vegetables are truly floral +in their rich vigor, and among them are pots and bouquets of the posies +that the Swiss, like all Europeans, so dearly love. Most of the flower +and vegetable displays are down on the ground, arranged in baskets or on +bits of paper, and form a succession of gay little gardens, ranged in +long narrow avenues of color and movement, a picture of which we do not +grow weary. Nor of the setting--the quaint tile-roofed buildings; the +blue lake, with its sails and swans and throng of wheeling gulls; the +green hills; the lofty snow-capped mountains that look down from every +side. How many sights those ancient peaks have seen on this same +square!--markets and military, battles and buffoonery. There are no +battles to-day, but the Swiss cadets use it for a drill ground, and +every little while lightsome shows and merry-go-rounds establish +themselves in one end of it, and the little people skip about, and go +riding around and around to the latest ragtime, while the mountains look +down with their large complaisance, just as they watched the capering +ancestors of these small people, ages and ages ago; just as they will +watch their light-footed descendants for a million years, maybe. + +The market is not confined entirely to the square. On its greater days, +when many loads of wood and hay crowd one side of it, it overflows into +the streets. Around a floral fountain may be found butter, eggs, and +cheese--oh, especially cheese, the cheese of Gruyere, with every size +and pattern of holes, in any quantity, cut and weighed by a handsome +apple-faced woman who seems the living embodiment of the cheese +industry. I have heard it said--this was in America--that the one thing +not to be obtained in Switzerland is Swiss cheese. The person who +conceived that smartness belongs with the one who invented the +"intelligence" epigram. + +On the market days before Christmas our square had a different look. The +little displays were full of greenery, and in the center of the market +place there had sprung up a forest of Christmas trees. They were not in +heaps, lying flat; but each, mounted on a neat tripod stand, stood +upright, as if planted there. They made a veritable Santa Claus forest, +and the gayly dressed young people walking among them, looking and +selecting, added to this pretty sight. + +The Swiss make much of Christmas. Their shop windows are overflowing +with decorations and attractive things. Vevey is "Chocolate Town." Most +of the great chocolate factories of Europe are there, and at all holiday +seasons the grocery and confectionary windows bear special evidence of +this industry. Chocolate Santa Clauses--very large--chickens, rabbits, +and the like--life size; also trees, groups, set pieces, ornaments--the +windows are wildernesses of the rich brown confection, all so +skillfully modeled and arranged. + +The toy windows, too, are fascinating. You would know at once that you +were looking into a Swiss toy window, from the variety of carved bears; +also, from the toy chateaux--very fine and large, with walled courts, +portcullises, and battlements--with which the little Swiss lad plays +war. The dolls are different, too, and the toy books--all in French. But +none of these things were as interesting as the children standing +outside, pointing at them and discussing them--so easily, so glibly--in +French. How little they guessed my envy of them--how gladly I would buy +out that toy window for, say, seven dollars, and trade it to them for +their glib unconsciousness of gender and number and case. + +On the afternoon before Christmas the bells began. From the high +mountainsides, out of deep ravines that led back into the hinterland, +came the ringing. The hills seemed full of bells--a sound that must go +echoing from range to range, to the north and to the south, traveling +across Europe with the afternoon. Then, on Christmas Day, the trees. In +every home and school and hotel they sparkled. We attended four in the +course of the day, one, a very gorgeous one in the lofty festooned hall +of a truly grand hotel, with tea served and soft music stealing from +some concealed place--a slow strain of the "Tannenbaum," which is like +our "Maryland," only more beautiful--and seemed to come from a source +celestial. And when one remembered that in every corner of Europe +something of the kind was going on, and that it was all done in memory +and in honor of One who, along dusty roadsides and in waste places, +taught the doctrine of humility, one wondered if the world might not be +worth saving, after all. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[9] In 1913-14. The rate to-day is somewhat higher. + +[10] I have thought since that she may have meant that the Swiss do not +lead the world in the art and literary industries. She may have +connected those things with intelligence--you never can tell. + +[11] When the call to arms came, August 1, 1914, Switzerland put 250,000 +men on her frontier in twenty-four hours. + + + + +Chapter XVIII + +THE LITTLE TOWN OF VEVEY + + +It would seem to be the French cantons along the Lake of Geneva (or +Leman) that most attract the deliberate traveler. The north shore of +this lake is called the Swiss Riviera, for it has a short, mild winter, +with quick access to the mountaintops. But perhaps it is the schools, +the _pensionnats_, that hold the greater number. The whole shore of the +Lake of Geneva is lined with them, and they are filled with young +persons of all ages and nations, who are there mainly to learn French, +though incidentally, through that lingual medium, other knowledge is +acquired. Some, indeed, attend the fine public schools, where the drill +is very thorough, even severe. Parents, as well as children, generally +attend school in Switzerland--visiting parents, I mean. They undertake +French, which is the thing to do, like mountain climbing and winter +sports. Some buy books and seclude their struggles; others have private +lessons; still others openly attend one of the grown-up language +schools, or try to find board at French-speaking _pensions_. Their +progress and efforts form the main topic of conversation. In a way it +makes for a renewal of youth. + +We had rested at Vevey, that quiet, clean little picture-city, not so +busy and big as Lausanne, or so grand and stylish as Montreux, but more +peaceful than either, and, being more level, better adapted for motor +headquarters. Off the main street at Montreux, the back or the front +part of a car is always up in the air, and it has to be chained to the +garage. We found a level garage in Vevey, and picked out _pensionnats_ +for Narcissa and the Joy, and satisfactory quarters for ourselves. +Though still warm and summer-like, it was already late autumn by the +calendar, and not a time for long motor adventures. We would see what a +Swiss winter was like. We would wrestle with the French idiom. We would +spend the months face to face with the lake, the high-perched hotels and +villages, the snow-capped, cloud-capped hills. + +Probably everybody has heard of Vevey, but perhaps there are still some +who do not know it by heart, and will be glad of a word or two of +details. Vevey has been a place of habitation for a long time. A +wandering Asian tribe once came down that way, rested a hundred years or +so along the Leman shore, then went drifting up the Rhone and across the +Simplon to make trouble for Rome. But perhaps there was no Rome then; it +was a long time ago, and it did not leave any dates, only a few bronze +implements and trifles to show the track of the storm. The Helvetians +came then, sturdy and warlike, and then the Romans, who may have +preserved traditions of the pleasant land from that first wandering +tribe. + +Caesar came marching down the Rhone and along this waterside, and his +followers camped in the Vevey neighborhood a good while--about four +centuries, some say. Certain rich Romans built their summer villas in +Switzerland, and the lake shore must have had its share. But if there +were any at Vevey, there is no very positive trace of them now. In the +depths of the Castle of Chillon, they show you Roman construction in the +foundations, but that may have been a fortress. + +I am forgetting, however. One day, when we had been there a month or +two, and were clawing up the steep hill--Mount Pelerin--that rises back +of the hotel to yet other hotels, and to compact little villages, we +strayed into a tiny lane just below Chardonne, and came to a stone +watering trough, or fountain, under an enormous tree. Such troughs, with +their clear, flowing water, are plentiful enough, but this one had a +feature all its own. The stone upright which held the flowing spout had +not been designed for that special purpose. It was, in fact, the upper +part of a small column, capital and all, very old and mended, and +_distinctly of Roman design_. I do not know where it came from, and I do +not care to inquire too deeply, for I like to think it is a fragment of +one of those villas that overlooked the Lake of Geneva long ago. + +There are villas enough about the lake to-day, and chateaux by the +dozen, most of the latter begun in the truculent Middle Ages and +continued through the centuries down to within a hundred years or so +ago. You cannot walk or drive in any direction without coming to them, +some in ruins, but most of them well preserved or carefully restored, +and habitable; some, like beautiful Blonay, holding descendants of +their ancient owners. From the top of our hotel, with a glass, one could +pick out as many as half a dozen, possibly twice that number. They were +just towers of defense originally, the wings and other architectural +excursions being added as peace and prosperity and family life +increased. One very old and handsome one, la Tour de Peilz, now gives +its name to a part of Vevey, though in the old days it is said that +venomous little wars used to rage between Vevey proper and the village +which clustered about the chateau de Peilz. Readers of _Little Women_ +will remember la Tour de Peilz, for it was along its lake wall that +Laurie proposed to Amy. + +But a little way down the lake there is a more celebrated chateau than +la Tour de Peilz; the chateau of Chillon, which Byron's poem of the +prisoner Bonivard has made familiar for a hundred years.[12] Chillon, +which stands not exactly on the lake, but on a rock _in_ the lake, has +not preserved the beginning of its history. Those men of the bronze age +camped there, and, if the evidences shown are genuine, the Romans built +a part of the foundation. Also, in one of its lower recesses there are +the remains of a rude altar of sacrifice. + +It is a fascinating place. You cross a little drawbridge, and through a +heavy gateway enter a guardroom and pass to a pretty open court, where +to-day there are vines and blooming flowers. Then you descend to the big +barrack room, a hall of ponderous masonry, pass through a small room, +with its perfectly black cell below for the condemned, through another, +where a high gibbet-beam still remains, and into a spacious corridor of +pillars called now the "Prison of Bonivard." + + There are seven pillars of gothic mold + In Chillon's dungeons deep and old;... + Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, + A sunbeam which has lost its way ... + And in each pillar there is a ring + And in each ring there is a chain. + That iron is a cankering thing, + For in these limbs its teeth remain.... + +Bonivard's ring is still there, and the rings of his two brothers who +were chained, one on each side of him; chained, as he tells us, so +rigidly that + + We could not move a single pace; + We could not see each other's face. + +We happened to be there, once, when a sunbeam that "had lost its way" +came straying in, a larger sunbeam now, for the narrow slits that serve +for windows were even narrower in Bonivard's time, and the place, light +enough to-day in pleasant weather, was then somber, damp, and probably +unclean. + +Bonivard was a Geneva patriot, a political prisoner of the Duke of +Savoy, who used Chillon as his chateau. Bonivard lived six years in +Chillon, most of the time chained to a column, barely able to move, +having for recreation shrieks from the torture chamber above, or the +bustle of execution from the small adjoining cell. How he lived, how his +reason survived, are things not to be understood. Both his brothers +died, and at last Bonivard was allowed more liberty. The poem tells us +that he made a footing in the wall, and climbed up to look out on the +mountains and blue water, and a little island of three trees, and the +"white-walled distant town"--Bouveret, across the lake. He was delivered +by the Bernese in 1536, regaining his freedom with a sigh, according to +the poem. Yet he survived many years, dying in 1570, at the age of +seventy-four. + +On the columns in Bonivard's dungeon many names are carved, some of them +the greatest in modern literary history. Byron's is there, Victor +Hugo's, Shelley's, and others of the sort. They are a tribute to the +place and its history, of course, but even more to Bonivard--the +Bonivard of Byron. + +Prisoners of many kinds have lived and died in the dungeons of +Chillon--heretics, witches, traitors, poor relations--persons +inconvenient for one reason or another--it was a vanishing point for the +duke's undesirables, who, after the execution, were weighted and dropped +out a little door that opens directly to an almost measureless depth of +blue uncomplaining water. Right overhead is the torture chamber, with +something ghastly in its very shape and color, the central post still +bearing marks of burning-irons and clawing steel. Next to this chamber +is the hall of justice, and then the splendid banquet hall; everything +handy, you see, so that when the duke had friends, and the wine had been +good, and he was feeling particularly well, he could say, "Let's go in +and torture a witch"; or, if the hour was late and time limited, "Now +we'll just step down and hang a heretic to go to bed on." The duke's +bedroom, by the way, was right over the torture chamber. I would give +something for that man's conscience. + +One might go on for pages about Chillon, but it has been told in detail +so many times. It is the pride to-day of this shore--pictures of it are +in every window--postal cards of it abound. Yet, somehow one never grows +tired of it, and stops to look at every new one. + +For a thousand years, at least, Chillon was the scene of all the phases +of feudalism and chivalry; its history is that of the typical castle; +architecturally it is probably as good an example as there is in +Switzerland. It has been celebrated by other authors besides Byron. Jean +Jacques Rousseau has it in his _Nouvelle Heloise_, Hugo in _Le Rhin_, +and it has been pictured more or less by most of the writing people who +have found their way to Leman's pleasant shore. These have been legion. +The Vevey and Montreux neighborhood has been always a place for poor but +honest authors. Rousseau was at Vevey in 1732, and lodged at the Hotel +of the Key, and wrote of it in his _Confessions_, though he would seem +to have behaved very well there. The building still stands, and bears a +tablet with a medallion portrait of Rousseau and an extract in which he +says that Vevey has won his heart. In his _Confessions_ he advises all +persons of taste to go to Vevey, and speaks of the beauty and majesty of +the spectacle from its shore. + +When Lord Byron visited Lake Leman he lodged in Clarens, between Vevey +and Montreux, and a tablet now identifies the house. Voltaire also +visited here, lodging unknown. Dumas the elder was in Vevey in the +thirties of the last century, and wrote a book about Switzerland--a book +of extraordinary interest, full of duels, earthquakes, and other +startling things, worthy of the author of _Monte Cristo_ and _The Three +Musketeers_. Switzerland was not so closely reported in those days; an +imagination like Dumas' had more range. Thackeray wrote a portion of the +_Newcomes_ at the hotel Trois Couronnes in Vevey, and it was on the wide +terrace of the same gay hostelry that Henry James's _Daisy Miller_ had +her parasol scene. We have already mentioned Laurie and Amy on the wall +of Tour de Peilz, and one might go on citing literary associations of +this neighborhood. Perhaps it would be easier to say that about every +author who has visited the continent has paused for a little time at +Vevey, a statement which would apply to travelers in general. + +Vevey is not a great city; it is only a picturesque city, with curious, +winding streets of constantly varying widths, and irregular little open +spaces, all very clean, also very misleading when one wishes to go +anywhere with direction and dispatch. You give that up, presently. You +do not try to save time by cutting through. When you do, you arrive in +some new little rectangle or confluence, with a floral fountain in the +middle, and neat little streets winding away to nowhere in particular; +then all at once you are back where you started. In this, as in some +other points of resemblance, Vevey might be called the Boston of +Switzerland. Not that I pretend to a familiarity with Boston--nobody has +that--but I have an aunt who lives there, and every time I go to see her +I am obliged to start in a different direction for her house, though she +claims to have been living in the same place for thirty years. Some +people think Boston is built on a turn-table. I don't know; it sounds +reasonable. + +To come back to Vevey--it is growing--not in the wild, woolly, New York, +Chicago, and Western way, but in a very definite and substantial way. +They are building new houses for business and residence, solid +structures of stone and cement, built, like the old ones, to withstand +time. They do not build flimsy fire-traps in Switzerland. Whatever the +class of the building, the roofs are tile, the staircases are stone. We +always seem to court destruction in our American residential +architecture. We cover our roofs with inflammable shingles to invite +every spark, and build our stairways of nice dry pine, so that in the +event of fire they will be the first thing to go. This encourages +practice in jumping out of top-story windows. + +By day Vevey is a busy, prosperous-looking, though unhurried, place, its +water-front gay with visitors; evening comes and glorifies the lake into +wine, turns to rose the snow on _Grammont_, the _Dents de Midi_, and the +_Dents de Morcles_. As to the sunset itself, not many try to paint it +any more. Once, from our little balcony we saw a monoplane pass up the +lake and float into the crimson west, like a great moth or bird. Night +in Vevey is full of light and movement, but not of noise. There is no +wild clatter of voices and outbursts of nothing in particular, such as +characterize the towns of Italy and southern France. On the hilltops +back of Vevey the big hotels are lighted, and sometimes, following the +dimmer streets, we looked up to what is apparently a city in the sky, +suggesting one's old idea of the New Jerusalem, a kind of vision of +heaven, as it were--heaven at night, I mean. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[12] Written at the Anchor Inn, Ouchy, Lausanne, in 1817. + + + + +Chapter XIX + +MASHING A MUD GUARD + + +One does not motor a great deal in the immediate vicinity of Vevey; the +hills are not far enough away for that. One may make short trips to +Blonay, and even up Pelerin, if he is fond of stiff climbing, and there +are wandering little roads that thread cozy orchard lands and lead to +secluded villages tucked away in what seem forgotten corners of a bygone +time. But the highway skirts the lake-front and leads straight away +toward Geneva, or up the Rhone Valley past Martigny toward the Simplon +Pass. It has always been a road, and in its time has been followed by +some of the greatest armies the world has ever seen--the troops of +Caesar, of Charlemagne, of Napoleon. + +We were not to be without our own experience in motor mountain climbing. +We did not want it or invite it; it was thrust upon us. We were +returning from Martigny late one Sunday afternoon, expecting to reach +Vevey for dinner. It was pleasant and we did not hurry. We could not, in +fact, for below Villeneuve we fell in with the homing cows, and traveled +with attending herds--beside us, before us, behind us--fat, sleek, +handsome animals, an escort which did not permit of haste. Perhaps it +was avoiding them that caused our mistake; at any rate, we began to +realize presently that we were not on our old road. Still, we seemed +headed in the right direction and we kept on. Then presently we were +climbing a hill--climbing by a narrow road, one that did not permit of +turning around. + +Very well, we said, it could not be very high or steep; we would go over +the hill. But that was a wrong estimate. The hill was high and it was +steep. Up and up and up on second speed, then back to first, until we +were getting on a level with the clouds themselves. It was a good road +of its kind, but it had no end. The water was boiling in the +radiator--boiling over. We must stop to reduce temperature a little and +to make inquiries. It was getting late--far too late to attempt an +ascension of the Alps. + +We were on a sort of bend, and there was a peasant chalet a few rods +ahead. I went up there, and from a little old woman in short skirts got +a tub of cool water, also some information. The water cooled off our +engine, and the information our enthusiasm for further travel in that +direction. We were on the road to Chateau d'Oex, a hilltop resort for +winter sports. + +We were not in a good place to turn around, there on the edge of a +semi-precipice, but we managed to do it, and started back. It was a +steep descent. I cut off the spark and put the engine on low speed, +which made it serve as a brake, but it required the foot and emergency +brake besides. It would have been a poor place to let the car get away. +Then I began to worry for fear the hind wheels were sliding, which would +quickly cut through the tires. I don't know why I thought I could see +them, for mud guards make that quite impossible. Nevertheless I leaned +out and looked back. It was a poor place to do that, too. We were +hugging a wall as it was, and one does not steer well looking backward. +In five seconds we gouged into the wall, and the front guard on that +side crumpled up like a piece of tinfoil. I had to get out and pull and +haul it before there was room for the wheel to turn. + +I never felt so in disgrace in my life. I couldn't look at anything but +the disfigured guard all the way down the mountain. The passengers were +sorry and tried to say comforting things, but that guard was fairly +shrieking its reproach. What a thing to go home with! I felt that I +could never live it down. + +Happily it was dark by the time we found the right road and were drawing +into Montreux--dark and raining. I was glad it was dark, but the rain +did not help, and I should have been happier if the streets had not been +full of dodging pedestrians and vehicles and blinding lights. The +streets of Montreux are narrow enough at best, and what with a busy tram +and all the rest of the medley, driving, for a man already in disgrace, +was not real recreation. A railway train passed us just below, and I +envied the engineer his clear right of way and fenced track, and decided +that his job was an easy one by comparison. One used to hear a good deal +about the dangers of engine driving, and no doubt an engineer would be +glad to turn to the right or left now and then when meeting a train head +on--a thing, however, not likely to happen often, though I suppose once +is about enough. All the same, a straight, fenced and more or less +exclusive track has advantages, and I wished I had one, plunging, +weaving, diving through the rain as we were, among pedestrians, +cyclists, trams, carriages, other motors, and the like; misled by the +cross lights from the shops, dazzled by oncoming headlights, blinded by +rain splashing in one's face. + +It is no great distance from Montreux to Vevey, but in that night it +seemed interminable. And what a relief at last were Vevey's quiet +streets, what a path of peace the semi-private road to the hotel, what a +haven of bliss the seclusion of the solid little garage! Next morning +before anybody was astir I got the car with that maltreated mud guard to +the shop. It was an awful-looking thing. It had a real expression. It +looked as if it were going to cry. I told the repair man that the roads +had been wet and the car had skidded into a wall. He did not care how it +happened, of course, but I did; besides, it was easier to explain it +that way in French. + +It took a week to repair the guard. I suppose they had to straighten it +out with a steam roller. I don't know, but it looked new and fine when +it came back, and I felt better. The bill was sixteen francs. I never +got so much disgrace before at such a reasonable figure. + + + + +Chapter XX + +JUST FRENCH--THAT'S ALL + + +Perhaps one should report progress in learning French. Of course +Narcissa and the Joy were chattering it in a little while. That is the +way of childhood. It gives no serious consideration to a great matter +like that, but just lightly accepts it like a new game or toy and plays +with it about as readily. It is quite different with a thoughtful person +of years and experience. In such case there is need of system and +strategy. I selected different points of assault and began the attack +from all of them at once--private lessons; public practice; daily +grammar, writing and reading in seclusion; readings aloud by persons of +patience and pronunciation. + +I hear of persons picking up a language--grown persons, I mean--but if +there are such persons they are not of my species. The only sort of +picking up I do is the kind that goes with a shovel. I am obliged to +excavate a language--to loosen up its materials, then hoist them with a +derrick. My progress is geological and unhurried. Still, I made +progress, of a kind, and after putting in five hours a day for a period +of months I began to have a sense of results. I began to realize that +even in a rapid-fire conversation the sounds were not all exactly alike, +and to distinguish scraps of meaning in conversations not aimed +directly at me, with hard and painful distinctness. I began even to +catch things from persons passing on the street--to distinguish French +from patois--that is to say, I knew, when I understood any of it, that +it was not patois. I began to be proud and to take on airs--always a +dangerous thing. + +One day at the pharmacy I heard two well-dressed men speaking. I +listened intently, but could not catch a word. When they went I said to +the drug clerk--an Englishman who spoke French: + +"Strange that those well-dressed men should use patois." + +He said: "Ah, but that was not patois--that was very choice +French--Parisian." + +I followed those men the rest of the afternoon, at a safe distance, but +in earshot, and we thus visited in company most of the shops and sights +of Vevey. If I could have followed them for a few months in that way it +is possible--not likely, but possible--that their conversation might +have meant something to me. + +Which, by the way, suggests the chief difference between an acquired and +an inherited language. An acquired language, in time, comes to _mean_ +something, whereas the inherited language _is_ something. It is bred +into the fiber of its possessor. It is not a question of considering the +meaning of words--what they convey; they do not come stumbling through +any anteroom of thought, they are embodied facts, forms, sentiments, +leaping from one inner consciousness to another, instantaneously and +without friction. Probably every species of animation, from the atom to +the elephant, has a language--perfectly understood and sufficient to its +needs--some system of signs, or sniffs, or grunts, or barks, or +vibrations to convey quite as adequately as human speech the necessary +facts and conditions of life. Persons, wise and otherwise, will tell you +that animals have no language; but when a dog can learn even many words +of his master's tongue, it seems rather unkind to deny to him one of his +own. Because the oyster does not go shouting around, or annoy us with +his twaddle, does not mean that he is deprived of life's lingual +interchanges. It is not well to deny speech to the mute, inglorious +mollusk. Remember he is our ancestor. + +To go back to French: I have acquired, with time and heavy effort, a +sort of next-room understanding of that graceful speech--that is to say, +it is about like English spoken by some one beyond a partition--a fairly +thick one. By listening closely I get the general drift of +conversation--a confusing drift sometimes, mismeanings that generally go +with eavesdropping. At times, however, the partition seems to be +thinner, and there comes the feeling that if somebody would just come +along and open a door between I should understand. + +It is truly a graceful speech--the French tongue. Plain, homely things +of life--so bald, and bare, and disheartening in the Anglo-Saxon--are +less unlovely in the French. Indeed, the French word for "rags" is so +pretty that we have conferred "chiffon" on one of our daintiest fabrics. +But in the grace of the language lies also its weakness. It does not +rise to the supreme utterances. I have been reading the bible texts on +the tombstones in the little cemetery of Chardonne. "_L'eternel est mon +berger_" can hardly rank in loftiness with "The Lord is my shepherd," +nor "_Que votre coeur ne se trouble point_" with "Let not your heart +be troubled." Or, at any rate, I can never bring myself to think so. + +Any language is hard enough to learn--bristling with difficulties which +seem needless, even offensively silly to the student. We complain of the +genders and silent letters of the French, but when one's native tongue +spells "cough" and calls it "cof," "rough" and calls it "ruff," "slough" +and calls it "slu" or "sluff," by choice, and "plough" and is unable to +indicate adequately without signs just how it should be pronounced, he +is not in a position to make invidious comparisons. I wonder what a +French student really thinks of those words. He has rules for his own +sound variations, and carefully indicates them with little signs. We +have sound signs, too, but an English page printed with all the +necessary marks is a cause for anguish. I was once given a primary +reader printed in that way, and at sight of it ran screaming to my +mother. So we leave off all signs in English and trust in God for +results. It is hard to be an American learning French, but I would +rather be that than a Frenchman learning American. + + + + +Chapter XXI + +WE LUGE + + +When winter comes in America, with a proper and sufficient thickness of +ice, a number of persons--mainly young people--go out skating, or +coasting, or sleighing, and have a very good time. But this interest is +incidental--it does not exclude all other interests--it does not even +provide the main topic of conversation. + +It is not like that in Switzerland. Winter sport is a religion in +Switzerland; the very words send a thrill through the dweller--native or +foreign--among the Swiss hills. When the season of white drift and +congealed lake takes possession of the land, other interests and +industries are put aside for the diversions of winter. + +Everything is subserved to the winter sports. French, German, and +English papers report each day the thickness of snow at the various +resorts, the conditions of the various courses, the program of events. +Bills at the railway stations announce the names of points where the +sports are in progress, with a schedule of the fares. Hotels publish +their winter attractions--their coasting (they call it "luging"--soft +g), curling, skating, ski-ing accommodations, and incidentally mention +their rooms. They also cover their hall carpetings with canvas to +protect them from the lugers' ponderous hobnailed shoes. To be truly +sporty one must wear those shoes; also certain other trimmings, such as +leggings, breeches, properly cut coat, cap and scarf to match. One +cannot really enjoy the winter sports without these decorations, or keep +in good winter society. Then there are the skis. One must carry a pair +of skis to be complete. They must be as tall as the owner can reach, and +when he puts them on his legs will branch out and act independently, +each on its own account, and he will become a house divided against +itself, with the usual results. So it is better to carry them, and look +handsome and graceful, and to confine one's real activities to the more +familiar things. + +Our hotel was divided on winter sports. Not all went in for it, but +those who did went in considerably. We had a Dutch family from Sumatra, +where they had been tobacco planting for a number of years, and in that +tropic land had missed the white robust joys of the long frost. They +were a young, superb couple, but their children, who had never known the +cold, were slender products of an enervating land. They had never seen +snow and they shared their parents' enthusiasm in the winter prospect. +The white drifts on the mountaintops made them marvel; the first light +fall we had made them wild. + +That Dutch family went in for the winter sports. You never saw anything +like it. Their plans and their outfit became the chief interest of the +hotel. They engaged far in advance their rooms at Chateau d'Oex, one of +the best known resorts, and they daily accumulated new and startling +articles of costume to make their experience more perfect. One day they +would all have new shoes of wonderful thickness and astonishing nails. +Then it would be gorgeous new scarfs and caps, then sweaters, then +skates, then snowshoes, then skis, and so on down the list. Sometimes +they would organize a drill in full uniform. But the children were less +enthusiastic then. Those slim-legged little folks could hardly walk, +weighted with several pounds of heavy hobnailed shoes, and they +complained bitterly at this requirement. Their parents did not miss the +humor of the situation, and I think enjoyed these preparations and +incidental discomforts for the sake of pleasure as much as they could +have enjoyed the sports themselves, when the time came. We gave them a +hearty send-off, when reports arrived that the snow conditions at +Chateau d'Oex were good, and if they had as good a time as we wished +them, and as they gave us in their preparations, they had nothing to +regret. + +As the winter deepened the winter sport sentiment grew in our midst, +until finally in January we got a taste of it ourselves. We found that +we could take a little mountain road to a point in the hills called Les +Avants, then a funicular to a still higher point, and thus be in the +white whirl for better or worse, without being distinctly of it, so to +speak. We could not be of it, of course, without the costumes, and we +did not see how we could afford these and also certain new adjuncts +which the car would need in the spring. So we went primarily as +spectators--that is, the older half of the family. The children had +their own winter sports at school. + +[Illustration: "YOU CAN SEE SON LOUP FROM THE HOTEL STEPS IN VEVEY, BUT +IT TAKES HOURS TO GET TO IT"] + +We telephoned to the Son Loup hotel at the top of the last funicular, +and got an early start. You can see Son Loup from the hotel steps in +Vevey, but it takes hours to get to it. The train goes up, and up, along +gorges and abysses, where one looks down on the tops of Christmas trees, +gloriously mantled in snow. Then by and by you are at Les Avants and in +the midst of everything, except the ski-ing, which is still higher up, +at Son Loup. + +We got off at Les Avants and picked our way across the main street among +flying sleds of every pattern, from the single, sturdy little bulldog +_luge_ to the great polly-straddle bob, and from the safe vantage of a +cafe window observed the slide. + +It was divided into three parts--one track for bobsledders--the wild +riders--a track for the more daring single riders, and a track for fat +folks, old folks, and children. Certainly they were having a good time. +Their ages ranged from five to seventy-five, and they were all children +together. Now and then there came gliding down among them a big native +sled, loaded with hay or wood, from somewhere far up in the hills. It +was a perfect day--no cold, no wind, no bright sun, for in reality we +were up in the clouds--a soft white veil of vapor was everywhere. + +By and by we crossed the track, entered a wonderful snow garden +belonging to a hotel, and came to a little pond where some old men and +fat men were curling. Curling is a game where you try to drive a sort of +stone decoy duck from one end of the pond to the other and make it +stop somewhere and count something. Each man is armed with a big broom +to keep the ice clean before and after his little duck. We watched them +a good while and I cannot imagine anything more impressive than to see a +fat old man with a broom padding and puffing along by the side of his +little fat stone duck, feverishly sweeping the snow away in front of it, +so that it will get somewhere and count. When I inadvertently laughed I +could see that I was not popular. All were English there--all but a few +Americans who pretended to be English. + +Beyond the curling pond was a skating pond, part of it given over to an +international hockey match, but somehow these things did not excite us. +We went back to our cafe corner to watch the luging and to have +luncheon. Then the lugers came stamping in for refreshments, and their +costumes interested us. Especially their shoes. Even the Dutch family +had brought home no such wonders as some of these. They were of +appalling size, and some of them had heavy iron claws or toes such as +one might imagine would belong to some infernal race. These, of course, +were to dig into the snow behind, to check or guide the flying sled. +They were useful, no doubt, but when one saw them on the feet of a tall, +slim girl the effect was peculiar. + +By the time we had finished luncheon we had grown brave. We said we +would luge--modestly, but with proper spirit. There were sleds to let, +by an old Frenchman, at a little booth across the way, and we looked +over his assortment and picked a small bob with a steering attachment, +because to guide that would be like driving a car. Then we hauled it up +the fat folks' slide a little way and came down, hoo-hooing a warning to +those ahead in the regulation way. We did this several times, liking it +more and more. We got braver and tried the next slide, liking it still +better. Then we got reckless and crossed into the bobsled scoot and +tried that. Oh, fine! We did not go to the top--we did not know then how +far the top was; but we went higher each time, liking it more and more, +until we got up to a place where the sleds stood out at a perpendicular +right angle as they swirled around a sudden circle against a constructed +ice barrier. This looked dangerous, but getting more and more reckless, +we decided to go even above that. + +We hauled our sled up and up, constantly meeting bobsleds coming down +and hearing the warning hoo-hoo-hooing of still others descending from +the opaque upper mist. Still we climbed, dragging our sled, meeting bob +after bob, also loads of hay and wood, and finally some walking girls +who told us that the top of the slide was at Son Loup--that is, at the +top of the funicular, some miles away. + +We understood then; all those bobsledders took their sleds up by +funicular and coasted down. We stopped there and got on our sled. The +grade was very gradual at first, and we moved slowly--so slowly that a +nice old lady who happened along gave us a push. We kept moving after +that. We crossed a road, rounded a turn, leaped a railway track and +struck into the straightway, going like a streak. We had thought it a +good distance to the sharp turn, with its right-angle wall of ice, but +we were there with unbelievable suddenness. Then in a second we were on +the wall, standing straight out into space; then in another we had shot +out of it; but our curve seemed to continue. + +There was a little barnyard just there and an empty hay sled--placed +there on purpose, I think now. At any rate, the owner was there watching +the performance. I think he had been expecting us. When all motion +ceased he untelescoped us, and we limped about and discussed with him in +native terms how much we ought to pay for the broken runner on his hay +sled, and minor damages. It took five francs to cure the broken runner, +which I believe had been broken all the time and was just set there +handy to catch inadvertent persons like ourselves. We finished our slide +then and handed in our sled, which the old Frenchman looked at fondly +and said: "_Tres bon--tres vite._" He did not know how nearly its speed +had come to landing us in the newspapers. + +We took the funicular to Son Loup, and at the top found ourselves in +what seemed atmospheric milk. We stood at the hotel steps and watched +the swift coasters pass. Every other moment they flashed by, from a +white mystery above--a vision of faces, a call of voices--to the +inclosing mystery again. It was like life; but not entirely, for they +did not pass to silence. The long, winding hill far below was full of +their calls'--muffled by the mist--their hoo-hoo-hoos of warning to +those ahead and to those who followed. But it was suggestive, too. It +was as if the lost were down there in that cold whiteness. + +The fog grew thicker, more opaque, as the day waned. It was an +impalpable wall. We followed the road from the hotel, still higher into +its dense obscurity. When a tree grew near enough to the road for us to +see it, we beheld an astonishing sight. The mist had gathered about the +evergreen branches until they were draped, festooned, fairly clotted +with pendulous frost embroidery. + +We had been told that there was ski-ing up there and we were anxious to +see it, but for a time we found only blankness and dead silence. Then at +last--far and faint, but growing presently more distinct--we heard a +light sound, a movement, a "swish-swish-swirl"--somewhere in the mist at +our right, coming closer and closer, until it seemed right upon us, and +strangely mysterious, there being no visible cause. We waited until a +form appeared, no, grew, materialized from the intangible--so +imperceptibly, so gradually, that at first we could not be sure of it. +Then the outlines became definite, then distinct; an athletic fellow on +skis maneuvered across the road, angled down the opposite slope, +"swish-swish-swirl"--checking himself every other stroke, for the +descent was steep--faded into unknown deeps below--the whiteness had +shut him in. We listened while the swish-swish grew fainter, and in the +gathering evening we felt that he had disappeared from the world into +ravines of dark forests and cold enchantments from which there could be +no escape. + +We climbed higher and met dashing sleds now and then, but saw no other +ski-ers that evening. Next morning, however, we found them up there, +gliding about in that region of vapors, appearing and dissolving like +cinema figures, their voices coming to us muffled and unreal in tone. I +left the road and followed down into a sort of basin which seemed to be +a favorite place for ski practice. I felt exactly as if I were in a +ghostly aquarium. + +I was not much taken with ski-ing, as a whole. I noticed that even the +experts fell down a good many times and were not especially graceful +getting up. + +But I approve of coasting under the new conditions--_i. e._ with +funicular assistance. In my day coasting was work--you had to tug and +sweat up a long slippery incline for a very brief pleasure. Keats (I +think it was Keats, or was it Carolyn Wells?) in his, or her, well-known +and justly celebrated poem wrote: + + It takes a long time to make the climb, + And a minute or less to come down; + +But that poetry is out of date--in Switzerland. It no longer takes a +long time to make the climb, and you do it in luxury. You sit in a +comfortable seat and your sled is loaded on an especially built car. +Switzerland is the most funiculated country in the world; its hills are +full of these semi-perpendicular tracks. They make you shudder when you +mount them for the first time, and I think I never should be able to +discuss frivolous matters during an ascent, as I have seen some do. +Still, one gets hardened, I suppose. + +They are cheap. You get commutation tickets for very little, and all day +long coasters are loading their sleds on the little shelved flatcar, +piling themselves into the coach, then at the top snatching off their +sleds to go whooping away down the long track to the lower station. +Coasters get killed now and then, and are always getting damaged in one +way and another; for the track skirts deep declivities, and there are +bound to be slips in steering, and collisions. We might have stayed +longer and tried it again, but we were still limping from our first +experiment. Besides, we were not dressed for the real thing. Dress may +not make the man, but it makes the sportsman. + + + + +Part II + + +MOTORING THROUGH THE GOLDEN AGE + + + + +Chapter I + +THE NEW PLAN + + +But with the breaking out of the primroses and the hint of a pale-green +beading along certain branches in the hotel garden, the desire to be +going, and seeing, and doing; to hear the long drowse of the motor and +look out over the revolving distances; to drop down magically, as it +were, on this environment and that--began to trickle and prickle a +little in the blood, to light pale memories and color new plans. + +We could not go for a good while yet. For spring is really spring in +Switzerland--not advance installments of summer mixed with left-overs +from winter, but a fairly steady condition of damp coolness--sunlight +that is not hot, showers that are not cold--the snow on the +mountainsides advancing and retreating--sometimes, in the night, getting +as low down as Chardonne, which is less than half an hour's walk above +the hotel. + +There is something curiously unreal about this Swiss springtime. We saw +the trees break out into leaf, the fields grow vividly green and fresh, +and then become gay with flowers, without at all feeling the reason for +such a mood. In America such a change is wrought by hot days--cold ones, +too, perhaps, but certainly hot ones; we have sweltered in April, +though we have sometimes snowballed in May. The Swiss spring was +different. Three months of gradual, almost unnoticeable, mellowing kept +us from getting excited and gave us plenty of time to plan. + +That was good for us--the trip we had in mind now was no mere matter of +a few days' journey, from a port to a destination; it was to be a +wandering that would stretch over the hills and far away, through some +thousands of kilometers and ten weeks of time. That was about all we had +planned concerning it, except that we were going back into France, and +at one point in those weeks we expected to touch Cherbourg and pick up a +missing member of the family who would be dropped there by a passing +ship. We studied the maps a good deal, and at odd times I tinkered with +the car and wondered how many things would happen to it before we +completed the long circle, and if I would return only partially crippled +or a hopeless heap of damage and explanations. Never mind--the future +holds sorrow enough for all of us. Let us anticipate only its favors. + +So we planned. We sent for a road map of France divided into four +sections, showing also western Germany and Switzerland. We spread it out +on the table and traced a variety of routes to Cherbourg; by Germany, by +Paris direct, by a long loop down into southern France. We favored the +last-named course. We had missed some things in the Midi--Nimes, Pont du +Gard, Orange--and then there was still a quality in the air which made +us feel that the south would furnish better motor weather in May. + +Ah, me! There is no place quite like the Provence. It is rather dusty, +and the people are drowsy and sometimes noisy, and there are mosquitoes +there, and maybe other unpleasant things; but in the light chill of a +Swiss spring day there comes a memory of rich mellowness and September +roadsides, with gold and purple vintage ripening in the sun, that lights +and warms the soul. We would start south, we said. We were not to reach +Cherbourg until June. Plenty of time for the north, then, and later. + +We discussed matters of real importance--that is to say, expenses. We +said we would give ourselves an object lesson, this time, in what could +really be done in motor economies. On our former trip we had now and +again lunched by the roadside, with pleasing results. This time we would +always do it. Before, we had stopped a few times at small inns in +villages instead of seeking out hotels in the larger towns. Those few +experiments had been altogether satisfactory, both as to price and +entertainment. Perhaps this had been merely our good fortune, but we +were willing to take further chances. From the fifty francs a day +required for our party of four we might subtract a franc or so and still +be nourished, body and soul. Thus we planned. When it was pleasant we +enjoyed shopping for our roadside outfit; a basket, square, and of no +great size; some agate cups and saucers; some knives and forks; also an +alcohol stove, the kind that compacts itself into very small compass, +aluminum, and very light-- I hope they have them elsewhere than in +Switzerland, for their usefulness is above price. + + + + +Chapter II + +THE NEW START + + +It was the first week in May when we started--the 5th, in fact. The car +had been thoroughly overhauled, and I had spent a week personally on it, +scraping and polishing, so that we might make a fine appearance as we +stood in front of the hotel in the bright morning sunlight where our +fellow guests would gather to see us glide away. + +I have had many such showy dreams as that, and they have turned out +pretty much alike. We did not start in the bright morning. It was not +bright. It was raining, and it continued to rain until after eleven +o'clock. By that time our fellow guests were not on hand. They had got +tired and gone to secluded corners, or to their rooms, or drabbling into +the village. When the sun finally came out only a straggler or two +appeared. It was too bad. + +We glided away, but not very far. I remembered, as we were passing +through the town, that it might be well to take some funds along, so we +drove around to the bank to see what we could raise in that line. We +couldn't raise anything--not a centime. It was just past twelve o'clock +and, according to Swiss custom, the bank was closed for two hours. Not a +soul was there--the place was locked, curtained, barred. Only dynamite +would have opened it. + +We consulted. We had some supplies in our basket to eat by the roadside +as soon as we were well into the country. Very good; we would drive to +some quiet back street in the suburbs and eat them now. We had two hours +to wait--we need feel no sense of hurry. So we drove down into Vevey la +Tour and, behind an old arch, where friends would not be likely to +notice us, we sat in the car and ate our first luncheon, with a smocked +boy for audience--a boy with a basket on his arm, probably delaying the +machinery of his own household to study the working economies of ours. +Afterward we drove back to the bank, got our finances arranged, slipped +down a side street to the lake-front, and fled away toward Montreux +without looking behind us. It was not at all the departure we had +planned. + +It rained again at Montreux, but the sun was shining at Chillon, and the +lake was blue. Through openings in the trees we could see the picture +towns of Territet, Montreux, Clarens, and Vevey, skirting the shore--the +white steamers plying up and down; the high-perched hotels, half lost in +cloudland, and we thought that our travels could hardly provide a more +charming vision than that. Then we were in Villeneuve, then in the open +flat fields of the Rhone Valley, where, for Europe, the roads are poor; +on through a jolty village to a bridge across the Rhone, and so along +the south shore by Bouveret, to St. Gingolph, where we exhibited our +papers at the Swiss _douane_, crossed a little brook, and were again in +France. We were making the circuit of the lake, you see. All winter we +had looked across to that shore, with its villages and snow-mantled +hills. We would now see it at close range. + +We realized one thing immediately. Swiss roads are not bad roads, by any +means, but French roads are better. In fact, I have made up my mind that +there is nothing more perfect in this world than a French road. I have +touched upon this subject before, and I am likely to dwell upon it +unduly, for it always excites me. Those roads are a perfect network in +France, and I can never cease marveling at the money and labor they must +have cost. They are so hard and smooth, so carefully graded and curved, +so beautifully shaded, so scrupulously repaired--it would seem that half +the wealth and effort of France must be expended on her highways. The +road from St. Gingolph was wider than the one we had left behind. It was +also a better road and in better repair. It was a floor. Here and there +we came to groups of men working at it, though it needed nothing, that +we could see. It skirted the mountains and lake-front. We could look +across to our own side now--to Vevey and those other towns, and the +cloud-climbing hotels, all bright in the sunshine. + +We passed a nameless village or two and were at Evian, a watering-place +which has grown in fame and wealth these later years--a resort of fine +residences and handsome hotels--not our kind of hotels, but plenty good +enough for persons whose tastes have not been refined down to our budget +and daily program of economies. + +It was at Thonon--quaint old Thonon, once a residence of the Counts and +Dukes of Savoy--that we found a hostelry of our kind. It had begun +raining again, and, besides, it was well toward evening. We pulled up in +front of the Hotel d'Europe, one of the least extravagant of the +red-book hostelries, and I went in. The "_Bureau_" as the French call +the office, was not very inviting. It was rather dingy and somber, and +nobody was there. I found a bell and rang it and a woman appeared--not a +very attractive woman, but a kindly person who could understand my +"_Vous avez des chambres?_" which went a good ways. She had "_des +chambres_" and certainly no fault could be found with those. They were +of immense size, the beds were soft, smooth, and spotlessly clean. Yes, +there was a garage, free. I went back with my report. The dinner might +be bad, we said, but it would only be for once--besides, it was raining +harder. So we went in, and when the shower passed we took a walk along +the lake-front, where there is an old chateau, once the home of royalty, +now the storehouse of plaster or something, and we stopped to look at a +public laundry--a square stone pool under a shed, where the women get +down on their knees and place the garments on a board and scrub them +with a brush, while the cold water from the mountains runs in and out +and is never warmed at all. + +Returning by another way, we found about the smallest church in the +world, built at one corner of the old domain. A woman came with a key +and let us into it and we sat in the little chairs and inspected the +tiny altar and all the sacred things with especial interest, for one of +the purposes of our pilgrimages was to see churches--the great +cathedrals of France. Across from the church stood a ruined tower, +matted with vines, the remains of a tenth-century chateau--already old +when the one on the lake-front was new. We speak lightly of a few +centuries more or less, but, after all, there was a goodly period +between the tenth and the fourteenth, a period long enough to cover +American history from Montezuma to date. These old towers, once filled +with life and voices and movement, are fascinating things. We stood +looking at this one while the dusk gathered. Then it began sprinkling +again and it was dinner time. + +So we returned to the hotel and I may as well say here, at once, that I +do not believe there are any bad dinners in France. I have forgotten +what we had, but I suppose it was fish and omelet, and meat and chicken, +and salad and dessert, and I know it was all hot and delicious, and +served daintily in courses, and we went to those soft beds happy and +soothed, fell asleep to the sound of the rain pattering outside, and +felt not a care in the world. + + + + +Chapter III + +INTO THE JURAS + + +It was still drizzling next morning, so we were in no hurry to leave. We +plodded about the gray streets, picking up some things for the lunch +basket, and Narcissa and the Joy got a chance to try their nice new +French on real French people and were gratified to find that it worked +just the same as it did on Swiss people. Then the sky cleared and I +backed the car out of the big stable where it had spent the night, and +we packed on our bags and paid our bill--twenty-seven francs for all, or +about one dollar and thirty-five cents each for dinner, lodging, and +breakfast--tips, one franc each to waitress, chambermaid, and garageman. +If they were dissatisfied they did not look it, and presently we were +once more on the road, all the cylinders working and bankruptcy not yet +in sight. It was glorious and fresh along the lake-front--also +appetizing. We stopped by and by for a little mid-morning luncheon, and +a passing motorist, who probably could not believe we would stop merely +to eat at that hour, drew up to ask if anything was wrong with our car +and if he could help. They are kindly people, these French and Swiss. +Stop your car by the roadside and begin to hammer something, or to take +off a tire, and you will have offers of assistance from four out of +every five cars that pass. + +There is another little patch of Switzerland again at the end of the +lake, and presently you run into Geneva, and trouble. Geneva is +certainly a curious place. The map of it looks as easy as nothing and +you go gliding into it full of confidence, and presently find yourself +in a perfect mess of streets that are not on the map at all, while all +the streets that _are_ on the map certainly have changed their names, +for you cannot find them where they should be, and no one has ever heard +of them. Besides, the wind is generally blowing--the _bise_--which does +not simplify matters. Narcissa inquired and I inquired, and then the +Joy, who, privately, I think, speaks the best French of any of us, also +inquired; but the combined result was just a big coalyard which a very +good-looking street led us straight into, making it necessary to back +out and apologize and feel ashamed. Then we heard somebody calling us, +and, looking around, saw the man in gray who had last directed us, and +who also felt ashamed, it seemed--of us, or himself, or something--and +had run after us to get us out of the mess. So he directed us again and +we started, but the labyrinth closed in once more--the dust and narrow +streets and blind alleys--and once again we heard a voice, and there was +the man in gray--he must have run a half a mile this time--waving and +calling and pointing the path out of the maze. It seemed that they were +fixing all the good streets and we must get through by circuitous bad +ones to the side of the city toward France. I asked him why they didn't +leave the good streets alone and fix the bad ones, but he only smiled +and explained some more, and once more we went astray, and yet once more +his voice came calling down the wind and he came up breathlessly, and +this time followed with us, refusing even standing room on the +running-board, until he got us out of the city proper and well headed +for France. We had grown fond of that man and grieved to see him go. We +had known him hardly ten minutes, I think, but friendships are not to be +measured by time. + +On a pretty hill where a little stream of water trickled we ate our +first real luncheon--that is to say, we used our new stove. We cooked +eggs and made coffee, and when there came a sprinkle we stood under our +umbrellas or sat in the car and felt that this was really a kind of +gypsying, and worth while. + +There was a waving meadow just above the bank and I went up there to +look about a little. No house was in sight, but this meadow was a part +of some man's farm. It was familiar in every corner to him--he had known +it always. Perhaps he had played in it as a child--his children had +played in it after him--it was inseparable from the life and happiness +of a home. Yet to us it was merely the field above our luncheon place--a +locality hardly noticed or thought of--barely to be remembered at all. + +Crossing another lonely but fertile land, we entered the hills. We +skirted mountainsides--sometimes in sun, sometimes in shower--descended +a steep road, and passed under a great arched battlement that was part +of a frowning fortress guarding the frontier of France. Not far beyond, +at the foot of a long decline, lay a beautiful city, just where the +mountains notched to form a passage for the Rhone. It was Bellegarde, +and as we drew nearer some of the illusions of beauty disappeared. +French cities generally show best from a distance. Their streets are not +very clean and they are seldom in repair. The French have the best roads +and the poorest streets in the world. + +We drew up in front of the custom house, and exhibited our French +_triptyque_. It was all right, and after it was indorsed I thought we +were through. This was not true. A long, excited individual appeared +from somewhere and began nervously to inspect our baggage. Suddenly he +came upon a small empty cigar box which I had put in, thinking it might +be useful. Cigars are forbidden, and at sight of the empty box our +wild-eyed attenuation had a fit. He turned the box upside down and shook +it; he turned it sidewise and looked into it; shook it again and knocked +on it as if bound to make the cigars appear. He seemed to decide that I +had hidden the cigars, for he made a raid on things in general. He +looked into the gasoline tank, he went through the pockets of the +catch-all and scattered our guidebooks and maps; then he had up the +cushion of the back seat and went into the compartment where this time +was our assortment of hats. You never saw millinery fly as it did in +that man's hands, with the head of the family and Narcissa and the Joy +grabbing at their flowers and feathers, and saying things in English +that would have hurt that man if he could have understood them. As for +him, he was repeating, steadily, "_Pas derange_"--"_Pas derange_," when +all the time he was deranging ruthlessly and even permanently. He got +through at last, smiled, bowed, and retired--pleased, evidently, with +the thoroughness of his investigation. But for some reason he entirely +overlooked our bags strapped on the footboard. We did not remind him. + +The Pert of the Rhone is at Bellegarde. The pert is a place where in dry +weather the Rhone disappears entirely from sight for the space of +seventy yards, to come boiling up again from some unknown mystery. +Articles have been thrown in on one side--even live animals, it is +said--but they have never reappeared on the other. What becomes of them +is a matter of speculation. Perhaps some fearful underground maelstrom +holds them. There was no pert when we were there--there had been too +much rain. The Rhone went tearing through a gorge where we judged the +pert should be located in less watery seasons. + +During the rest of the afternoon we had rather a damp time--showery and +sloppy, for many of the roads of these Jura foothills were in the +process of repair, and the rain had stopped the repairs halfway. It was +getting toward dusk when we came to Nantua--a lost and forgotten town +among the Jura cliffs. We stopped in front of the showier hotel there, +everything looked so rain-beaten and discouraging, but the woman who ran +it was even showier than her hotel and insisted on our taking a parlor +suite at some fabulous price. So we drove away and drew up rather sadly +at the Hotel du Lac, which on that dull evening was far from +fascinating. Yet the rooms they showed us were good, and the dinner--a +surprise of fresh trout just caught, served sizzling hot, fine baked +potatoes and steak, with good red wine aplenty--was such as to make us +forswear forevermore the showy hotels for the humbler inns of France. + +But I am moving too fast. Before dinner we walked for a little in the +gray evening and came to an old church--one of the oldest in France, it +is said, built in the ninth century and called St. Michels. It is over a +thousand years old and looks it. It has not been much rebuilt, I think, +for invasion and revolution appear seldom to have surmounted the natural +ramparts of Nantua, and only the stormbeat and the corrosion of the +centuries have written the story of decay. Very likely it is as little +changed as any church of its time. The hand of restoration has troubled +it little. We slipped in through the gathering dusk, and tiptoed about, +for there were a few lights flickering near the altar and the outlines +of bowed heads. Presently a priest was silhouetted against the altar +lights as he crossed and passed out by a side door. He was one of a long +line that stretched back through more than half of the Christian era and +most of the history of France. When the first priest passed in front of +that altar France was still under the Carlovingian dynasty--under +Charles the Fat, perhaps; and William of Normandy would not conquer +England for two hundred years. Then nearly four hundred years more would +creep by--dim mediaeval years--before Joan of Arc should unfurl her +banner of victory and martyrdom. You see how far back into the mists we +are stepping here. And all those evenings the altar lights have been lit +and the ministration of priests has not failed. + +There is a fine picture by Eugene Delacroix in the old church, and we +came back next morning to look at it. It is a St. Sebastian, and not the +conventional, ridiculous St. Sebastian of some of the old masters--a +mere human pincushion--but a beautiful youth, prostrate and dying, +pierced by two arrows, one of which a pitying male figure is drawing +from his shoulder. It must be a priceless picture. How can they afford +to keep it here? + +The weather seemed to have cleared, and the roads, though wet, were +neither soft nor slippery. French roads, in fact, are seldom either--and +the fresh going along the lake-front was delightful enough. But we were +in the real Juras now, and one does not go through that range on a water +grade. We were presently among the hills, the road ahead of us rising to +the sky. Then it began to rain again, but the road was a good firm one +and the car never pulled better. + +It was magnificent climbing. On the steepest grades and elbow turns we +dropped back to second, but never to low, and there was no lagging. On +the high levels we stopped to let the engine cool and to add water from +the wayside hollows. We were in the clouds soon, and sometimes it was +raining, sometimes not. It seemed for the most part an uninhabited +land--no houses and few fields--the ground covered with a short bushy +growth, grass and flowers. A good deal of it was rocky and barren. + +On the very highest point of the Jura range, where we had stopped to +cool the motor, a woman came along, leading three little children. She +came up and said a few words in what sounded like an attempt at English. +We tried our French on her, but it did not seem to get inside. I said +she must speak some mountain patois, for we had used those same words +lower down with good results. But then she began her English again--it +was surely English this time, and, listening closely, we got the fringes +and tag ends of a curious story. She was Italian, and had been in New +York City. There, it seemed, she had married a Frenchman from the Juras, +who, in time, when his homeland had called him, had brought her back to +the hills. There he had died, leaving her with six children. She had a +little hut up the side lane, where they were trying to scratch a living +from the stony soil. Yes, she had chickens, and could let us have some +eggs. She also brought a pail with water for the radiator. + +A little farther along we cooked the eggs and laid out all our nice +lunch things on natural stone tables and looked far down the Jura slope +on an ancient village and an old castle, the beginning of the world +across the range. + +It was not raining now, and the air was soft and pleasant and the spot +as clean and sweet as could be. Presently the water was boiling and the +coffee made--instantaneous coffee, the George Washington kind. And +nothing could be fresher than those eggs, nothing unless it was the +butter--unsalted butter, which with jam and rolls is about the best +thing in the world to finish on. + +[Illustration: DESCENDING THE JURAS] + +We descended the Jura grades on the engine brake--that is, I let in the +clutch, cut off the gasoline supply and descended on first or second +speed, according to the grade. That saves the wheel brake and does no +damage to the motor. I suppose everybody knows the trick, but I did not +learn it right away, and there may be others who know as little. It was +a long way to the lower levels, and some of the grades were steep. Then +they became gradual, and we coasted--then the way flattened and we were +looking across a level valley, threaded by perfectly ordered roads to a +distant town whose roofs and spires gleamed in the sunlight of the May +afternoon. It was Bourg, and one of the spires belonged to the church of +Brou. + + + + +Chapter IV + +A POEM IN ARCHITECTURE + + +The church of Brou is like no other church in the world. In the first +place, instead of dragging through centuries of building and never quite +reaching completion, it was begun and finished in the space of +twenty-five years--from 1511 to 1536--and it was supervised and paid for +by a single person, Margaret of Austria, who built it in fulfillment of +a vow made by her mother-in-law, Margaret of Bourbon. The last Margaret +died before she could undertake her project, and her son, Philibert II, +Duke of Savoy, called "The Handsome," followed before he could carry out +her wishes. So his duchess, the other Margaret, undertook the work, and +here on this plain, between the Juras and the Saone, she wrought a +marvel in exquisite church building which still remains a marvel, almost +untouched by any blight, after four hundred turbulent years. Matthew +Arnold wrote a poem on the church of Brou which may convey the wonder of +its beauty. I shall read it some day, and if it is as beautiful as the +church I shall commit it, and on days when things seem rather ugly and +harsh and rasping I will find some quiet corner and shut my eyes and say +the lines and picture a sunlit May afternoon and the church of Brou. +Then, perhaps, I shall not remember any more the petty things of the +moment but only the architectural shrine which one woman reared in honor +of another, her mother-in-law. + +It is not a great cathedral, but it is by no means a little church. Its +lofty nave is bare of furnishings, which perhaps lends to its impression +of bigness. But then you pass through the carved doors of a magnificent +_juba_ screen, and the bareness disappears. The oaken choir seats are +carved with the richness of embroidery, and beyond them are the +tombs--those of the two Margarets, and of Philibert--husband and son. + +I suppose the world can show no more exquisitely wrought tombs than +these. Perhaps their very richness defeats their art value, but I would +rather have them so, for it reveals, somehow, the thoroughness and +sincerity of Margaret's intent--her determination to fulfill to the +final letter every imagined possibility in that other's vow. + +The mother's tomb is a sort of bower--a marble alcove of great splendor, +within and without. Philibert's tomb, which stands in the center of the +church, between the other two, is a bier, supported by female figures +and fluted columns and interwoven decorations, exquisitely chiseled. Six +cupids and a crouching lion guard the royal figure above; and the whole, +in spite of its richness, is of great dignity. The tomb of the Duchess +Margaret herself is a lofty canopy of marble incrustations, the +elaborateness of which no words can tell. It is the superlative of +Gothic decoration at a period when Gothic extravagance was supreme. + +Like her husband Margaret sleeps in double effigy, the sovereign in +state above, the figure of mortality, compassed by the marble supports, +below. The mortality of the queen is draped, but in the case of +Philibert, the naked figure, rather dim through the interspaces, has a +curiously lifelike, even startling effect. + +[Illustration: THE TOMB OF MARGARET OF AUSTRIA, CHURCH OF BROU] + +If the Duchess Margaret made her own tomb more elaborate, it is at least +not more beautiful than the others, while an altar to the Virgin is +still more elaborate--more beautiful, its grouped marble figures in such +high relief that angels and cherubs float in the air, apparently +unsupported. Here, as elsewhere, is a wealth of ornamentation; and +everywhere woven into its intricacies one may find the initials P and +M--Philibert and Margaret--and the latter's motto, "_Fortune, infortune, +fort une._" It has been called a mysterious motto, and different +meanings have been twisted out of it. But my French is new and fresh and +takes things quite obviously. "Fortune and misfortune strengthens or +fortifies one" strikes me as a natural rendering. That last verb +_fortifier_ may seem to be abbreviated without warrant, but Margaret was +a queen and could have done that for the sake of euphony and word-play. + +The unscarred condition and the purity of these precious marbles is +almost as astonishing as their beauty, when one considers the centuries +of invasion and revolution, with a vandalism that respected nothing +sacred, least of all symbols of royalty. By careful search we could +discover a broken detail here and there, but the general effect was +completeness, and the white marble--or was it ivory tinted?--seen +under the light of the illumined stained windows seemed to present the +shapes and shades of things that, as they had never been new, neither +would they ever be old. + + + + +Chapter V + +VIENNE IN THE RAIN + + +It is about forty miles from Bourg to Lyons, a country of fair fields, +often dyed deeply red at this season with crimson clover, a country rich +and beautiful, the road a straight line, wide and smooth, the trees on +either side vividly green with spring. But Lyons is not beautiful--it is +just a jangling, jarring city of cobbled crowded streets and mainly +uninteresting houses and thronging humanity, especially soldiers. It is +a place to remain unloved, unhonored, and unremembered. + +The weather now put aside other things and really got down to the +business of raining. It was fair enough when we left Lyons, but as we +reached the top of a hill that overlooked the world I saw down the +fields a spectral light and far deepening dusk which looked ominous. By +the time we got our top up there was a steady downpour. We did not visit +any wayside villages, though some of them looked interesting enough. +French villages are none too clean at any time and rain does not seem to +help them. Attractive old castles on neighboring hilltops received +hardly a glance; even one overhanging our very road barely caused us to +check up. How old it looked in its wet desolation, the storm eating into +its crumbling walls! + +We pulled up at last at Vienne, at the end of the bridge facing the +cathedral. History has been written about Vienne, and there are +monuments of the past which it is not good form to overlook. The head of +the family said she was not very particular about form and that she was +particular about being wet and discomforted on a chill spring day. +France was full of monuments of the past, she said, and she had not +started out to make her collection complete. She would study the +cathedral from the car, and would the rest of us please remember to +bring some fresh rolls for luncheon. So the rest of us went to the +church of St. Maurice, which begins to date with the twelfth century and +looks even older. Surrounded by comparatively modern buildings and +soaked with rain it appeared, one of the most venerable relics I had +ever seen. I do not think we found the inside very interesting. It was +dead and dusky, and the seventh-century sarcophagus of St. Leoninus was, +in the French phrase, not gay. On the whole there seemed a good deal of +mutilation and not much taste. + +We paddled through streets, asking directions to the Roman temple. +Vienne was an important town under the Romans, the capital of one of the +provinces of Gaul. Of course the Romans would leave landmarks--the kind +that would last. When we found the temple of Augustus and Livia at last, +it did not look so much older than the church, though it is more than as +old again. It was so positively Roman and so out of place among its +modern French surroundings that it looked exactly like something that +had been brought there and set up for exhibition. It took a heavy +strain of imagination to see it as an integral part of the vanished +Roman capital. + +All about the temple lay fragments of that ancient city--exhibition +pieces, like the temple. One felt that they should not be left out in +the rain. + +We hunted farther and found an Arch of Triumph, which the Romans +generally built in conquered territory. It was hard to tell where the +arch began and where it ended, such a variety of other things had grown +up around and against it. Still, there was at least a section standing, +Roman, and of noble proportions. It will still be Roman, and an arch, +when those later incrustations have crumbled away. Roman work is not +trivial stuff. + +We might have lingered a little in the winding streets and made further +discoveries, but the Joy had already sighted a place where the most +attractive rolls and French cakes filled the window. The orders, she +said, were very strict about the luncheon things. We must get them at +once or we should not be able to locate the place again. + +Curious things can happen in a brief absence. We returned to the car to +find one of the back tires perfectly flat, the head of the family +sitting serenely unconscious of her misfortune. We had picked up one of +those flat-headed boot nails that Europeans love so well, and the tire +had slowly and softly settled. There are cleaner, pleasanter things than +taking off a tire and putting it on again in the rain, but I utilized a +deep doorway on the corner for the dry work, and Narcissa held the +umbrella while I pulled and pushed and grunted and pumped, during the +more strenuous moments. Down the river a way we drew up in a grassy +place under some trees and sat in the car and ate the _gateaux_ and +other things, and under the green shelter I made coffee and eggs, the +little cooker sitting cozily on the running-board. Then all the +afternoon along the hard, wet, shining road that follows the Rhone to +Valence, where we spent two days, watching the steady beat from the +hotel windows, reading, resting, and eating a good deal of the time; +doing not much sight-seeing, for we had touched Valence on our northward +trip eight months before. + + + + +Chapter VI + +THE CHATEAU I DID NOT RENT + + +In a former chapter I have mentioned the mighty natural portrait in +stone which Mark Twain found, and later named the Lost Napoleon, because +he could not remember its location, and how we rediscovered it from +Beauchastel on the Rhone, not far below Valence. We decided now that we +would have at least another glimpse of the great stone face, it being so +near. The skies had cleared this morning, though there was a good deal +of wind and the sun was not especially warm. But we said we would go. We +would be getting on toward the south, at any rate. + +We did not descend on the Beauchastel side, there being a bridge shown +on the map, at La Voulte, where we would cross. The reader may also +remember the mention of a chateau below Beauchastel, with a sign on it +which said that the property was to let, and my failure to negotiate for +it. Very well, here is the sequel: When we got to the end of the bridge +opposite La Voulte, we looked across to one of the closely packed +mediaeval villages of France with a great castle rising from its central +height. It was one of the most picturesque things we had seen and I +stopped to photograph it, declaring we must certainly visit it. So we +crossed the bridge and at the end turned away toward Beauchastel, +deciding to visit La Voulte later. + +We were back almost immediately. The day was not as clear as it looked +and the Lost Napoleon was veiled, behind a white horizon. Very likely it +would be better by morning, we said, so we dropped our belongings at the +tiny Beauchastel inn and made an afternoon excursion to the chateau. +Imagine my feelings when, on looking up from the road, I suddenly +discovered once more the big sign, "_Chateau A Louer._" It was our +chateau--the one I had formerly been discouraged from taking. It was +providence, I said, knocking a second time at our door. + +The others had another view. They said unless I would promise not to +rent the premises I would not be permitted to examine them. I tried to +make better terms, but finally submitted. We drove up into the narrow, +ancient, cobbled streets a distance and left the car. Then we climbed. +It was a steep and tortuous way, winding around scary edges and through +doubtful-looking passages where, in weird holes and crannies, old and +crooked people lived and were doing what they had always done since time +began. I don't remember exactly how we finally made our way through +crumble and decay--such surroundings as I have often known in dreams--to +a grassy court where there was a semblance of genuine life. An old +caretaker was there and he agreed to show us through. + +It was called _La Voulte sur Rhone_, he said, and gave its name to the +village. No one knew just when it had been begun, but some of it had +been there in the eleventh century, when it had belonged to Adon de +Clerieu. It had passed through many hands and had been more than once +reconstructed. At one time Guillaume de Fay held it; also Philippe IV +and Louis de Bourbon Conde, and the great family of De Rohan. Kings had +been entertained there, among them Louis XIII, an interesting fact, but +I wished they had given better accommodations than the rambling, +comfortless, and rather blind succession of boxes shown us as the royal +suite. I also objected to the paper on the walls until our guide +explained that it had been put there by an American tenant of the early +Andrew Johnson period. He told us then that the chateau had been +recently bought by a French author of two volumes of poetry, who was +restoring portions of it and had reserved a row of rooms along the high +terrace to let to other poets and kindred souls, so they might live side +by side and look out over the fair land of France and interchange their +fancies and dream long dreams. Standing on that lofty green vantage and +looking out across the river and the valley of the Rhone, I was tempted +to violate my treaty and live there forever after. + +The only portion really restored, so far, is a large assembly room, now +used as a sort of museum. I hope the owner will reclaim, or at least +clean, some of the other rooms, and that he will not carry the work to +the point where atmosphere and romance seem to disappear. Also, I truly +hope he won't give up the notion of that row of poets along the +terrace, even if I can't be one of them; and I should like to slip up +there sometime and hear them all striking their harps in unison and +lifting a memnonic voice to the sunrise. + + + + +Chapter VII + +AN HOUR AT ORANGE + + +Our bill at Beauchastel for the usual accommodation--dinner, lodging, +and breakfast--was seventeen francs-twenty, including the tips to two +girls and the stableman. This was the cheapest to date; that is to say, +our expense account was one dollar each, nothing for the car. + +The Beauchastel inn is not really a choice place, but it is by no means +a poor place--not from the point of view of an American who has put up +at his own little crossroad hotels. We had the dining room to ourselves, +with a round table in the center, and the dinner was good and plentiful +and well served. If the rooms were bare they were at least clean, and +the landlady was not to blame that it turned cold in the night, which +made getting up a matter to be considered. + +Still, we did get up pretty promptly, for we wanted to see if our +natural wonder was on view. It was, and we took time and sketched it and +tried to photograph it, though that was hopeless, for the distance was +too great and the apparition too actinic--too blue. But it was quite +clear, and the peaceful face impressed us, I think, more than ever. The +best view is from the railway embankment. + +We got another reward for stopping at Beauchastel. We saw the old Rhone +stagecoach come in, Daudet's coach, and saw descend from it Daudet's +characters, _le Camarguais_, _le boulanger_, _le remouleur_, and the +rest. At least they might have been those, for they belonged with the +old diligence, and one could imagine the knife grinder saying to the +hectoring baker, "_Tais-toi, je t'en prie" si navrant et si doux_.[13] + +But now we felt the breath of the south. It was no longer chilly. The +sun began to glow warm, the wind died. Sometime in the afternoon we +arrived at Orange. Orange is not on the Rhone and we had missed it in +our northward journey in September. It was one of our special reasons +for returning to the south of France. Not the town of Orange itself, +which is of no particular importance, but for the remnants of the Roman +occupation--a triumphal arch and the chief wall of a Roman theater, both +of such fine construction and noble proportions that they are to be +compared with nothing else of their kind in France. + +We came to the arch first--we had scarcely entered the town when we were +directly facing it. It stands in a kind of circular grass plot a little +below the present level, with short flights of steps leading down to it. +At the moment of our arrival a boy of about fifteen was giving an +exhibition by riding up and down these steps on a bicycle. I sincerely +wished he would not do it. + +Whatever its relation to its surroundings nineteen centuries ago, the +arch of Orange is magnificently out of place to-day. Time-beaten and +weather-stained--a visible manifest of a race that built not for the +generations or the centuries, but for "the long, long time the world +shall last"--supreme in its grandeur and antiquity, it stands in an +environment quite modern, quite new, and wholly trivial. + +The arch is really three arches--the highest in the center, and the +attic, as they call the part above, is lofty, with rich decorations, +still well preserved. There are restored patches here and there, but +they do little injury. + +From whatever direction you look the arch is beautiful, imposing, and +certainly it seems eternal. When the present Orange has crumbled and has +been followed by successive cities, it will still be there, but I trust +the boy with the bicycle will not survive. + +The theater is at the other end of town. It is not an amphitheater or an +inclosure of any kind, but a huge flat wall, about as solid as the hills +and one of the biggest things in France. Strictly speaking, it was never +part of any building at all. It was simply a stage property, a sort of +permanent back scene for what I judge to have been an open-air theater. +There is no doubt about its permanency. It is as high as an ordinary +ten-or twelve-story building, longer than the average city block, and it +is fifteen feet thick. That is the Roman idea of scenery. They did not +expect to shift it often. They set up some decorative masonry in front +of it, with a few gods and heroes solidly placed, and let it go at that. +Their stage would be just in front of this, rather narrow, and about on +a ground level. The whole was built facing a steep rocky hillside, +which was carved into a semi-circle of stone seats, in the old fashion +which Rome borrowed from Greece. This natural stonework did not stand +the wash of centuries, or it may have been quarried for the chateau +which the princes of Orange built at the summit of the hill. The chateau +is gone to-day, and the seats have been restored, I dare say, with some +of the original material. Every August now a temporary stage is erected +in the ancient theater, and the Comedie Francaise gives performances +there. + +The upper works of the hill, where the chateau was, are rather +confusing. There are cave-like places and sudden drops and rudimentary +passages, all dimly suggesting dungeons, once black and horrible, now +happily open to the sun. And, by the way, I suppose that I am about the +only person in the world who needed to be told that a line of kings +originated at Orange. I always supposed that William of Orange took his +name from an Irish society whose colors, along with a shamrock, he wore +in his hat. + +By some oversight the guidebook does not mention the jam that is sold at +Orange. It is put up in tin pails, and has in it all the good things in +the world--lumps of them--price, one franc per pail. + +We did not stop at Avignon, for we had been there before, but followed +around outside the ancient wall and came at last to the Rhone bridge, +and to the island of our smoke adventure in the days of our +inexperience, eight months earlier. This time we camped on the island in +a pretty green nook by the water's edge, left the car under a tree, and +made tea and had some of that excellent jam and some fresh rolls and +butter, and ate them looking across to ancient Villeneuve and the tower +of Philip le Bel. + +Oh, the automobile is the true flying carpet--swift, willing, always +ready, obeying at a touch. Only this morning we were at Beauchastel; a +little while ago we were under the ancient arch at Orange and sat in the +hoary theater. A twist of the crank, a little turning of the wheel, a +brief flight across wood and meadow, and behold! the walls of Avignon +and a pleasant island in the river, where we alight for a little to make +our tea in the greenery, knowing that we need only to rub the magic lamp +to sail lightly away, resting where we will. + +Our tea ended, the genii awoke and dropped us into Villeneuve, where, in +an open market, we realized that it was cherry season. I thought I had +seen cherries before, but never in this larger sense. Here there were +basketfuls, boxfuls, bucketfuls, barrelfuls, wagonloads--the whole +street was crowded with wagons, and every wagon heaped high with the +crimson and yellow fruit. Officials seemed to be weighing them and +collecting something, a tax, no doubt. But what would be done with them +later? Could they ship all those cherries north and sell them? And +remember this was only one evening and one town. The thought that every +evening and every town in the Midi was like this in cherry time was +stupefying. We had to work our way among cherry wagons to get to the +open road again, and our "flying carpet" came near getting damaged by +one of them, because of my being impatient and trying to push ahead when +an approaching cherry wagon had the right of way. As it was, I got a +vigorous admonishment in French profanity, which is feathery stuff, +practically harmless. I deserved something much more solid. + +Consider for a moment this French profanity: About the most violent +things a Frenchman can say are "_Sacre bleu_" and "_Nom d'un chien!_" +One means "Sacred blue" and the other "Name of a dog." If he doubles the +last and says "Name of a name of a dog," he has gone his limit. I fail +to find anything personal or destructive or profane in these things. +They don't seem to hit anything, not even the dog. And why a dog? +Furthermore, concerning the color chosen for profane use--why blue? why +not some shade of Nile green, or--or-- Oh, well, let it go, but I do +wish I could have changed places with that man a few minutes! + +We considered returning to Avignon for the night, but we went to +Tarascon instead, and arrived after dark at a bright little inn, where +we were comfortably lodged, and a relative of Tartarin brought us a good +supper and entertained us with his adventures while we ate. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[13] "_La Diligence de Baucoire_" in _Lettre de Mon Moulin_, Alphonse +Daudet. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +THE ROAD TO PONT DU GARD + + +It is a wide, white road, bordered by the rich fields of May and the +unbelievable poppies of France. Oh, especially the poppies! I have not +spoken of them before, I think. They had begun to show about as soon as +we started south--a few here and there at first, splashes of blood amid +the green, and sometimes mingling a little with the deep tones of the +crimson clover, with curious color effect. They became presently more +plentiful. There were fields where the scarlet and the vivid green of +May were fighting for the mastery, and then came fields where the +scarlet conquered, was supreme, and stretched away, a glowing, radiant +sheen of such splendid color as one can hardly believe, even for the +moment that he turns away. It was scarlet silk unrolled in the sun. It +was a tide of blood. It was as if all the world at war had made this +their battlefield. And it did not grow old to us. When we had seen a +hundred of those fields they still fascinated us; we still exclaimed +over them and could not tear our eyes away. + +We passed wagonloads of cherries now. In fact, we did not pass loads of +anything else. Cherry harvest was at its height. Everybody was carrying +baskets, or picking, or hauling to market. We stopped and asked an old +man drowsing on a load to sell us some. He gave us about a half a peck +for eight cents and kept piling on until I had to stop him. Then he +picked up a specially tied bunch of selected ones, very handsome, and +laid them on top and pointed at Narcissa--"For the demoiselle." We +thanked him and waved back to him, but he had settled down into his seat +and was probably asleep again. All drivers sleep in the Provence. They +are children of the south and the sun soothes them. They give their +horses the rein and only waken to turn out when you blow or shout very +loudly. You need an especially strong Klaxonette in the Provence. + +Baedeker says: "The Pont du Gard is one of the grandest Roman structures +in existence." I am glad Baedeker said that, for with my limited +knowledge I should have been afraid to do it, but I should always have +thought so. A long time ago I visited the Natural Bridge of Virginia. I +had been disappointed in natural wonders, and I expected no great things +of the Natural Bridge. I scaled my imagination down by degrees as I +followed a path to the viewpoint, until I was prepared to face a reality +not so many times bigger than the picture which my school geography had +made familiar. Then all at once I turned a corner and stood speechless +and stupefied. Far up against the blue a majestic span of stone +stretched between two mighty cliffs. I have seen the Grand Canon since, +and Niagara Falls, but nothing ever quite overwhelmed me as did that +stupendous Virginia stone arch--nothing until we rounded a bend in the +road and stopped facing the Pont du Gard. Those two are of the same +class--bridges supreme--the one of nature, the other of art. Neither, I +think, was intended as a bridge originally. The Romans intended these +three colossal tiers of columns, one above the other, merely as supports +for the aqueduct at the top, which conducted water to Nimes. I do not +know what the Almighty intended his for--possibly for decoration. To-day +both are used as bridges--both are very beautiful, and about equally +eternal, I should think, for the Roman builders came nearer to the +enduring methods of the Original Builder than any other architects save, +possibly, the Egyptians. They did not build walls of odds and ends of +stone with mortar plastered between; they did not face their building +stones to look pretty outside and fill in behind with chips and mortar, +mostly mortar. They took the biggest blocks of stone they could find, +squared them, faced them perfectly on all sides, and laid them one on +top of the other in such height and in such thickness as they deemed +necessary for a lasting job. Work like that does not take an account of +time. The mortar did not crumble from between them with the centuries. +There was none to crumble. The perfectly level, perfectly matched stones +required no cementing or plaster patching. You cannot to-day insert a +thin knife blade between these matched stones. + +The Pont du Gard is yellow in tone and the long span against the blue +sky is startlingly effective. A fine clear stream flows under it, the +banks are wild with rock and shrub, the lower arches frame landscape +bits near or more distant. I don't know why I am trying to describe +it-- I feel that I am dwarfing it, somehow--making it commonplace. It is +so immense--so overwhelming to gaze upon. Henry James discovered in it a +"certain stupidity, a vague brutality." I judge it seemed too positive, +too absolute, too literal and everlasting for the author of the _Golden +Bowl_. He adds, however, that "it would be a great injustice not to +insist upon its beauty." One must be careful not to do injustice to the +Pont du Gard. + +We made our luncheon camp a little way from the clear stream, and +brought water from it and cooked eggs and made coffee (but we carry +bottled water for that), and loafed in the May sun and shade, and looked +at that unique world-wonder for an hour or more. The Joy discovered a +fine school of fish in the stream--trout, maybe. + +A hundred years ago and more the lower arches of the Pont du Gard were +widened to make a bridge, and when at last we were packed and loaded +again we drove across this bridge for the nearer view. It was quite +impossible to believe in the age of the structure--its preservation was +so perfect. We drove to the other end and, turning, drove slowly back. +Then lingeringly we left that supreme relic in the loneliness where, +somehow, it seemed to belong, and followed the broad white road to +Nimes. There is a Roman arena at Nimes, and a temple and baths--the +Romans built many such things; but I think they could have built only +one Pont du Gard. + + + + +Chapter IX + +THE LUXURY OF NIMES + + +When the Romans captured a place and established themselves in it they +generally built, first an Arch of Triumph in celebration of their +victory; then an arena and a theater for pleasure; finally a temple for +worship. Sometimes, when they really favored the place and made it a +resort, they constructed baths. I do not find that they built an Arch of +Triumph at Nimes, but they built an arena, baths, and a temple, for they +still stand. The temple is the smallest. It is called the "Maison +Carree," and it is much like the temple we saw at Vienne that day in the +rain, but in a finer state of preservation. Indeed, it is said to be one +of the best preserved Roman temples in existence. It is graceful and +exquisite, and must have suited Henry James, who did not care for Roman +arenas because they are not graceful and exquisite, as if anything built +for arena purposes would be likely to be anything less than solid and +everlasting. We did not go into the Maison Carree. It is a museum now, +and the fact that it has also been used as a warehouse and stable +somehow discouraged us. It would be too much done over. But the outside +was fascinating. + +We thought the garden of the Roman baths and fountain would be well to +see in the evening. We drove along the quay by the side of the walled +river which flows down the middle of the street, and came to the gates +of the garden and, leaving the car, entered. + +At first it seemed quite impossible to believe that a modern city of no +great size or importance should have anything so beautiful as this +garden, or, having it, should preserve it in such serene beauty and +harmony. But then one remembered that this was France, and of France it +was the Provence and not really a part of the sordid, scrambling world +at all. + +It is a garden of terraces and of waterways and of dim, lucent pools to +which stairways descend, and of cypresses, graying statuary, and marble +bridges and fluted balustrades; and the water is green and mysterious, +and there is a background of dark, wooded hills, with deep recesses and +lost paths. We climbed part way up the hillside and found a place where +we could look out on the scene below. In the fading light it seemed a +place of enchantment. + +It is not easy to tell what part of this garden the Romans built and +what was added from time to time during the centuries. It seems to have +been liberally reconstructed a hundred or so years ago, and the statuary +is none of it of the Roman period. But if there was ever any incongruity +the blurring hand of time has left it invisible to our unpracticed eyes. +We lingered in this magic garden, and spoke softly of the generations +that for nineteen centuries have found their recreation there, and we +turned often for a last look, reluctant to leave something that seemed +likely to vanish the moment one turned away. + +Our hotel was on the square in which stands the arena, so that it was +but a step away at any time. We paid it one thorough visit, and sat in +the seats, and scaled the upper heights, and looked down on the spot +where tragedy and horror had been employed as means of pleasure for a +good portion of the world's history. I am sorry the Provence is still +rather cruel minded, though I believe they do not always kill the bull +now in the Sunday-afternoon fights. It is only a few times in each +season that they have a fight to the death. They had one the Sunday +before our arrival, according to the bills still posted at the entrance. +In the regular Sunday games anyone has the privilege of snatching a bow +of red ribbon from the bull's forehead. I had a fever to try it, but, +this being only Tuesday, it did not seem worth while to wait. + +On the whole I think we did not find the arena at Nimes as interesting +as the one at Arles, perhaps because we had seen Arles first. It is +somewhat smaller than the Arles circus, and possibly not so well +preserved, but it is of majestic proportions, and the huge layers of +stone, laid without cement in the Roman fashion, have never moved except +where Vandal and Saracen and the building bishops have laid despoiling +hands. + +Not all the interest of Nimes is ancient; Alphonse Daudet was born in +Nimes, and the city has set up a statue and named a street in his honor. +Daudet's birthplace is not on the street that bears his name, but on the +Boulevard Gambetta, one of the wide thoroughfares. Daudet's house is a +part of the Bourse du Commerce now, and I do not think it was ever the +"_habitation commode, tout ombragee de plantanes_" of which he writes so +fondly in Le Petit Chose--the book which we have been told is, in part, +at least, his own history. There is nothing now to indicate that it was +ever the birthplace of anyone, except the plaque at the door, and as we +sat reading this we realized that by a coincidence we had come at a +fortunate time. The plaque said, "Born May 13, 1840." Now, seventy-four +years later, the date was the same. It was the poet's birthday! + + + + +Chapter X + +THROUGH THE CEVENNES + + +The drowsy Provence, with its vineyard slopes and poppied fields, warm +lighted and still, is akin to Paradise. But the same Provence, on a +windy day, with the chalk dust of its white roads enveloping one in +opaque blinding clouds, suggests Sherman's definition of war. We got a +taste of this aspect leaving Nimes on our way north. The roads were +about perfect, hard and smooth, but they were white with dust, and the +wind did blow. I have forgotten whether it was the mistral or the +tramontane, and I do not think it matters. It was just wind--such wind +as I used to meet a long time ago in Kansas. + +Our first town was Alais, but when we inquired about Alai, according to +the French rule of pronunciation, they corrected us and said +Alais--sounding the s. That is Provencal, I take it, or an exception to +the rule. Alais itself was of no importance, but along the way there +were villages perched on hilltops, with castles crowning the high +central points, all as picturesque and mediaeval as anything well could +be. We were always tempted to go up to them, but the climb was likely to +be steep; then those villages seen from the inside might not be as +poetry-picturelike as when viewed from below, looking up an orchard +slope to their weathered balconies and vine-hung walls. + +We were in the Cevennes about as soon as we had passed Alais. The +Cevennes are mountains--not mere hills, but towering heights, with roads +that wind and writhe up them in a multiplicity of convolutions, though +always on perfect grade, always beautiful, bringing to view deep vistas +and wide expanses at every turn. + +There was little wind now--the hills took care of that--and we were warm +and comfortable and happy in this fair, lonely land. There were few +habitations of any kind; no automobiles; seldom even a cart. Water was +scarce, too; it was hard to find a place to replenish our bottles. But +we came at last to a cabin in the woods--a sort of wayside cafe it +proved--where a woman sold us half a liter of red wine for about five +cents, and supplied us with spring water free. A little farther along, +where the road widened a bit, we halted for luncheon. On one side a +steep ascent, wooded, on the other a rather abrupt slope, grass-covered +and shady with interspaced trees. By and by we noticed that all the +trees were of one variety--chestnut. It was, in fact, a chestnut +orchard, and proclaimed the industry of this remote land. We saw many +such during the afternoon; probably the district is populous enough +during the chestnut harvest. + +Through the long afternoon we went winding upward among those unpeopled +hills, meeting almost nothing in the way of human life, passing through +but one village, Grenolhac, too small even to be set down in the road +book. In fact, the first place mentioned beyond Alais was Villefort, +with a small population and one inn, a hostelry indicated in the book +merely by a little wineglass, and not by one of the tiny houses which, +in their varied sizes, picture the recommended hotels and the relative +importance thereof. There was no mention of rooms in connection with the +Cafe Marius Balme; the outlook for accommodation overnight was not very +cheerful. + +It was chilly, too, for evening was closing in and we were well up in +the air. The prospect of camping by the roadside, or even of sitting up +in a cafe until morning, did not attract a person of my years, though +Narcissa and the Joy declared that to build a camp fire and roll up in +the steamer rugs would be "lovely." As there were only three rugs, I +could see that somebody was going to be overlooked in the arrangement; +besides, a night in the mountains in May, let it begin ever so gayly, is +pretty sure to develop doubtful features before morning. I have done +some camping in my time, and I have never been able to get together +enough steamer rugs to produce a really satisfactory warmth at, say, +three or four o'clock in the morning, when the frost is embroidering the +bushes and the stars have a glitter that drills into your very marrow. +Langogne, the first town marked with a hotel, was at least thirty-five +miles farther along, and I could tell by the crinkly look of the road as +it appeared on our map that it was no night excursion. Presently we +descended into a sort of gorge, and there was Villefort, an isolated, +ancient little hamlet forgotten among the Cevennes hilltops. We came to +an open space and there, sure enough, was the Cafe Balme, and by the +side of it, happy vision, another little building with the sign "Hotel +Balme." + +It was balm indeed. To my faithful inquiry, "_Vous avez des chambres?_" +Yes, they had chambers--they were across the open square, over the +garage--that is to say, the stable--if the monsieur and his party would +accept them. + +"_Oui, certainement!_" + +They were not luxurious--they were just bare boxes, but they were clean, +with comfortable beds, and, dear me! how inviting on this particularly +chilly evening, when one has put in most of the day climbing narrow, +circuitous mountain roads--one-sided--that is to say, one side a wall, +the other falling off into unknown space. + +They were very quiet rooms, for we had the place to ourselves. The car +would sleep just under us, and we had a feeling of being nomads, the +kind that put up in barns and empty buildings. A better place could +hardly have made us happier, and a better dinner than we had could not +be produced anywhere. There was soup--French soup; hot fried trout, +taken that day from the mountain streams; then there was omelet of the +freshest eggs, served so hot that one must wait for it to cool; also a +dish of veal of the same temperature and of such tenderness that you +could cut it with a fork; and there was steak which we scarcely touched, +and a salad, and fruit and cakes and camembert cheese, with unlimited +wine throughout. How could they give a dinner like that, and a good bed, +and coffee and rolls with jam next morning, all for four francs--that +is, eighty cents, each? I will tell you: they did their own cooking, +and were lost so far in the mountains that they had not yet heard of the +"high cost of living." And if I have not mentioned it before, I wish to +say here that all the red road-book hotels are good, however small or +humble they appear. Indeed, I am inclined to believe that _all French_ +hotels are good--at least that they have good food and beds. With the +French, to have good beds and good food is a religion. + +You notice I do not mention the coffee. That is because it is not real +coffee. It is-- I don't quite know what it is. In the large hotels it +merely looks like coffee. In these small inns it looks like a dark, +ominous soup and tastes like that as much as anything. Also, it is not +served in cups, but bowls, porridge bowls, with spoons to match, and the +natives break chunks of bread in it and thus entirely carry out the soup +idea. This is the French conception of coffee in the remoter districts, +but the bread and jam or honey that go with it are generally good and +plentiful, and I suppose the fearful drink itself must be wholesome. One +hears a good deal in America of delicious French coffee, but the only +place to get it is in America, in New Orleans, say, or New York. I have +never found any really good coffee even in Paris. + +I think not many travelers visit the Cevennes. The road across the +mountains from Nimes toward Paris seemed totally untraversed, at least +so far as tourists are concerned. No English is spoken anywhere--not a +word. This was France--not the France that is Paris, which is not France +at all any more than New York City is America, but the France which is +a blending of race and environment--of soil and sky and human struggle +into a unified whole that is not much concerned with the world at large, +and from generation to generation does not greatly change. + +One may suppose, for instance, that the market at Villefort, which we +saw next morning, was very much what it was a hundred years ago--that +the same sturdy women in black dresses and curious hats had carried the +same little bleating kids, one under each arm--that trout and +strawberries and cheese and cherries and all the products of that +mountain district were offered there, around the old stone fountain, in +the same baskets under the shadow of the same walls, with so little +difference in the general aspect that a photograph, if one could have +been taken then, might be placed beside the ones we made and show no +difference in the fashion of things at all. + +We bought some of the strawberries, great delicious dewy ones, and +Narcissa and the Joy wanted to buy one or even a dozen of the poor +little kids, offering to hold them in their laps constantly. But I knew +that presently I should be holding one or more of those kids in my own +lap and I was afraid I could not do that and drive with safety. I said +that some day when we had time we would build a wooden cage on wheels to +put behind the car and gradually collect a menagerie, but that I was +afraid we didn't have time just now. We must be getting on. + +Our landlady was a good soul. She invited us into the kitchen, neat, +trim, and shining, and showed us some trout caught that morning, and +offered to give us a mess to take along. The entire force of the hotel +assembled to see us go. It consisted of herself and her daughter, our +waitress of the night before. Our bill was sixteen francs. The old +life--the simple life--of France had not yet departed from Villefort. + + + + +Chapter XI + +INTO THE AUVERGNE + + +We had climbed two thousand feet from Nimes to reach Villefort and +thought we were about on the top of the ridge. But that was a mistake; +we started up again almost as soon as we left, and climbed longer hills, +higher and steeper hills, than ever. Not that they were bad roads, for +the grades were perfect, but they did seem endless and they were still +one-sided roads, with a drop into space just a few feet away, not always +with protecting walls. Still there was little danger, if one did not get +too much interested in the scenery, which was beyond anything for its +limitless distances, its wide spaces and general grandeur. + +Whenever we got to a level spot I stopped the car to look at it while +the engine cooled. It is a good plan to stop the car when one wishes +really to admire nature. The middle of the road ahead is thought to be +the best place for the driver to look while skirting a mountainside. + +To return to roads just for a moment, there were miles of that winding +lofty way, apparently cut out of the solid face of the mountain, through +a country almost entirely uninhabited--a rocky, barren land that could +never be populous. How can the French afford those roads--how can they +pay for them and keep them in condition? I was always expecting to meet +a car on the short high turns, and kept the horn going, but never a car, +never a carriage--only now and then a cart, usually the stone-cart of +some one mending the roads. The building and engineering of those roads +seems to me even a greater marvel than the architecture of cathedrals +and chateaux. They are as curly and crooked as a vine, but they ascend +and descend with a precision of scale that makes climbing them a real +diversion. We ascended those hills on high speed--all of them. + +We were about at the snow line now. We could see it but a little way +higher up, and if the weather had not been so bright and still we should +have been cold. Once we saw what we took to be a snowbank just ahead by +the roadside. But when we came nearer we saw it was narcissus, growing +there wild; later we saw whole fields of it. It flourished up there as +the poppies did lower down. + +The country was not all barren. There were stretches of fertile +mountain-top, with pastures and meadows and occasional habitations. Now +and then on some high point we saw a village clustering about an ancient +tower. Once--it was at Prevencheres, a tiny village of the Auvergne--we +stopped and bought eggs and bread. There were also a few picture postals +to be had there, and they showed the Bourree, which is a native dance of +the Auvergne--a rather rough country cafe dance, I gathered, but +picturesque, in the native costume. I wish we might have seen it. + +The mountains dwindled to hills, humanity became more plentiful. It was +an open, wind-swept country now--rolling and fruitful enough, but barren +of trees; also, as a rule, barren of houses. The people live in the +villages and their industry would seem to be almost entirely +pasturage--that is, cattle raising. I have never seen finer cattle than +we saw in the Auvergne, and I have never seen more uninviting, dirtier +villages. Barns and houses were one. There were no dooryards, and the +cattle owned the streets. A village, in fact, was a mere cattle yard. I +judge there are few more discouraging-looking communities, more +sordid-looking people, than in just that section. But my guess is that +they are a mighty prosperous lot and have money stuffed in the savings +bank. It is a further guess that they are the people that Zola wrote of +in _La Terre_. Of course there was nothing that looked like a hotel or +an inn in any of those places. One could not imagine a French hotel in +the midst of such a nightmare. + + + + +Chapter XII + +LE PUY + + +One of the finest things about a French city is the view of it from afar +off. Le Puy is especially distinguished in this regard. You approach it +from the altitudes and you see it lying in a basin formed by the hills, +gleaming, picturesque, many spired--in fact, beautiful. The evening sun +was upon it as we approached, which, I think, gave it an added charm. + +We were coasting slowly down into this sunset city when we noticed some +old women in front of a cottage, making lace. We had reached the +lacemaking district of the Auvergne. We stopped and examined their work +and eventually bought some of it and photographed them and went on down +into the city. Every little way other old women in front of humble +cottages were weaving lace. How their fingers did make the little +bobbins fly! + +I had never heard of a _puy_ (pronounced "pwee") before we went to the +Auvergne and I should never have guessed what it was from its name. A +_puy_ is a natural spire, or cone, of volcanic stone, shooting straight +up into the air for several hundred or several thousand feet, often slim +and with perpendicular sides. Perhaps we should call them "needles." I +seem to remember that we have something of the kind in Arizona known by +that name. + +The Auvergne has been a regular _puy_ factory in its time. It was in the +Quaternary era, and they were volcanic chimneys in the day of their +first usefulness. Later--a good deal later--probably several million +years, when those flues from the lower regions had become filled up and +solidified, pious persons began building churches on the tops of them, +which would seem pretty hazardous, for if one of those chimneys ever +took a notion to blow out, it would certainly lift the church sky high. +Here at Le Puy the chimney that gives it its name is a slender cone two +hundred and eighty feet high, with what is said to be a curious +tenth-century church on the very tip of it. We were willing to take it +for granted. There are about five hundred steps to climb, and there is a +good deal of climbing in Le Puy besides that item. We looked up to it, +and across to it, and later--when we were leaving--down to it from +another higher point. I don't know why churches should be put in such +inconvenient places--to test piety, maybe. I am naturally a pious +person, but when I think of the piety that has labored up and down those +steps through rain and shine and cold and heat for a thousand years I +suffer. + +We did climb the stair of the cathedral of Notre Dame de Puy, which +sweeps upward in broad majesty, like a ladder to heaven. There are over +a hundred steps, and they were originally designed so the overflow +congregation could occupy them and look into the church and see the +officiating priest. An architectural change has made this impossible +to-day, so perhaps the congregation no longer overflows. In fact, there +was a time when great pilgrimages were made to Notre Dame du Puy, and it +was then that the steps were filled. There are little shops on each rise +of this great flight--ascending with it--shops where religious charms +and the like are sold. At the earlier period the merchants displayed +their wares on small tables, and the street is called _Rue des Tables_ +to this day. + +The church is built of black and white stone, and has a curiously +Turkish look. It all seems very foreign to France, and indeed the whole +place was not unlike a mosque, though more somber, less inviting. It was +built in the twelfth century, and under its porch are two of the +original cedar doors, with Latin inscriptions. + +I am sure Le Puy is a religious place. On every high point there is a +church or a saint, or something inspiring. A statue of Notre Dame de +France is on the highest point of all, four hundred and thirty-five feet +above the town. This statue was cast from the metal of two hundred +Russian cannons taken at Sebastopol. You can ascend to it by some six or +seven hundred steps cut in the solid rock. We did not go up there, +either. Even the statement that we could ascend another flight of steps +inside the statue and stand in its very head did not tempt us. Americans +have been spoiled for these things. The lift has made loafers of us all. + +What I think we enjoyed most in Le Puy was its lacemakers. At every +turn, in every little winding street, one saw them--singly and in +groups; they were at the front of every door. They were of all ages, +but mainly, I think, they were old women. Many of them wore the Auvergne +costume--quaint hats or caps, and little shawls, and wooden shoes. +Lacemaking is the industry of the Haute-Loire district, and is said to +employ ninety thousand women. I think that is an underestimate. It +seemed to me we saw as many as that ourselves in front of those mediaeval +doorways of Le Puy. + + + + +Chapter XIII + +THE CENTER OF FRANCE + + +It is grand driving from Le Puy northward toward Clermont-Ferrand and +Vichy. It is about the geographical center of France, an unspoiled, +prosperous-looking land. Many varieties of country are there--plain, +fertile field, rich upland slopes. All the way it is picture +country--such country as we have seen in the pictures and seldom +believed in before. Cultivated areas in great squares and strips, fields +of flowers--red, blue, white--the French colors; low solid-looking +hills, with little cities halfway to the summit, and always, or nearly +always, a castle or two in their midst; winding, shining rivers with +gray-stone bridges over them, the bright water appearing and reappearing +at every high turn. + +Our road made no special attempt to reach the towns. We viewed them from +a distance, and there were narrower roads that turned in their +direction, but our great national highway--it was No. 9 now--was not +intended for their special accommodation. When it did reach a town it +was likely to be a military center, with enormous barracks--new, many of +them--like those at Issoire, a queer old place where we spent the night +and where I had a real adventure. + +It was my custom to carry under the back seat a bottle of Scotch whisky +in event of severe illness, or in case of acute motor trouble. For +reasons I do not at the moment recall--perhaps the cork had leaked--our +supply seemed low at Issoire, and I decided to see what I could find. I +had little hope, for in France even the word "whisky" is seldom +recognized. Still, I would make diligent inquiry, our case being pretty +desperate. There was not enough in the bottle to last till morning-- I +mean, of course, in case anything serious should happen. + +I had the usual experience at the cafes. The attendants repeated the +word "whisky" vaguely, and in various ways, and offered me all sorts of +gayly tinted liquids which I did not think would cure anything I was +likely to have. I tried a drug store, where a gentle pharmacist listened +awhile to my French, then dug out from the back of a lower drawer a +circular on Esperanto. Imagine! + +I was about ready to give it up when I happened to notice a low, dim +shop the shelves of which seemed filled with fancy bottles. The place +had an ancient, mellow look, but I could see at a glance that its +liquids were too richly colored for my taste--needs, I mean. I could +try, however. + +The little gray man who waited on me pronounced the word in several ways +and scratched his head. + +"_Wisky_," he said, "_visky-viskee!_" + +Then he seemed to explode. A second later he was digging a dusty book +out of a dusty pile, and in a moment was running his fingers down a +yellow page. I dare say it was an old stock list, for suddenly he +started up, ran to a dark, remote shelf, pulled away some bottles, and +from the deeper back recesses dragged a bottle and held it up in +triumph. + +"_Voila!_" he said, "_veeskee! Veeskee Eereesh!_" + +Shades of St. Patrick! It was old Irish whisky--old, how old--perhaps +laid in by his grandfather, for a possible tourist, a hundred years +before. I tried to seem calm--indifferent. + +"_Encore?_" I said. + +But no, there was no _encore_--just this one. The price, oh yes, it was +four francs. + +Imagine! + +Issoire is a quaint place and interesting. I shall always remember it. + +To motorists Clermont-Ferrand is about the most important city in +France. It is the home of tire manufacturers, and among them the great +benevolent one that supplies the red road book, and any desired special +information, free. We felt properly grateful to this factory and drove +out to visit it. They were very good to us; they gave us a brand-new +red-book and a green-book for Germany and Switzerland. The factory is a +large one, and needs to be. About four-fifths of the cars of Europe go +rolling along on its products, while their owners, without exception, +use its wonderfully authentic guides. Each year the road books +distributed free by this firm, piled one upon the other, would reach to +a height of more than five miles. They cover about all the countries, +and are simply priceless to the motorist. They are amusing, too. The +funny fat motor man made of tires, shown in little marginal drawings and +tailpieces in all the picturesque dilemmas of the road, becomes a +wonderfully real personality on short acquaintance. We learned to love +the merry Michelin man, and never grew tired of sharing his joys and +misfortunes. + +Clermont-Ferrand is also the home of a man with two wooden legs that +need oiling. I know, for he conducted us to the cathedral, and his +joints squeaked dismally at every step. I said I would go back to the +car and get the oil can, but he paid no attention to the suggestion. He +also objected to the tip I gave him, though I could not see why an +incomplete guide like that, especially one not in good repair, should +expect double rates. Besides, his cathedral was not the best. It was not +built of real stone, but of blocks of lava from the _puys_ of the +neighborhood. + +We came near getting into trouble descending a hill to Vichy. The scene +there was very beautiful. Vichy and the river and valley below present a +wonderful picture. Absorbed in it, I was only dimly conscious of an old +woman trudging along at our left, and did not at all notice a single +chicken quite on the opposite side. In any case I could not well know +that it was her chicken, or that it was so valuable that she would risk +her life to save it. She was a very old person--in the neighborhood of +several hundred, I should think, wearing an improperly short skirt, her +legs the size and shape of a tightly folded umbrella, terminating below +in the largest pair of wooden shoes in the world. Familiar with the +habits of chickens, she probably thought her property would wait till we +were opposite and then start to race across in front of the car. To +prevent this she decided to do it herself! Yet I suppose if I had +damaged that prehistoric old lady, instead of missing her by the breadth +of half a hair, her relatives would have made us pay for her at fancy +rates. + +We did not tarry at Vichy. It is a gay place--stylish and costly, and +worth seeing a little, when one can drive leisurely through its clean, +handsome streets. Perhaps if we could have invented any maladies that +would have made a "cure" necessary we might have lingered with those +other sallow, sad-eyed, stylish-looking people who collect in the +pavilions where the warm healing waters come bubbling up and are +dispensed free for the asking. But we are a healthy lot, and not +stylish. We drove about for a pleasant hour, then followed along evening +roads to St. Germain des Fosses, where the Hotel du Porc was a wayside +inn of our kind, with clean, quiet rooms, good food--and prices, oh, +very moderate indeed! But I do wonder why garages are always put in such +inconvenient places. I have driven in and backed out of a good many in +my time, and I cannot now recall more than one or two that were not +tucked away in an alley or around some impossible corner, making it +necessary to scrape and writhe and cringe to get in and out without +damaging something. I nearly knocked a corner from an out-house in St. +Germain, backing out of its free and otherwise satisfactory garage. + + + + +Chapter XIV + +BETWEEN BILLY AND BESSEY + + +To those tourists who are looking for out-of-the-way corners of Europe I +commend Billy. It is not pronounced in our frivolous way, but "Bee-yee," +which you see gives it at once the French dignity. I call Billy +"out-of-the-way" because we saw no tourists in the neighborhood, and we +had never before heard of the place, which has a bare three-line mention +in Baedeker. + +Billy is on the Allier, a beautiful river, and, seen from a distance, +with its towering ruin, is truly picturesque. Of course the old castle +is the chief feature of Billy--a ruin of great extent, and unrestored! +The last item alone makes it worth seeing. A good many of the ruins of +France have been restored under the direction of that great recreator of +the architectural past, Viollet le Duc, who has done his work supremely +well and thoroughly--oh, thoroughly, no name! I am glad he did it, for +it means preservation for the ages, but I am so glad that there is now +and then a ruin that + + Monsieur V. le Duc + Happened to overlook. + +I even drift into bad poetry when I think of it. + +The Chateau de Billy seems to have been built about 1232 by one of the +sires of Bourbon Robert of Clermont, son of St. Louis, to control the +river traffic. It was a massive edifice of towers and bastions, and +walls of enormous thickness. A good portion of the walls and some of the +towers still stand. And there is a dungeon into which no light or air +could come, once used to convince refractory opposition. They put a man +in there for an hour. When they took him out he was either convinced or +dead, and so, in either case, no longer troublesome. + +The guardian of Billy was a little old woman as picturesque as the +ruins, and lived in a little house across the way, as picturesque as +herself. When we had seen the castle she let us look into her house. It +consisted of just one small room with a tiny stove in one corner and a +bed in the other. But the stove, with its accessories of pans and other +ware all so shining and neat, and her tiny, high-posted, canopied bed so +spotless and pretty with its white counterpane and gay little curtains, +set us to wondering why anybody in the world needed a home more ample or +attractive than that. + +It seemed amusing to us that the name of the next place along that route +should be Bessey. We lunched between Billy and Bessey, on a green level +roadside, under some big trees, where there was a little stream which +furnished our cooking water. It is not always easy to select the +luncheon place. A dry spot with water and shade is not everywhere to be +had, and then we do not always instantly agree on the conveniences of a +place, and while we are discussing it we are going right along at a +fifteen or twenty-mile rate and that place has drifted a mile or two +behind before the conference ends. But there always _is_ a place +somewhere that has most of the things we want, and it lies around the +next turn or over the next hill, and it is always so new and strange and +foreign, so away and away from the world we have known, so intimately a +part of a land and of lives we have never seen before and shall never +see again. + +A gypsy of very poor class came along while we were at luncheon. His +little wagon-house was quite bare of furnishings. The man walked outside +beside the meager donkey--a young woman with a baby sat on the floor in +the wagon. + +Gypsies, by the way, are an institution in France. The French call them +_nomades_, and provide them with special ordinances and road +limitations. At first, when we saw signs "_Limites de Nomades_" in the +outskirts of villages we wondered what was meant, and did not associate +the notice with the comfortable and sometimes luxurious house-wagons +that we met or overtook, or found solidly established by some pleasant +waterside. Then it dawned upon us that these gypsy folk were the +_nomades_ and that the signs were provided for their instruction. + +We met them, presently, everywhere. France, with its level roads and +liberal laws, is gypsy heaven. A house on wheels, a regular little flat, +with parlor, bedroom and kitchen, big enough to hold a family and its +belongings, can be drawn by a single horse over the hard, perfectly +graded highways. They work north in the summer, no doubt, and in the +autumn the Midi calls them. Every little way we saw them camped, +working at their basketry or some kindred industry. Not all the villages +limit them, and often we found them located in the midst of a busy town. +I do not think they do any harm, and I always envied them. Some of their +little houses are so cozy and neat, with tiny lace curtains and flower +pots, and pictures on the walls. When we first saw such wagons we +thought they belonged to artists. + + + + +Chapter XV + +THE HAUTE-LOIRE + + +The particular day of which I am now writing was Sunday, and when we +came to Moulin, the ancient capital of the Bourbonnais, there was a +baptismal ceremony going on in the cathedral; the old sexton in the +portico outside was pulling the rope that led up to the great booming +bell. He could pull and talk too, and he told us that the bell was only +rung for baptisms, at least that was what we thought he said as he flung +himself aloft with the upward sweep, and alow with the downward sweep, +until his chin nearly touched the stone floor. I got into the swing of +it directly, and signified that I should like to ring the bell a little +myself. I realize now that it was decidedly brazen to ask to assist at a +sacred function like that, but he let me do it, and I took the rope and +for a minute or two swayed up and down in a pride I can hardly express, +ringing that five-hundred-year-old bell to notify the world of the +latest baptism in France. + +We came upon an unexpected treat at Moulin--the Souvigny bible, an +illuminated manuscript of 1115, with one hundred and twenty-two +marvelously executed pictorial designs. The bible was in a museum across +from the cathedral, a splendid museum indeed for little Moulin, being +the reconstructed chateau of the Bourbons, filled with beautiful things +of the Bourbon period. The bible is in a room by itself in a glass case, +but the guardian opened it for us and turned the leaves. This bible, +discovered at the old priory of the little town of Souvigny, is in +perfect condition and presents a gorgeous piece of hand illumination. +The drawing itself is naturally primitive, but the coloring is rich +beyond telling, the lettering marvelously perfect. J. Pierpont Morgan is +said to have offered a million francs for the Souvigny bible, a vast sum +to little Moulin. I am glad they did not sell it. It seems better in the +quiet, choice museum which was once the castle of the Bourbon dukes. + +It is curious how conventions establish themselves in the different +districts and how absolutely they prevail in the limits of those +districts. In certain sections, for instance, we found the furnishings +in each hotel exactly alike. The same chairs, the same little table, the +same bedsteads and wardrobes, the same tableware. We could tell by the +change of furnishing when we had reached a new district. A good portion +of the Auvergne remains to us the "Land of Squatty Pitchers," because in +every bedroom the water pitcher was a very short, very corpulent and +saucy-looking affair that amused us each evening with its absurd shape. +Then there were the big coffee bowls and spoons. They got larger and +larger from Nimes northward until we reached Issoire. There the bowls +were really immense and the spoons had grown from dessert spoons to +table spoons, from table spoons to soup spoons until at Issoire they +were like enormous vegetable spoons, such as cooks use to stir the pot +with. From Moulin northward we entered the "Land of Little Ladders." All +the houses outside the larger towns were story-and-a-half affairs, built +facing the road, and the half-story was not reached by an inside +stairway, but by a short outside ladder that led up to a central gable +window, which was really a door. It was curious to see a string of these +houses, all with the little ladders, and all just alike. Our first +thought was that the ladders were used because they were cheaper to +build than a stairway, and saved inside room. But, reflecting later, I +thought it more likely that they originated in the old need of defense. +I think there was a time when the family retired to the loft at night +and drew the ladder up after them, to avoid a surprise. + +It had been raining softly when we left Moulin. Somehow we had strayed +from the main road, and through the misty mid-region of the Haute-Loire +followed ways uncharted, but always good--always interesting, and +somewhere in that lost borderland we came to Dornes, and the daintiest +inn, kept by the daintiest gray-haired woman, who showed us her kitchen +and her flower garden and her tame pheasants, and made us love her +dearly. Next day at St. Pierre le Moutier we got back on our route, and +when Narcissa, out of the book she had been reading, reminded us that +Joan of Arc had once fought a battle there the place became glorified. +Joan must have been at Nevers, too, though we found no record of it. + +I think we should have stayed longer at Nevers. There was an ancient +look about portions of it that in a brighter day would have invited us. +Crossing the Loire and entering the city, with its ancient bastioned +walls, carried one back a good way into the centuries. But it was still +dull and drizzly, and we had a feeling for the open road and a cozier +lodgment. + +The rain ceased, the sun tried to break through the mist. The glistening +world became strangely luminous, a world not of hard realities at all. +The shining river winding away into mystery; far valley reaches fading +into haze; blurred lines of ancient spires and towers--these things +belonged only to a land of romance. Long ago I saw a painting entitled a +dream of Italy. I did not believe then that any real land could be as +beautiful-- I thought it only an artist's vision. I was mistaken. No +painting was ever so beautiful--so full of richness and light and color +as this haze-haunted valley of the Loire. + +We rested at Neuvy, at the little red-book inn, Hotel de la Paix, clean +and inviting like the rest. It is the best compliment we can pay these +little hotels that we always want to remain in them longer, and plan +some day to come back to them. + + + + +Chapter XVI + +NEARING PARIS + + +There are more fine-looking fishing places in France than in any country +I ever saw. There are also more fishermen. In every river town the +water-fronts are lined with them. They are a patient lot. They have been +sitting there for years, I suppose, and if they have ever caught +anything the fact has been concealed. I have talked with numbers of +them, but when I came to the question of their catch they became vague, +not to say taciturn. "_Pas grande chose_" ("No great thing"), has been +the reply, and there was no exhibit. I have never seen one of those +fishermen get a nibble. + +But the water is certainly seductive. Following the upper Loire from +Neuvy to Gien, I was convinced that with a good rod I could stop almost +anywhere and fill the car. Such attractive eddies, such fascinating, +foam-flecked pools! Probably it is just as well I did not have the rod. +I like to persuade myself that the fish were there. + +Gien on the Loire is an old place, but not much that is old remains. +Joan of Arc stopped there on her way to the king at Chinon, and it was +from Gien, following the delivery of Orleans and the battle of Patay, +that she set out with Charles VII for the coronation at Rheims. But +there are no Joan relics in Gien to-day. There are, however, two +interesting features here: the two-story wells and the hard-working +dogs. The wells have a curb reaching to the second story, with an +opening below for the downstairs tenants. It seems a good idea, and the +result is picturesque. The dogs are hitched to little wagons and the +Giennese--most of whom seem to be large and fat--first load those wagons +and then get in themselves and ride. We saw one great hulk of a man +approaching in what at first seemed to be some sort of a go-cart. It was +not until he got close up that we discovered the dog--a little +sweltering dog, his eyes popping out, his tongue nearly dragging the +ground. I think the people of Gien are lazy and without shame. + +[Illustration: "THROUGH HILLSIDE VILLAGES WHERE NEVER A STONE HAD BEEN +MOVED, I THINK, IN CENTURIES"] + +We missed the road leaving Gien and wandered off into narrow, solid +little byways that led across fields and along hedges, through hillside +villages where never a stone had been moved, I think, in centuries. Once +we turned into what seemed a beautiful wood road, but it led to a grand +new chateau and a private drive which had a top dressing of deep soft +sand. Fortunately nobody was at home, for we stalled in the sand and the +head of the family and Narcissa and the Joy were obliged to get out and +push while I put on all backing power and made tracks in that new sand +that would have horrified the owner. We are the right sort, however. We +carefully repaired the scars, then made tracks of another kind, for +remoter districts. + +Miles away from anywhere, by a pool at the edge of a field of bushes, +we established a luncheon place, and in a seclusion of vines and +shrubbery the Joy set up a kitchen and made coffee and boiled eggs and +potatoes and "kept house" for an hour or so, to her heart's content. We +did not know where we were, or particularly care. We knew that the road +would lead somewhere, and that somewhere would be a wayside village with +a little hotel that had been waiting for us ever so long, with inviting +comforts and generous hospitality. Often we said as we drove along, +"What little hotel do you suppose is waiting for us to-night?" But we +did not worry, for we always knew we should find it. + +The "little hotel" this time proved to be at Souppes on the Loing, and +if I had to award a premium to any of the little hotels that thus far +had sheltered us, I think I should give it to the Hotel du Mouton, +Souppes. The name naturally amused us, and we tried to make jokes out of +it, but the dainty rooms and the delicious dinner commanded only our +approval. Also the price; nineteen francs and forty centimes, or less +than four dollars, for our party of four, dinner, lodging, and +breakfast, garage free. + +Souppes is a clean town, with a wide central street. Most of the towns +up this way were cleaner than those of the farther south. Also, they had +better buildings, as a rule. I mean the small towns. Villages not large +enough even to be set down on the map have churches that would do credit +in size and luxury to New York City. Take Bonny, for instance. We halted +there briefly to watch some quaintly dressed people who were buying and +selling at a little butter and egg market, and then we noticed a big, +gray, ancient-looking church somewhat farther along. So we went over +there and wandered about in its dim coolness, and looked at its +beautiful treasures--among them the fine marble statue of Joan which one +meets to-day in most of the churches in France. How could Bonny, a mere +village, ever have built a church like that--a church that to-day would +cost a million dollars? + +Another thing we noticed up this way was the "sign of the bush." Here +and there along the road and in the villages there would be a house with +an upward-slanting hole in the outside wall, about halfway to the eaves, +and in the hole a branch of a tree, usually evergreen. When we had seen +a few of these we began to wonder as to their meaning. Then we noticed +that houses with those branches were all cafes, and some one suddenly +remembered a proverb which says, "A good wine needs no bush," and how, +in a former day, at least, the sign of the bush had indicated a wine +shop. That it still does so in France became more and more evident as we +went along. Every wine shop had its branch of green. I do not think +there was one along that road that considered its wine superior to the +traditional announcement. + +Just outside of Souppes there is a great flinty rock upon which some +prehistoric race used to sharpen knives. I suppose it was back before +Caesar's time, but in that hard stone, so hard that my own knife would +not scratch it, the sharpening grooves and surfaces are as fresh as if +those old fellows had left there only yesterday. I wish I could know +how they looked. + +We came to the woods of Fontainebleau and ate our luncheon in its deep +lucent shade. There is romance in the very name of Fontainebleau, but we +would return later to find it. We drove a little through the wide +avenues of that splendid forest that for three centuries or more was a +hunting ground and pleasure park for kings, then we headed away for +Juvisy on the Seine, where we spent the night and ate on a terrace in +the open air, in a company not altogether to our liking--it being rather +noisy, rather flashy, rather unwholesome--in a word, Parisian. We had +left the region of simple customs and unpretentious people. It was not a +pleasant change. + +Also, we had left the region of good roads. All that I have said about +the perfection of French roads I wish to retract, so far as those in the +environs of Paris are concerned. Leaving Juvisy, we were soon on what is +called the "pave," a road paved with granite blocks, poorly laid to +begin with, and left unrepaired for years. It is full of holes and humps +and wallows, and is not really a road at all, but a stone quarry on a +jamboree. We jiggled and jumped and bumped, and only by going at the +slowest permissible speed could stand it. Cars passed us going quite +fast, but I could see that their occupants were not enjoying themselves. +They were holding on to the backs of the seats, to the top supports, to +one another. They were also tearing their cars to pieces, though the +average Frenchman does not mind that. I love France, and every Frenchman +is my friend, but I do not wish him to borrow my car. He drives +helter-skelter, lickety-split, and never takes care of his car at all. +When the average Frenchman has owned a car a year it is a rusty, +smoking, clattering box of tinware, ready for the can-heap. + + + + +Chapter XVII + +SUMMING UP THE COST + + +The informed motorist does not arrive at the gates of Paris with a +tankful of gasoline. We were not informed, and when the _octroi_ +officials had measured our tank they charged us something like four +dollars on its contents. The price of gasoline is higher inside, but not +that much higher, I think. I did not inquire, for our tankful lasted us +the week of our stay. + +To tell the truth, we did but little motoring in Paris. For one thing, +the streets are just a continuation of the pave, and then the traffic +regulations are defective. I mean there are no regulations. It's just a +go-as-you-please, each one for himself. Push, crowd, get ahead of the +fellow in front of you--that is the rule. Here and there a _gendarme_ +stands waving his arms and shouting, "_Sacre bleu!_" but nobody pays the +least attention to him. The well-trained American motorist finds his +hair getting gray after an hour or two of that kind of thing. + +But we enjoyed Paris, though I am not going to tell about it. No one +attempts to tell of Paris any more--it has all been told so often. But I +may hint to the conservative motorist that below the Seine, in the +neighborhood of the Luxembourg Gardens, about where the rue de Vaugirard +crosses the Boulevard St. Michel, he will find choice little hotels, +with rooms very moderate indeed. + +And perhaps here is a good place to speak of the cost of our travel. We +had stinted ourselves in nothing except style. We had traveled +leisurely, happily, enjoying everything to the full, and our average +expense was a trifle less than forty francs a day--that is, eight +dollars for four persons and the car. Our bill each day at the little +hotels for dinner, lodging, and _petit dejeuner_ (rolls, coffee, and +jam) averaged about twenty-two francs, garage free.[14] That, of course, +is absurdly cheap. + +The matter of gasoline is different. "_Essence_" or benzine, as they +call it, is high in Europe, and you would think it was some fine +liqueur, the way they handle it. They put it up in sealed five-liter +cans, and I have seen motorists, native motorists, buy one can--a trifle +more than a gallon--probably fearing evaporation, or that somebody would +rob the tank. One of those cans cost us about fifty cents, and, being of +extra refined quality, it would carry us on French roads between +eighteen and twenty miles. Sixty miles a day was about our average, +which is aplenty for sight-seeing, even for an American. Our gasoline +and oil expense came to about eight francs a day. The remainder of our +eight dollars went for luncheon by the roadside and for tips. The picnic +luncheon--bread and butter (delicious unsalted butter), jam, eggs, +tinned meats, cheese, sausage, etc.--rarely cost to exceed four francs, +and was usually cheaper. Our hotel tips were about 10 per cent of the +bill, which is the correct amount, and was always satisfactory. When one +gives more he gains nothing but servility, and makes it difficult for +those who follow him. On the other hand an American cannot give less and +keep his self-respect. There were usually but two servants at little +inns, a waitress and a chambermaid. They were entitled to a franc each, +and the boy at the garage to another. Two or three francs a day was +quite enough for incidental tips at churches, ruined castles, and the +like, unless there should be a fee, which would naturally be reckoned +outside the regular budget. In any case, such fees were small and +infrequent. I think I will add a brief summary of the foregoing figures +which I seem to have strung along in a rather loose, confusing way. + +SUMMARY + +AVERAGE DAILY COST OF MOTORING TOR FOUR PERSONS, 1914 + + Average daily cost of dinner, lodging, and breakfast 22 francs ($4.40) + Average daily cost of gasoline and oil 8 francs ( 1.60) + Average daily cost of roadside luncheon 4 francs ( .80) + Average daily cost of tips at hotel 3 francs ( .60) + Average daily cost for sight-seeing 3 francs ( .60) + ----------------- + Total 40 francs ($8.00) + +That was reasonable motor travel, and our eight dollars bought as much +daily happiness as any party of four is likely to find in this old +world.[15] + +Another thing I wish to record in this chapter is the absolute +squareness we found everywhere. At no hotel was there the slightest +attempt to misrepresent, to ring in extras, to encourage side-adventures +in the matter of wines or anything of the sort. We had been led to +believe that the motorist was regarded as fair game for the continental +innkeeper. Possibly there were localities where this was true, but I am +doubtful. Neither did the attendants gather hungrily around at parting. +More than once I was obliged to hunt up our waitress, or to leave her +tip with the girl or man who brought the bags. The conclusion grew that +if the motorist is robbed and crucified in Europe, as in the beginning a +friend had prophesied we should be, it is mainly because he robs and +crucifies himself. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[14] It was oftener from sixteen to eighteen francs, but the time when +we stopped at larger towns, like Le Puy, Lyons, and Valence, brought up +the average. These are antewar prices. I am told there is about a +50-per-cent increase (on the dollar basis) to-day. The value of the +French franc is no longer a fixed quantity. + +[15] The reader must continue to bear in mind that this was in a golden +age. The cost would probably be nearer 150 francs to-day (1921), or $12 +American money. Even so, it would be cheaper than staying at home, in +America. + + + + +Chapter XVIII + +THE ROAD TO CHERBOURG + + +It is easy enough to get into almost any town or city, but it is +different when you start to leave it. All roads lead to Rome, but there +is only here and there one that leads out of it. With the best map in +the world you can go wrong. + +We worked our way out of Paris by the Bois de Boulogne, but we had to +call on all sorts of persons for information before we were really in +the open fields once more. A handsome young officer riding in the Bois +gave us a good supply. He was one of the most polite persons I ever met; +also, the most loquacious. The sum of what he told us was to take the +first turn to the right, but he told it to us for fully five minutes, +with all the variations and embroideries of a young and lively fancy +that likes to hear itself in operation. He explained how the scenery +would look when we had turned to the right; also how it would continue +to look when there was no longer a necessity of turning in either +direction and what the country would be in that open land beyond the +Bois. On the slightest provocation I think he would have ridden with us, +even into Cherbourg. He was a boon, nevertheless, and we were truly +grateful. + +Beyond the Bois de Boulogne lay the _pave_, miles of it, all as bad as +it could be. Sometimes we could not really tell when we were in the +road. Once I found myself on a sort of private terrace without knowing +how I got there or how to get down. We went through St. Germain, but we +did not stop. We wished to get far from Paris--back to the simple life +and good roads. It was along the Seine, at last, that we found them and +the quiet villages. Imagine the luxury of following a silent, tranquil +road by that placid stream, through the sweetness of a May afternoon. +Imagine the peace of it after the jar and jolt and clatter and dazzle of +detestable, adorable Paris. + +I am sorry not to be able to recommend the hotel at Rosny. For a time it +looked as if it were going to be one of the best of our selections, but +it did not turn out so. When we found a little toy garden at the back, +our rooms a string of tiny one-story houses facing it, with roses +blooming at every doorway, we were delighted. Each of us had a toy house +to himself, and there was another for the car at the back. It was a real +play place, and we said how nice it was and wished we might stay a good +while. Then we went for a walk down to the river and in the sunset +watched a curious ferryboat run back and forth on a wire, taking over +homefaring teams, and some sheep and cattle, to the village on the +farther bank of the little, but historic, river. In the early gloaming +we walked back to our hotel. + +The dinner was very good--all dinners in France are that--but alas for +our pretty playhouse rooms! When candles were brought in we saw what I +had begun to suspect from the feeling, the walls were damp--worse, they +were soaked--almost dripping. It seems they were built against a hill +and the recent rains had soaked them through. We could not risk it--the +landlady must give us something in the main house. She was a good +soul--full of regrets, even grief. She had not known about those walls, +she said, and, alas! she had no rooms in the main house. When we +insisted that she _must_ find _something_, she admitted that there was, +indeed, just one room, but so small, so humble--fine folk like us could +never occupy it. + +She was right about its being small, but she was wrong in thinking we +could not occupy it. She brought in cots and bedding, and when we were +all in place at last we just about filled it from side to side. Still, +it was dry and ventilated; those other places had been neither. But it +seemed to us amusing that our fine pretension of a house apiece opening +on a garden had suddenly dwindled to one inconsiderable room for the +four of us. + +We were in Normandy, now, and enjoying it. Everything was quite +different from the things of the south. The picturesque thatched-roof +houses; the women in dainty caps, riding on donkeys, with great brass +milk jugs fore and aft; the very ancient cross-timber architecture; +those, to us, were new things in France. + +The architecture and some of the costumes were not new to one who had +visited England. William the Norman must have carried his thatched-roof +and cross-timber architecture across the Channel; also, certain dresses +and smocks and the pattern of the men's whiskers. In some of these +towns one might almost believe himself in rural England. + +Lisieux, especially, is of the type I mean. It has a street which might +be in Shrewsbury, though I think the Shrewsbury houses would not be as +old as those of Lisieux, one of which--"The House of the Salamander"--so +called from the decoration on its carved facade--we were permitted to +visit. Something about it gave me more the feeling of the ancient life +than I have found in most of the castles. Perhaps because it is wood, +and wood holds personality longer than stone. + +There is an old church at Lisieux, and it has a chapel built by Cauchon, +Bishop of Beauvais, who hounded Joan of Arc to the stake. Cauchon earned +the Beauvais appointment by convicting Joan, but later, especially after +Joan had been rehabilitated, he became frightened of the entertainment +which he suspected Satan was preparing for him and built this chapel in +expiation, hoping to escape the fire. It is a beautiful chapel, but I +think Cauchon wasted his money. If he didn't there is something wrong +with justice. + +The Normandy road to Cherbourg is as wonderful as any in France. All the +way it is lined with trees, and it goes straight on, mile after mile, up +hill and down--long, long hills that on the approach look as if they +reached to the sky, but that flatten out when you get to them, and offer +a grade so gradual and a surface so smooth that you need never shift +your speed levers. Workmen are always raking and touching up those +roads. We had something more than two days of them, and if the weather +had not been rather windy and chilly out on that long peninsula the +memory of that run would be about perfect. + +Cherbourg is not the great city we had imagined it to be. It is simply a +naval base, heavily fortified, and a steamer landing. Coming in on the +Paris road you are in the center of activities almost as soon as you +reach the suburbs and there is none of the crush of heavy traffic that +one might expect. There is a pleasant beach, too, and if travelers were +not always going somewhere else when they arrive at Cherbourg, the +little city might become a real resort. We were there a week before our +ship came in, then sailed out one quiet June evening on the harbor +tender to meet the missing member and happily welcome her to France. Our +hotel had a moving-picture show in the open air, and we could look down +on it from our windows. The Joy especially liked this, and we might have +stayed there permanently, but the long roads and still unvisited glories +of France were calling. + + + + +Chapter XIX + +BAYEUX, CAEN, AND ROUEN + + +We had barely hesitated at Bayeux on the way to Cherbourg, but now we +stopped there for the night. Bayeux, which is about sixty miles from +Cherbourg, was intimately associated with the life of William the +Conqueror, and is to-day the home of the famous Bayeux tapestry, a piece +of linen two hundred and thirty feet long and eighteen inches wide, on +which is embroidered in colored wools the story of William's conquest of +England. + +William's queen, Matilda, is supposed to have designed this marvelous +pictorial document, and even executed it, though probably with the +assistance of her ladies. Completed in the eleventh century, it would +seem to have been stored in the Bayeux cathedral, where it lay scarcely +remembered for a period of more than six hundred years. Then attention +was called to its artistic and historic value, and it became still more +widely known when Napoleon brought it to Paris and exhibited it at the +Louvre to stir the French to another conquest of England. Now it is back +in Bayeux, and has a special room in the museum there, and a special +glass case, so arranged that you can walk around it and see each of its +fifty-eight tableaux. + +It was the closing hour when we got to the Bayeux museum, but the +guardian gave us plenty of time to walk around and look at all the +marvelous procession of horses and men whose outlines have remained firm +and whose colors have stayed fresh for more than eight hundred years. + +Matilda was ahead of her time in art. She was a futurist--anybody can +see that who has been to one of the later exhibitions. But she was +exactly abreast in the matter of history. It is likely that she +embroidered the events as they were reported to her, and her records are +above price to-day. I suppose she sat in a beautiful room with her maids +about her, all engaged at the great work, and I hope she looked as +handsome as she looks in the fine painting of her which hangs above the +case containing her masterpiece. + +There is something fine and stirring about Matilda's tapestry. No matter +if Harold does seem to be having an attack of pleurisy when he is only +putting on his armor, or if the horses appear to have detachable legs. +Matilda's horses and men can get up plenty of swift action on occasion, +and the events certainly do move. Tradition has it that the untimely +death of the queen left the tapestry unfinished, for which reason +William's coronation does not appear. I am glad we stopped at Bayeux. I +would rather have seen Matilda's faithfully embroidered conquest than a +whole gallery full of old masters. + +Next day at Caen we visited her grave. It stands in a church which she +herself founded in expiation of some fancied sin connected with her +marriage. Her remains have never been disturbed. We also visited the +tomb of the Conqueror, on the other side of the city at the church of +St. Etienne. But the Conqueror's bones are not there now; they were +scattered by the Huguenots in 1562. + +We enjoyed Caen. We wandered about among its ancient churches and still +more ancient streets. At one church a wedding was going on, and Narcissa +and I lingered a little to assist. One does not get invited to a +Normandy wedding every day, especially in the old town where William I +organized his rabble to invade England. No doubt this bride and groom +were descendants of some of William's wild rascals, but they looked very +mild and handsome and modern to us. Narcissa and I attended quite a +variety of ceremonials in the course of our travels: christenings, +catechisms, song services, high mass, funerals--there was nearly always +something going on in those big churches, and the chantings and +intonings, and the candles, and the incense, and the processions and +genuflections, and the robes of the priests and the costumes of the +assemblages all interested us. + +Caen became an important city under William the Conqueror. Edward III of +England captured and pillaged it about the middle of the fourteenth +century, at which time it was larger than any city in England, except +London. It was from Caen that Charlotte Corday set out to assassinate +Marat. To-day Caen has less than fifty thousand inhabitants and is +mainly interesting for its art treasures and its memories. + +We left the Paris-Cherbourg road at Caen. Our program included Rouen, +Amiens, and Beauvais, cathedral cities lying more to the northward. +That night we lay at the little Norman village of Bourg-Achard, in an +inn of the choicest sort, and next morning looked out of our windows on +a busy cattle market, where men in clean blue smocks and women in neat +black dresses and becoming headgear were tugging their beasts about, +exhibiting them and discussing them--eating, meantime, large pieces of +gingerbread and other convenient food. A near-by orchard was filled with +these busy traders. At one place our street was lined with agricultural +implements which on closer inspection proved to be of American +manufacture. From Bourg-Achard to Rouen the distance seemed all too +short--the road was so beautiful. + +It was at Rouen that we started to trace backward the sacred footprints +of Joan of Arc, saint and savior of France. For it is at Rouen that the +pathway ends. When we had visited the great cathedral, whose fairy-like +facade is one of the most beautiful in the world, we drove to a corner +of the old Market Place, and stopped before a bronze tablet which tells +that on this spot on a certain day in May, 1431 (it was the 29th), the +only spotless soul in France, a young girl who had saved her country +from an invading and conquering enemy, was burned at the stake. That was +five hundred years ago, but time has not dulled the misery of the event, +its memory of torture, its humiliation. All those centuries since, the +nation that Joan saved has been trying to atone for her death. Streets +have been named for her; statues have been set up for her in every +church and in public squares, but as we read that sorrowful tablet I +could not help thinking that all of those honors together are not worth +a single instant of her fiendish torture when the flames had found her +tender flesh. Cauchon, later Bishop of Beauvais, her persecutor, taunted +his victim to the last. If the chapel of expiation he built later at +Lisieux saved him, then chapels must indeed be held in high esteem by +those who confer grace. + +Nothing is there to-day that was there then, but one may imagine an open +market place thronged with people, and the horrid structure of death on +which stood Joan while they preached to her of her sins. Her sins! when +she was the only one among them that was not pitch black, steeped to the +hair in villainy. Cauchon himself finished the sermon by excommunicating +her, cutting off the church's promise of salvation. On her head she wore +a cap on which was printed: HERETIC, RELAPSED, APOSTATE, IDOLATER. +Cauchon had spared nothing to make her anguish complete. It is curious +that he allowed her to pray, but he did, and when she prayed--not for +herself, but for the king who had deserted her--for his glory and +triumph, Cauchon himself summoned the executioners, and they bound her +to the stake with chains and lighted the fire. + +There is little more to see of Joan in Rouen. The cathedral was there in +her time, but she was never permitted to enter it. There is a wall which +was a part of the chapel where she had her final hearing before her +judges; there are some houses which she must have passed, and there is a +tower which belonged to the castle in which she was confined, though it +is not certain that it is Joan's tower. There is a small museum in it, +and among its treasures we saw the manuscript article _St. Joan of Arc_, +by Mark Twain, who, in his _Personal Recollections_, has left to the +world the loveliest picture of that lovely life. + + + + +Chapter XX + +WE COME TO GRIEF + + +It was our purpose to leave Rouen by the Amiens road, but when we got to +it and looked up a hill that about halfway to the zenith arrived at the +sky, we decided to take a road that led off toward Beauvais. We could +have climbed that hill well enough, and I wished later we had done so. +As it was, we ran along quite pleasantly during the afternoon, and +attended evening services in an old church at Grandvilliers, a place +that we had never heard of before, but where we found an inn as good as +any in Normandy. + +It is curious with what exactness Fate times its conclusions. If we had +left Grandvilliers a few seconds earlier or later it would have made all +the difference, or if I had not pulled up a moment to look at a lovely +bit of brookside planted with poplars, or if I had driven the least bit +slower or the least bit faster, during the first five miles, or-- + +Oh, never mind--what happened was this: We had just mounted a long steep +hill on high speed and I had been bragging on the car, always a +dangerous thing to do, when I saw ahead of us a big two-wheeled cart +going in the same direction as ourselves, and beyond it a large car +approaching. I could have speeded up and cut in ahead of the cart, but I +was feeling well, and I thought I should do the courteous thing, the +safe thing, so I fell in behind it. Not far enough behind him, however, +for as the big car came opposite, the sleepy driver of the cart pulled +up his horse short, and we were not far enough behind for me to get the +brakes down hard and suddenly enough to stop before we touched him. It +was not a smash. It was just a push, but it pushed a big hole in our +radiator, mashed up one of our lamps, and crinkled up our left mudguard. +The radiator was the worst. The water poured out; our car looked as if +it had burst into tears. + +We were really stupefied at the extent of our disaster. The big car +pulled up to investigate and console us. The occupants were Americans, +too, from Washington--kindly people who wanted to shoulder some of the +blame. Their chauffeur, a Frenchman, bargained with the cart driver who +had wrecked us to tow us to the next town, where there were garages. +Certainly pride goes before a fall. Five minutes before we were sailing +along in glory, exulting over the prowess of our vehicle. Now all in the +wink of an eye our precious conveyance, stricken and helpless, was being +towed to the hospital, its owners trudging mournfully behind. + +The village was Poix, and if one had to be wrecked anywhere, I cannot +think of a lovelier spot for disaster than Poix de la Somme. It is just +across in Picardy, and the Somme there is a little brook that ripples +and winds through poplar-shaded pastures, sweet meadows, and deep +groves. In every direction were the loveliest walks, with landscape +pictures at every turn. The village itself was drowsy, kindly, +simple-hearted. The landlady at our inn was a motherly soul that during +the week of our stay the Joy and I learned to love. + +For the others did not linger. Paris was not far away and had a good +deal in the way of shopping to recommend it. The new radiator ordered +from London might be delayed. So early next morning they were off for +Paris by way of Amiens and Beauvais, and the Joy and I settled down to +such employments and amusements as we could find, while waiting for +repairs. + +We got acquainted with the garageman's family, for one thing. They lived +in the same little court with the shop, and we exchanged Swiss French +for their Picardese, and were bosom friends in no time. We spruced up +the car, too, and every day took long walks, and every afternoon took +some luncheon and our little stove and followed down the Somme to a tiny +bridge, and there made our tea. Then sometimes we read, and once when I +was reading aloud from Mark Twain's _Joan of Arc_, and had finished the +great battle of Patay, we suddenly remembered that it had happened on +the very day on which we were reading, the 18th of June. How little we +guessed that in such a short time our peaceful little river would give +its name to a battle a thousand times greater than any that Joan ever +fought! + +Once when we were resting by the roadside a little old lady with a +basket stopped and sat with us while she told us her history--how her +husband had been a great physician and invented cures that to-day are +used in all the hospitals of France. Now she was poor, she said, and +lived alone in a little house, but if we would visit her she would give +us some good Picardese cooking. I wish we might have gone. One day I +hired a bicycle for the Joy and entertained the village by pushing her +around the public square until she learned to ride alone. Then I hired +one for myself and we went out on the road together. About the end of +the third day we began to look for our radiator, and visited the express +office with considerable regularity. Presently the village knew us, why +we were there and what we were expecting. They became as anxious about +it as ourselves. + + + + +Chapter XXI + +THE DAMAGE REPAIRED--BEAUVAIS AND COMPIEGNE + + +One morning as we started toward the express office a man in a wagon +passed and called out something. We did not catch it, but presently +another met us and with a glad look told us that our goods had arrived +and were now in the delivery wagon on the way to the garage. We did not +recognize either of those good souls, but they were interested in our +welfare. Our box was at the garage when we arrived there, and in a +little more it was opened and the new radiator in place. The other +repairs had been made, and once more we were complete. We decided to +start next morning to join the others in Paris. + +Morning comes early on the longest days of the year, and we had eaten +our breakfast, had our belongings put into the car, and were ready to be +off by seven o'clock. What a delicious morning it was! Calm, glistening, +the dew on everything. As long as I live I shall remember that golden +morning when the Joy, aged eleven, and I went gypsying together, +following the winding roads and byways that led us through pleasant +woods, under sparkling banks, and along the poplar-planted streams of +Picardy. We did not keep to highways at all. We were in no hurry and we +took any lane that seemed to lead in the right direction, so that much +of the time we appeared to be crossing fields--fields of flowers, many +of them, scarlet poppies, often mingled with blue cornflowers and yellow +mustard--fancy the vividness of that color. + +Traveling in that wandering fashion, it was noon before we got down to +Beauvais, where we stopped for luncheon supplies and to see what is +perhaps the most remarkable cathedral in the world. It is one of the +most beautiful, and, though it consists only of choir and transepts, it +is one of the largest. Its inner height, from floor to vaulting, is one +hundred and fifty-eight feet. The average ten-story building could sit +inside of it. There was once a steeple that towered to the giddy heights +of five hundred feet, but in 1573, when it had been standing three +hundred years, it fell down, from having insufficient support. The inner +work is of white stone, marble, and the whole place seems filled with +light. It was in this cool, heavenly sanctuary that Cauchon, who hounded +Joan to the stake, officiated as bishop. I never saw a place so unsuited +to a man. I should think that spire would have tumbled off then instead +of waiting until he had been dead a hundred years. There is a clock in +this church--a modern clock--that records everything, even the age of +the world, which at the moment of our visit was 5,914 years. It is a +very large affair, but we did not find it very exciting. In the public +square of Beauvais there is a bronze statue of Jeanne Laine, called +"Jeanne Hachette," because, armed with a hatchet, she led others of her +sex against Charles the Bold in 1472 and captured a banner with her own +hands. + +Beauvais has many interesting things, but the day had become very warm +and we did not linger. We found some of the most satisfactory pastries I +have ever seen in France, fresh and dripping with richness; also a few +other delicacies, and, by and by, under a cool apple tree on the road to +Compiegne, the Joy and I spread out our feast and ate it and listened to +some little French birds singing, "_Vite! Vite! Vite!_" meaning that we +must be "Quick! Quick! Quick!" so they could have the crumbs. + +It was at Compiegne that Joan of Arc was captured by her enemies, just a +year before that last fearful day at Rouen. She had relieved Orleans, +she had fought Patay, she had crowned the king at Rheims; she would have +had her army safely in Paris if she had not been withheld by a weakling, +influenced by his shuffling, time-serving counselors. She had delivered +Compiegne the year before, but now again it was in trouble, besieged by +the Duke of Burgundy. Joan had been kept in partial inactivity in the +Loire district below Paris during the winter, but with the news from +Compiegne she could no longer be restrained. + +"I will go to my good friends of Compiegne," she said, and, taking such +force as she could muster, in number about six hundred cavalry, she went +to their relief. + +From a green hill commanding the valley of the Oise we looked down upon +the bright river and pretty city which Joan had seen on that long-ago +afternoon of her final battle for France. Somewhere on that plain the +battle had taken place, and Joan's little force for the first time had +failed. There had been a panic; Joan, still fighting and trying to +rally her men, had been surrounded, dragged from her horse, and made a +prisoner. She had led her last charge. + +We crossed a bridge and entered the city and stopped in the big public +square facing Leroux's beautiful statue of Joan, which the later +"friends of Compiegne" have raised to her memory. It is Joan in +semi-armor, holding aloft her banner, and on the base in old French is +inscribed "_Je Yray voir mes bons amys de Compiegne_" ("I will go to see +my good friends of Compiegne"). + +Many things in Compiegne are beautiful, but not many of them are very +old. Joan's statue looks toward the handsome and richly ornamented Hotel +de Ville, but Joan could not have seen it in life, for it dates a +hundred years after death. There are two handsome churches, in one or +both of which she doubtless worshiped when she had first delivered the +city; possibly a few houses of that ancient time still survive. + +We looked into the churches, but they seemed better on the outside. Then +I discovered that one of our back tires was down, and we drew up in a +secluded nook at the rear of St. Jacques for repairs. It was dusk by the +time we had finished, the end of that long June day, and we had no time +to hunt for a cozy inn. So we went to a hotel which stands opposite the +great palace which the architect Gabriel built for Louis XV, and looked +across to it while we ate our dinner, and talked of our day's +wanderings, and of palaces in general and especially queens; also of +Joan, and of the beautiful roads and fields of flowers, and of the +little birds that tried to hurry us along, and so were very happy and +very tired indeed. + +Next morning we visited the palace. It has been much occupied by +royalty, for Compiegne was always a favorite residence of the rulers of +France. Napoleon came there with the Empress Marie Louise, and Louis +Philippe and Napoleon III both found retirement there. + +I think it could not have been a very inviting or restful home. There +are long halls and picture galleries, all with shiny floors and stiffly +placed properties, and the royal suites are just a series of square, +prettily decorated and upholstered boxes, strung together, with doors +between. One might as well set up a series of screens in a long hall. +Even with the doors shut there could not have been much sense of +privacy, certainly none of snugness. But then palaces were not meant to +be cozy. We saw the bedrooms and dressing rooms and what not of the +various queens, and we looked from an upper window down a long forest +avenue that was finer than anything inside. Then we went back to the car +and drove into the big forest for ten miles or more, to an old feudal +castle--such a magnificent old castle, all towers and turrets and +battlements--the chateau of Pierrefonds, one of the finest in France. + +It stands upon a rocky height overlooking a lake, and it does not seem +so old, though it had been there forty years when Joan of Arc came, and +it looks as if it might be there about as long as the hill it stands on. +It was built by Louis of Orleans, brother of Charles VI, and the storm +of battle has raged often about its base. Here and there it still shows +the mark of bombardment, and two cannon balls stick fast in the wall of +one of its solid towers. Pierrefonds was in bad repair, had become +well-nigh a ruin, in fact, when Napoleon III, at his own expense, +engaged Viollet le Duc to restore it, in order that France might have a +perfect type of the feudal castle in its original form. It stands to-day +as complete in its structure and decoration as it was when Louis of +Orleans moved in, more than five hundred years ago, and it conveys +exactly the solid home surroundings of the mediaeval lord. It is just a +show place now, and its vast court, its chapel and its halls of state +are all splendid enough, though nothing inside can be quite so +magnificent as its mighty assemblage of towers and turrets rising above +the trees and reflecting in the blue waters of a placid lake. + +It began raining before we got to Paris, so we did not stop at +Crepy-en-Valois, or Senlis, or Chantilly, or St. Denis, though all that +land has been famous for kings and castles and bloodshed from a time +farther back than the days of Caesar. We were interested in all those +things, but we agreed we could not see everything. Some things we saw as +we went by; great gray walls and crumbling church towers, and then we +were at the gates of Paris and presently threading our way through a +tangle of streets, barred, many of them, because the top of the subway +had been tumbling in a few days before and travel was dangerous. It was +Sunday, too, and the streets were especially full of automobiles and +pedestrians. It was almost impossible to keep from injuring something. I +do not care for Paris, not from the driving seat of a car. + + + + +Chapter XXII + +FROM PARIS TO CHARTRES AND CHATEAUDUN + + +In fact, neither the Joy nor I hungered for any more Paris, while the +others had seen their fill. So we were off, with only a day's delay, +this time taking the road to Versailles. There we put in an hour or two +wandering through the vast magnificence of the palace where the great +Louis XIV lived, loved, and died, and would seem to have spent a good +part of his time having himself painted in a variety of advantageous +situations, such as riding at the head of victorious armies, or +occupying a comfortable seat in Paradise, giving orders to the gods. + +They were weak kings who followed him. The great Louis reigned +seventy-two years--prodigal years, but a period of military and artistic +conquest--the golden age of French literature. His successor reigned +long enough--fifty-nine years--but he achieved nothing worth while, and +the next one lost his head. We saw the little balcony where the doomed +Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette showed themselves to the mob--the +"deluge" which the greater Louis had once predicted. + +The palace at Versailles is like other royal palaces of France--a fine +show place, an excellent museum, but never in its day of purest +domesticity could it have been called "a happy little home." Everything +is on too extended a scale. Its garden was a tract of marshy land sixty +miles in circumference until Louis XIV set thirty-six thousand men at +it, turning it into fairyland. Laborers died by the score during the +work, and each night the dead were carted away. When this was mentioned +to the king he was troubled, fearing his supply of men might not last. +However, the garden was somehow completed. Possibly Louis went out and +dug in it a little himself. + +It is still a Garden of Eden, with leafy avenues, and lakes, and +marvelous fountains, and labyrinths of flowers. Looking out over it from +the palace windows we remembered how the king had given Madame Maintenon +a summer sleigh-ride, causing long avenues to be spread with sugar and +salt to gratify her idly-expressed whim. I am sorry, of course, that the +later Louis had to lose his head, but on the whole I think it is very +well that France discouraged that line of kings. + +Versailles is full of palaces. There is the Grand Trianon, which Louis +XIV built for Madame Maintenon when she had grown weary of the great +palace, and the Petit Trianon, which Louis XV gave to Du Barry and where +Marie Antoinette built her Swiss village and played at farm life. There +is no reason I should dwell on these places. Already volumes have been +written of the tragic, gay, dissolute life they have seen, the gorgeous +moving panoramas that might have been pictures passing in a +looking-glass for all the substance they have left behind. + +Somewhere below Versailles, in the quietest spot we could find, by a +still stream that ran between the meadow and the highroad, we made our +luncheon and were glad we were not kings. Being royalty was a gaudy +occupation, but too doubtful, too open to criticism. One of those Louis +families, for instance, could never have stopped their motor by the +roadside and prepared their luncheon in our modest, unostentatious way. +They would have had all manner of attendants and guards watching them, +and an audience would have collected, and some excited person might have +thrown a brick and hit the jam. No, we would rather be just plain, +unobtrusive people, without audience, and with no attendance but the +car, waiting there in the shade to carry us deeper into this Land of +Heart's Desire. + +It was at Rambouillet that we lodged, an ancient place with a chateau +and a vast park; also an excellent inn--the Croix Blanche--one of those +that you enter by driving through to an inner court. Before dinner we +took a walk into the park, along the lakeside and past the chateau, +which is a curious architectural mixture and not very sightly. But it is +mingled with history. Francis I died there in 1547, and as late as 1830 +the last Charles, the tenth of that name, signed his abdication there. + +It was too late for the place to be open, and in any case we did not +care to go in. We had had enough of palaces for one day. We followed +around the lake to an avenue of splendid Louisiana cypresses which some +old king had planted. Beyond the avenue the way led into deeper +wildernesses--a noble wood. We made a backward circuit at length, for it +was evening and the light was fading. In the mysterious half-light +there was something almost spectral in that sylvan place and we spoke in +hushed voices. Presently we came to a sort of bower, and then to an +artificial grotto--old trysting places. Ah, me! Monsieur and +mademoiselle, or madame, are no longer there; the powdered hair, the +ruffled waist-coat and looped gown, the silken hose and dainty footgear, +the subdued laugh and whispered word, all have vanished. How vacant +those old places seemed! We did not linger--it was a time for ghosts. + +We were off next morning, halting for a little at Maintenon on the road +to Chartres. The chateau attracted us and the beautiful river Eure. The +widow of the poet Scarron, who married Louis XIV and became Marquise de +Maintenon, owned the chateau, and it belongs to the family to this day. +An attendant permitted us to see the picture gallery and a portion of +the grounds. All seemed as luxurious as Versailles. It is thirty-five +miles from Maintenon to Versailles, but Louis started to build an +aqueduct to carry the waters of the Eure to his gardens. He kept thirty +thousand soldiers working on it for four years, but they died faster +than he could replace them, which was such a bother that he abandoned +the undertaking. + +Following the rich and lovely valley of the Eure, we came to Chartres, +and made our way to the Cathedral square. We had seen the towers from a +long distance, and remembered the saying that "The choir of Beauvais, +the nave of Amiens, the portal of Rheims, and the towers of Chartres +would together make the finest church in the world." To confess the +truth, I did not think the towers of Chartres as handsome as those of +either Rouen or Amiens. But then I am not a purist in cathedral +architecture. Certainly the cathedral itself is glorious. I shall not +attempt to describe it. Any number of men have written books, trying to +do that, and most of them have failed. I only know that the wonder of +its architecture--the marvel of its relief carving, "lace in stone," and +the sublime glory of its windows--somehow possessed us, and we did not +know when to go. I met a woman once who said she had spent a month at +Chartres and had put in most of it sitting in the cathedral looking at +those windows. When she told me of it I had been inclined to be +scornful. I was not so any more. Those windows, made by some unknown +artist, dead five hundred years, invite a lifetime of contemplation. + +It is about nine hundred years since the cathedral of Chartres was +begun, and it has known many changes. Four hundred years ago one of its +towers was rebuilt in an altogether different pattern from the other. I +believe this variation is regarded as a special feature of their +combined beauty. Chapels have been added, wings extended; changes inside +and out were always going on during the first five hundred years or so, +but if the builders made any mistakes we failed to notice them. It +remains a unity, so far as we could see--a supreme expression of the old +faith, whose material labor was more than half spiritual, and for whom +no sacrifice of money or endeavor was too great. + +We left Chartres by one of the old city gates, and took the wrong road, +and presently found ourselves in an open field, where our way dwindled +out and stopped. Imagine a road good enough to be mistaken for a +highway, leading only to a farmer's grainfield. So we went back and got +set right, and through a heavenly June afternoon followed the straight +level way to Chateaudun, an ancient town perched upon the high cliffs +above the valley of the Loir, which is a different river from the +Loire--much smaller and more picturesque. + +The chateau itself hangs on the very edge of the cliffs with startling +effect and looks out over a picture valley as beautiful as any in +France. This was the home of Dunois, Bastard of Orleans, who left it to +fight under Joan of Arc. He was a great soldier, one of her most loved +and trusted generals. We spent an hour or more wandering through +Dunois's ancient seat, with an old guardian who clearly was in love with +every stone of it, and who time and again reminded us that it was more +interesting than many of the great chateaux of the Loire, Blois +especially, in that it had been scarcely restored at all. About the +latest addition to Chateaudun was a beautiful open stairway of the +sixteenth century, in perfect condition to-day. On the other side is +another fine facade and stairway, which Dunois himself added. In a niche +there stands a fine statue of the famous soldier, probably made from +life. If only some sculptor or painter might have preserved for us the +features of Joan! + + + + +Chapter XXIII + +WE REACH TOURS + + +Through that golden land which lies between the Loir and the Loire we +drifted through a long summer afternoon and came at evening to a noble +bridge that crossed a wide, tranquil river, beyond which rose the towers +of ancient Tours, capital of Touraine. One can hardly cross the river +Loire for the first time without long reflections. Henry James calls the +Touraine "a gallery of architectural specimens ... the heart of the old +French monarchy," and adds, "as that monarchy was splendid and +picturesque, a reflection of the splendor still glitters in the Loire. +Some of the most striking events of French history have occurred on the +banks of that river, and the soil it waters bloomed for a while with the +flower of the Renaissance." + +Touraine was a favorite place for kings, and the early Henrys and +Francises, especially, built their magnificent country palaces in all +directions. There are more than fifty chateaux within easy driving +distance of Tours, and most of the great ones have been owned or +occupied by Francis I, or by Henry II, or by one of their particular +favorites. + +We did not intend to visit all of the chateaux by any means, for chateau +visiting, from a diversion may easily degenerate into labor. We +intended especially to visit Chinon, where Joan of Arc went to meet the +king to ask for soldiers, and a few others, but we had no wish to put in +long summer days mousing about old dungeons and dim corridors, or being +led through stiffly set royal suites, garishly furnished and restored. +It was better to glide restfully along the poppied way and see the +landscape presentment of those stately piles crowning the hilltops or +reflected in the bright waters of the Loire. The outward semblance of +the land of romance remains oftenest undisturbed; cross the threshold +and the illusion is in danger. + +At the Central Hotel of Tours, an excellent place of modest charges, we +made our headquarters, and next morning, with little delay, set out for +Chinon and incidental chateaux. "Half the charm of the Loire," says +James, "is that you can travel beside it." He was obliged to travel very +leisurely beside it when that was written; the "flying carpet" had not +then been invented, and James, with his deliberate locomotion, was +sometimes unable to return to Tours for the night. I imagine he enjoyed +it none the less for that, lazily watching the smooth water of the wide +shallow stream, with never a craft heavier than a flat-bottomed hay +boat; the wide white road, gay with scarlet poppies, and some tall +purple flower, a kind of foxglove. + +I do not remember that James makes mention of the cliff-dwellers along +the Loire. Most of them live in houses that are older, I suspect, than +the oldest chateau of Touraine. In the beginning there must have been in +these cliffs natural caves occupied by our earliest troglodyte +ancestors. In time, as mentality developed and, with it, imagination, +the original shelters were shaped and enlarged by excavation, also new +ones built, until these perpendicular banks facing the Loire became the +dwelling place for hundreds, even thousands. + +They are still numerously inhabited. The rooms or houses--some of them +may be flats--range one above the other in stories, all up the face of +the cliff, and there are smoke-places and little chimneys in the fields +at the top. Such houses must have been here before the kings came to +Touraine. Some of them look very ancient; some have crumbled in; some +have been faced with stone or plaster. The cliff is honeycombed with +them. Do their occupants have traditional rights from some vague time +without date? Do they pay rent, and to whom? We might have found the +answers to these questions had we cared to seek for them. It seemed +better to content oneself with speculation. We did not visit the +cliff-dwellers of the Loire. + +Neither did we visit the chateau of Luynes or of Langeais. Luynes is a +fine old feudal pile on a hilltop just below Tours, splendid from the +road, but it had no compelling history and we agreed that closer view +could not improve it. Besides, it was hot, sizzling, for a climb; so hot +that one of our aging tubes popped presently, and Narcissa and I had to +make repairs in a place where there was a world of poppies, but no shade +for a mile. That was one of the reasons we did not visit Langeais. +Langeais was exactly on the road, but it had a hard, hot, forbidding +look. Furthermore, our book said that it had been restored and converted +into a museum, and added that its chief claim on history lay in the fact +that Anne of Brittany was here married to Charles VIII in 1491. That +fact was fine to realize from the outside, under the cool shadow of +those gray walls. One could lose it among shiny restorations and stuffy +museum tapestries. + +The others presently noticed a pastry shop opposite the chateau and +spoke of getting something extra for luncheon. While they were gone I +discovered a cafe below the chateau and, being pretty dry, I slipped +down there for a little seltzer, or something. The door was open, but +the place was empty. There was the usual display of bottles, but not a +soul was in sight. I knocked, then called, but nobody came. I called and +knocked louder, but nothing happened. Then I noticed some pennies lying +by an empty glass on the bar. The amount was small and I left them +there. A side door was open and I looked out into a narrow passage +opening into a court at the back. I went out there, still signaling my +distress. The sun was blazing and I was getting dryer every minute. +Finally a stout, smiling woman appeared, wiping her hands--from the +washtub, I judge. She went with me into the cafe, gathered up the loose +change on the counter, and set out refreshments. Then she explained that +I could have helped myself and left the money. Langeais is an honest +community. + +Following down the Loire we came to a bridge, and, crossing to the other +bank, presently found ourselves in a country where there were no +visible houses at all. But there was shade, and we camped under it and I +did some tire repairing while the others laid out the luncheon and set +the little cooker going. Later we drowsed in the shade for an hour or +more, with desultory talk of Joan, and of Anne of Brittany, and of the +terrible Catherine de Medici, whose son the feeble Francis II had +brought his young wife, Marie Stuart, the doomed Queen of Scots, to +Chenonceaux for their honeymoon. It was strange to think that this was +the environment of those half-romantic figures of history. Some of them, +perhaps all, had passed this very spot. And so many others! the Henrys, +the Charleses, the Louises--the sovereigns and soldiers and court +favorites for four hundred years. What a procession--the pageant of the +Renaissance! + + + + +Chapter XXIV + +CHINON, WHERE JOAN MET THE KING, AND AZAY + + +Chinon is not on the Loire, but on a tributary a little south of it, the +Vienne, its ruined castle crowning the long hill or ridge above the +town. Sometime during the afternoon we came to the outskirts of the +ancient place and looked up to the wreck of battlements and towers where +occurred that meeting which meant the liberation of France. + +We left the car below and started to climb, then found there was a road, +a great blessing, for the heat was intense. There is a village just +above the castle, and we stopped there. + +The chateau of Chinon to-day is the remains of what originally was three +chateaux, built at different times, but so closely strung together that +in ruin they are scarcely divided. The oldest, Coudray, was built in the +tenth century and still shows three towers standing, in one of which +Joan of Arc lived during her stay at Chinon. The middle chateau is not +as old by a hundred years. It was built on the site of a Roman fort, and +it was in one of its rooms, a fragment of which still remains, that +Charles VII received the shepherd girl from Domremy. The chateau of St. +George was built in the twelfth century by Henry II of England, who died +there in 1189. Though built two hundred years after Coudray, nothing of +it survives but some foundations. + +Chinon is a much more extensive ruin than we had expected. Even what +remains to-day must be nearly a quarter of a mile in length, and its +vast crumbling walls and towers make it strikingly picturesque. But its +ruin is complete, none the less. Once through the entrance tower and you +are under nothing but the sky, with your feet on the grass; there is no +longer a shelter there, even for a fugitive king. You wander about, +viewing it scarcely more than as a ruin, at first, a place for painting, +for seclusion, for dreaming in the sun. Then all at once you are facing +a wall in which, halfway up where once was the second story, there is a +restored fireplace and a tablet which tells you that in this room +Charles VII received Joan of Arc. It is not a room now; it is just a +wall, a fragment, with vines matting its ruined edges. + +You cross a stone footbridge to the tower where Joan lived, and that, +too, is open to the sky, and bare and desolate. Once, beyond it, there +was a little chapel where she prayed. There are other fragments and +other towers, but they merely serve as a setting for those which the +intimate presence of Joan made sacred. + +The Maid did not go immediately to the castle on her arrival in Chinon. +She put up at an inn down in the town and waited the king's pleasure. +His paltering advisers kept him dallying, postponing his consent to see +her, but through the favor of his mother-in-law, Yolande, Queen of +Sicily, Joan and her suite were presently housed in the tower of +Coudray. One wonders if the walls were as bare as now. It was old even +then; it had been built five hundred years. But Queen Yolande would have +seen to it that there were comforts, no doubt; some tapestries, perhaps, +on the walls; a table, chairs, some covering for the stone floor. +Perhaps it was even luxurious. + +The king was still unready to see Joan. She was only a stone's throw +away, but the whisperings of his advisers kept her there, while a +commission of priests went to Domremy to inquire as to her character. +When there were no further excuses for delay they contrived a trick--a +deception. They persuaded the king to put another on the throne, one +like him and in his royal dress, so that Joan might pay homage to this +make-believe king, thus proving that she had no divine power or +protection which would assist her in identifying the real one. + +In the space where now is only green grass and sky and a broken wall +Charles VII and his court gathered to receive the shepherd girl who had +come to restore his kingdom. It was evening and the great hall was +lighted, and at one end of it was the throne with its imitation king, +and I suppose at the other the fireplace with a blazing fire. Down the +center of the room were the courtiers, formed in two ranks, facing so +that Joan might pass between them to the throne. The occasion was one of +great ceremony--Joan and her suite were welcomed with fine honors. +Banners waved, torches flared; trumpets blown at intervals marked the +stages of her progress down the great hall; every show was made of +paying her great honor--everything that would distract her and blind +her to their trick. + +Charles VII, dressed as a simple courtier, stood a little distance from +the throne. Joan, advancing to within a few steps of the pretended king, +raised her eyes. Then for a moment she stood silent, puzzled. They +expected her to kneel and make obeisance, but a moment later she turned +and, hurrying to the rightful Charles, dropped on her knees and gave him +heartfelt salutation. She had never seen him and was without knowledge +of his features. Her protectors, or her gifts, had not failed. It was +perhaps the greatest moment in French history. + +We drove down into Chinon, past the house where it is said that Rabelais +was born, and saw his statue, and one of Joan which was not very +pleasing. Then we threaded some of the older streets and saw houses +which I think cannot have changed much since Joan was there. It was +getting well toward evening now, and we set out for Tours, by way of +Azay. + +The chateau of Azay-le-Rideau is all that Chinon is not. Perfect in +condition, of rare beauty in design and ornamentation, fresh, almost new +in appearance, Azay presents about the choicest flowering of the +Renaissance. Joan of Arc had been dead a hundred years when Azay was +built; France was no longer in dread of blighting invasion; a residence +no longer needed to be a fortress. The royal chateaux of the Loire are +the best remaining evidence of what Joan had done for the security of +her kings. Whether they deserved it or not is another matter. + +Possibly Azay-le-Rideau might not have looked so fresh under the glare +of noonday, but in the mellow light of evening it could have been the +home of one of our modern millionaires (a millionaire of perfect taste, +I hasten to add), and located, let us say, in the vicinity of Newport. +It was difficult to believe that it had been standing for four +centuries. + +Francis I did not build Azay-le-Rideau. But he liked it so much when he +saw it (he was probably on a visit to its owner, the French treasurer, +at the time) that he promptly confiscated it and added it to the +collection of other chateaux he had built, or confiscated, or had in +mind. Nothing very remarkable seems to have happened there--just the +usual things--plots, and liaisons, and intrigues of a general sort, with +now and then a chapter of real lovemaking, and certain marriages and +deaths--the latter hurried a little sometimes to accommodate the +impatient mourners. + +But how beautiful it is! Its towers, its stately facades, its rich +ornamentation reflected in the water of the wide stream that sweeps +about its base, a natural moat, its background of rich foliage--these, +in the gathering twilight, completed a picture such as Hawthorne could +have conceived, or Edgar Poe. + +I suppose it was too late to go inside, but we did not even apply. Like +Langeais, it belongs to France now, and I believe is something of a +museum, and rather modern. One could not risk carrying away anything +less than a perfect memory of Azay. + + + + +Chapter XXV + +TOURS + + +In the quest for outlying chateaux one is likely to forget that Tours +itself is very much worth while. Tours has been a city ever since France +had a history, and it fought against Caesar as far back as 52 B.C. It +took its name from the Gallic tribe of that section, the Turoni, +dwellers in those cliffs, I dare say, along the Loire. + +Following the invasion of the Franks there came a line of counts who +ruled Touraine until the eleventh century. What the human aspect of this +delectable land was under their dominion is not very clear. The oldest +castle we have seen, Coudray, was not begun until the end of that +period. There are a thousand years behind it which seem filled mainly +with shields and battle axes, roving knights and fair ladies, +industrious dragons and the other properties of poetry. Yet there may +have been more prosaic things. Seedtime and harvest probably did not +fail. + +Tours was beloved by French royalty. It was the capital of a province as +rich as it was beautiful. Among French provinces Touraine was always the +aristocrat. Its language has been kept pure. To this day the purest +French in the world is spoken at Tours. The mechanic who made some +repairs for me at the garage leaned on the mud guard, during a brief +intermission of that hottest of days, and told me about the purity of +the French at Tours; and if there was anything wrong with his own +locution my ear was not fine enough to detect it. To me it seemed as +limpid as something distilled. Imagine such a thing happening in--say +New Haven. Tours is still proud, still the aristocrat, still royal. + +The Germans held Tours during the early months of 1871, but there is no +trace of their occupation now. It was a bad dream which Tours does not +care even to remember.[16] + +Tours contains a fine cathedral, also the remains of what must have been +a still finer one--two noble towers, so widely separated by streets and +buildings that it is hard to imagine them ever having belonged to one +structure. They are a part of the business of Tours, now. Shops are +under them, lodgings in them. If they should tumble down they would +create havoc. I was so sure they would crumble that we did not go into +them; besides, it was very warm. The great church which connected these +towers was dedicated to St. Martin, the same who divided his cloak with +a beggar at Amiens and became Bishop of Tours in the fourth century. It +was destroyed once and magnificently rebuilt, but it will never be +rebuilt now. One of these old relics is called the Clock tower, the +other the tower of Charlemagne, because Luitgard, his third queen, was +buried beneath it. + +The cathedral at the other end of town appears not to have suffered much +from the ravages of time and battle, though one of the towers was +undergoing some kind of repairs that required intricate and lofty +scaffolding. Most of the cathedrals are undergoing repairs, which is not +surprising when one remembers the dates of their beginnings. This one at +Tours was commenced in 1170 and the building continued during about four +hundred years. Joan of Arc worshiped in it when she was on her way to +Chinon and again when she had set out to relieve Orleans. + +The face of the cathedral is indeed beautiful--"a jewel," said Henry IV, +"of which only the casket is wanting." It does not seem to us as +beautiful as Rouen, or Amiens, or Chartres, but its fluted truncated +towers are peculiarly its own and hardly less impressive. + +The cathedral itself forms a casket for the real jewel--the tomb of the +two children of Charles VIII and Anne of Brittany, a little boy and +girl, exquisitely cut, resting side by side on a slab of black marble, +guarded at their head and feet by kneeling angels. Except the slab, the +tomb is in white marble carved with symbolic decorations. It is all so +delicate and conveys such a feeling of purity and tenderness that even +after four hundred years one cannot fail to feel something of the love +and sorrow that placed it there. + +Tours is full of landmarks and localities, but the intense heat of the +end of June is not a good time for city sight-seeing. We went about a +little and glanced at this old street--such as Place Plumeran--and that +old chateau, like the Tour de Guise, now a barrack, and passed the +Theatre Municipal, and the house where Balzac was born, and stood +impressed and blinking before the great Palace of Justice, blazing in +the sun and made more brilliant, more dazzling by the intensely +red-legged soldiers that in couples and groups are always loitering +before it. I am convinced that to touch those red-hot trousers would +take the skin off one's fingers. + +We might have examined Tours more carefully if we had been driving +instead of walking. I have spoken of the car being in the garage. We +cracked the leaf of a spring that day at Chinon, and then our tires, old +and worn after five thousand miles of loyal service, required +reenforcement. They really required new ones, but our plan was to get +home with these if we could. Besides, one cannot buy new tires in +American sizes without sending a special order to the factory--a matter +of delay. The little man at the hotel, who had more energy than anyone +should display in such hot weather, pumped one of our back tires until +the shoe burst at the rim. This was serious. I got a heavy canvas +lining, and the garageman patched and vulcanized and sold me a variety +of appliances. But I could foresee trouble if the heat continued. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[16] Tours during the World War became a great training camp, familiar +to thousands of American soldiers. + + + + +Chapter XXVI + +CHENONCEAUX AND AMBOISE + + +(From my notebook) + + This morning we got away from Tours, but it was after a + strenuous time. It was one of those sweltering mornings, and + to forward matters at the garage I helped put on all those + repaired tires and appliances, and by the time we were + through I was a rag. Narcissa photographed me, because she + said she had never seen me look so interesting before. She + made me stand in the sun, bareheaded and holding a tube in + my hand, as if I had not enough to bear already. + +Oh, but it was cool and delicious gliding along the smooth, shaded road +toward Chenonceaux! One can almost afford to get as hot and sweltering +and cross and gasping as I was for the sake of sitting back and looking +across the wheel down a leafy avenue facing the breeze of your own +making, a delicious nectar that bathes you through and cools and rests +and soothes--an anodyne of peace. + +By and by, being really cool in mind and body, we drew up abreast of a +meadow which lay a little below the road, a place with a brook and +overspreading shade, and with some men and women harvesting not far +away. We thought they would not mind if we lunched there, and I think +they must have been as kind-hearted as they were picturesque, for they +did not offer to disturb us. It was a lovely spot, and did not seem to +belong to the present-day world at all. How could it, with the home of +Diana of Poitiers just over there beyond the trees, with nesting places +of Mary, Queen of Scots, all about, and with these haymakers, whose +fashion in clothes has not much minded the centuries, to add the living +human note of the past that makes imagination reality? + +Chenonceaux, the real heart of the royal district, like Chinon, is not +on the Loire itself, but on a small tributary, the Cher. I do not +remember that I noticed the river when we entered the grounds, but it is +a very important part of the chateau, which indeed is really a bridge +over it--a supremely beautiful bridge, to be sure, but a bridge none the +less, entirely crossing the pretty river by means of a series of high +foundation arches. Upon these arches rises the rare edifice which Thomas +Bohier, a receiver-general of taxes, began back in 1515 and Catherine +de' Medici finished after she had turned out Diana of Poitiers and +massacred the Huguenots, and needed a quiet place for retirement and +religious thought. Bohier did not extend Chenonceaux entirely across the +river. The river to him merely served as a moat. The son who followed +him did not have time to make additions. Francis I came along, noticed +that it was different from the other chateaux he had confiscated, and +added it to his collection. Our present-day collectors cut a poor figure +by the side of Francis I. Think of getting together assortments of bugs +and postage stamps and ginger jars when one could go out and pick up +chateaux! + +It was Francis's son, Henry II, that gave it to Diana of Poitiers. Henry +had his own kind of a collection and he used his papa's chateaux to keep +it in. As he picked about the best one for Diana, we may believe that he +regarded her as his choicest specimen. Unfortunately for Diana, Henry's +queen, the terrible Catherine, outlived him; and when, after the +funeral, Catherine drove around by Chenonceaux and suggested to Diana +that perhaps she would like to exchange the place for a very excellent +chateau farther up the road, Chaumont, we may assume that Diana moved +with no unseemly delay. Diana tactfully said she liked Chaumont ever so +much, for a change, that perhaps living on a hilltop was healthier than +over the water, anyway. Still, it must have made her sigh, I think, to +know that her successor was carrying out the plan which Diana herself +had conceived of extending Chenonceaux across the Cher. + +We stopped a little to look at the beautiful facade of Chenonceaux, then +crossed the drawbridge, or what is now the substitute for it, and were +welcomed at the door by just the proper person--a fine, dignified woman +of gentle voice and perfect knowledge. She showed us through the +beautiful home, for it is still a home, the property to-day of M. +Meunier of chocolate fame and fortune. I cannot say how glad I am that +M. Meunier owns Chenonceaux. He has done nothing to the place to spoil +it, and it is not a museum. The lower rooms which we saw have many of +the original furnishings. The ornaments, the tapestries, the pictures +are the same. I think Diana must have regretted leaving her fine +private room, with its chimney piece, supported by caryatids, and its +rare Flemish tapestry. We regretted leaving, too. We do not care for +interiors that have been overhauled and refurbished and made into +museums, but we were in no hurry to leave Chenonceaux. There is hardly +any place, I think, where one may come so nearly stepping back through +the centuries. + +We went out into the long wing that is built on the arches above the +river, and looked down at the water flowing below. Our conductor told us +that the supporting arches had been built on the foundations of an +ancient mill. The beautiful gallery which the bridge supports must have +known much gayety; much dancing and promenading up and down; much +lovemaking and some heartache. + +Jean Jacques Rousseau seems to have been everywhere. We could not run +amiss of him in eastern France and in Switzerland; now here again he +turns up at Chenonceaux. Chenonceaux in the eighteenth century fell to +M. Claude Dupin, farmer-general, who surrounded himself with the +foremost artists and social leaders of his time. He engaged Rousseau to +superintend the education of his son. + +"We amused ourselves greatly at this fine place," writes Rousseau; "the +living was of the best, and I became as fat as a monk. We made a great +deal of music and acted comedies." + +The period of M. Dupin's ownership, one of the most brilliant, and +certainly the most moral in the earlier history of Chenonceaux, has left +many memories. Of the brief, insipid honeymoon of the puny Francis II +and Mary Stuart no breath remains. + + * * * * * + +Amboise is on the Loire, and there is a good inn on the quay. It was +evening when we got there, and we did nothing after dinner but sit on +the high masonry embankment that buttresses the river, and watch the men +who fished, while the light faded from the water; though we occasionally +turned to look at the imposing profile of the great chateau on the high +cliff above the Loire. + +We drove up there next morning--that is, we drove as high as one may +drive, and climbed stairs the remaining distance. Amboise is a splendid +structure from without, but, unlike Chenonceaux, it is interesting +within only for what it has been. It is occupied by the superannuated +servants of the present owner, one of the Orleans family, which is fine +for them, and proper enough, but bad for the atmosphere. There are a +bareness and a whitewashed feeling about the place that are death to +romance. Even the circular inclined plane by which one may ride or drive +to the top of the great tower suggested some sort of temporary structure +at an amusement park rather than a convenience for kings. I was more +interested in a low doorway against the lintel of which Charles VIII +knocked his head and died. But I wish I could have picked Charles VII +for that accident, to punish him for having abandoned Joan of Arc. + +Though about a hundred years older, Amboise, like Chenonceaux, belongs +mainly to the period of Francis I, and was inhabited by the same +society. The Francises and the Henrys enjoyed its hospitality, and +Catherine de' Medici, and Mary, Queen of Scots. Also some twelve or +fifteen hundred Huguenots who were invited there, and, at Catherine's +suggestion, butchered on the terrace just in front of the castle +windows. There is a balcony overlooking the terrace, and it is said that +Catherine and Mary, also Mary's husband and his two brothers, sat on the +balcony better to observe the spectacle. Tradition does not say whether +they had ices served or not. Some of the Huguenots did not wait, and the +soldiers had to drown what they could catch of them in the Loire, +likewise in view from the royal balcony. When the show was over there +was suspended from the balcony a fringe of Huguenot heads. Those were +frivolous times. + +There is a flower garden to-day on the terrace where the Huguenots were +murdered, and one may imagine, if he chooses, the scarlet posies to be +brighter for that history. But then there are few enough places in +France where blossoms have not been richened by the human stain. +Consider those vivid seas of poppies! Mary Stuart, by the way, seems +entitled to all the pity that the centuries have accorded her. There +were few influences in her early life that were not vile. + +On the ramparts at Amboise we were shown a chapel, with the grave of +Leonardo Da Vinci, who was summoned to Amboise by Francis I, and died +there in 1519. There is a question about da Vinci's ashes resting here, +I believe, but it does not matter--it is his grave. + +If I were going back to Amboise I would view it only from the outside. +With its immense tower and its beautiful Gothic and Renaissance facade +surmounting the heights above the Loire, nothing--nothing in the world +could be more beautiful. + + + + +Chapter XXVII + +CHAMBORD AND CLERY + + +Francis I had a fine taste for collecting chateaux picturesquely +located, but when he built one for himself he located it in the most +unbeautiful situation in France. It requires patience and talent to find +monotony of prospect in France, but our hero succeeded, and discovered a +dead flat tract of thirteen thousand acres with an approach through as +dreary a level of unprosperous-looking farm district as may be found on +the continent of Europe. + +It is not on the Loire, but on a little stream called the Cosson, and +when we had left the Loire and found the country getting flatter and +poorer and less promising with every mile, we could not believe that we +were on the right road. But when we inquired, our informants still +pointed ahead, and by and by, in the midst of nowhere and surrounded by +nothing, we came to a great inclosure of undersized trees, with an +entrance. Driving in, we looked down a long avenue to an expanse of +architecture that seemed to be growing from a dead level of sandy park, +and to have attained about two thirds its proper height. + +An old man was raking around the entrance and we asked him if one was +allowed to lunch in the park. He said, "Oh yes, anywhere," and gave a +general wave that comprehended the whole tract. So we turned into a +side road and found a place that was shady enough, but not cool, for +there seemed to be no large overspreading trees in this park, but only +small, close, bushy ones. It is said that Francis built Chambord for two +reasons, one of them being the memory of an old sweetheart who used to +live in the neighborhood, the other on account of the abundant game to +be found there. I am inclined to the latter idea. There is nothing in +the location to suggest romance; there is everything to suggest game. +The twenty square miles of thicket that go with Chambord could hardly be +surpassed as a harbor for beast and bird. + +If Chambord was built, so to speak, as a sort of hunting lodge, it is +the largest one on record. Francis kept eighteen hundred men busy at it +for twelve years, and then did not get it done. He lived in it, more or +less, for some seven years, however; then went to Rambouillet to die, +and left his son, Henry II, to carry on the work. Henry did not care for +Chambord--the marshy place gave him fever, but he kept the building +going until he was killed in a tourney, when the construction stopped. +His widow, the bloody Catherine de' Medici, retired to Chambord in her +old age, and set the place in order. She was terribly superstitious and +surrounded herself with astrologers and soothsayers. At night she used +to go up to the great lantern tower to read her fortune in the stars. It +is my opinion that she did not go up there alone, not with that record +of hers. + +Mansard, who laid a blight on architecture that lasted for two hundred +years, once got hold of Chambord and spoiled what he could, and had +planned to do worse things, but something--death, perhaps--interfered. +That was when Louis XIV brought Queen Maria Theresa to Chambord, and +held high and splendid court there, surrounding himself with brilliant +men and women, among them Moliere and the widow of the poet Scarron, +Francoise d'Aubigne, the same that later became queen, under the title +of Madame de Maintenon. That was the heyday of Chambord's history. A +large guardroom was gilded and converted into a theater. Moliere gave +first presentations there and received public compliment from the king. +Diversion was the order of the day and night. + +"The court is very gay--the king hunts much," wrote Maintenon; "one eats +always with him; there is one day a ball, and the next a comedy." + +Nothing very startling has happened at Chambord since Louis' time. Its +tenants have been numerous enough, and royal, or distinguished, but they +could not maintain the pace set by Louis XIV. Stanislas Leckzinski, the +exiled Polish king, occupied it during the early years of the eighteenth +century, and succeeded in marrying his daughter to the dissolute Louis +XV. Seventy years later the revolution came along. An order was issued +to sell the contents of Chambord, and a greedy rabble came and stripped +it clean. There was a further decree to efface all signs of royalty, but +when it was discovered that every bit of carving within and without the +vast place expressed royalty in some manner, and that it would cost +twenty thousand dollars to cut it away, this project was happily +abandoned. Chambord was left empty but intact. Whatever has been done +since has been in the way of restoration. + +There is not a particle of shade around Chambord. It stands as bare and +exposed to the blazing sky to-day as it did when those eighteen hundred +workmen laid down their tools four hundred years ago. There is hardly a +shrub. Even the grass looks discouraged. A location, indeed, for a royal +palace! + +We left the car under the shade of a wall and crossed a dazzling open +space to the entrance of a court where we bought entrance tickets. Then +we crossed the blinding court and were in a cool place at last, the wide +castle entrance. We were surprised a little, though, to find a ticket +box and a registering turnstile. Things are on a business basis at +Chambord. I suppose the money collected is used for repairs. + +The best advertised feature of Chambord is the one you see first, the +great spiral double stairway arranged one flight above the other, so +that persons may be ascending without meeting others who are descending +at the same moment. Many persons would not visit Chambord but for this +special show feature. Our conductor made us ascend and descend to prove +that this unrivaled attraction would really work as advertised. It is +designed on the principle of the double stripes on a barber pole. + +But there are other worth-while features at Chambord. We wandered +through the great cool rooms, not furnished, yet not empty, containing +as they do some rare pictures, old statuary and historic furniture, +despoiled by the revolutionists, now restored to their original +setting. Chambord is not a museum. It belongs to a Duke of Parma, a +direct descendant from Louis XIV. Under Louis XVIII the estate was sold, +but in 1821 three hundred thousand dollars was raised by public +subscription to purchase the place for the remaining heir of the Bourbon +dynasty, the Duke of Bordeaux, who accepted with the gift the title of +the Count of Chambord. But he was in exile and did not come to see his +property for fifty years; even then only to write a letter renouncing +his claim to the throne and to say once more good-by to France. He +willed the property to the children of his sister, the Duchess of Parma, +and it is to the next generation that it belongs to-day. Our conductor +told us that the present Duke of Parma comes now and then for the +shooting, which is still of the best. + +We ascended to the roof, which is Chambord's chief ornament. It is an +architectural garden. Such elaboration of turrets with carved leafwork +and symbolism, such richness of incrustation and detail, did, in fact, +suggest some fantastic and fabulous culture. If it had not been all +fairly leaping with heat I should have wished to stay longer. + +But I would not care to go to Chambord again. As we drove down the long +drive, and turned a little for a last look at that enormous frontage, +those immense low towers, that superb roof structure--all that +magnificence dropped down there in a dreary level--I thought, "If ever a +house was a white elephant that one is, and if one had to rename it it +might well be called Francis's Folly." + +I suppose it was two hours later when we had been drifting drowsily up +the valley of the Loire that we stopped in a village for water. There +was an old church across the way, and as usual we stepped inside, as +much for the cool refreshment as for anything, expecting nothing else +worth while. + +How easily we might have missed the wealth we found there. We did not +know the name of the village. We did not recognize Clery, even when we +heard it, and the guidebook gives it just four lines. But we had been +inside only a moment when we realized that the Church of Our Lady of +Clery is an ancient and sacred shrine. A great tablet told us that since +1325 kings of France, sinners and saints have made pilgrimages there; +Charles IV, Philippe VI, Charles VII, St. Francois Xavier, and so down +the centuries to Marshal MacMahon of our own time. But to us greater +than all the rest are the names of Dunois and Joan of Arc. Joan had +passed this way with her army, of course; for the moment we had +forgotten that we were following her footsteps to Orleans. + +The place was rich in relics. Among these the tomb of Louis XI and a +column which inclosed the heart of Charles VIII. There could hardly have +been a shrine in France more venerated in the past than this forgotten +church by the roadside, in this forgotten village where, I suppose, +tourists to-day never stop at all. It was hard to believe in the reality +of our discovery, even when we stood there. But there were the tablets +and inscriptions--they could not be denied. + +We wandered about, finding something new and precious at every turn, +until the afternoon light faded. Then we crossed a long bridge over the +Loire to the larger village of Meung, where there was the Hotel St. +Jacques, one of the kind we like best and one of the best of the kind. + + + + +Chapter XXVIII + +ORLEANS + + +There is some sight-seeing to be done in Meung, but we were too anxious +to get to Orleans to stop for it. Yet we did not hurry through our last +summer morning along the Loire. I do not know what could be more lovely +than our leisurely hour--the distance was fifteen miles--under cool, +outspreading branches, with glimpses of the bright river and vistas of +happy fields. + +We did not even try to imagine, as we approached the outskirts, that the +Orleans of Joan's time presented anything of its appearance to-day. +Orleans is a modern, or modernized, city, and, except the river, there +could hardly be anything in the present prospect that Joan saw. That it +is the scene of her first military conquest and added its name to the +title by which she belongs to history is, however, enough to make it one +of the holy places of France. + +It has been always a military city, a place of battles. Caesar burned it, +Attila attacked it, Clovis captured it--there was nearly always war of +one sort or another going on there. The English and Burgundians would +have had it in 1429 but for the arrival of Joan's army. Since then war +has visited Orleans less frequently. Its latest experience was with the +Germans who invested it in 1870-71. + +Joan was misled by her generals, whose faith in her was not complete. +Orleans lies on the north bank of the Loire; they brought her down on +the south bank, fearing the prowess of the enemy's forces. Discovering +the deception, the Maid promptly sent the main body of her troops back +some thirty-five miles to a safe crossing, and, taking a thousand men, +passed over the Loire and entered the city by a gate still held by the +French. That the city was not completely surrounded made it possible to +attack the enemy simultaneously from within and without, while her +presence among the Orleanese would inspire them with new hope and valor. +Mark Twain in his _Recollections_ pictures the great moment of her +entry. + + It was eight in the evening when she and her troops rode in + at the Burgundy gate.... She was riding a white horse, and + she carried in her hand the sacred sword of Fierbois. You + should have seen Orleans then. What a picture it was! Such + black seas of people, such a starry firmament of torches, + such roaring whirlwinds of welcome, such booming of bells + and thundering of cannon! It was as if the world was come to + an end. Everywhere in the glare of the torches one saw rank + upon rank of upturned white faces, the mouths wide open, + shouting, and the unchecked tears running down; Joan forged + her slow way through the solid masses, her mailed form + projecting above the pavement of heads like a silver statue. + The people about her struggled along, gazing up at her + through their tears with the rapt look of men and women who + believe they are seeing one who is divine; and always her + feet were being kissed by grateful folk, and such as failed + of that privilege touched her horse and then kissed their + fingers. + +This was the 29th of April. Nine days later, May 8, 1429, after some +fierce fighting during which Joan was severely wounded, the besiegers +were scattered, Orleans was free. Mark Twain writes: + + No other girl in all history has ever reached such a summit + of glory as Joan of Arc reached that day.... Orleans will + never forget the 8th of May, nor ever fail to celebrate it. + It is Joan of Arc's day--and holy. + +Two days, May 7th and 8th, are given each year to the celebration, and +Orleans in other ways has honored the memory of her deliverer. A wide +street bears her name, and there are noble statues, and a museum, and +holy church offerings. The Boucher home which sheltered Joan during her +sojourn in Orleans has been preserved; at least a house is still shown +as the Boucher house, though how much of the original structure remains +no one at this day seems willing to decide. + +We drove there first, for it is the only spot in Orleans that can claim +even a possibility of having known Joan's actual impress. It is a house +of the old cross-timber and brick architecture, and if these are not the +veritable walls that Joan saw they must at least bear a close +resemblance to those of the house of Jacques Boucher, treasurer of the +Duke of Orleans, where Joan was made welcome. The interior is less +convincing. It is ecclesiastical, and there is an air of general newness +and reconstruction about it that suggests nothing of that long-ago +occupancy. It was rather painful to linger, and we were inclined now to +hesitate at the thought of visiting the ancient home of Agnes Sorel, +where the Joan of Arc Museum is located. + +It would have been a mistake not to do so, however. It is only a few +doors away on the same street, rue du Tabour, and it is a fine old +mansion, genuinely old, and fairly overflowing with objects of every +conceivable sort relating to Joan of Arc. Books, statuary, paintings, +armor, banners, offerings, coins, medals, ornaments, engravings, +letters--thousands upon thousands of articles gathered there in the +Maid's memory. I think there is not one of them that her hand ever +touched, or that she ever saw, but in their entirety they convey, as +nothing else could, the reverence that Joan's memory has inspired during +the centuries that have gone since her presence made this sacred ground. +Until the revolution Orleans preserved Joan's banner, some of her +clothing, and other genuine relics; but then the mob burned them, +probably because Joan delivered France to royalty. One finds it rather +easy to forgive the revolutionary mob almost anything--certainly +anything more easily than such insane vandalism. We were shown an +ancient copy of the banner, still borne, I believe, in the annual +festivals. Baedeker speaks of arms and armor worn at the siege of +Orleans, but the guardian of the place was not willing to guarantee +their genuineness. I wish he had not thought it necessary to be so +honest. He did show us a photograph of Joan's signature, the original of +which belongs to one of her collateral descendants. She wrote it +"Jehanne," and her pen must have been guided by her secretary, Louis de +Conte, for Joan could neither read nor write. + +We drove to the Place Martroi to see the large equestrienne statue of +Joan by Foyatier, with reliefs by Vital Dubray. It is very imposing, +and the reliefs showing the great moments in Joan's career are really +fine. We did not care to hunt for other memorials. It was enough to +drive about the city trying to pick out a house here and there that +looked as if it might have been standing five hundred years, but if +there were any of that age--any that had looked upon the wild joy of +Joan's entrance and upon her triumphal departure, they were very few +indeed. + + + + +Chapter XXIX + +FONTAINEBLEAU + + +We turned north now, toward Fontainebleau, which we had touched a month +earlier on the way to Paris. It is a grand straight road from Orleans to +Fontainebleau, and it passes through Pithiviers, which did not look +especially interesting, though we discovered when it was too late that +it is noted for its almond cakes and lark pies. I wanted to go back +then, but the majority was against it. + +Late in the afternoon we entered for the second time the majestic forest +of Fontainebleau and by and by came to the palace and the little town, +and to a pretty hotel on a side street that was really a village inn for +comfort and welcome. There was still plenty of daylight, mellow, waning +daylight, and the palace was not far away. We would not wait for it +until morning. + +I think we most enjoy seeing palaces about the closing hours. There are +seldom any other visitors then, and the waning afternoon sunlight in the +vacant rooms mellows their garish emptiness, and seems somehow to bring +nearer the rich pageant of life and love and death that flowed by there +so long and then one day came to an end, and now it is not passing any +more. + +It was really closing time when we arrived at the palace, but the +custodian was lenient and for an hour we wandered through gorgeous +galleries, and salons, and suites of private apartments where queens and +kings lived gladly, loved madly, died sadly, for about four hundred +years. Francis I built Fontainebleau, on the site of a mediaeval castle. +He was a hunter, and the forests of Fontainebleau, like those of +Chambord, were always famous hunting grounds. Louis XIII, who was born +in Fontainebleau, built the grand entrance staircase, from which two +hundred years later Napoleon Bonaparte would bid good-by to his generals +before starting for Elba. Other kings have added to the place and +embellished it; the last being Napoleon III, who built for Eugenie the +Bijou theater across the court. + +It may have been our mood, it may have been the tranquil evening light, +it may have been reality that Fontainebleau was more friendly, more +alive, more a place for living men and women to inhabit than any other +palace we have seen. It was hard to imagine Versailles as having ever +been a home for anybody. At Fontainebleau I felt that we were +intruding--that Madame de Maintenon, Marie Antoinette, Marie Louise, or +Eugenie might enter at any moment and find us there. Perhaps it was in +the apartments of Marie Antoinette that one felt this most. There is a +sort of personality in the gorgeousness of her bedchamber that has to +do, likely enough, with the memory of her tragic end, but certainly it +is there. The gilded ceiling sings of her; the satin hangings--a +marriage gift from the city of Lyons--breathe of her; even the iron +window-fastenings are not without personal utterance, for they were +wrought by the skillful hands of the king himself, out of his love for +her. + +The apartments of the first Napoleon and Marie Louise tell something, +too, but the story seems less intimate. Yet the table is there on which +Napoleon signed his abdication while an escort waited to take him to +Elba. + +For size and magnificence the library is the most impressive room in +Fontainebleau. It is lofty and splendid, and it is two hundred and +sixty-four feet long. It is called the gallery of Diana, after Diana of +Poitiers, who for a lady of tenuous moral fiber seems to have inspired +some pretty substantial memories. The ballroom, the finest in Europe, +also belongs to Diana, by special dedication of Henry II, who decorated +it magnificently to suit Diana's charms. Napoleon III gave great hunting +banquets there. Since then it has been always empty, except for +visitors. + +The custodian took us through a suite of rooms called the "Apartments of +the White Queens," because once they were restored for the widows of +French kings, who usually dressed in white. Napoleon used the rooms for +another purpose. He invited Pope Pius VII to Fontainebleau to sanction +his divorce from Josephine, and when the pope declined, Napoleon +prolonged the pope's visit for eighteen months, secluding him in this +luxurious place, to give him a chance to modify his views. They visited +together a good deal, and their interviews were not always calm. +Napoleon also wanted the pope to sign away the states of the Church, and +once when they were discussing the matter rather earnestly the emperor +boxed the pope's ears. He had a convincing way in those days. I wonder +if later, standing on the St. Helena headland, he ever recalled that +incident. If he did, I dare say it made him smile. + +The light was getting dim by the time we reached the pretty theater +which Louis Napoleon built for Eugenie. It is a very choice place, and +we were allowed to go on the stage and behind the scenes and up in the +galleries, and there was something in the dusky vacancy of that little +playhouse, built to amuse the last empress of France, that affected us +almost more than any of the rest of the palace, though it was built not +so long ago and its owner is still alive.[17] It is not used, the +custodian told us--has never been used since Eugenie went away. + +From a terrace back of the palace we looked out on a pretty lake where +Eugenie's son used to sail a miniature full-rigged ship--large enough, +if one could judge from a picture we saw, to have held the little prince +himself. There was still sunlight on the treetops, and these and the +prince's little pavilion reflecting in the tranquil water made the place +beautiful. But the little vessel was not there. I wished, as we watched, +that it might come sailing by. I wished that the prince had never been +exiled and that he had not grown up and gone to his death in a South +African jungle. I wished that he might be back to sail his ship again, +and that Eugenie might have her theater once more, and that Louis +Napoleon's hunting parties might still assemble in Diana's painted +ballroom and fill the vacant palace with something besides mere +curiosity and vain imaginings. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[17] She lived six years longer, dying in 1920. + + + + +Chapter XXX + +RHEIMS + + +We had meant to go to Barbizon, but we got lost in the forest next +morning, and when we found ourselves we were a good way in the direction +of Melun, so concluded to keep on, consoling ourselves with the thought +that Barbizon is not Barbizon any more, and would probably be a +disappointment, anyway. We kept on from Melun, also, after buying some +luncheon things, and all day traversed that beautiful rolling district +which lies east of Paris and below Rheims, arriving toward evening at +Epernay, the Sparnacum of antiquity and the champagne center of to-day. +Epernay was ancient once, but it is all new now, with wide streets and +every indication of business progress. We had no need to linger there. +We were anxious to get to Rheims. + +There had been heavy rains in the champagne district, and next morning +the gray sky and close air gave promise of more. The roads were not the +best, being rather slippery and uneven from the heavy traffic of the +wine carts. But the vine-covered hills between Epernay and Rheims, with +their dark-green matted leafage, seemed to us as richly productive as +anything in France. + +We were still in the hills when we looked down on the valley of the +Vesle and saw a city outspread there, and in its center the +architectural and ecclesiastical pride of the world, the cathedral of +Rheims. Large as the city was, that great central ornament dwarfed and +dominated its surroundings. Thus Joan of Arc had seen it when at the +head of her victorious army she conducted the king to Rheims for his +coronation. She was nearing the fulfillment of her assignment, the +completion of the great labor laid upon her by the voices of her saints. +Mark Twain tells of Joan's approach to Rheims, of the tide of cheers +that swept her ranks at the vision of the distant towers: + + And as for Joan of Arc, there where she sat her horse, + gazing, clothed all in white armor, dreamy, beautiful, and + in her face a deep, deep joy, a joy not of earth; oh, she + was not flesh, she was spiritual! Her sublime mission was + closing--closing in flawless triumph. To-morrow she could + say, "It is finished--let me go free." + +It was the 16th of July that Joan looked down upon Rheims, and now, four +hundred and eighty-five years later, it was again July, with the same +summer glory on the woods, the same green and scarlet in the poppied +fields, the same fair valley, the same stately towers rising to the sky. +But no one can ever feel what Joan felt, can ever put into words, ever +so faintly, what that moment and that vision meant to the Domremy +shepherd girl. + +Descending the plain, we entered the city, crossed a bridge, and made +our way to the cathedral square. Then presently we were at the doorway +where Joan and her king had entered--the portal which has been called +the most beautiful this side of Paradise. + +How little we dreamed that we were among the last to look upon it in its +glory--that disfigurement and destruction lay only a few weeks ahead! + +It is not required any more that one should write descriptively of the +church of Rheims. It has been done so thoroughly, and so often, by those +so highly qualified for the undertaking, that such supplementary remarks +as I might offer would hardly rise even to the dignity of an +impertinence. Pergussen, who must have been an authority, for the +guidebook quotes him, called it, "perhaps the most beautiful structure +produced in the Middle Ages." + + Nothing [he says] can exceed the majesty of its deeply + recessed portals, the beauty of the rose window that + surmounts them, or the elegance of the gallery that + completes the facade and serves as a basement to the light + and graceful towers that crown the composition. + +The cathedral was already two hundred years old when Joan arrived in +1429. But it must have looked quite fresh and new then, for, nearly five +centuries later, it seemed to have suffered little. Some of the five +hundred and thirty statues of its entrance were weatherworn and scarred, +but the general effect was not disturbed. + +Many kings had preceded Joan and her sovereign through the sacred +entrance. Long before the cathedral was built French sovereigns had come +to Rheims for their coronation, to be anointed with some drops of the +inexhaustible oil which a white dove had miraculously brought from +heaven for the baptism of Clovis. That had been nearly a thousand years +before, but in Joan's day the sacred vessel and its holy contents were +still preserved in the ancient abbey of St. Remi, and would be used for +the anointing of her king. The Archbishop of Rheims and his canons, with +a deputy of nobles, had been sent for the awesome relic, after the +nobles had sworn upon their lives to restore it to St. Remi when the +coronation was over. The abbot himself, attended by this splendid +escort, brought the precious vessel, and the crowd fell prostrate and +prayed while this holiest of objects, for it had been made in heaven, +passed by. We are told that the abbot, attended by the archbishop and +those others, entered the crowded church, followed by the five mounted +knights, who rode down the great central aisle, clear to the choir, and +then at a signal backed their prancing steeds all the distance to the +great doors. + +It was a mighty assemblage that had gathered for the crowning of Joan's +king. France, overrun by an invader, had known no real king for +years--had, indeed, well-nigh surrendered her nationality. Now the +saints themselves had taken up their cause, and in the person of a young +girl from an obscure village had given victory to their arms and brought +redemption to their throne. No wonder the vast church was packed and +that crowds were massed outside. From all directions had come pilgrims +to the great event--persons of every rank, among them two shepherds, +Joan's aged father and uncle, who had walked from Domremy, one hundred +and twenty miles, to verify with their own eyes what their ears could +not credit. + +Very likely the cathedral at Rheims has never known such a throng since +that day, nor heard such a mighty shout as went up when Joan and the +king, side by side, and followed by a splendid train, appeared at the +great side entrance and moved slowly to the altar. + +I think there must have fallen a deep hush then--a petrified stillness +that lasted through the long ceremonial, while every eye feasted itself +upon the young girl standing there at the king's side, holding her +victorious standard above him--the banner that "had borne the burden and +had earned the victory," as she would one day testify at her trial. I am +sure that vast throng would keep silence, scarcely breathing, until the +final word was spoken and the dauphin had accepted the crown and placed +it upon his head. But then we may hear borne faintly down the centuries +the roar of renewed shouting that told to those waiting without that the +great ceremony was ended, that Charles VII of France had been anointed +king. In the _Recollections_ Mark Twain makes the Sieur de Conte say: + + What a crash there was! All about us cries and cheers, and + the chanting of the choir and the groaning of the organ; and + outside the clamoring of the bells and the booming of the + cannon. + + The fantastic dream, the incredible dream, the impossible + dream of the peasant child stood fulfilled. + +It had become reality--perhaps in that old day it even _seemed_ +reality--but now, after five hundred years, it has become once more a +dream--to-day _our_ dream--and in the filmy picture we see the shepherd +girl on her knees, saying to the crowned king: + +"My work which was given me to do is finished; give me your peace and +let me go back to my mother, who is poor and old and has need of me." + +But the king raises her up and praises her and confers upon her nobility +and titles, and asks her to name a reward for her service, and in the +old dream we hear her ask favor for her village--that Domremy, "poor and +hard pressed by reason of the war," may have its taxes remitted. + +Nothing for herself--no more than that, and in the presence of all the +great assemblage Charles VII pronounces the decree that, by grace of +Joan of Arc, Domremy shall be free from taxes forever. + +Here within these walls it was all reality five hundred years ago. We do +not study this interior to discover special art values or to distinguish +in what manner it differs from others we have seen. For us the light +from its great rose window and upper arches is glorified because once it +fell upon Joan of Arc in that supreme moment when she saw her labor +finished and asked only that she might return to Domremy and her flocks. +The statuary in the niches are holy because they looked upon that scene, +the altar paving is sanctified because it felt the pressure of her feet. + +We wandered about the great place, but we came back again and again to +the altar, and, looking through the railing, dreamed once more of that +great moment when a frail shepherd girl began anew the history of +France. + +Back of the altar was a statue of Joan unlike any we have seen +elsewhere, and to us more beautiful. It was not Joan with her banner +aloft, her eyes upward. It was Joan with her eyes lowered, looking at no +outward thing, her face passive--the saddest face and the saddest eyes +in the world. It was Joan the sacrifice--of her people and her king. + + + + +Chapter XXXI + +ALONG THE MARNE + + +It may have been two miles out of Rheims that we met the flood. There +had been a heavy shower as we entered the city, but presently the sun +broke out, bright and hot, too bright and too hot for permanence. Now +suddenly all was black again, there was a roar of thunder, and then such +an opening of the water gates of the sky as would have disturbed Noah. +There was no thought of driving through such a torrent. I pulled over to +the side of the road, but the tall high-trimmed trees afforded no +protection. Our top was a shelter, but not a complete one--the wind +drove the water in, and in a moment our umbrellas were sticking out in +every direction, and we had huddled together like chickens. The water +seemed to fall solidly. The world was blotted out. I had the feeling at +moments that we were being swept down some great submarine current. + +I don't know how long the inundation lasted. It may have been five +minutes--it may have been thirty. Then suddenly it stopped--it was +over--the sun was out! + +There was then no mud in France--not in the high-roads--and a moment or +two later we had revived, our engine was going, and we were gliding +between fair fields--fresh shining fields where scarlet poppy patches +were as pools of blood. There is no lovelier land than the Marne +district, from Rheims to Chalons and to Vitry-le-Francois. It had often +been a war district--a battle ground, fought over time and again since +the ancient allies defeated Attila and his Huns there, checking the +purpose of the "Scourge of God," as he styled himself, to found a new +dynasty upon the wreck of Rome. It could never be a battle ground again, +we thought--the great nations were too advanced for war. Ah me! Within +two months from that day men were lying dead across that very road, +shells were tearing at the lovely fields, and another stain had mingled +with the trampled poppies. + +Chalons-sur-Marne, like Rheims and Epernay, is a champagne center and +prosperous. There were some churches there, but they did not seem of +great importance. We stopped for water at Vitry-le-Francois, a hot, +uninteresting-looking place, though it had played a part in much +history, and would presently play a part in much more. It was always an +outpost against vandal incursions from the north, and Francis I rebuilt +and strengthened it. + +At Vitry we left the Marne and kept the wide road eastward, for we were +bound now for the Vosges, for Domremy on the Meuse, Joan's starting +place. The sun burned again, the road got hot, and suddenly during the +afternoon one of our tires went off like a gun. + +One of our old shoes had blown out at the rim, and there was a doubtful +look about the others. Narcissa and I labored in the hot sun--for there +was no shade from those slim roadside poplars--and with inside patches +and outside patches managed to get in traveling order again, though +personally we were pretty limp by the time we were ready to move, and a +good deal disheartened. The prospect of reaching Vevey, our base of +supplies, without laying up somewhere to order new tires was not bright, +and it became even less so that evening, when in front of the hotel at +St. Dizier another tire pushed out at the rim, and in the gathering +dusk, surrounded by an audience, I had to make further repairs before I +could get into the garage. + +Early next morning I gave those tires all a pretty general overhauling. +I put in blow-out patches wherever there seemed to be a weak place and +doubled them at the broken spots. By the time I got done we were +carrying in our tires all the extra rubber and leather and general +aid-to-the-injured stuff that had formerly been under the back seat, and +I was obliged to make a trip around to the supply garages for more. +Fortunately the weather had changed overnight, and it was cool. Old +tires and even new ones hold better on cool roads. + +It turned still cooler as we proceeded--it became chilly--for the Fourth +of July it was winterish. At Chalons we had expended three whole francs +for a bottle of champagne for celebration purposes, and when we made our +luncheon camp in a sheltered cover of a pretty meadow where there was a +clear, racing brook, we were too cold to sit down, and drank standing a +toast to our national independence, and would have liked more of that +delicious liquid warmth, regardless of cost. There could hardly have +been a more beautiful spot than that, but I do not remember any place +where we were less inclined to linger. + +Yet how quickly weather can change. Within an hour it was warm +again--not hot, but mildly pleasant, even delightful. + + + + +Chapter XXXII + +DOMREMY + + +We were well down in the Vosges now and beginning to inquire for +Domremy. How strange it seemed to be actually making inquiries for a +place that always before had been just a part of an old legend--a +half-mythical story of a little girl who, tending her sheep, had heard +the voices of angels. One had the feeling that there could never really +be such a place at all, that, even had it once existed, it must have +vanished long ago; that to ask the way to it now would be like those who +in some old fairy tale come back after ages of enchantment and inquire +for places and people long forgotten. Domremy! No, it was not possible. +We should meet puzzled, blank looks, pitying smiles, in answer to our +queries. We should never find one able to point a way and say, "That is +the road to Domremy." One could as easily say "the road to Camelot." + +Yet there came a time when we must ask. We had been passing through +miles of wonderful forest, with regularly cut roads leading away at +intervals, suggesting a vast preserved estate, when we came out to an +open hill land, evidently a grazing country, with dividing roads and no +definite markings. So we stopped a humble-looking old man and +hesitatingly, rather falteringly, asked him the road to Domremy. He +regarded us a moment, then said very gently, pointing, "It is down there +just a little way." + +So we were near--quite near--perhaps even now passing a spot where Joan +had tended her sheep. Our informant turned to watch us pass. He knew why +we were going to Domremy. He could have been a descendant of those who +had played with Joan. + +Even now it was hard to believe that Domremy would be just an old +village, such a village as Joan had known, where humble folk led humble +lives tending their flocks and small acres. Very likely it had become a +tourist resort--a mere locality, with a hotel. It was only when we were +actually in the streets of a decaying, time-beaten little hamlet and +were told that this was indeed Domremy, the home of Joan of Arc, that we +awoke to the actuality of the place and to the realization that in +character at least it had not greatly changed. + +We drove to the church--an ancient, weatherworn little edifice. The +invaders destroyed it the same year that Joan set out on her march, but +when Joan had given safety to France the fragments were gathered and +rebuilt, so if it is not in its entirety the identical chapel where Joan +worshiped, it contains, at least, portions of the original structure and +stands upon the same ground. In front of the church is a bronze statue +of the Maid, and above the entrance a painting of Joan listening to the +voices. But these are modern. Inside are more precious things. + +It is a plain, humble interior, rather too fresh and new looking for +its antiquity, perhaps because of the whitened walls. But near the altar +there is an object that does not disappoint. It is an ancient baptismal +font--the original font of the little ruined chapel--the vessel in which +Joan of Arc was baptized. I think there can be no question of its +authenticity. It would be a holy object to the people of Domremy; to +them Joan was already a saint at the time of her death, and any object +that had served her was sacred. The relic dug from the ruined chapel +would be faithfully guarded, and there would be many still alive to +identify it when the church's restoration was complete and the ancient +vessel set in place. + +It seems a marvelous thing to be able to look upon an object that may be +regarded as the ceremonial starting point of a grace that was to redeem +a nation. Surely, if ever angels stood by to observe the rites of men +they gathered with those humble shepherd folk about the little basin +where a tiny soul was being consecrated to their special service. + +In the church also is the headstone from the grave of Joan's godmother, +with an ancient inscription which one may study out, and travel back a +long way. Near it is another object--one that ranks in honor with the +baptismal font--the statuette of St. Marguerite, before which Joan +prayed. Like the font this would be a holy thing, even in Joan's +lifetime, and would be preserved and handed down. To me it seems almost +too precious to remain in that ancient, perishing church. It is +something that Joan of Arc not only saw and touched, but to which she +gave spiritual adoration. To me it seems the most precious, the most +sacred relic in France. The old church appears so poor a protection for +it. Yet I should be sorry to see it taken elsewhere. + +[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF JOAN OF ARC] + +Joan's house is only a step away--a remnant of a house, for, though it +was not demolished like the church, it has suffered from alterations, +and portions of it were destroyed. Whatever remained at the time of +Louis XI would seem to have been preserved about as it was then, though +of course restored; the royal arms of France, with those accorded by +Charles VII to Joan and her family, were combined ornamentally above the +door with the date, 1481, and the inscription, in old French, "_Vive +labeur; vive le roy Loys._" The son of Joan's king must have felt that +it was proper to preserve the birthplace of the girl who had saved his +throne. + +Doubtless the main walls of the old house of Jacques d'Arc are the same +that Joan knew. Joan's mother lived there until 1438, and it was less +than fifty years later that Louis XI gave orders for the restoration. +The old walls were solidly built. It is not likely that they could have +fallen to complete ruin in that time. The rest is mainly new. + +What the inside of the old house was in Joan's time we can only imagine. +The entrance room was the general room, I suppose, and it was here, we +are told, that Joan was born. Mark Twain has imagined a scene in the +house of Jacques d'Arc where a hungry straggler comes one night and +knocks at the door and is admitted to the firelit room. He tells us how +Joan gave the wanderer her porridge--against her father's argument, for +those were times of sore stress--and how the stranger rewarded them all +with the great Song of Roland. The general room would be the setting of +that scene. + +Behind it is a little dungeon-like apartment which is shown as Joan's +chamber. The walls and ceiling of this poor place are very old; possibly +they are of Joan's time--no one can really say. In one wall there is a +recess, now protected by a heavy wire screen, which means that Joan set +up her shrine there, the St. Marguerite and her other holy things. She +would pray to them night and morning, but oftener I think she would +leave this dim prison for the consolation of the little church across +the way. + +The whole house is a kind of museum now, and the upper floor is +especially fitted with cases for books and souvenirs. + +In the grounds there is a fine statue by Mercie, and the whole place is +leafy and beautiful. It is not easy, however, to imagine there the +presence of Joan. That is easier in the crooked streets of the village, +and still easier along the river and the fields. The Fairy +Tree--_l'Arbre Fee de Bourlement_--where Joan and her comrades played, +and where later she heard the voices, is long since gone, and the spot +is marked by a church which we cared to view only from a distance. It +seems too bad that any church should be there, and especially that one. +The spot itself, marked by a mere tablet, or another tree, would be +enough. + +It was in January, 1429, that Joan and her uncle Laxart left Domremy for +Vaucouleurs to ask the governor to give her a military escort to the +uncrowned king at Chinon. She never came back. Less than half a year +later she had raised the siege at Orleans, fought Patay, and conducted +the king to his coronation at Rheims. She would have returned then, but +the king was afraid to let her go. Neither did he have the courage to +follow or support her brilliant leadership. He was weak and paltry. +When, as the result of his dalliance, she was captured at Compiegne, he +allowed her to suffer a year of wretched imprisonment, making no attempt +at rescue or ransom, and in the end to be burned at Rouen as a witch. + +I have read in an old French book an attempt to excuse the king, to show +that he did not have armed force enough to go to Joan's rescue, but I +failed to find there any evidence that he even contemplated such an +attempt. I do find that when Joan had been dead thirteen years and +France, strong and united, was safe for excursions, he made a trip to +Lorraine, accompanied by Dunois, Robert de Baudricourt, and others of +Joan's favorite generals. They visited Domremy, and Baudricourt pointed +out to the king that there seemed to be a sadness in the landscape. It +is said that this visit caused Charles to hasten the process of Joan's +rehabilitation--to reverse the verdict of heresy and idolatry and +witchcraft under which she had died. But as the new hearing did not +begin until eleven years after the king's visit to Domremy, nearly +twenty-five years after Joan's martyrdom, the word "hasten" does not +seem to apply. If Charles VII finally bestirred himself in that process, +it was rather to show before he died that he held his crown not by the +favor of Satan but of saints. + +The memory of Joan of Arc's fate must always be a bitter one to France, +and the generations have never ceased to make atonement. Her martyrdom +has seemed so unnecessary--such a reproach upon the nation she saved. + +Yet perhaps it was necessary. Joan in half a year had accomplished what +the French armies, without her, had been unable to do in three quarters +of a century--she had crippled the English power in France. Her work was +not finished--though defeated, the enemy still remained on French soil, +and unless relentlessly assailed would recover. After the coronation at +Rheims there would seem to have fallen, even upon Joan's loyal +followers, a reaction, a period of indifference and indolence. Joan's +fearful death at the stake awoke her people as nothing else could have +done. + +By a lonely roadside far up in Normandy we passed, one day, a small +stone column which recorded how upon this spot was delivered the battle +of Formigny, April 15th, in the year 1450, under the reign of Charles +VII, and how the French were victorious and the English armies forced to +abandon Norman soil. Joan of Arc had been dead nineteen years when that +final battle was fought, but it was her spirit that gave the victory. + + + + +Chapter XXXIII + +STRASSBURG AND THE BLACK FOREST + + +Our tires were distressingly bad now. I had to do some quick repairing +at Domremy, also between Domremy and Vaucouleurs, where we spent the +night. Then next morning at Vaucouleurs, in an unfrequented back street +behind our ancient inn, I established a general overhauling plant, and +patched and relined and trepanned during almost an entire forenoon, +while the rest of the family scoured the town for the materials. We put +in most of our time at Vaucouleurs in this way. However, there was +really little to see in the old town. Our inn was as ancient as +anything, and our landlord assured us that Joan's knights probably +stopped there, and even Uncle Laxart, but he could not produce his +register to prove it. There are the remains of the chateau where Joan is +said to have met the governor, and a monument to the Maid's memory has +been begun, but remains unfinished through lack of funds. The real +interest in Vaucouleurs, to-day, is that it was the starting point of +Joan's great march. One could reflect upon that and repair tires +simultaneously. + +We got away in time to have luncheon in the beautiful country below +Toul, and then kept on to Nancy. At both places there seemed to be +nothing but soldiers and barracks, and one did not have to get out of +the car to see those. Not that Nancy is not a fine big town, but its +cathedral and its Arch of Triumph are both of the eighteenth century. +Such things seemed rather raw and new, while museums did not interest us +any more. + +Lorraine itself is beautiful. It seemed especially fair where we crossed +the line into Germany, and we did not wonder that France could not +forget her loss of that fertile land. There was no difficulty at the +customs. We were politely O. K.'d by the French officials and +courteously passed by the Germans, with no examination beyond our +_triptyques_. Then another stretch of fine road and fair fields, and we +were in a village of cobbled streets and soldiers--German soldiers--and +were told that it was Dieuze; also that there was an inn--a very good +inn--a little way down the street. So there was--an inn where they spoke +French and German and even a variety of English, and had plenty of good +food and good beds for a very modest sum indeed. Dieuze was soon to +become a war town, but beyond a few soldiers--nothing unusual--we saw no +signs of it that first week in July. + +[Illustration: STRASSBURG, SHOWING THE CATHEDRAL] + +Strassburg was our next stopping place. We put in a day there wandering +about its fine streets, looking at its picturesque old houses, its royal +palace, and its cathedral. I do not think we cared for the cathedral as +we did for those of France. It is very old and very wonderful, and +exhibits every form of architecture that has been employed in church +building for nearly a thousand years; but in spite of its great size, +its imposing height, its rich facade, there was something repellant +about it all, and particularly in its great bare interior. It seemed to +lack a certain light of romance, of poetry, of spiritual sympathy that +belongs to every French church of whatever size. + +And we were disappointed in the wonderful clock. It was very wonderful, +no doubt, but we had expected too much. We waited for an hour for the +great midday exhibition, and collected with a jam of other visitors in +the little clock chapel, expecting all the things to happen that we had +dreamed of since childhood. They all did happen, too, but they came so +deliberately and with so little liveliness of demonstration that one had +to watch pretty closely sometimes to know that anything was happening at +all. I think I, for one, had expected that the saints and apostles, and +the months and seasons, would all come out and do a grand walk around to +lively music. As for the rooster that crows, he does not crow as well as +Narcissa, who has the gift of imitation and could have astonished that +crowd if she had let me persuade her to try. + +There have been several of these Strassburg clocks. There was one of +them in the cathedral as far back as 1352. It ran for about two +centuries, when another, finished in 1574, took its place. The mechanism +of the new clock was worn out in another two centuries, but its +framework forms a portion of the great clock of to-day, which dates from +1840. It does a number of very wonderful things, but in this age of +contrivance, when men have made mechanical marvels past all belief, the +wonder of the Strassburg clock is largely traditional. The rooster that +crows and flaps his wings is really the chief feature, for it is the +rooster of the original clock, and thus has daily amused the generations +for five hundred years. + +Gutenberg, the first printer, began his earliest experiments in a +cloister outside the Strassburg gates, and there is a small public +square named for him, and in the center of it a fine statue with relief +groups of the great printers of all nations. Of course Franklin was +there and some other Americans. It gave us a sort of proprietary +interest in that neighborhood, and a kindly feeling for the city in +general. + +It was afternoon when we left Strassburg, and by nightfall we were in +the Black Forest--farther in than we had intended to be, by a good deal. +With our tires in a steady decline we had no intention of wandering off +into dark depths inhabited by fairies and woodcutters and full of weird +enchantments, with all of which Grimm's tales had made us quite +familiar. We had intended merely to go in a little way, by a main road +that would presently take us to Freiburg, where there would be a new +supply of patches and linings, and even a possibility of tires, in case +our need became very sore. + +But the Black Forest made good its reputation for enchantments. When we +came to the spot where, by our map, the road should lead to Freiburg, +there were only a deserted mill, with a black depth of pine growing +where the road should have been. Following along, we found ourselves +getting deeper and deeper into the thick forest, while the lonely road +became steeper and narrower and more and more awesome in the gathering +evening. There were no villages, no more houses of any kind. There had +been rain and the steep hills grew harder to climb. But perhaps a good +fairy was helping us, too, a little, for our crippled tires held. Each +time we mounted a perpendicular crest I listened for the back ones to +go, but they remained firm. + +By and by we started down--down _where_ we had no notion--but certainly +down. Being under a spell, I forgot to put on the engine brake, and by +the time we were halfway down the hill the brake bands were hot and +smoking. By the time we were down the greasy linings were afire. There +was a brook there, and we stopped and poured water on our hot-boxes and +waited for them to cool. A woodcutter--he must have been one, for only +woodcutters and fairies live in the Black Forest--came along and told us +we must go to Haslach--that there was no other road to Freiburg, unless +we turned around and went back nearly to Strassburg. I would not have +gone back up that hill and through those darkening woods for much money. +So we went on and presently came out into a more open space, and some +houses; then we came to Haslach. + +By our map we were in the depths of the Schwarzwald, and by observation +we could see that we were in an old, beautiful village, of the right +sort for that locality, and in front of a big inn, where frauleins came +out to take our bags and show us up to big rooms--rooms that had great +billowy beds, with other billowy beds for covering. After all, the +enchantment was not so bad. And the supper that night of _Wiener +schnitzel_ and _pfannekuchen_ was certainly good, and hot, and plentiful +beyond belief. + +But there was more trouble next morning. One of those old back tires was +in a desperate condition, and trying to improve it I seemed to make +matters worse. I took it off and put in a row of blow-out patches all +the way around, after which the inner tubes popped as fast as I could +put them in and blow them up. Three times I yanked that tire off, and +then it began to occur to me that all those inside patches took up too +much room. It would have occurred to any other man sooner, but it takes +a long and violent period of pumping exercise to get a brain like mine +really loosened up once it is caked by a good night's sleep. + +So I yanked those patches out and put on our last hope--a spare tire in +fairly decent condition, and patiently patched those bursted tubes--all +of which work was done in a hot place under the eyes of a kindly but +maddening audience. + +Three times in the lovely land between Haslach and Freiburg Narcissa and +I had to take off a tire and change tubes, those new patches being not +air-proof. Still, we got on, and the scenery made up for a good deal. +Nothing could be more picturesque than the Black Forest houses, with +their great overhanging thatched roofs--their rows and clusters of +little windows, their galleries and ladders, and their clinging vines. +And what kindly people they are. Many of the roads are lined with cherry +trees and this was cherry season. The trees were full of gatherers, and +we had only to stop and offer to buy to have them load us with the +delicious black fruit, the sweetest, juiciest cherries in the world. +They accepted money, but reluctantly; they seemed to prefer to give them +to us, and more than once a boy or a man ran along by the car and threw +in a great loaded branch, and laughed, and waved and wished us _gute +reise_. But this had happened to us in France, too, in the Lorraine. + + + + +Chapter XXXIV + +A LAND WHERE STORKS LIVE + + +We were at Freiburg in the lower edge of the Black Forest some time +during the afternoon, one of the cleanest cities I have ever seen, one +of the richest in color scheme. Large towns are not likely to be +picturesque, but Freiburg, in spite of its general freshness, has a look +of solid antiquity--an antiquity that has not been allowed to go to +seed. Many of the houses, including the cathedral, are built of a rich +red stone, and some of them have outer decorations, and nearly all of +them have beautiful flowers in the windows and along the balconies. I +should think a dweller in Freiburg would love the place. + +Freiburg has been, and still is, celebrated for many things; its +universities, its cathedral, its ancient buildings, in recent years for +its discovery of "twilight sleep," the latest boon which science has +offered to sorrow-laden humanity. + +It is a curious road from Freiburg to Basle. Sometimes it is a highway, +sometimes it is merely a farm road across fields. More than once we felt +sure we were lost and must presently bring up in a farmyard. Then +suddenly we would be between fine hedges or trees, on a wide road +entering a village. + +We had seen no storks when we left Freiburg. We had been told there were +some in Strassburg, but no one had been able to point them out. We were +disappointed, for we had pictured in our minds that, once really in the +Black Forest, there would be, in almost any direction, a tall chimney +surmounted by a big brushy nest, with a stork sitting in it, and +standing by, supported on one very slim, very long, very perpendicular +leg, another stork, keeping guard. This is the picture we had seen many +times in the books, and we were grieved, even rather resentful, that it +was not to be found in reality. We decided that it probably belonged +only in the books, fairy books, and that while there might have been +storks once, just as there had once been fairies, they had disappeared +from mortal vision about the same time--that nobody in late years had +really seen storks--that-- + +But just then we really saw some ourselves--sure-enough storks on an old +steeple, two of them, exactly as they always are in the pictures, one +nice mother stork sitting in a brushy nest and one nice father stork +standing on his stiff, perpendicular leg. + +We stopped the car to gaze. The church was in an old lost-looking +village, which this stork seemed to own, for there were no others, and +the few people we saw did not appear to have anything like the stork's +proprietary interest. We could hardly take our eyes from that old +picture, suddenly made reality. + +We concluded, however, that it was probably the only stork family in +Germany; but that, also, was a mistake. A little farther along, at +another village, was another old stubby steeple, and another pair of +storks, both standing this time, probably to see us go by. Every +village had them now, but I think in only one village did we see more +than a single pair. That little corner of the Schwarzwald will always +remain to us a part separated from the rest of the world--a sort of +back-water of fairyland. + +The German customs office is on one side of a road, the Swiss on the +other, and we stopped in a shady place and interviewed both. We did not +dread these encounters any more. We had long since learned that if there +was one class of persons abroad likely to be more courteous than others +to travelers, that class is the customs officials. + +This particular frontier was in the edge of Basle, and presently we had +crossed a bridge and were in the city, a big, beautiful city, though not +so handsome as Freiburg, not so rich in color, not quite so clean and +floral. + +We did not stop in Basle. There are wonders to be seen, but, all things +considered, we thought it better to go on. With good luck we might reach +Vevey next day, our European headquarters and base of supplies. We had +been more than two months on the road already; it was important that we +get to headquarters--more important than we knew. + + + + +Chapter XXXV + +BACK TO VEVEY + + +So we went wandering through a rather unpopulous, semi-mountainous +land--a prosperous land, from the look of it, with big isolated factory +plants here and there by strongly flowing streams. They seemed to be +making almost everything along those streams. The Swiss are an +industrious people. Toward evening we came to a place we had never heard +of before, a town of size and of lofty buildings--a place of much +manufacturing, completely lost up in the hills, by name Moutier. It was +better not to go farther that night, for I could see by our road map +that there was going to be some steep climbing between Moutier and the +Lake Geneva slope. There are at least two divides between Moutier and +Geneva, and Swiss watersheds are something more than mere gentle slopes +such as one might meet in Ohio, for instance, or Illinois. They are +generally scrambles--they sometimes resemble ladders, though the road +surface is usually pretty good, with a few notable exceptions. We met +one of these exceptions next morning below Moutier. There had been +rains, and the slippery roads between those perpendicular skyscraping +bluffs had not dried at all. Our route followed a rushing stream a +little way; then it turned into the hill, and at that point I saw ahead +of me a road that was not a road at all, but a semi-perpendicular wallow +of mud and stone that went writhing up and up until it was lost +somewhere among the trees. I had expected a good deal, but nothing as +bad as this. I gave one wild, hopeless thought to our poor crippled rear +tires, threw the lever from third to second, from second back to first, +and let in every ounce of gasoline the engine would take. It really +never occurred to me that we were going to make it. I did not believe +anything could hold in that mud, and I expected in another minute to be +on the side of the road, with nothing to do but hunt up an ox-team. +Whir! slop! slosh! slide!--grind!--on one side and on the other--into a +hole and out of it, bump! thump! bang!--why, certainly we are climbing, +but we would never make the top, never in the world--it was hardly to be +expected of any car; and with those old tires! Never mind, we would go +till we stalled, or skidded out of the road. + +We were at the turn! We had made the turn! We were going straight up the +last rise! Only a little more, now--ten feet--five feet, _six inches_! +_Hooray!_ we were on top of the hill, b'gosh! + +I got out and looked at the back tires. It was incredible, impossible, +but they were as sound and solid as when we left Moutier. Practically +our whole weight had been on those tires all the way up that fearful +log-haul, for that is what it was, yet those old tubes and outer +envelopes had not shown a sign. Explain it if you can. + +There was really no trouble after that. There were hills, but the roads +were good. Our last day was a panorama of Swiss scenery in every form; +deep gorges where we stopped on bridges to look down at rushing torrents +far below; lofty mountains with narrow, skirting roads; beautiful +water-fronts and lake towns along the lakes of Biel and Neufchatel, a +final luncheon under a great spreading shade--a birthday luncheon, as it +happened--and then, toward the end of the lovely July afternoon, a +sudden vision, from high harvest meadows, of the snow-clad mountaintops +beyond Lake Geneva--the peaks of the true Alps. And presently one saw +the lake itself, the water--hazy, dreamy, summery, with little steamers +so gay and toylike, plying up and down--all far below us as yet, for we +were still among the high hayfields, where harvesters were pitching and +raking, while before and behind us our road was a procession of hay +wagons. + +It was a continuous coast, now, down to Lausanne--the lake, as it +seemed, rising up to meet us, its colors and outlines becoming more +vivid, the lofty mountains beyond it approaching a little nearer, while +almost underneath us a beautiful city was gleaming in the late afternoon +sunshine. + +We were by this time among the vineyards that terrace those south-facing +steeps to the water's edge. Then we were at the outskirts of the city +itself, still descending, still coasting, for Lausanne is built mainly +on a mountainside. When we came to a comparative level at last, we were +crossing a great bridge--one of those that tie the several slopes of the +city together; then presently we were at St. Frances's church, the +chief center, and felt almost at home, for we had been here a good many +times before. + +We did not stop. Vevey was twelve miles down the lake--we had a feverish +desire to arrive there without having to pump those tires again, if +possible. Leisurely, happily, we covered that final lap of our long +tour. There is no more beautiful drive in Europe than that along Lake +Geneva, from Lausanne to Vevey on a summer evening, and there never was +a calmer, sweeter summer evening than that of our return. Oh, one must +drive slowly on such an evening! We were anxious to arrive, but not to +have the drive ended. Far down the lake the little towns we knew so well +began to appear--Territet, Montreux, Clarens, Vevey la Tour--we could +even make out the towers of Chillon. Then we passed below the ancient +village hanging to the mountainside, and there was Vevey, and there at +its outskirts our pretty hotel with its big gay garden, the blue lake +just in front, the driveway open. A moment more and the best landlady in +Europe was welcoming us in the most musical French and German in the +world. Our long round was ended--three thousand miles of the happiest +travel to be found this side of paradise. By and by I went out to look +at our faithful car in the little hotel garage. It had stood up to the +last moment on those old tires. I suppose then the tension was too much. +The left rear was quite flat. + + + + +Chapter XXXVI + +THE GREAT UPHEAVAL + + +It was the 10th of July that we returned to Vevey, and it was just three +weeks later that the world--a world of peace and the social interchange +of nations--came to an end. + +We had heard at Tours of the assassination of the Austrian archduke and +his duchess, but no thought of the long-threatened European war entered +our minds. Neither did we discover later any indications of it. If there +was any tension along the Franco-German border we failed to notice it. +Arriving at Vevey, there seemed not a ripple on the drowsy summer days. +Even when Austria finally sent her ultimatum to Serbia there was +scarcely a suggestion of war talk. We had all the nations in our hotel, +but they assembled harmoniously in the little reading room after dinner +over the papers and innocuous games, and if the situation was discussed +at all, the word "arbitration" was oftenest heard. + +Neither did the news come to us gradually or gently. It came like a +bomb, exploded one evening by Billy Baker, an American boy of sixteen +and a bulletin of sorts. Billy had been for his customary after-dinner +walk uptown, and it was clear the instant he plunged in that he had +gathered something unusual. + +"Say, folks," he burst out, "did you know that Austria has declared war +against Serbia and is bombarding Belgrade, and now all the others are +going to declare, and that us Americans have got to beat it for home?" + +There was a general stir. Billy's items were often delivered in this +abrupt way, but his news facts were seldom questioned. He went on, +adding a quick, crisp detail, while the varied nationalities assumed +attitudes of attention. The little group around the green center table +forgot what they were there for. I had just drawn a spade when I needed +a heart, and did not mind the diversion. Billy concluded his dispatches: + +"We've all got to beat it, you know, _now_, before all the ships and +trains and things are used for mobilization and before the fighting +begins. If we don't we'll have to stay here all winter." Then, his +mission finished, Billy in his prompt way pulled a chair to the table. +"Let me in this, will you?" he said. "I feel awfully lucky to-night." + +Americans laugh at most things. We laughed now at Billy Baker--at the +dramatic manner of his news, with its picturesque even if stupendous +possibilities--at the vision in everyone's mind of a horde of American +tourists "beating it" out of Europe at the first drum-roll of war. + +But not all in the room laughed. The "little countesses"--two Russian +girls--and their white-haired companion, talked rapidly and earnestly +together in low voices. The retired French admiral--old and +invalided--rose, his long cape flung back across his shoulder, and +walked feebly up and down, stopping at each turn to speak to his aged +wife, who sat with their son, himself an officer on leave. An English +judge, with a son at home, fraternized with the Americans and tried to +be gay with them, but his mirth lacked freedom. A German family +instinctively separated themselves from the others and presently were no +longer in the room. Even one of the Americans--a Southern girl--laughed +rather hysterically: + +"All my baggage but one suit case is stored in Frankfort," she said. "If +Germany goes to war I'll have a gay time getting it." + +Morning brought confirmation of Billy Baker's news, at least so far as +Austria's action was concerned, and the imminence of what promised to be +a concerted movement of other great nations toward war. It was said that +Russia was already mobilizing--that troops were in motion in Germany and +in France. That night, or it may have been the next, a telegram came for +the young French officer, summoning him to his regiment. His little son +of nine or ten raced about excitedly. + +"_L'Allmagne a mobilise--mon pere va a la guerre!_" + +The old admiral, too feeble, almost, to be out of bed, seemed to take on +a new bearing. + +"I thought I was done with war," he said. "I am an invalid, and they +could not call on me. But if France is attacked I shall go and fight +once more for my country." + +The German family--there were two grown sons in it--had already +disappeared. + +It was about the third morning that I took a walk down to the American +Consulate. I had been there before, but had not found it exciting. It +had been a place of silence and inactivity. There were generally a few +flies drifting about, and a bored-looking man who spent an hour or two +there morning and afternoon, killing time and glad of any little +diversion in the way of company. + +The Consulate was no longer a place of silence and buzzing flies. +There was buzzing in plenty, but it was made by my fellow +countrymen--country-women, most of them--who were indeed making things +hum. I don't know whether the consul was bored or not. I know he was +answering questions at the rate of one per second, and even so not +keeping up with the demand for information. + +"Is there going to be a war?" "Is England going into it?" "Has Germany +declared yet?" "Will we be safe in Switzerland?" "Will all Americans be +ordered home?" "Are the trains going to be stopped?" "Will we have to +have passports?" "I have got a sailing in September. Will the ships be +running then?" "How can I send a letter to my husband in Germany?" "How +about money? Are the Swiss banks going to stop payment on letters of +credit?"--these, repeated in every varying form, and a hundred other +inquiries that only a first-class registered clairvoyant could have +answered with confidence. The consul was good-natured. He was also an +optimist. His replies in general conveyed the suggestion to "keep cool," +that everything was going to be all right. + +The Swiss banks, however, did stop payment on letters of credit and +various forms of checks forthwith. I had a very pretty-looking check +myself, and a day or two before I had been haggling with the bank man +over the rate of exchange, which had been gently declining. I said I +would hold it for better terms. But on the day that Germany declared war +I decided to cash it, anyway, just to have a little extra money in +case-- + +Oh, well, never mind the details. I didn't cash it. The bank man looked +at it, smiled feebly, and pointed to a notice on the wall. It was in +French, but it was an "easy lesson." It said: + + No more checks or letters of credit cashed until further + notice. + + By order of the Association. + +I don't know yet what "Association" it was that was heartless enough to +give an order like that, but I hoped it would live to repent it. The +bank man said that in view of my position as a depositor he might be +induced to advance me 10 per cent of the amount of the check. The next +day he even refused to take it for collection. Switzerland is prudent; +she had mobilized her army about the second day and sent it to the +frontier. We had been down to the big market place to see it go. I never +saw anything more quiet--more orderly. She had mobilized her cash in the +same prompt, orderly fashion and sent it into safe retirement. + +It was a sorrowful time, and it was not merely American--it was +international. Switzerland never saw such a "busted community" as her +tourists presented during August, 1914. Every day was Black Friday. +Almost nobody had any real money. A Russian nobleman in our hotel with a +letter of credit and a roll of national currency could not pay for his +afternoon tea. The little countesses had to stop buying chocolates. An +American army officer, retired, was unable to meet his laundry bill. +Even Swiss bank notes (there were none less than fifty francs in the +beginning) were of small service, for there was no change. All the +silver had disappeared as if it had suddenly dissolved. As for +gold--lately so plentiful--one no longer even uttered the _word_ without +emotion. Getting away, "beating it," as Billy had expressed it, was +still a matter of prime importance, but it had taken second place. The +immediate question was how and where to get money for the "beating" +process. The whole talk was money. Any little group collected on the +street might begin by discussing the war, but, in whatever language, the +discussion drifted presently to finance. The optimistic consul was still +reassuring. To some he advanced funds--he was more liberal than the Bank +of Switzerland. + +There was a percentage, of course--a lucky few--who had money, and these +were getting away. There were enough of them along the Simplon Railway +to crowd the trains. Every train for Paris went through with the seats +and aisles full. All schedules were disordered. There was no telling +when a train would come, or when it would arrive in Paris. Billy Baker +promptly mobilized his party and they left sometime in the night--or it +may have been in the morning, after a night of waiting. It was the last +regular train to go. We did not learn of its fortunes. + +No word came back from those who left us. They all went with promises to +let us know, but a veil dropped behind them. They were as those who pass +beyond the things of earth. We heard something of their belongings, +however. Sometimes on clear days a new range of mountains seemed to be +growing in the west. It was thought to be the American baggage heaped on +the French frontier. Very likely our friends wrote to us, but there was +no more mail. The last American, French, and English letters came August +3d. The last Paris _Herald_ hung on the hotel file and became dingy and +tattered with rereading. No mails went out. One could amuse himself by +writing letters and dropping them in the post office, but he would know, +when he passed a week later, that they had remained there. You could +still cable, if you wished to do so--in French--and there must have been +a scramble in America for French dictionaries, and a brisk hunting for +the English equivalents of whatever terse Berlitz idiom was used to +convey: + +"Money in a hurry--dead broke." + +Various economies began to be planned or practiced. Guests began to do +without afternoon tea, or to make it themselves in their rooms. Few were +paying their hotel bills, yet some went to cheaper places, frightened at +the reckoning that was piling up against settling day. Others, with a +little store of money, took very modest apartments and did light +housekeeping to stretch their dwindling substance. Some, even among +those at the hotels, in view of the general uncertainty, began to lay +in tinned meats and other durable food against a time of scarcity. It +was said that Switzerland, surrounded by war, would presently be short +of provisions. Indeed, grocers, by order of the authorities, had already +cut down the sale of staples, and no more than a pound or two of any one +article was sold to a single purchaser. Hotels were obliged to send +their servants, one after another, and even their guests, to get enough +sugar and coffee and salt to go around. Hotel bills of fare--always +lavish in Switzerland--began to be cut down, by _request of the guests +themselves_. It was a time to worry, or--to "beat it" for home. + +We fell into the habit of visiting the Consulate each morning. When we +had looked over the little local French paper and found what new nations +had declared war against Germany overnight, we strolled down to read the +bulletins on the Consulate windows, which generally told us what steamer +lines had been discontinued, and how we couldn't get money on our checks +and letters of credit. Inside, an active commerce was in progress. No +passport had been issued from that Consulate for years. Nobody in Europe +needed one. You could pass about as freely from Switzerland to France or +Germany as you could from Delaware to New Jersey. + +Things were different now. With all Europe going to war, passports +properly vised were as necessary as train tickets. The consul, swamped +with applications, had called for volunteers, and at several little +tables young men were saying that they did not know most of the things +those anxious people--women, mainly--were asking about, but that +everything would surely be all right, soon. Meantime, they were helping +their questioners make out applications for passports. + +There were applications for special things--personal things. There was a +woman who had a husband lost somewhere in Germany and was convinced he +would be shot as a spy. There was a man who had been appointed to a post +office in America and was fearful of losing it if he did not get home +immediately. There were anxious-faced little school-teachers who had +saved for years to pay for a few weeks abroad, and were now with only +some useless travelers' checks and a return ticket on a steamer which +they could not reach, and which might not sail even if they reached it. +And what of their positions in America? Theirs were the sorrowful cases, +and there were others. + +But the crowd was good-natured, as a whole--Americans are generally +that. The stranded ones saw humor in their situation, and confessed to +one another--friends and strangers alike--their poverty and their +predicaments, laughing a good deal, as Americans will. But there were +anxious faces, too, and everybody wanted to know a number of things, +which he asked of everybody else, and of the consul--oh, especially of +the consul--until that good-natured soul was obliged to take an annex +office upstairs where he could attend to the manufacture of passports, +while downstairs a Brooklyn judge was appointed to supervise matters and +deal out official information in judicial form. + +The judge was qualified for his appointment. Every morning before ten +o'clock--opening time--he got together all the matters--letters, +telegrams, and the like--that would be apt to interest the crowd, and +dealt this substance out in a speech, at the end of which he invited +inquiries on any point he had failed to make clear. + +He got them, too--mainly questions that he had already answered, because +there is a type of mind which does not consider information valid unless +delivered to it individually and, in person. I remember, once, when +among other wild rumors it had been reported that because of the food +scarcity all foreigners would be ordered out of Switzerland in five +days, a woman who had listened attentively to the judge's positive and +thrice-repeated denial of this canard promptly asked him if she could +stay in Switzerland if she wanted to. + +The judge's speech became the chief interest of the day. It was the +regular American program to assemble in front of the Consulate, +exchanging experiences and reading the bulletins until opening time. The +place was in a quiet side street of the quaint old Swiss city, a step +from the lake-front promenade, with a background of blue mountains and +still bluer water. Across the street stood a sixteenth-century chateau +with its gardens of greenery. At ten the Consulate doors opened and the +little group pressed in for the speech. I am sure no one in our stranded +assembly will easily forget those mornings. + +Promising news began to come. The judge announced one morning that five +hundred thousand francs had been placed to the consular credit in +Switzerland by America for the relief of her citizens. Great happiness +for the moment! Hope lighted every face. Then some mathematician +figured that five hundred thousand francs amounted to a hundred +thousand dollars, and that there were ten thousand Americans in +Switzerland--hence, ten dollars apiece. The light of hope grew dim. +There was not a soul in that crowd who needed less than two hundred +dollars to pay his board and get him home. Ten thousand times two +hundred--it is a sizable sum. And what of the rest of Europe? The +mathematician figured that there were a quarter of a million Americans +in Europe, all willing to go home, and that it would take fifty million +dollars and a fleet of five hundred fair-sized ships to deliver them in +New York. + +Still, that five hundred thousand francs served a good purpose. An +allotment of it found its way to our consul, to use at his discretion. +It came to the right man. Here and there were those who had neither +money nor credit. To such he had already advanced money from his own +limited supply. His allowance, now, would provide for those needy ones +until more came. It was not sufficient, however, to provide one woman +with three hundred francs to buy a set of furs she had selected, though +she raged up and down the office and threatened to report him to +Washington, and eventually flung some papers in his face. It turned out +later that she was not an American. I don't know what she was--mostly +wildcat, I judge. + +Further news came--still better. The government would send a +battleship--the _Tennessee_--with a large sum of gold. The deposit of +this specie in the banks of Europe would make checks and letters of +credit good again. Various monies from American banks, cabled for by +individuals, would also arrive on this ship. + +Things generally looked brighter. With the British fleet protecting the +seas, English, French, and Dutch liners were likely to keep their +schedules; also, there were some Italian boats, though these were +reported to be overrun by "swell" Americans who were paying as high as +one thousand dollars for a single berth. Perhaps the report was true--I +don't know. None of our crowd cared to investigate. + +There were better plans nearer home--plans for "beating it" out of +Switzerland on a big scale. Special trains were to be provided--and +ships. A commission was coming on the _Tennessee_ to arrange for these +things. The vessel had already left New York. + +The crowd at the Consulate grew larger and more feverishly interested. +Applications for passports multiplied. Over and over, and in great +detail, the Brooklyn judge explained just what was necessary to insure +free and safe departure from Europe when the time came to go. Over and +over we questioned him concerning all those things, and concerning ever +so many other things that had no particular bearing on the subject, and +he bore it and beamed on us and was fully as patient as was Moses in +that other wilderness we wot of. + +Trains began to run again through France; at least they started, and I +suppose they arrived somewhere. Four days, six days, eight days was said +to be the time to Paris, with only third-class coaches, day and night, +all the aisles full--no food and no water except what was carried. It +was not a pleasant prospect and few of our people risked it. The +_Tennessee_ was reported to have reached England and the special +American trains were promised soon. In fact, one was presently +announced. It went from Lindau, through Germany, and was too far east +for most of our crowd. Then there were trains from Lucerne and +elsewhere; also, special English trains. Then, at last a Simplon train +was scheduled: Territet, Montreux, Vevey, Lausanne, Geneva--all aboard +for Paris! + +Great excitement at the Consulate. The _Tennessee_ money could arrive +any day now; everybody could pay up and start. The Brooklyn judge +rehearsed each morning all the old details and presented all the news +and requirements. The train, he said, would go through a nation that was +at war. It would be under military surveillance. Once on the train, one +must stay on it until it arrived in Paris. In Paris passengers must go +to the hotels selected, they must leave at the time arranged and by the +train provided, and must accept without complaint the ship and berth +assigned to each. It would be a big tourist party personally conducted +by the United States for her exiled citizens. The United States was not +ordering its citizens to leave Switzerland; it was merely providing a +means for those who must go at once and had not provided for +themselves. The coaches would be comfortable, the price as usual, red +cards insuring each holder a seat would be issued at the Consulate. +Tickets through to New York would be provided for those without funds. +The government could do no more. Any questions, please? + +Then a sharp-faced, black-haired, tightly hooked woman got up and wanted +to know just what style the coaches would be--whether they would have +aisles down the side; whether there would be room to lie down at will; +whether meals would be served on the train; whether there would be time +at Dijon to get off and see some friends; whether she could take her +dog; whether her ticket would be good on another train if she didn't +like this one when she saw it. The judge will probably never go into the +tourist-agency business, even if he retires from the law. + +Well, that particular train did not go, after all. Or, rather, it did +go, but few of our people went on it. There was a misunderstanding +somewhere. The Germans were getting down pretty close to Paris just +then, and from the invisible "somewhere" an order came countermanding +the train. The train didn't hear of it, however, and not all of the +people. Those who took it must have had plenty of room, and they must +have gone through safely. If the Germans got them we should have heard +of it, I think. Those who failed to take it were not entirely sorry. The +_Tennessee_ money had not been distributed yet, and it was badly needed. +I don't know what delayed it. Somewhere--always in that invisible +"somewhere"--there was a hitch about that, too. It still had not arrived +when the _next_ train was scheduled--at least, not much of it. It had +not come on the last afternoon of the last day, when the train was to go +early in the morning. It was too bad. There was a borrowing and an +arranging and a negotiating at the banks that had become somewhat less +obdurate these last days, with the _Tennessee_ in the offing. But many +went away pretty short, and, but for the consul, the shortness would +have been shorter and more general. + +It was a fine, big, comfortable train that went next morning. A little +group of us who were not yet ready to "beat it" went down to see our +compatriots go. There seemed to be room enough, and at least some of the +coaches had aisles down the sides. I do not know whether the +sharp-faced, tightly hooked woman had her dog or not. There was a great +waving, and calling back, and much laughter as the train rolled away. +You could tell as easily as anything that the Americans were "beating +it" for home. + +Heavy installments of the _Tennessee_ money began to arrive at the +Consulate next day. I got some of it myself. + +A day or two later I dropped into the Consulate. It had become a quiet +place again, as in the days that already seemed very long ago. It was +hard to believe in the reality of the eager crowd that used to gather +there every morning to tell their troubles and laugh over them, and to +collect the morning news. Now, again, the place was quite empty, except +for a few flies drowsing about and the rather tired, bored-looking man +who came to spend an hour or two there every morning, killing time and +glad of any little diversion in the way of company. + + + + +Chapter XXXVII + +THE LONG TRAIL ENDS + + +It was not until near the end of October that we decided to go. We had +planned to remain for another winter, but the aspect of things did not +improve as the weeks passed. With nine tenths of Europe at war and the +other tenth drilling, there was a lack of repose beneath the outward +calm, even of Vevey. In the midst of so many nervous nations, to linger +until spring might be to remain permanently. + +Furthermore, our occupations were curtailed. Automobiles were +restricted, the gasoline supply cut off. The streets had a funereal +look. I was told that I could get a special permit to use the car, but +as our gasoline supply consisted of just about enough to take us over +the Simplon Pass into Italy, we decided to conserve it for that purpose. +The pass closes with the first big snow, usually the 15th of October. +The presence of many soldiers there would keep it open this year a +little longer. It could not be risked, however, later than the end of +the month. + +We debated the matter pretty constantly, for the days of opportunity +were wasting. We wasted ten of them making a little rail and pedestrian +trip around Switzerland, though in truth those ten glorious days of +October tramping along the lakes and through the hills are not likely +to be remembered as really wasted by any of us. When we returned I got a +military pass to take the car out of Switzerland, but it was still +another week before we packed our heavy baggage and shipped it to Genoa. +We were a fair example of any number of families, no longer enthralled +by Europe and not particularly needed at home. I think hesitation must +have nearly killed some people. + +It was the 27th of October--a perfect morning--when for the last time I +brought the car to the front of our hotel, and we strapped on our bags +and with sad hearts bade good-by to the loveliest spot and the best +people in Europe. Then presently we were working our way through the +gay, crowded market place (though we did not feel gay) down through the +narrow, familiar streets, with their pretty shops where we had bought +things, and their little _patisseries_ where we had eaten things; down +through La Tour, and along the lake to Clarens and Montreux, and past +Chillon, and so up the valley of the Rhone to Brigue, the Swiss entrance +to the Simplon Pass. + +We had new tires now, and were not troubled about our going; but the +world had grown old and sad in three months, and the leaves were blowing +off of the trees, and the glory had gone out of life, because men were +marching and killing one another along those happy fields that such a +little while before had known only the poppy stain and the marching of +the harvesters--along those shady roads where good souls had run with +the car to hand us cherries and wish us "_Gute reise._" + +We crossed the Simplon in the dullness of a gray mist, and at the top, +six hundred feet in the peaks, met the long-delayed snowstorm, and knew +that we were crossing just in time. + +Down on the Italian slope the snow turned to rain and the roads were not +good. The Italians dump rock into their roads and let the traffic wear +it down. We were delayed by a technicality on the Swiss border, and it +was dark by the time we were in Italy--dark and rainy. Along the road +are overhanging galleries--really tunnels, and unlighted. Our prestolite +had given out and our oil lamps were too feeble. I have never known a +more precarious drive than across that long stretch from Gondo to +Domodossola, through the night and pouring rain. It seemed endless, and +when the lights of the city first appeared I should have guessed the +distance still to be traveled at forty miles. But we did arrive; and we +laid up three days in a hotel where it was cold--oh, very cold--but +where blessedly there was a small open fire in a little sitting room. +Also, the food was good. + +It had not quit raining even then, but we started, anyway. One can get a +good deal of Domodossola in three days, though it is a very good town, +where few people stop, because they are always going somewhere else when +they get there. Our landlady gave us a huge bunch of flowers at parting, +too huge for our limited car space. A little way down the road I had to +get out and fix something; an old woman came and held an umbrella over +me, and, having no Italian change, I gave her the flowers, and a Swiss +nickel, and a German five-pfennig piece, and she thanked me just as if +I had contributed something valuable. The Italians are polite. + +We went to Stresa on Lake Maggiore, and stopped for the night, and +visited Isola Bella, of course, and I bought a big red umbrella which +the others were ashamed of, and fell away from me when I opened it as if +I had something contagious. They would rather get soaking wet, they +said, than be seen walking under that thing. Pride is an unfortunate +asset. But I didn't have the nerve myself to carry that umbrella on the +streets of Milan. Though Stresa is not far away, its umbrellas are +unknown in Milan, and when I opened it my audience congested traffic. I +didn't suppose anything could be too gay for an Italian. + +We left the car at Milan and made a rail trip to Venice. It was still +raining every little while and many roads were under water, so that +Venice really extended most of the way to Milan, and automobile travel +was thought to be poor in that direction. All the old towns over there +we visited, for we were going home, and no one could say when Europe +might be comfortable for tourists again. A good deal of the time it +rained, but a good deal of the time it didn't, and we slept in hotels +that were once palaces, and saw much, including Juliet's tomb at Verona, +and all the things at Padua, and we bought violets at Parma, and +sausages at Bologna. Then we came back to Milan and drove to Genoa, +stopping overnight at Tortona, because we thought we would be sure to +find there the ices by that name. But they were out of them, I suppose, +for we could not find any. + +Still we had no definite plans about America; but when at Genoa we found +we could ship the car on a pretty little Italian vessel and join the +same little ship ourselves at Naples, all for a very reasonable sum. I +took the shipping man to the hotel garage, turned the car over to him, +and the thing was done. + +So we traveled by rail to Pisa, to Florence, to Rome, to Naples and +Pompeii, stopping as we chose; for, as I say, no one could tell when +Europe would be a visiting place again, and we must see what we could. + +So we saw Italy, in spite of the rain that fell pretty regularly, and +the rather sharp days between-time. We did not know that those rains +were soaking down to the great central heat and would produce a terrible +earthquake presently, or we might have been rather more anxious to go. +As it was, we were glad to be there and really enjoyed all the things. + +Yet, there was a different feeling now. The old care-freedom was gone; +the future had become obscure. The talk everywhere was of the war; in +every city soldiers were marching, fine, beautiful regiments, commanded +by officers that were splendidly handsome in their new uniforms. We were +told that Italy would not go to war--at least not until spring, but it +was in the air, it was an ominous cloud. Nowhere in Europe was anything +the same. + +One day our little ship came down from Genoa, and we went aboard and +were off next morning. We lay a day at Palermo, and then, after some +days of calm sailing in the Mediterranean, launched out into the +Atlantic gales and breasted the storms for nearly two weeks, pitching +and rolling, but homeward bound. + + * * * * * + +A year and four months from a summer afternoon when we had stood on the +upper deck of a little French steamer in Brooklyn and looked down into +the hold at a great box that held our car, I went over to Hoboken and +saw it taken from another box, and drove it to Connecticut alone, for +the weather was cold, the roads icy. It was evening when I arrived, +Christmas Eve, and when I pushed back the wide door, drove into the +barn, cut off the engine, and in the dim winter light saw our capable +conveyance standing in its accustomed place, I had the curious feeling +of never having been away at all, but only for a winter's drive, +dreaming under dull skies of summertime and France. And the old +car--that to us had always seemed to have a personality and +sentience--had it been dreaming, too? + +It was cold there, and growing dark. I came out and locked the door. We +had made the circuit--our great adventure was over. Would I go again, +under the same conditions? Ah me! that wakens still another dream--for +days ahead. 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