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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 20:36:31 -0800 |
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diff --git a/old/44076-h/44076-h.htm b/old/44076-h/44076-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index dc232ad..0000000 --- a/old/44076-h/44076-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4581 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Autumn Impressions Of the Gironde, by I. Giberne Sieveking. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -h2 { - margin-top: 3em; - text-align: center; -} - -p { - text-indent: 1em; - margin-top: .1em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .1em; -} - -hr { - clear: both; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -hr.tb { - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - width: 0%; -} - -hr.chap { - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - width: 65% -} - -hr.r30 { - width: 30%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 0; -} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} - -.bt { - border-top: thin solid black; -} - -.center { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; -} - -.right { - text-align: right; -} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps; -} - -.caption { - font-weight: bold; -} - -.figcenter { - max-width: 600px; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - text-align: center; -} - -.advertisement { - border: thin solid black; - max-width: 25em; - margin: auto; - padding: 0.75em; -} - -.advertisement p { - margin-bottom: .5em; -} - -.title { - text-align: center; - font-size: x-large; - text-indent: 0; - word-spacing: 0.5em; -} - -.smalltitle { - margin-top: 1em; - text-align: center; - font-size: small; - text-indent: 0; -} - -.titlep { - margin-top: 3em; - max-width: 30em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.space-above { - margin-top: 5em; -} - -.space-below { - margin-bottom: 5em; -} - -.transnote { - border: thin black dotted; - background-color: #E6E6FA; -} - -div.transnote p { - text-indent: 0em; - margin-left: 1em; - margin-right: 1em; - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Autumn Impressions of the Gironde, by -Isabel Giberne Sieveking - -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: Autumn Impressions of the Gironde - -Author: Isabel Giberne Sieveking - -Release Date: October 30, 2013 [EBook #44076] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTUMN IMPRESSIONS OF THE GIRONDE *** - - - - -Produced by Marc-André Seekamp, Ann Jury and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img id="coverpage" src="images/frontcover.jpg" width="351" height="600" alt="Book cover" /> -</div> - -<h1>AUTUMN IMPRESSIONS<br /> -OF THE GIRONDE</h1> - - -<div class="advertisement"> -<p class="center caption">In Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt. Price 6s.</p> -<p class="title">RUSSIA OF TO-DAY</p> -<p class="center"><small>BY</small></p> -<p class="center"><big>E. VON DER BRÜGGEN</big></p> -<hr class="r30" /> -<p class="center caption">THE TIMES says:—</p> - -<p>"Few among the numerous books dealing with -the Russian Empire which have appeared of late -years will be found more profitable than Baron von -der Brüggen's 'Das Heutige Russland,' an English -version of which has now been published. The impression -which it produced in Germany two years -ago was most favourable, and we do not hesitate to -repeat the advice of the German critics by whom it -was earnestly recommended to the notice of all -political students. The author's reputation has already -been firmly established by his earlier works -on 'The Disintegration of Poland' and 'The Europeanization -of Russia,' and in the present volume -his judgment appears to be as sound as his knowledge -is unquestionable."</p> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a><br /><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"><img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="395" height="600" alt="Frontispiece" /></a> - <p class="center">ANCIENT HEADDRESS IN AIRVAULT (DEUX SEVRES).</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Frontispiece.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="title"><big>Autumn Impressions<br /> -of the Gironde</big></p> -<p class="smalltitle">BY</p> -<p class="title">I. GIBERNE SIEVEKING</p> -<p class="smalltitle">AUTHOR OF<br /> -"Memoir and Letters of Francis W. Newman," and<br /> -"A Turning Point of the Indian Mutiny."</p> -<p class="titlep"> -Once or twice, in every life—it may be in one form, it -may be in another—there comes one day the possibility of a -glimpse through the Magic Gates of Idealism. Some of us -are not close enough to the opening gates to catch a sight -of what lies beyond, but in the eyes of those who have seen—there -is from that moment an ineffaceable, unforgettable -longing. -</p> -<div class="figcenter"> -<img id="printers-mark" src="images/printers-mark.jpg" width="150" height="109" alt="Printer's mark" /> -</div> - -<p class="smalltitle"><i><big>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS</big></i></p> -<p class="smalltitle">LONDON<br /> -<span class="caption" style="font-size: large;">Digby, Long & Co.</span><br /> -18, Bouverie Street, Fleet Street, E.C.<br /> -1910</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> - -<p class="title space-above space-below">TO FRANCE—<br /> -<span class="smcap">The Country of Many Ideals</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - - -<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h2> - -<p>To each man or woman of us there is the Country of -our Ideals. The ideals may be newly aroused; they -may be of long standing. But some time or other, in -some way or other, there is the country; there is the -place; there is the sunny spot in our imagination-world -which <em>calls</em> to us—and calls to us in no uncertain voice.</p> - -<p>It is true we are not always susceptible to that call: -it is true we are not always responsive, but it is there -all the same. Sometimes there comes to us a day when -that "call" is insistent, all-compelling, irresistible; a -day in which it sounds with indescribable music, indescribable -vibration, through that inner world into which -we all go now and again, when days are monotonous -or depressing.</p> - -<p>It is impossible to conjecture why some country, -some place, some woman, should make that indescribable -appeal which lays a hand on the latch of those gates -leading to that world of imagination which exists in most -of us far, far below the placid, shallow waters of conventionalism. -It is impossible to conjecture when or where -the voice and the call will sound in our ears. The man -who hears it will recognise what it means, but will in -no way be able to account for it.</p> - -<p>He will only know with what infinite satisfaction he -is sensible of the touch which enables him to "slip -through the magic gates," as a great friend once expressed -it, into the world of Idealism, of Imagination.</p> - -<p>True, the pleasure, the satisfaction, is elusive. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -can lay no hand upon those wonderful moments which -come thus to him. Even before he is aware that they -have begun, he is conscious that they are already -slipping out of his grasp.</p> - -<p>What play has ever shown this more clearly than -Maeterlinck's "Blue Bird"? Though the children go -from glory to glory of lustrous imagination, though they -can go back to the land of Old Memories, to the land of -the Future, yet they cannot stay there. Though they -see and rejoice to the full in the "Blue Bird," the spirit -of Happiness, yet that one soft stroking of its feathers -is all that is possible before it flies away. For every -Ideal is winged: every Conception of Happiness but a -passing vision. We have but to attempt to grasp them -to find their elusiveness is a fact from which we cannot -get away.</p> - -<p>For me, the France about which I have written in -the following pages is a country which calls to me from -the world of my ideals, from the world of my imagination. -From across the seas that call stirs me and thrills -me indescribably. It is not the France of the Parisian; -it is not the France of the automobilist; it is not -the France of the Cook's tourist. It is the France upon -whose shores one steps at once into <cite>the land of many ideals</cite>.</p> - -<p>I should like here to thank three friends, Messieurs -Henri Guillier, Goulon, and E. G. Sieveking, who have -most kindly given me permission to print their photographs -of the part of France through which I travelled, -and more than all, the greatest friend of all, who alone -made the journey possible.</p> - -<p class="right">I. Giberne Sieveking.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> - -<div class="space-above center" style="font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;">Autumn Impressions<br />of the Gironde</div> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h2> - - -<p>"Mails first!" shouted the captain from -the upper deck, as the steamer from Newhaven -brought up alongside the landing stage -at Dieppe, and the eager flow of the tide of -passengers, anxious to forget on dry land how -roughly the "cradle of the deep" had lately -rocked them, was stayed.</p> - -<p>I looked round on the woe-begone faces of -those who had answered the call of the sea, -and whose reply had been so long and so -wearisome to themselves. Why is it that a -smile is always ready in waiting at the very -idea of sea-sickness? There is nothing -humorous in its presentment; nothing in its -discomfort to the sufferers; but yet to the -bystander it invariably presents the idea of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -something comic, and, to the man whose -inside turns a somersault at the first lurch of -the wave against the side of the steamer, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mal-de-mer</i> -seems both a belittling, as well as a -very uncomfortable, part to play!</p> - -<p>At Dieppe the train practically starts in the -street; and while it waited for its full complement -of passengers, two or three countrywomen -came and knocked with their knuckles -against the sides of the carriages, and held -up five ruddy-cheeked pears for sale. (One -uses the term "ruddy-cheeked" for apples, so -why not for pears, which shew as much cheek -as the former, only of a different shape?)</p> - -<p>The Dining-Car Service of the "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Chemin de -fer de L'Ouest</i>," at Dieppe airs some delightful -"English" in its advertisement cards. For -instance: "A dining-car runs ordinary with -the follow trains." "Second and Third Class -passengers having finished their meals can -only remain in the Dining-Car until the first -stopping place after the station at which a -series of meals terminates and if the exigencies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -of the service will permit." "Between meals.—First -class passengers have free use of the -Restaurant at any time, and may remain -therein during the whole or part of the -journey, if the exigencies of the service will -permit, and notably before the commencement -of the first series of meals and after the last -one." "Second and Third Class passengers -can only be admitted to that section of the -Restaurant which is very clearly indicated -(sic) for their use, for refreshments or the -purchase of provisions between two consecutive -stopping points only. All Second and -Third Class passengers infringing these conditions -must pay the difference from second -or third to first class for that part of the -journey effected in the Dining-Car in infraction -(sic) with the regulations." There is also -this very tantalus-like notification: "Various -drinks as per tariff exhibited in the cars!" -One half expects to see this followed by: -"Persons are requested not to touch the -exhibits!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> - -<p>Beyond Dieppe the country is mostly -divided up into squares, flanked by rows of -trees, looking in the distance more like rows -of ninepins than anything else. From time to -time, along the line, we passed cottages, in -front of which stood a countrywoman in frilled -cap and blue skirt, "at attention," as it were, -holding in her hand, evidently as a badge of -office and signal to our engine-driver, a round -stick, sometimes red, sometimes purple.</p> - -<p>Some of these signallers stood absorbed -in the importance of the work in hand, (or -rather stick in hand), but others had an eye -to the main chance of their own households, -which was being enacted in the cottage behind -them, whether it concerned culinary arrangements -or the goings-on of the children, and -while she wielded the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">batôn</i> in the service of -her country, she minded (as we have been so -often assured is woman's distinctive, though -somewhat narrowed, province!) things of low -estate—such as her saucepan, her <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pot-au-feu</i>, -her baby.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the far corner of our carriage, in black -beaver, cassock and heavy cloak, with parchment-like -countenance, much-lined brow, and -controlled mouth, sat a young <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">curé</i>. He was -engaged in saying a prolonged "Office," but -this did not hinder him from taking occasionally, -"for his stomach's sake, and his -other infirmities," a little snuff from time to -time.</p> - -<p>We were bound for Paris, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en route</i> for -Arcachon. The train, as it went along, -disturbed crowds of finches, and amongst -them here and there a large sort of bird with -black head and wings and white back, which -I could not identify, though it seemed to belong -to the crow tribe, to judge by the shape -of its body and manner of its flight.</p> - -<p>From time to time we passed little sheltered -villages: quiet, grey-roofed, sentinelled by -the inevitable poplar, and traversed by a -little softly-shining stream. The meadows -were full of soft, feathery-plumaged trees, -of all shades of delicate tints; from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -yellow tint of the evening primrose to the -pink of the campion, and the shade of a -robin's breast. An old countrywoman in a -full satiny skirt, carrying a long pole over -her shoulder, was striding energetically across -a field as we passed.</p> - -<p>How one country gives the lie to another -which holds as a dictum—immutable, irreversible—that -outdoor labour is not possible for -women! All over France men and women -share equally the toil of the fields, and no one -can say that it has not developed a strong, -healthy type of woman, nor that the work is -not effectively done. In some places I even -saw women at work on the railway lines.</p> - -<p>A few miles farther on we came upon an -orchard of leafless fruit-trees sprawling across -a soft green slope; behind them, a little forest -of pine trees, their bare trunks <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chassez-croisezing</i> -against a pale saffron sky as we whirled -by. Gnarled willows, with a diaphanous -purple haze upon their bare boughs, came -into sight, a goat quietly grazing at their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -roots; little meandering streams pottering -quietly along between willow trees; here and -there splendid old slated-roofed farm-houses, -some with climbing trees trained up the front -in regular, parallel lines.</p> - -<p>Soon little plantations appeared, covered -over with diminutive vines trailed up stout, -white sticks; at a little distance they looked -like clusters of dried red-brown leaves tied up -by the stem, and drooping at the top. Seen -in the gloom, from a little distance in the -train, these lines of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petits vignoles</i> looked -like a detachment of foot soldiers marching -in file, with rifle on shoulder. We had, of -course, come just too late for the vintage; -the day of the vines was over for this year.</p> - -<p>Now and again we caught sight of long -strips of some vivid green plant, unknown to -me, but resembling nothing so much as a -certain delicious chicory and cream omelet -on which we had regaled ourselves at Paris! -Magpies, here and there, fluttered over the -white stretch of sandy road, giving the effect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -of black letter type on a dazzling white page -of paper.</p> - -<p>An old woman in a blue skirt presented, as -she bent over the stubble, a sort of counter-paned -back, patched with all sorts of different -coloured pieces of cloth: a little further on, a -man, in white apron and bib, was strolling -along a furrow scattering handfuls of what -looked like white flour from a basket slung -over his left arm. Up a winding country -road wound groups of blue-smocked villagers; -the women frilled-capped, the men baggily-trousered. -Under the roofs of some of the -cottages were hanging bunches of some herb -or other to dry. At the corner of the road a -picturesque blue cart was lying on its side, -making a useful bit of local colour, though -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">passé</i> as regards utilitarian purposes. On the -higher ground were windmills, dotted about -in profusion: some of them had taken up a -position on the top of some pointed cottage -roof.</p> - -<p>Over some of the cultivated strips of land<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -were placed, at intervals, sticks with what -suggested a touzled head of hair, but which -was in reality composed of loose strands of -straw. Along the sides of these strips lie -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">citronnes</i> (which, on mature acquaintanceship -with the district, I find are a sort of -vegetable used largely in soup) strewn loosely -and carelessly about on the ground to ripen. -The trees not far from St. Pierre des Corps -seem a great deal infested by various kinds of -fungi: that kind, whose scientific name I -forget, which grows bunchily, in shape like a -bird's nest, and which give a sort of uncombed -appearance to the branches.</p> - -<p>We had intended, originally, to stop at -Tours for the night but, finding that our -doing so would involve two changes, we -altered our minds, and determined to go -straight on to Bordeaux. Then ensued the -enormous difficulty of rescuing our luggage; -for, as everyone who has travelled much abroad -knows, the "red tape" which is always tied, -with great outward ceremony and pomp of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -circumstance, round one's goods and chattels -when travelling by train, is exceedingly difficult -to undo, and especially so at short notice.</p> - -<p>However, my companion plunged promptly -<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">in medias res</i> when, at the Junction, the train -allowed us a few minutes on the loose, and we -contrived to get our luggage out of the consignment -labelled for Tours—though it was at -the very bottom of all the other trunks—and -transferred into the Bordeaux train, while I -secured from the buffet a basket of pears, -some rolls and cold chicken, flanked by a -bottle of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vin ordinaire</i>. And, while on the -subject of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vin ordinaire</i>, though there is an -old, well-worn saying to the intent that "good -wine needs no bush," yet I cannot help planting -a little shrub to the honour of the wine -of the country in the fair country of the -Gironde.</p> - -<p>Without exception, I found it excellent, -and I can say in all sincerity, that I do not -desire a better meal or better wine to wash it -down, while travelling, than is put before one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -in the restaurants of Bordeaux and the neighbourhood, -especially in the country villages. -Seldom have I spent happier meal-times than -were those I passed opposite the two sentinelling -bottles, one of white wine, the other of -red, which flanked (without money and without -price) the simple, excellently-cooked, -second <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner</i> or <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table d'hôte</i>, whichever -it might chance to be.</p> - -<p>Dr. Thomas Fuller, of blessed memory, has -left behind the wise injunction that no man -should travel before his "wit be risen." -An addendum might very well be added that -he should not travel before his judgment be -up as well, and if Englishmen, who travel so -much more in body than in spirit, always saw -to it that both their "wit" and their judgment -accompanied them to valet their mental equipment -on their travels, their somewhat insular -views as regards foreign ways of doing things, -and foreign productions (such as the much, -and unjustly, decried <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vin ordinaire</i>, for instance,) -would be brushed up and cleared of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -the cobwebs of tradition that are, in so many -cases, over them even in the present year of -grace.</p> - -<p>To return, after this digression. After leaving -Blois, the land was mapped out in larger -squares of vineyards, in which a different -kind of vine was growing: taller and bigger -than the ones we had passed earlier in the -day. These were dark brown in leafage, -topped by a sort of flowery head. At the -head of all the trees, that were denuded of -foliage, there was a little round cap of yellow -leaves, growing conically, and presenting a -very curious effect when seen on the verge of -a distant line of landscape. In France trees -are assisted and instructed in their manner of -growth.</p> - -<p>Poitiers was our next stop; it was just -growing dusk as we slowed into the station. -Surely few cities offer more suggestive -environment for mystery and romance than -does Poitiers, seen by the fading light of a -November afternoon. Dim heights surround<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -the city; a broad, grey river, in parts a dazzle -of steely points, flows round the outskirts; -a glimpse is seen here and there, of spire, -tower and battlements rising from out the -midst of wooded heights; of grey, winding -roads leading steeply down from the city on -the hill, to the valleys and ravines beneath.</p> - -<p>We had an additional adjunct to the -general picturesqueness in a long procession -of priests, some wearing birettas, some -sombreros, accompanied by serried ranks of -country-women in the long-backed white caps -peculiar to the district, with long, stiff white -strings hanging loose over the shoulder. It -was evidently the end of some pilgrimage. -Poitiers is a city of many priests and religious -orders, both of men and women; of monasteries -and nunneries.</p> - -<p>When the procession had wended its way -out of the station, the platform was appropriated -by men carrying baskets of eggs, -coloured with cochineal. Now, as everyone -who has travelled much in this part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -France is aware, really new-laid eggs, and -matches, are apparently not indigenous, so -to speak, for neither can be procured without -enormous difficulty. I could have made -quite a fortune over a few little boxes of -English safety matches I possessed! Nevertheless, -sufficiently ill-advised as to buy some -of these eggs, we found that the colour was -distinctly appropriate; for the red of the -eggs' autumn was upon them, both materially -and metaphorically.</p> - -<p>This information was conveyed to us -promptly on "taking their caps off" (as a -child once happily expressed it to me). -Their "autumn" tints were very much -"turned" indeed, and, in consequence, they -speedily made their "last appearance on any -stage" on the road far beneath! I remember -on one occasion when remonstrating with the -proprietor of a hotel, regarding the flavour of -much keeping that hung about his new-laid -eggs, he remarked that he only "took them -as the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">poulets</i> laid them down!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - -<p>Directly after quitting Poitiers the air began -to feel sensibly warmer, until, when near -Bordeaux, it became quite soft and balmy. -At Libourne, opposite our carriage was a -cattle truck with this label upon it—"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Un -cheval, trois chèvres, deux chiens, non accompagnées</i>" -and, while reading it, from the dark -interior—for oral information—there came two -or three pathetic little bleats! Were they, we -wondered, from one of the three goats, -who were no longer unaccompanied, but too -closely in company with one of the dogs? -Before we had time for more than momentary -speculation, the double blast of the -guard's tin trumpet blared; there sounded his -regulation short whistle, his hoarse cry of -"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">En voiture</i>," the final wave, then the tip-tap -of his sabots along the platform; a final -glimpse of his flat white cap, swinging hooded -cloak, and swaying, four-sided lantern, while -he turned to grasp the handle of his van, as -the engine, started at last by reiterated suggestion, -moved slowly out of the station.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> - -<p>As the train had a prolonged wait at the -first of the two Bordeaux stations, eventually -we did not reach our end of Bordeaux till -between ten and eleven o'clock at night, and -far nearer to eleven than ten. Then ensued -a long search for our possessions, sunk deep -in the nether regions of the luggage van. -When at length they were unearthed we -started through darkened, noisy streets for our -destination, which it seemed to take an eternity -of jolting over rough cobbled stones to reach. -However, we did reach it in course of time, -and found the proprietor, a sleepy chambermaid, -and a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">concierge</i> in the hall of the hotel -to receive us.</p> - -<p>As one steps over the threshold of any -hotel, whether it be at morning, noon or night, -one is conscious I think, at once, of being -greeted by a whiff of the hotel's own local -spiritual atmosphere: its personal note of -individuality, so to speak; and, as it reaches -one, there is an immediate instinct of self-congratulation -(if the atmosphere be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -pleasant one), or of regret at one's choice, if -the reverse be the case. In this case it was -the latter, but we had gone too far (and too -late!) to retreat now.</p> - -<p>Nearly all French hotel bedrooms that I -have ever been in seem to have a surplusage -of doors; it may be due to the same idea as -when, in the case of a theatre, numerous exits -are provided to ensure the safety of the -audience; but, whatever the reason, the fact -remains that the doors are largely in excess -of what we consider necessary in England. -Sometimes, indeed, one can hardly see the -room for the doors! Sometimes, again, besides -having a few dozen doors on each side of the -bedroom, the windows open on to a balcony -which is connected with all the other bedrooms -on that side of the hotel, and, to give -as much insecurity as possible, the windows -decline to shut! It is thus indeed brought -home to me that the French are pre-eminently -a sociable people!</p> - -<p>A man told me that once he slept in a bed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>room abroad which had eleven doors. Three -or four of them opened into large <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">salons</i>.</p> - -<p>Then, too, there is so often a difficulty -about the keys of the emergency (?) doors. -In most cases that I remember there were no -keys; either they had never been fitted with -them, or else they had been found to be a -superfluity and lost. And all the precaution -the occupier of the room could take against -invasion was a diminutive little bolt, too weak -and flimsy to be of any real use.</p> - -<p>I remember sleeping once in a room of this -sort, where the doors were innocent of any -locks or keys, and my companion and I took -the precaution, therefore, before retiring to -rest, of piling up a tower (which would have -been a tower of Babel had it fallen!) of all -sorts and kinds of articles. It reached, I -think, almost to the top of the door.</p> - -<p>In the morning, roused by the knock of -the chambermaid, we only just remembered -in time, after calling out the customary permission -to her to enter, to rescind that per<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>mission. This last proved indeed a saving -clause for her, as the door opened outwards!</p> - -<p>The bedroom at Bordeaux had three -doors. And the proprietor and chambermaid -to whom we showed our dissatisfaction at -there being, as usual, no keys, evidently considered -us very childish to make a fuss over -such a trifle.</p> - -<p>Some other gentleman was sleeping next -door, and I furtively tried the bolt which was -on our side, to see if it was pushed as far as -it would go. This roused the proprietor's -wrath, as he declared the gentleman was one -of his oldest customers, and had been in bed -some hours! After quieting him down, we -barricaded the doors in such ways as were possible -to us, after his and the chambermaid's -departure, and, retiring to rest, passed an uneventful -night. The next morning we made -tracks for Arcachon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h2> - -<p>To go to Arcachon in autumn is to have -spread before one's eyes, for almost the -entire journey, a perfect feast of colour. I -never in my life saw such a magnificent revel -of tints massed together in profusion, scattered -broadcast over the country so lavishly -and unstintingly, as passed rapidly before -my eyes that day.</p> - -<p>The vivid yellow of dwarf acacias; the -brilliant crimson of some of the vines; the -dazzling gold of others; the dark sombre, -olive green of the dwarf pine-trees flecked -here and there with splashes of vivid chrome -yellow from the embroidery on their bark of -some lichen; here and there a high ledge of -thorn trees of pronounced terra-cotta. The -prevailing note of colour everywhere was a -deep russet; in some places merging into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -brilliant orange, picked out in sharp contrast -with the pale yellow leaves of the acacia, and -the fainter speckling of those of the silver -birch, clear against the white glare of its trunk.</p> - -<p>The whole of Nature's paint-box seemed -flung into one passionate last declaration of -colour on the canvas of the dying year. -Flaming red, soft carmine, deepening into -vermilion; rich orange fading to darker -crimson; soft lilac changing swiftly to purple. -The whole atmosphere, as far as the eye -could reach, seemed flaming, shimmering -with a glow as of a gorgeous sunset; red -seemed literally painted deep into the air; it -seemed pulsing with flame colour. High on -the banks were piled the ferns in huge masses -of crimson and rich chocolate brown; here -and there turning to brick red the dying -fronds carpeting thickly the ground all -around and beneath the trees.</p> - -<p>Now and again, coming as almost a relief -from the very excess of vivid colour, would -show up the welcome contrast given by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -stretch of cold lilac slate, and in the middle -distance a line of the faintest rose pink, delicate -in tone, and indefinite as to outline. -Beyond that, the pale blue of the distant pines, -far up the rising ground upon the horizon. -The stems of the pines are a rich, red brown, -flaked in places, and covered, some of them, -with various coloured lichens and fungi. -These trees are, most of them, seamed and -scarred with one slash down the middle for -the resin. At a few inches from the ground -is fastened a little cup, into which the resin -flows, and at certain times men go round to -collect the cupfuls. Each <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">résinier</i> has, in order -to earn his livelihood, to notch three hundred -pines each day; this is done with a sort of -hatchet. The little cups were an invention of a -Frenchman named Hughes, in 1844, but were -never used until some time after his death; so he -personally reaped no benefit from the invention.</p> - -<p>After the oil is collected, it is subjected to -many distillations, some of which, as it is -well known, are used medically. Here and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -there in the woods are stacked, in the shape -of a hut, sloped and sloping, little bundles of -faggots. Under the trees, white against the -sombre shade of the pines, gleam the sandy -paths which traverse the wide heathy plains -which, alternately with the forests, make up -the landscape of this part of the Landes. -These are varied, now and again, by roads the -colour of rich iron ore. The fences here are all -made of the thinnest lath striplings and seem -put up more as suggestions than to compel!</p> - -<p>On the plains, cows wandered, accompanied -always by their own special woman -(generally well on in years, with a huge overshadowing -hat and large umbrella) in waiting, -who paused when the cow paused, moved -on when she moved on, ruminated when she -ruminated,—"Where the cow goes, there go -I," her day's motto. We often saw a solitary -cow meandering about up the middle path between -two clumps of vines, and nibbling thoughtfully -at the leaves of the vines themselves; -these last looking like gooseberry bushes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -Sometimes a countrywoman would drive -three cows in front of her, and besides that -would push a wheelbarrow full of cabbages. -Other women, again, we noticed working on -the line, and some washing in a stream, clad -in red knickerbockers and huge boots.</p> - -<p>As a rule, unlike our own spoilt meadows, -the country is singularly little disfigured by -advertisements, but everywhere we went we -were confronted by the haunting words, -"<cite>Amer picon</cite>," sometimes in placards on a -cottage wall, sometimes in a field, sometimes -blazoned up on a platform. At last it became -so inevitable and so familiar, that we -used to feel quite lost if a day should go by -without a trace of its mystical letters anywhere! -It occurred as continually before our -eyes as the word "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gentil</i>" sounds on one's -ears from the lips of the French madame. -And everyone knows how often <em>that</em> is!</p> - -<p>Just before reaching the station of Arcachon, -our carriage stopped close beside a line of -trucks. French trucks, in this part of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -country, have an individuality all their own. -They have a little twisting iron staircase, a -little covered box seat high above the trucks' -business end, and very wonderful inscriptions -along their sides. On these we made out -that it was etiquette for "Hommes 32, 40," -and "Chevaux 8" to travel together! But -if it were etiquette for them to do so, it -would certainly, in practice, be as cramping -and reasonless as are many of the injunctions -of etiquette in social matters!</p> - -<p>Arrived at Arcachon, we found an array of -curious cabs, furnished inside with curtains on -rings, of all kinds of flowrery patterns in which -very fully-blown roses and enormous chrysanthemums -figured largely. In one of these we -drove to the hotel among the pines, to which -as we thought we had been recommended. It -turned out, later, that we had not been -directed to that hotel at all, but then it was -too late to change. No one in this hotel -could speak a word of English intelligibly. -We found later on that the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">concierge</i> could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -say "va-terre," "Rome," "carrich" and "yes," -but as these words had to be said many times -before they even approached the distant semblance -of any English words one had ever -heard, and as, even when understood, they did -not convey much information, taken singly and -not in connection with any previous sentence, -his assistance as interpreter was not to be -counted on.</p> - -<p>I went the round of the bedrooms accompanied -by the manageress. She managed -a good deal with her hands in the way of -language, and I managed some, with the aid -of my little dictionary, which was my inseparable -companion throughout our entire trip, -always excepting the nights; and even then I -am not sure if I did not have it under my pillow!</p> - -<p>Somehow the hotel had an empty feeling -about its passages and rooms, and the bedroom -shutters were all barred and consequently, -when opened by the manageress, -gave a sort of deserted, half drowsy air to the -rooms, which prevented my being at all im<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>pressed with them. We descended the stairs -again, my companion talking volubly but, to -me, (owing to an unfortunate personal disability -for all languages except my own), -unintelligibly almost.</p> - -<p>On our return to the entrance hall I found -that an expectant group awaited us, consisting -of the hotel proprietor, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">concierge</i>, a -chambermaid, a daughter of the house, my -friend and the coachman of the flowery-papered -cab. Our luggage had also put in an -appearance and was on the step by the door.</p> - -<p>Nothing in the world—as far, of course, -as regards minor matters of life—is so -difficult or so unpleasant to retreat from, as is -hotel, after you have been inspecting it in -company with its authorities, when they -definitely expect you mean to remain, and -when your luggage has been removed from -your cab by your too obsequious coachman! -I felt my decision weaken, die in my throat. -I had fully meant on the way downstairs to -declare a negative to mine host's offer of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -accommodation. Presently I had swallowed -it, for on what ground could I now trump up -an excuse, and direct the removal of our -portmanteaux to an adjoining hotel? and the -next thing was to face the thing like a man -and order our traps to be taken to our room.</p> - -<p>And, after all, we were very fairly comfortable -during our stay, until confronted by an exorbitant -charge at the end—my disinclination -to remain, in the first instance, being merely -due to the somewhat forsaken, gloomy look of -the rooms, giving a certain oppressive introductory -atmosphere to the hotel.</p> - -<p>November is the "off" season at Arcachon, -and I can well understand that it should be -so, for there seemed no particular reason why -anybody should go and stay there at that -time! I had been recommended, rather -mistakenly as it afterwards proved, to try it -for my health, but it was so bitterly cold the -whole time of our stay that I rather regretted -having gone there at all, as I had come -abroad in search of a mild, warm climate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -However, one good point in the hotel was -that the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">salle-à-manger</i> was always well -warmed, and evenly warmed, with pipes round -the walls, and it was exceedingly prettily -situated in the midst of the pines.</p> - -<p>There were but twelve of us who daily -frequented it; and we might almost have -belonged to the Trappist Order for all the -conversation that was heard. Never have I -been at such quiet <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table d'hôtes</i> as those that -took place there. The company consisted of -an old man and his wife, who kept their -table napkins in a flowery chintz case -which the man never could tackle, but left -to the woman's skill to manipulate each evening. -Both seemed to think laughter was -most wrong and improper in public. A consumptive, -very shy young man who had to -have a hot bottle for his feet; a consumptive -older man whose continual cough approached -sometimes, during the courses, to the very -verge of something else, and who passed his -handkerchief from time to time to his mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -for inspection; a very bent and solitary man -by the door who had "shallow" hair growing -off his temples, deeply sunken eyes, black -moustache and receding chin, and who had -the air of a conspirator, and a few other uninteresting -couples.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">menu</i> was delightfully worded sometimes. -Such items as "Veal beaten with -carrots," "Daubed green sauce," "Brains in -butter," proved no more attractive to the -palate than they were to the eye. But, apart -from these delicacies, the fare was exceedingly -appetising; oysters, as common as sparrows, -played always a large part, (the charge per -dozen, 1½ d.) Then, the last thing at night, -our cheerful, bright-faced chambermaid used -to bring us the most delicious iced milk.</p> - -<p>There was a curious, but so far as we -could see un-enforced, regulation hung up in -the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">salle-à-manger</i>, to the effect that if one -was late for <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table d'hôte</i> one would be -punished by a fine of fifty centimes. The -evenings we usually spent in our bedroom; it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -being the off-season there was practically -nowhere else to go to. But it was cosy -enough up there, with our pine log fire -blazing up the chimney, its brown streams -of liquid resin running down the surface of -the wood, alight, and dripping from time to -time in dazzling splashes on to the tiles below.</p> - -<p>The only drawback to our comfort—and it -was a drawback—was that the young man -who had such unpleasant coughs and upheavals -during <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table d'hôte</i> paced restlessly -and creakily up and down overhead continuously, -both in the evening as well as in the -early morning, and was, to judge by the -sounds, always trying the effects of his bedroom -furniture in different parts of the room, -and generally altering its geography. He -had quite as pronounced a craze for patrolling -as had John Gabriel Borkman.</p> - -<p>There are few more irritating sounds, I -think, than a creak, whether it be of the -human boot or of a door. Of the many -penances which have been devised from time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -to time could there be a more irritating form -of nerve flagellation than an insistent, recurring -squeak when you are vainly endeavouring -to write an article, an important letter, or, if -it be night, to get to sleep? A squeak in two -parts, as this particular one was, was calculated -to make one ready for any deed of violence! -One knew so well when one must expect to -hear it, that it got in time to be like the hole -in a stocking which, as an old nurse's dictum -ran, one "looks for, but hopes never to find!" -Thus one half unconsciously listened for the -creak. So great is the power of the Insignificant -Thing!</p> - -<p>There were other sounds which broke the -stillness of the night at Arcachon. In England -cocks crow, according to well-authenticated -tradition, handed down from cock to -cock from primitive times, at daybreak; in -Arcachon they crow all through the night -and, indeed, keep time with the hours. They -have, too, a more elaborate and ornate crow. -They do not accentuate, as ours do, the final<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -"doo," but introduce instead semi-quavers in -the "dle;" so that it sounds thus: "Cock-a-doo-a-doo-dle-doo." -I noticed that they had -a tendency to leave off awhile at daybreak, -while it was yet dark.</p> - -<p>Then, sounding mysteriously and from afar -on one's ear, came the quick tones of the bell -calling to early Mass from the little church -in the village street below.</p> - -<p>Of ancient history Arcachon has its share. -It was, in the thirteenth century, the port of -the Boiens, and in old records one finds it -mentioned under the name "Aecaixon" or -"Arcasson," "Arcanson" being a word used -to designate one of the resin manufactures. -In the beginning of things, Arcachon was -nothing but a desert, its forest surrounding -the little chapel founded by Thomas Illyricus -for the seamen. During the whole of the -middle ages the country had the entire -monopoly of the pine oil industry, which -was turned to account in so many ways.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h2> - -<p>At Arcachon there is an old <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Chapelle -miraculeuse de Notre Dame</i>, adjoining the -newer church, founded about 1520 by Thomas -Illyricus. It contains many of the fishermen's -votive offerings, such as life-belts, -stilts, pieces of rope, and boats and wreaths. -I noticed, too, a barrel, on which were the -words "<cite lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Echappé dans le golfe du Méxique, -1842</cite>." These offerings are hung up near the -chancel, and give a distinct character to it.</p> - -<p>As we came into the little church, a child's -funeral was just leaving it, the coffin borne -by children. We waited by the door till the -sad little procession had gone by, and before -me, as I write, there rises in my memory the -expression on the father's face. It had something -in it that was absolutely unforgettable.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img40" id="img40"><img src="images/img40.jpg" width="600" height="315" alt="Arcachon" /></a> - <p class="center">ARCACHON, MIRACULOUS CHAPEL, 1722.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 40.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>As we passed down the village street, we -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>passed another little procession; two acolytes in -blue cassocks and caps, bearing in their hands -the vessels of sacred oil, a priest following -them in biretta, surplice and cassock, and by -his side a server. I noticed that each man's -cap was instantly lifted reverently, as it -passed him. As they turned in at a cottage, -the whole street down which they had passed -seemed full of the lingering fragrance of the -incense carried by the acolytes.</p> - -<p>Arcachon, at one time, must have been -exceedingly quaint and picturesque, but since -then an alien influence has been introduced -which has—for all artistic purposes—spoilt it. -Facing the chief street—dominating it, as it -were—is the Casino; an ugly, flashy, vulgar -building, out of keeping structurally with -everything near it. It resembles an Indian -pagoda, and when we were there in November -its huge, bleary eyes were shut as it took its -yearly slumber, deserted by Fashion. It was -like an enormous pimple on the quiet, picturesque, -unpretending countenance of this village<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -of the Landes which had been subjected to its -obsession, and that of the two hotels in immediate -attendance.</p> - -<p>The people, however, appear unspoilt and -unsophisticated. At each cottage door sit the -women knitting; and, as one passes, they -pass the time of day, or make some remark or -other, with a pleasant smile.</p> - -<p>When we were at Arcachon telegraph poles -were being put up. The method of setting -up these eminences was distinctly curious, -to the English eye. There was an immense -amount of propping up, and many anxious -glances bestowed on the poles before anything -could be accomplished. The men on whom -this tremendous labour devolves have to wear -curious iron clasps strapped on to their boots, -so that they should be able to dig into the -bark as they swarm up the poles for the poles -are just trunks of pine trees stripped of their -branches, and many of them look very crooked.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In many of the gardens poinsettias were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -flowering, and hanging clusters of a vivid red -flower which our hotel proprietress called -"Songe de Cardinal." It was the same tint -of scarlet as the berries called "Archutus" -or "Arbousses," which grow here in abundance -by the side of the road on bushes, and are like -a large variety of raspberry, a cross between -that and a strawberry. It has a very pleasant -flavour when eaten with cream: this our -waiter confided to me, and, after tasting the -mixture, I quite agreed with him, although the -proprietress had treated the idea with scorn.</p> - -<p>In November the roads, in places, are -red with the fallen fruit of this plant. There -are also curious long brown seed cases which -had dropped from trees something like acacias, -but which have a smaller leaf than our English -variety. The tint of the pods is a warm -reddish brown; they are about the length of -one's forearm, the inner edges all sticky with -resin.</p> - -<p>In the village street the inevitable little -stream, which is encouraged in most French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -towns, runs beside the roadside, and is -fed by all the pailfuls of dirty water that -are flung from time to time into its midst. -The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">plage</i> at Arcachon is not attractive -in autumn, and it is difficult to understand -how it can be a magnet at a warmer time of -the year to the hundreds that frequent it. -An arm of land stretches all round the little -inland pool—for it is not much more than a -pool—in which in summer time the bathers -disport themselves. In November, of course, -it requires an enormous effort of imagination to -picture it full of sailing ships and pleasure boats.</p> - -<p>Murray mentions a particular kind of boat, -long, pointed, narrow and shallow, which was -much to the fore in 1867, and which he -imagined to be indigenous to the soil, so to -speak. But, apparently, they have changed -all that. I only saw one that was built as he -describes, and this was green and black in -colour. He also mentions stilts being worn -by the peasants at Arcachon and the neighbourhood -near the village, but of these we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -saw few traces. There were pictures of them -in an old print of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chapelle</i> built in 1722, -and in a photo of the shepherds of the plains. -The photos, indeed, are numerous in the -whole country of the Gironde of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">anciens -costumes</i>, but when one sets oneself to try and -find their counterparts in real life, evidences -are practically nil. All that remains of them -in these matter-of-fact, levelling days, in which -so much that is quaint, characteristic and -peculiar is whittled down to one ordinary -dead level of alikeness, are the stiff white -caps, varied in shape and size, according to -the district, and the sabots. Some of the -peasants here often go about the streets in -woollen bed-slippers, but most of them use -wooden sabots—pointed, and with leathern -straps over the foot.</p> - -<p>One gets quite used to the sight of two -sabots standing lonely without their inmates -in the entrance to some shop, their toes pointing -inwards, just as they have been left (as if -they were some conveyance or other—in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -sense, of course, they are—which is left outside -to await the owner's return). Continually -the women leave them like this, and proceed to -the interior of the shop in their stockinged feet.</p> - -<p>Sometimes the countrywomen go about -without any covering at all to their heads, -and it is quite usual to see them thus in -church as well as in the streets. The men -wear a little round cap, fitting tightly over the -head like a bathing cap, and very full, baggy -trousers, close at the ankles, dark brown or -dark blue as to colour, and very frequently -velveteen as to material.</p> - -<p>At La Teste, a village close to Arcachon, -the women much affect the high-crowned -black straw hat, blue aprons and blue knickerbockers. -At most of the cottage doors were -groups of them, knitting and chatting; and, -as we passed, the old grandmother of the -party would be irresistibly impelled to -step out into the road to catch a further -glimpse of the strangers within their borders—clad -in quite as unusual garments as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -their own appeared to ours.</p> - -<p>There are no lack of variety of occupations -open to the feminine persuasion: the women -light the street lamps; they arrange and -pack oysters; fish, and sell the fish when -caught. They work in the fields; they tend -the homely cow, as well as the three occupations -which some folk will persist in regarding -as the only ones to which women—never -mind what their talents or capabilities—can -expect to be admitted, viz: the care of -children and needlework and cooking! I saw -one quite old woman white-washing the front -of her cottage with a low-handled, mop-like -broom, very energetically, while her husband -sat by and watched the process, at his ease.</p> - -<p>La Teste stands out in my memory as a -village of musical streets, though of course in -the Gironde it is the exception when one does -not hear little melodious sentences set to some -street call or other. As we passed up the -village street, a woman was coming down -carrying a basket of rogans, a little silvery fish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -with dazzling, gleaming sides, and crying, -"<cite>Derrr ... verai!</cite>" "<cite>Derrr ... verai!</cite>" -with long sustained accent on the final high -note. "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Marchandise!</i>" was another call -which sounded continually, and its variation, -"<cite>Marchan-dis ... e!</cite>"</p> - -<p>Passing through Bordeaux, I remember a -very curiously sounding street-hawk note: it -did not end at all as one expected it to end. -I could not distinguish the words, and was -not near enough to see the ware.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But the human voice was not the only -street music, for as we sat on one of the -benches that are so thoughtfully placed under -the lee of many of the cottages at La Teste, -there fell on our ears a sound from a distance -which somehow suggested the approach of a -Chinese procession: "Pom-pom-pom-pom-pom-pom!" -mixed with the sharp "ting-ting" -of brass, and the duller, flatter tone of wood, -sweet because of the suggestion of the trickling -of water which it conveys.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> - -<p>A procession of cows turned the corner of -the long street and moved sedately towards -us, their bells keeping time with their footsteps, -their conductor, as seems the custom -in these parts, leading the detachment. It -was followed by a little cart drawn by two -dogs, in which sat a countrywoman, much too -heavy a weight for the poor animals to drag.</p> - -<p>La Teste itself is a picturesque little -village, and larger than it looks at first sight. -Each cottage has its own well, arched over. -Up each frontage, lined with outside shutters, -is trained the home vine, while little -plantations of vines abound everywhere. -The women travel by train with their heads -loosely covered with shawls, when not wearing -the stiff caps or hats, and it is very usual -for them to carry, as a hold-all, a sort of little -waistcoat buttoning over a parcel; a waistcoat -embroidered with some device or other.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img51" id="img51"><img src="images/img51.jpg" width="432" height="600" alt="Shepherds" /></a> - <p class="center">THE GIRONDE SHEPHERDS.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 51.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>Coming back to Arcachon, we met a typical -old peasant woman, with two huge straw -baskets—one white and one black, a big<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -stick, and a black handkerchief tied over -her head, and a most characteristic face, -crumpled, seamed and lined with all the -different hand-writings over it that the pencil -of Fate had drawn during a long lifetime. -When young, the peasant women of the -Landes are not striking. The peculiar -characteristics of the face are unvarying; you -meet with them everywhere all about the -Gironde and Bordeaux. The faces are -sallow, low-browed, with dark hair and eyes. -They are brisk-looking, but just escape being -either pretty or noticeable. Most of the -women, too, that we saw, were of small -stature and insignificant looking. It is when -they are old that the beauty to which they -are heir, is developed. The women of the -Landes are evening primroses: the striking -quality of their faces comes out after the heyday -of life is over. It seems that the face of -the Gironde woman needs many seasons of -sun and heat to bring out the sap of the -character. The autumn tints are beautiful -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>in faces, as in trees. Theirs is the beauty -that Experience—that Teacher of the Thing-as-it-is—brings; -and it is in the clash of the -meeting of the peculiar personality with the -experience from outside, that character springs -to the birth. You see—if you can read it—their -life, in the eyes of the dweller by the -countryside. In a more civilised class one -can but read too often, what has been put -on with intention, as a mask. Civilisation -and convention eliminate individuality, as -far as possible, and they recommend dissimulation, -and we, oftener than not, take -their recommendation.</p> - -<p>So in all countries, and in all ages, Jean -François Millet's idea is the right one—that -to find life at its plainest, at its fullest, one -should study it, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">au fond</i>, in the lives of the -sons and daughters of the soil. Their open-air -life prints deep on their faces the divine -impress of Nature, obtainable, in quite the -same measure, in no other way; they have -become intimate with Nature, and have lived<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -their everyday life close to her heart-beats. -What she gives is incommunicable to others: -it can only be given by direct contact, and -can never be passed on, for only by direct -contact can the creases of the mind, caused -by the life of towns and great cities, be -smoothed out, and a calm, strong, new breadth -of outlook given.</p> - -<p>I remember a typical face of this kind. -We had been out for a day's excursion from -Arcachon, and, coming home, at the station -where we took train, there got into our -carriage, a mother and daughter. After getting -into conversation with them—a thing they -were quite willing to do, with ready natural -courtesy of manner,—we learned that the -mother was eighty-one years old and had -worked as a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheuse</i> in her young days. She -had a fine old face, wrinkled and lined with a -thousand life stories. Kindly, pathetic, had -been their influence upon her, for her eyes and -expression were just like a sunset over a -beautiful country: it was the beauty that is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -only reached when one has well drunk at the -goblets of life—some of us to the bitter dregs—and -set them down, thankful that at last it is -growing near the time when one need lift -them to one's lips no more.</p> - -<p>The mother told me that the women -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheuses</i> could not earn so much as the -men, three francs a day—perhaps only thirty -centimes—being their ordinary wage. She -turned to me once, so tragically, with such a -sudden world of sorrow rising in her eyes. -"I have worked all my life in the fields, and -at fishing, and now, one by one, all whom I love -have left me, and I am so lonely left behind."</p> - -<p>"Ah, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">c'est malheureux</i>!" exclaimed the -daughter, turning sympathetically to her.</p> - -<p>We parted at Arcachon station, but how -often since, have I not seen the face of the -old mother looking sadly out of our carriage -window, the tears gathering slowly in her -eyes as she remembered those with whom she -had started life, and whom death had distanced -from her now, so far.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> - -<p>There are two distinguishing characteristics -of the villages of the Landes as we saw -them, and these are the absence of beggars -and of drunkenness—I didn't see a single -drunken man. As one knows, it is somewhat -rare to meet with them in other parts of -France, and one remembers the story of the -English barrister who was taken up by the -police and thought to be drunk (so seldom had -they been enabled to diagnose drunkenness), -and taken off to the lock-up! It turned -out that he was only suffering from an -over-emphasised Anglicised pronunciation -of the French language, studied (without -exterior aid) at home, before travelling -abroad.</p> - -<p>Thrift and sobriety are two virtues which -generally go in company—they are very much -in evidence in the country of the Gironde to-day. -Happy the land where this is the case! -Unfortunately it is not the case in England -now, nor has been indeed for many a long year. -Think of the difference too there is in manner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -between the countrymen of our own England -and that of France. One cannot travel -in this part of France without meeting -everywhere that simple, native courtesy which -is so spontaneously ready on all occasions. -It is a perfect picture of what the intercourse -of strangers should be.</p> - -<p>As a nation, we are apt to be stiff and awkward -in our initial conversation with a stranger. -We require so long a time before we thaw -and are our natural selves; our introductory -chapters are so long and tiresome.</p> - -<p>But to the Frenchman, <em>you are there!</em> that -is all that matters. You do not require to -be labelled conventionally to be accepted; -there is such a thing, in his eyes, as an intimate -strangership, and it is this very immediateness -of friendliness and smile, that makes the -charm of those unforgettable day-fellowships -of intercourse which are so possible in France -and—so difficult in England. How many -such little cordial acts of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">camaraderie</i> come -back to my mind, perhaps some of them only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -ten minutes in duration, perhaps even less -than that, and consisting solely in some -spontaneous sympathy during travelling incidents; -in the kindly, ready recognition of a -difficulty, in the quick appreciation maybe of -the humour of some idyll of the road. Whatever -it is, you are at home and in touch at -once for a happy moment, even if nothing -more is to come of the brief encounter.</p> - -<p>In a garden near the post-office at Arcachon -we came upon this startling notice: "Beware -of the wild boar!" Then there followed -an injunction to the wild boar himself: -"Beware of the snare," in the same sort -of way as "Mind the step" is sometimes -written up! Making inquiries later at the -hotel, I found that there were plenty of -wild boars in the forest of Arcachon, and -that in winter time they often ventured -into the town. Hunting parties, for the -purpose of limiting family developments, are -organised from time to time throughout the -winter.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img57" id="img57"><img src="images/img57.jpg" width="441" height="600" alt="Shepherd and woodsmen" /></a> - <p class="center">SHEPHERD AND WOODSMEN, ARCACHON.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 57.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> -<p>As regards the forest of Arcachon, we -were struck specially by the fungi of all sorts -and colours, that grow at the foot of the trees, -and on the vivid green branching, long-stalked -moss that envelops the surface of the ground: -deep violet, orange, soft blue, brilliant yellow, -scarlet and black spotted, dingy ink-black -were some of the colours that I noted. Indeed, -I did more than "note" them, for I picked a -fair-sized basket full, took them back to the -hotel, did them up carefully and despatched -them to the post-office, where they refused -to send them to England, saying that, -owing to recent stipulations, they were not -allowed to send such commodities by parcel -post any longer. Crestfallen and disappointed, -I had to unpack that gorgeous paint-box -of colours again, and left them on my -window ledge to enjoy them myself before -they deliquesced.</p> - -<p>In the forest here is no sound of birds. Too -many have been shot for that to be possible -any longer, and consequently a strange, eerie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -silence prevails over everything. Alas! I saw -no birds at all, except a few long-tailed tits. -The sunlight lay roughly gleaming on the -red-brown needles below the dark pine trees, -and grey and soft on the white, silvery sand. -No other colour broke the sombre, olive green -of the foliage overhead, but here and there -flecks of vivid yellow, from the heather growing -sparsely in clumps, spattered like a flung -egg upon the banks. The stems of the pines -are a rich red-brown, flaked and covered in -places with soft, green lichen.</p> - -<p>The hotel was not a place where one got -much change in the matter of guests, but -people came in for lunch now and again <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en -route</i> for somewhere else; and I shall never -forget one such party. It consisted of a father, -mother and two small infants of about one and -a half and two and a half years of age. The -children fed as did the parents. I watched with -interest the courses which were packed into -these children's mouths. Radishes, roast -rabbit, egg omelet, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vin ordinaire</i> and milk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -mixed (or one after the other, I really forget -which!) From time to time they were attacked -by spasms of whooping-cough, which -rendered the process of digestion even more -difficult than it would otherwise have been. -One of the children had a cherubic face, and -each time a doubtful morsel was crammed into -his mouth he turned up his eyes seraphically -to heaven as he admitted it, but—if he -disliked its taste—only for time enough to -turn it over once in his mouth previous to -ejecting it! The parents never seemed to be in -the least deterred from pressing these morsels -on him, however often they returned.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">concierge</i> at our hotel, (he who knew -four words of English), was a distinct character. -He would often come up to our room -after <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table d'hôte</i> for a chat, on the pretence of -making up our already glowing log fire. But -whenever a bell rang he would instantly stop -talking and cock his ears to hear if it were two -peals or one, for two peals were <em>his</em> summons, -and one only the chambermaid's. Before we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -left we added to his stock of English, and it -was a performance during the hearing of -which no one could have kept grave. "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ah, -c'est difficile</i>," he exclaimed after trying -ineffectually to achieve a correct pronunciation: -"<cite>Pad-dool you-r-y-owe carnoo!</cite>"</p> - -<p>He told us that, as a rule, a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">concierge</i> was -paid only fifty francs, but sometimes he got -as much as 250 francs a month in <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pourboires</i> -from the guests in the hotel. A <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">femme de -chambre</i> would make twenty-five francs a -month at a hotel. Neither <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">concierge</i> nor <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">femme -de chambre</i> would be given more than eight -days' notice if sent away. At this hotel he had -no room to himself, no seat even (we often -found him sitting on the stairs in the evening) -and up most nights until half-past twelve, and -yet he had to rise up and be at work, each -morning by half-past five.</p> - -<p>In the summer months it seemed the -custom to go further south to some hotel or -other, guests spending half the year at one -place, and half at another.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img61" id="img61"><img src="images/img61.jpg" width="600" height="350" alt="Huts of the Fishermen" /></a> - <p class="center">GUJAN-MESTRAS,<br />Huts of the Fishermen, and "Parcheurs" (Oyster Catchers).</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 61.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h2> - -<p>By far the most interesting village in -the neighbourhood of Arcachon, is Gujan-Mestras.</p> - -<p>Gujan-Mestras is the centre of the oyster -fishery, and that of the royan, which is a -species of sardine. Nearly all royans indeed -are caught there. The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">patois</i> of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheurs</i> -and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheuses</i> (oyster catchers) we were told, -is partly Spanish. They can talk our informant -said, very good French, but when any -strangers are present they talk a sort of -Spanish <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">patois</i>. "For instance, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">une fille</i> would -be <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la hille</i>," he explained. "The Spaniards -talk very slowly, as do the Italians; it is only -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">les Anglais qui, je trouve, parlent très vite</i>." -The oysters of Gujan-Mestras are of worldwide -renown. Among others, it will be -remembered, Rabelais praised highly the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>oysters of the Bassin d'Arcachon. And indeed, -it cannot fail to be one of the most important -places for oyster-culture and the breeding -ground of the young oyster, considering what -the annual production is—more than a million -of oysters, young, middle-aged, and infants -under age.</p> - -<p>The day I first saw Gujan-Mestras there -was a grey, lowering sky, and everything was -dun-coloured. But the port was alive with -activity, interest, and excitement. The huts, -which face the bay, are built all on the same -pattern—of one story, dark brown in colour, -wooden-boarded, and roofed with rounded, -light yellow tiles, which look in the distance -like oyster shells. Over the doors of some are -little inscriptions: over some a red cross is -chalked, or a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fleur de lys</i>. The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheurs</i> do not -sleep here; they live in the village above, but -these huts are simply for use while they are at -work during the day.</p> - -<p>A road leads up from the station lined with -these huts, and a long row of them faces the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -bay and skirts one side of it. Beside the -water are many clumps of heather tied up at -the stalks, which are for packing purposes: -and there are also many wooden troughs, -sieves, and trestles. The boats used for fishing -are mostly long and narrow, black or -green as to colour, and with pointed prows. -Most of them had the letters "ARC," and a -number painted on them: for instance, I -noticed "ARC. 4S 47" upon one name-board. -All the boats have regular, upright staves -placed all along the inner sides, and are -planked with the roughest of boarding.</p> - -<p>The first day I saw Gujan-Mestras, as I -came up to the landing stage, the boats were -all rounding the corner of the headland, which -is crowned by the big crucifix, and crowding -into the little harbour. As they swung -rapidly round, down came the sails with a -flop, and in a moment the gunwales bent low -to the surface of the water. A moment later -still, they grounded on the little beach, and -were instantly surrounded by a great crowd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -of excited, jabbering <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheurs</i>, gesticulating -and arguing energetically. They seemed -to be expecting some one who had failed to -put in an appearance.</p> - -<p>The baskets were soon full of glistening, -steely fish, their greenish, speckled backs in -strong contrast to the grey, oval baskets in -which they lay, heap upon heap.</p> - -<p>The women helped unlade the boats, and -also in cleaning and sorting the fish. One -woman whom I noticed, in an enormous overhanging, -black sun-bonnet, slouched far over -her face, her dress, made of some material like -soft silk, tucked up and pinned behind her, -went clattering along in her wooden sabots, -wheeling the fish before her in a rough wheelbarrow. -They shone literally with a dazzling -centre of light. Then came slowly lumbering -along the road, one of the typical waggons -of the neighbourhood, which are disproportionately -long for their breadth, with huge wheels; -at either end two upright poles, and on each -side a sort of fence of staves, yellow for choice.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> - -<p>Presently this was succeeded by a diminutive -donkey cart, loaded with <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">marchandise</i>, -and covered over in front with a -wide tarpaulin. Inside, I caught sight of a -large pumpkin (presumably), sliced open, its -yellow centre showing up vividly against its -dark background, some cauliflowers, watercress, -etc., while its owner, a burly countryman -in a full blue blouse and cap, excitedly -gesticulated and called out, "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">En avant! -Allez!</i>" to the meek and diminutive one in -front.</p> - -<p>Under a sort of open shelter were rows -of barrels; some arranged in blocks, some -arranged all together in one position. The -whole effect against the glaring yellow of the -vine leaves being a strongly effective contrast, -the barrels being the palest straw colour.</p> - -<p>We were told that the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheuses</i> cannot -make as much as the men: perhaps three -francs a day would be their outside wage. -Indeed sometimes they found it impossible -to earn more than thirty centimes; and, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>withstanding the low wage, the life of a -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheuse</i> is every bit as hard as that of -her countrywoman in the fields.</p> - -<p>At most of the street corners the groups -of peasant women sit and knit behind their -wares, wearing flounced caps, (ye who belong -to the sex that needleworks these garments, -forgive it, if I have appropriated to -the use of the headgear the adjective that of -right belongs to the petticoat!) and many -coloured neckerchiefs. Sometimes they sit in -little sentry boxes, their wares by their side, -but oftener they sit, in open defiance of the -weather, with no shelter above their heads.</p> - -<p>As for the boys, it is almost impossible -to see them without the inevitable short golf -cape, with hood floating out behind, which is -so much affected in that Order! It is difficult -to understand quite why this particular -costume has had such a "run," for one would -imagine it to be rather an impeding garment -for a boy.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img67" id="img67"><img src="images/img67.jpg" width="600" height="316" alt="Gujan-Mestras" /></a> - <p class="center">GUJAN-MESTRAS, OYSTER CATCHERS.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 67.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>Before I came away that afternoon the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>fishing nets were being hung up to dry, -and, as we went along, we could see -groups of men and women cleaning, sorting, -and chopping oysters, and placing them -in the characteristic shallow baskets that -one sees all over the Landes, and some, -on other trestles, were packing them up for -transport. One woman near by was loading -a cart with manure, while her companion—one -of that half of mankind which possesses the -most rights, but does not always (in France) do -the most work—was calmly watching the process, -without attempting to help! It is true -that, in their dress, there was not much to -distinguish the one sex from the other, as -most of the women wore brilliant blue, or -red, knickerbockers, no skirt, and coats, -aprons, and big sabots. Some of the latter -had very striking faces, though weather-beaten. -Anything like the vivid contrast -afforded by the arresting colours of their -knickerbockers, backed by the cold, even grey -of the huts, against which the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheuses</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -were standing, as they worked, it would be -difficult to imagine.</p> - -<p>I believe at La Hume, the adjoining village -to Gujan-Mestras, which appeared to be -dedicated to the goddess of laundry work, -even as this place was dedicated to pisciculture, -the women go about in the same gaudy -leg gear, but I only saw it from the train, as -we had not time to make an expedition to the -spot.</p> - -<p>As we were coming back to the train we -came upon a line of bare tables and chairs, -looking empty, forlorn, and forsaken (the rain -had apparently driven the oyster workers to -the shelter of the huts) beside the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">plage</i>. -Somehow they suggested to me an empty -bandstand, and indeed the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheurs</i> and -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheuses</i> are the factors of the entire -local "music" of the place. Without them -it were absolutely characterless—devoid of -life and meaning.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img68" id="img68"><img src="images/img68.jpg" width="600" height="327" alt="Gujan-Mestras" /></a> - <p class="center">GUJAN-MESTRAS, NEAR ARCACHON.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 68.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>At the station a number of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parcheuses</i> -were waiting. Suddenly, without any note of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>warning, a sudden storm of discussion, heated -and menacing, swept the humble, bare little -waiting-room. It arose with simply a puff of -conversation, but it spread in a moment to -thunder clouds of invective, gesticulations of -threatening import, lightning flashes of anger -from eyes that, only an instant previously, -had been bathed in the depths of phlegm. It -seemed to be concerned (as usual!) with a -matter affecting both sexes, for the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">facteur</i>, -and a young man who accompanied -him, kept suddenly turning round on the -women, and literally flinging impulsive shafts -of fiery retort, beginning with, "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Pourquoi? -Vous êtes vous-même</i>," etc., etc. The dispute -raged with terrific force for a few minutes, -then it was suddenly spent, and, as unexpectedly -as it had begun, it fell away into a -complete silence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h2> - -<p>One of the most spontaneous, infectious -laughs that I have ever heard, was in the -market place at Bordeaux, from a market -woman keeping one of the stalls. It was like -the trill of a lark springing upwards for pure, -light-hearted impulse of gaiety. In it seemed -impressed the whole soul of humour.</p> - -<p>There is so much in a laugh. Some laughs -make one instantly desire to be grave: some -are absolutely mirthless, but are part of one's -conventional equipment, and come in handy -when some sort of a conversational squib has -been thrown into the midst of a drawing-room -full of people, and does not go off as it was -expected to do. But the laugh born of the -very spirit of humour itself is rare indeed.</p> - -<p>The laugh of the woman in the market -place at Bordeaux, was one of these last.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -What provoked it I have forgotten, but I -rather fancy it was in some way connected -with my camera, as a few moments later she -was exclaiming to her companions, her whole -face beaming with pleasure, "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ah! je suis pris! -je suis pris!</i>" Her voice was like a little, -dancing, sparkling Yorkshire beck that is -continually and musically, garrulous. It was -full of those little sympathetic descents, when -pitying or condoling, which never fall on -one's ear so delicately as from a Frenchwoman's -tongue. How heavily drag most of -our own chariot wheels of voice modulation -compared with hers! For her sentences in -this respect are all coloured, and ours are -often inexpressive, often humourless.</p> - -<p>It may be—and perhaps this is a possible -hypothesis—that our words mean more than -hers, but to be bald, if only in expression, is -almost as bad as to be bald on the top of -one's head!</p> - -<p>In the market our first glimpse in the dull -gloom of the tarpaulins, was of huge pumpkins<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -sliced open, their vivid yellow showing in -sharp outline against the sooty black of the -flapping canvas: cool pineapples wearing -still their soft prickly leaves and stalks; the -dull crimson of the beetroot: the large open -baskets filled with <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ceps</i>, (the fungus common -in the neighbourhood, which is like a mushroom, -only much larger, and with tiny roots -at its base), and with the curious looking bits -of warty earth, or dried, dingy sponges, which -truffles resemble more than anything else, -when first gathered. There was a continuous -conversation from all quarters going on as we -entered the market, which fell on one's ears -like the roar of surf on a distant shore.</p> - -<p>In one corner, a little party of four stall -holders was sitting down to dinner. The -inevitable little bottle of red wine figured on -the table, and some hot stew had just been -produced, accompanied by the familiar twisted -roll of bread which is always a welcome adjunct -to any board, whether of high degree or -low—the medium betwixt the bread and lip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -of course being the knife of peculiar shape -which one sees everywhere.</p> - -<p>Everywhere one met with a ready smile, -charming courtesy and kindly interest. For -some unknown reason we were taken for -Americans in almost every place to which we -went! Occasionally, I must confess, I received -more "interest" than I care for. For -instance, when sketching in the Rue Quai-Bourgeois, -I was sometimes aimed at from an -upper window with bits of stale bread and -apple parings, which luckily failed of their -mark and fell harmlessly at my feet! And -when trying to "take" some old doorway, -people, now and again governed by the idea -that human nature must always surpass in -interest their dwellings, would strike a pose -in the doorway, or leaning against the doorpost -itself, hinder one's getting sight of it in -its entirety.</p> - -<p>Not content even with this, it did on -occasion happen that a man would come so -close to the lens of the camera that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -literally blocked it up! Once a whole family -party came down and stood, or sat, in becoming -attitudes before the door, all having -assumed the pleasing smile which they consider -to be a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">sine quâ non</i> on such occasions. -It really went to my heart not to take them, -but I was reserving my last plate that afternoon -for a particularly charming old doorway -farther on. As I turned away I saw with the -tail of my eye the smiles smoothing themselves -out, the man's arm slipping down from -the waist of the girl beside him, the surprised -disappointment sweeping across the group of -faces like a cloud across the sun, and I almost -"weakened" on my doorway!</p> - -<p>I remember once, some years ago, in Belgium, -my modest camera attracted so much attention -that I speedily became the centre of an -enormous crowd, which increased every -minute in bulk, so that at last the street was -blocked and all traffic suspended.</p> - -<p>Bordeaux is a city of barrels. They are -the first thing you see as you leave the station.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -They line the quay side: barrels yellow, -barrels green, barrels blue. They meet you -daily as you pass along the streets, whether -they lie along the road, or whether they are -being conveyed in one of the large, fenced-in -carts, whose horses are covered with a faded -"art-green" horse cloth, and who wear over -the collar a curious black wool top-knot.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h2> - -<p>Bordeaux has a fine quay side. Bridges, -shipping, old buildings, spread of river, variety -of local colour, all combine to give it this.</p> - -<p>Of course to-day it has gained many -modern aids to commerce, notably among -these the steam tram with its toy trumpet; -and what it has gained in these aids it has -lost in picturesqueness. But still it has -kept variety, that saving clause, in colour. -About the streets you can see the reign -of colour still in office. Cocked-hat officials, -brilliantly red-coated; the labourers loading -and unloading on the quay side in blue -knickers, with lighter blue coat surmounting -them; the stone masons in weather-beaten -and weather-faded scarlet coats; costumes of -soft grey-green, with sparkling glisten of -silver buttons down the front; and every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>where in evidence the flat-topped, round cap, -gathered in at its base.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img76" id="img76"><img src="images/img76.jpg" width="600" height="354" alt="Bordeaux" /></a> - <p>[<i>From Collection of Mr Gustavus A. Sieveking.</i></p> - <p class="center">THE QUAY, BORDEAUX, 1842.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 76.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>The expression of the French boy is not as -that of the English boy, in the same way as -the expression of the French dog differs -widely from that of his English relation. -Somehow it always seems to me that the -French boy misses the jolly bluffness of -demeanour of our boys, though he has a -quiet, collected, reflective look. But when -you come to the French dog, whether it be -the poodle, or that peculiar spotted yellow, -squinting variety which is the street arab of -Bordeaux, you understand the difficulty an -English dog finds in translating a French -dog's bark.</p> - -<p>Along the quay side, is a sort of rough -gutter market; chock full of stalls, which are -crowded with all sorts of colours, and a perfect -babel as regards noise. Some of the stalls -were placed under big tarpaulin umbrellas, -some striped blue, some a dirty olive-green, -others under tents—dirty yellowish white for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9278" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -choice—one under a carriage umbrella, or -what had once been a carriage umbrella, but -had lost its handle and its claims to consideration -by "carriage folk."</p> - -<p>All the stalls were in close proximity; and -pots and pans of all sorts and sizes, harness -of all sorts—generally out of sorts—long -broom handles, chestnuts peeled and unpeeled, -little yellow cakes on the simmer over a brazier, -fruits, vegetables, saucepans, kitchen utensils, -nails, knives, scissors and every variety of -implement jostled each other, with no respect -of articles. Each booth possessed a -curious, arresting smell of its own. It met -you immediately on your entrance, accompanied -you a foot or so as you moved on, and -then suddenly let go of you, as you were assailed -by the smell that was indigenous to -the stall coming next in order. It was a -kaleidoscope of colour, a German band as to -noise.</p> - -<p>One old woman, with a faded green pin-cushion -on her head, tied with black tape<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -over her striped handkerchief, a broad red -handkerchief over her shoulders, and carrying -coils of ropes, was ubiquitous. One met her -everywhere, and she carried her own perfume -thick upon her wherever she went, but she -always left sufficient behind in her own -particular booth to keep up its character and -special personal note. As I left the excited, -jabbering crowd, a countrywoman, seeing the -prey about to make its escape, darted out -from her stall and seized me by the shoulder, -pressing on me at the same time two large -fish arranged on a cabbage leaf.</p> - -<p>I came along the quay side later in the -evening and all the sails—I mean the booths—were -furled, carriage umbrella and all; and -the low row of furled umbrellas, standing -asleep and casting long dark shadows in the -dim light, like so many owls, gave a quaint, -extraordinary effect to the whole scene.</p> - -<p>In the daytime it is difficult to imagine a -finer, more striking effect than the quay side, -and the stone buildings, most of them with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -crests over the doorway, fine ironwork balconies, -and jalousied windows. The two -ancient gates: La Porte du Cailha, and La -Porte de l'hotel de Ville, standing solemn, -grim and grey, aloof (how could it be otherwise?) -from the modern life of to-day, its trams, -its tin trumpets, its electric lights—but permitting -in its dignified isolation, the traffic which -has revolutionised the entire neighbourhood. -Most of the old part of Bordeaux is near the -quay side. There are many delightful old -houses in Rue Quai-Bourgeois, Rue de la Halle, -Rue Porte des Pontanets, Rue de la Fusterie, -Rue St. Croix and others. The poetry of past -ages, past doings, past individualities, is thick -in the air as one passes down these narrow, -dimly-lighted, old-world streets. Stories of -adventures, of dark deeds, of sudden disappearances, -are no longer so difficult to picture -when one has stood under these long, broad -doorways, in the darkest and most sombre of -entrance halls, and seen dim, hardly distinguishable -staircases away in the shadow beyond. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>The only sounds that break on one's ear -are the dull, booming drone of the steamer -away in the harbour, the loose, uneven rattle -of the cumbrous waggons over the cobbles; -and, when that has passed, the quick tap-tap -perhaps of some stray foot-passenger's sabots.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img80" id="img80"><img src="images/img80.jpg" width="383" height="600" alt="Bordeaux" /></a> - <p>[<i>From Collection of Mr Gustavus A. Sieveking.</i></p> - <p class="center">BORDEAUX, 1842.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 80.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>This district of Bordeaux is full of the -narrow, winding alleys, which further north -we call "wynds:"—all narrow; the houses, -abutting them on either side, being mostly -five stories high, with all the lower windows -barred, and "squints" on each side of the -doorways. In front of each house stretches -a little strip of pathway about two feet in -breadth, tiled diagonally; token of the time -when everyone was bound to subscribe thus -to the duties of public paving.</p> - -<p>In Rue de la Halle the houses are mostly -six stories in height, some having lovely -floriated doorways, and over them wrought -iron balconies in all varieties of design; over -some of the windows I noticed dog-tooth mouldings -in perfect repair, and sometimes statues.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -Now and again one would come upon a -specially fine old mansion, with carved doorways -and, inside the entrance hall, panelled -walls and grand old oak staircase. As often as -not, one would find big baskets and sacks of -flour arranged all round the hall, showing plainly -enough for what purpose it was used now.</p> - -<p>Now and again one of the heavy corn -waggons would come lumbering down the -narrow street, driving one perforce on the extremely -cramped allowance of inches, called -a pathway here: the dark blue smocks, (shading -off into a lighter tint for the trousers), of -the carters, making the most perfect foil to -the quiet, sombre grey houses which were beside -them on either side.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img83" id="img83"><img src="images/img83.jpg" width="600" height="395" alt="CHATEAU DE LA GUIGNARDIERE" /></a> - <p class="center">CHATEAU DE LA GUIGNARDIERE, LA VENDEE.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 83.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>Now and again as one turned out of one -narrow, corkscrew road into another, one -would catch sight, above the towering heights -of the overhanging stories, of the spires, reared -far beyond the houses of men, of the old -churches, which vary the monotony of the -roofs of the city, and stand steadfastly -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>through the ages all along, as witnesses of -the past: its faith and its aims. I am not <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">au -fait</i> in the architectural points of churches, or -I should like to enlarge on the beauties of -the churches of St. André, St. Seurin, and -one or two others of ancient fame, which help -to make Bordeaux the splendid city it is. -Adverse faiths, and the violent way in -which they expressed themselves in the past, -have terribly spoilt and desecrated much of the -old work—work so beautiful that it is difficult -to imagine how the hand of Vandalism could -bear to destroy it as ruthlessly as it has done. -We went to see the cathedral church of St. -André one Sunday afternoon. The chancel -was literally one blaze of light for Benediction -and Vespers. The whole service was magnificently -rendered, a first rate orchestra -supplementing the grand organ, and the voices -of priests and choir beyond all praise. What -was, however, infinitely to be condemned, was -the irreverent pushing and jostling which was -indulged in <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ad nauseam</i> by many of the congregation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> That any one was kneeling in -prayer, seemed to be no deterrent whatever; -for the rough, purposeful shove of hand and -arm, to enable its possessor to get a better -view of the proceedings, went forward just as -energetically.</p> - -<p>The curious custom of collecting pennies -for chairs, as in our parks at home, was in -vogue here, as elsewhere in this country's -churches and a smiling <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bourgeoise</i> came -round to each of us in turn with suggestive -outstretched palm. At the church of St. -Croix there was, I remember, a notice hung -on the walls which put one in mind, somewhat, -of the familiar little tablet that faces -one when driving in the favourite little conveyance -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à deux</i> of our own London streets—"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Tarif -des chaises</i>," was printed in clear letters: -"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">10 pour grand messe, Vêpres ordinaires 5, -Vêpres avec sermon 10</i>."</p> - -<p>On thinking over the pros and cons of both -systems; that of some of our English pew-rented -churches, giving rise to the evil pas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>sions frequently excited in the mind of some -seat-holder when, arriving late in his parish -church, he finds someone else in temporary -possession of his own hired pew, and that of -the payment for only temporary privileges -and luxuries "while you wait," I must frankly -own that the latter infinitely more commends -itself to my personal judgment!</p> - -<p>Not once, or twice only, but many times -have I been witness to selfish, jealous outbursts -in civilised communities, all on account -of some bone of contention, in the way -of a private pew (what an expression it is, too, -when you come to think of it!) which has been -seized by some man first in the field—I mean -the church—when its legal owner happened -to be absent, and unexpectedly returns.</p> - -<p>Sometimes the incident is so entirely upsetting -to the moral equilibrium of the possessor -of the private pew, who finds himself -suddenly in the position of not being able to -enter his own property, that his a Sunday expression, -which has unconsciously to himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -been put on (<em>a thing peculiarly English</em>) is -absolutely in ruins, and nothing visible of it -any more! Moreover, his chagrin is such that -he is often unable to control the outward -expression of his feelings!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>St. Emilion is within easy reach, by rail, of -Bordeaux, and the bit of country through -which one passes to reach it is very characteristic -of that part of France.</p> - -<p>The vineyards between Bordeaux and St. -Emilion stretch in almost one continuous -line. They are like serried ranks; the ground -literally bristles with them. The sticks to -which the vines are attached are not more -than two feet in height, (sometimes not that). -In one district they were all under water—a -broad, grey sheet. Here and there in among -the vines were trees—vivid yellow in leafage, -with one obtrusively flaring blood-red in colour -in their midst. The cows that browsed near -the vines were tied by the leg to some big plank -of wood, which they had to drag along after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -them as they walked. Most awkward appendage, -too, it must have been. Though -everywhere accompanied by this "drag upon -the wheel," yet they were also governed and -directed by the invariable peasant woman, at -a little distance in the rear. Cocks and -hens are also allowed to disport themselves -up and down the vine rows, and seem to be -given <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">carte blanche</i> in the way of pickings.</p> - -<p>Possibly, now one comes to think of it, this -may account for the odd taste some of the -eggs have: it may be that some of the -weaker vessels among the hens are tempted -to help themselves to the wine in embryo, -(in the same sort of way as do some butlers -in cellars), and that this spicy flavour -gets into the eggs without the hens being -aware of it! It may not be the fault of the -cocks. What can one cock do, in the way of -restraint, among so many flighty hens?</p> - -<p>I shall never forget one of the oddest -scenes, in connection with cocks and hens, -that I ever witnessed. I had, in the course<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -of a walk, got over a high gate which led into -a field. No sooner was I on <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">terra firma</i> -again than I perceived, by the scuttling and -flounce of feathers, and general fussy cackling, -that I had stepped into the midst of a -conclave which the lord and master of that -particular harem was holding: his better -halves (?) were around him. I am sorry to -have to admit that he did not hesitate an -instant, but, having no hands ready in which -to take his courage, he left it behind him, -in a most ignominious fashion and was -the first to hurry to a place of shelter at -some distance from me. When the shelter—in -the shape of an old outhouse—was -secured, he leant out of it and, anxiety for -the safety of his household eloquently expressed -on his red face, he chortled in his -eager injunctions and exhortations to his -hens to come and be protected. They -obeyed, and I could hear an animated story -or recital of some sort being given them by -him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> - -<p>Was he reading them a sermon on the -imperative necessity of suppressing the feminine -(?) vice of curiosity, which might lead -them to venture out imprudently again into -the danger just escaped and averted by his -watchful vigilance? or was he explaining -away his own apparent failure in courage -lately shown them? Whichever it was, they -lent him their ears—all but one hen, and she -perhaps had formed the habit of making -up her judgments independently on current -events, without the aid of the masculine mind, -for she peeped round the corner repeatedly -at me, and finally, seeing I appeared to be a -harmless individual enough, she, without consulting -the cock, ventured to come and inspect, -and remained, by my side with a modicum of -caution, for some time.</p> - -<p>But to return. Underneath some of the -elms, which back-grounded the vineyards, the -bronze coinage of dead leaves lay thick in -handfuls. Past them came slowly and musically, -from time to time, a roomy cart; its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -big bell—note of warning of its approach—hanging -in a sort of little belfry of its own -behind the horse. Here, there would be a -belt of tawny trees against one of dark myrtle; -there, a wood, soft pink and russet, and in the -midst of it, piled bundles of faggots.</p> - -<p>We had provided ourselves with our <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">second -déjeuner</i>, but only the butter and bread and -Médoc were beyond reproach; the Camembert -had reached an uncertain age, and the -ham had gone up higher! <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mais que voulez-vous?</i> -You can hardly expect a feast out of -doors as well as indoors, a feast to the mouth -as well as to the eye. And outside was the -most royally satisfying banquet of colours -that any eye could desire. Colours at -their richest, contrasts at their completest -period.</p> - -<p>Before reaching Coutras, you come again -into the region dominated by poplars. And -that they do dominate the district in which -they appear, no one can doubt. Poplars give -a peculiar character to the land; a special<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -personal note to the scenery. They are -atmosphere-making. Presently we came upon -Angoulême, upon the slope of a hill; all white -and red in vivid contrast.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h2> - -<p>Then, a little later still, we arrived at the -end of our journey—St. Emilion.</p> - -<p>At St. Emilion, the past insists upon being -recognised, and, more than that, on being a -potent factor in the present. The modern -buildings are in evidence, right enough, but -somehow they have an air of not being so -much in authority as the ancient ones. Beside -its splendid remains, which have lasted -through many a long age, the present day -town looks but a pigmy.</p> - -<p>The day on which we saw the place was -one of those quiet, sleepily-sunshiny days; -and the very spirit of a gone-by age seemed -to be brooding over it. The very pathway -leading up to one of its ancient gates has a -sacred bit of past history connected with it, -for was it not a convent of the Cordeliers, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>founded by that saint of old, Francis of -Assisi, in 1215?</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img93" id="img93"><img src="images/img93.jpg" width="600" height="319" alt="St. Emilion" /></a> - <p class="center">ANCIENT CONVENT DES CORDELIERS, S. EMILION.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 93.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>The cloisters and a staircase and some of -the walls still remain, trees and shrubs growing -wild within its precincts. Beside it -are many other ruins of ancient churches, -convents and cloisters, amongst which one -might name the convent of the Jacobins, the -grand, lonely, gaunt fragment of the first -convent of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Frêres Prêcheurs</i> or <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Grandes -Murailles</i>, which stands in solitary majesty at -the entrance to the town, and which can date -back before 1287, and the first church of St. -Emilion, which was the underground, rock-hewn -collegiate church of the 12th century. -Besides these, there is the ruined castle, -built by Louis VIII, whose great square -keep-tower is the first striking piece of old -masonry (among many striking examples) which -towers over one on entering the town from the -station road; and the crenellated ramparts, -watch-doors and gates, built in the days when -it was one of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bastides</i> founded by Edward I.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> - -<p>As regards the gates, Murray declares the -original six are still in existence, but though -I tried my best to discover any remains of -them, I could only find two, the one at the -edge of the town leading to the open land -outside St. Emilion, commanding a fine -view of the "fair meadows of France," some -lying faintly red-brown in the rays of a -rather sulky-looking sunset, and others, -further away, a dark mauve. In the immediate -foreground was a splash of vivid -yellow, making a gorgeous focus of light.</p> - -<p>An old woman sitting beside the road (who -informed us her age was ninety-two) told us -that she still worked in the vineyards, (think -of it, at ninety-two!) and that champagne -was made in this district, as well as the -claret named after the place. St. Emilion is -a place whose houses—some three hundred -years old—are built at all levels; up and -down hill, and in most unexpected crooked -corners; some, too, of the dwellings are caves -simply. In the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Arceau de la Cadêne</i> there is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -the splendid old house of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">perruquier</i> -Troquart, and beyond it an old timbered -house built of dark oak with crest and -sculptures.</p> - -<p>Over many of the doors I had noticed -little bunches of dead flowers, or bundles of -wheat or corn, some in the form of a cross,—hung -up. On asking the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">femme de chambre</i>, -who brought in our <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">second déjeuner</i> at the -little old inn near this gate, she told me that -on every festival of St. Jean, the people go to -church in large numbers, pass up the aisle -carrying these little bunches, and the priest -blesses them as they go by, and then on the -return home they are hung up over the door -of each household, to remain there for the -whole of the year until the festival comes -round again. To the French, the Idea is -everything. To us, it is too often only -reverenced according to its money value.</p> - -<p>Some of the vines at St. Emilion are on -banks, on rising ground, flanked by two stone -pillars at one end, with an iron gate and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -flight of steps, generally deeply mossed, leading -up to the vines. Here and there a vivid -touch of colour from some fallen leaf, mauve -or yellow, lay in strong contrast on the sandy -path. There was the flaring yellow of the -marigolds, too, which grew plentifully in the -banks between the espaliers. A hollowed -piece of limestone, for the water to drain off -from the vineyards, marked the bank at -regular intervals the whole way along. Red -and white valerian hung in clustering -branches over the edges of the rocks.</p> - -<p>We spent a long time in the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">place du -marché</i>, under the lee of the high earthwork, -with holes like burrows set in it at regular -intervals on which the superstructure of the -newer church is built over the ancient subterranean -one. This latter is only opened, we -were informed, once a year.</p> - -<p>The market place, which the modern -church overshadows, is a quiet, dreamy, -tranquil little square. An acacia was meditatively -shedding its garments, in the shape<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -of leaves, on to the little green strip of turf -in the middle. Underneath its branches -lay already a soft heap of yellow, from its -previous exertions.</p> - -<p>Two travelling pedlars—a man and a -woman—were plying on this little lawn a -cheerful trade. He was mending the flotsams -and jetsams of St. Emilion household -crockery and unwarily drinking water from the -flowing stream that descends from the tap's -mouth. As he mended, he sang snatches of -some of those little jaunty, gay, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">roulade-y</i> -songs which the French peasant loves: "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Je -marche à soir</i>," "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ah! tirez de votre poche un -sous!</i>" were bits that caught my ear most -often; perhaps they were meant to be, in a -sense, topical songs, with an eye (or a voice) -to the main chance.</p> - -<p>An old woman hobbled across the square -bringing an old brown jug to be riveted, and -he besought her, as she was going away, to -"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cassez une autre</i>."</p> - -<p>We did not leave St. Emilion until twi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>light had fallen, and there was no light to -see anything else. Then there was a little -loitering about to be done, while we waited -for the local omnibus which plied between -Libourne and St. Emilion. There was very -little room inside when we at last boarded it, -but we presently overtook, a belated and -garrulous <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">voyageur</i>, a weather-beaten countryman -who talked to me without cessation -during the whole journey. I was not sitting -next to him, but that did not seem to deter -him in the least; he talked insistently, -loudly and urgently, leaning across the lap -of the man who sat between us. He insisted -on taking for granted that all the other -passengers were near relations of mine, and -asked questions as to ages, names, place -of residence, etc., in strident tones, till the -man beside me was convulsed with laughter. -I have never known a conversation all on -one side (for, after the first, none of us attempted -to put in a word) kept up, intermittently, -for forty minutes on end, as this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -was! Once before, I own, I succeeded in -conversing for ten whole minutes entirely -off my own bat, with no assistance from the -opposite side, with a young Hawaiian friend -of my uncle's who was dining at the house -in which I was staying, but that was really -in self-defence, because I dared not venture -with him across the borders of the English -language, having heard specimens of his -conversation before, and never having been -able to distinguish his nouns from his verbs, -or his adverbs from his interjections! But -though mutual understanding was difficult, -there was yet between us that curious tacit -sympathy which is independent of any words.</p> - -<p>At last we reached Libourne, with a minute -to spare for catching our train, and happily -succeeded in boarding it. Just outside -Libourne we could see great bunches of -yellow bananas hanging up outside the -cottage walls. The trees here were the -softest carmine, mixed with others of burnt -sienna, while some resembled nothing so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -much as a new door-mat. After Luxé begin -the little low walls of loose stones separating -meadow from meadow and then, later, -a flat, dull-coloured stretch of country. On -Ruffec platform the garment which the men -here seemed most to affect was a sort of dark -puce loose coat, with little pleats down the -front. The women wore a sort of close -lace cap, with streamers floating over their -shoulders.</p> - -<p>Out in the open again we came upon -alternate dark green of broom and cloth of -gold of foliage everywhere. The curtain of -heavy cloud had lifted a little, and beneath -shone a gorgeous flame sunset low over -meadows of red-brown soil, the darker brick-red -of dying bracken over the cold grey -of the cottages, and the white gleam of the -twisting stream winding in and out between -the meadows.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h2> - -<p>One cannot but regret that in most parts -of France to-day, the picturesque costumes -of the peasants are almost a thing of the past. -In out-of-the-way districts, it is true, they still -linger here and there, but they have to be -searched for, as a rule, to be seen.</p> - -<p>"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ah! ces jolies costumes sont perdues</i>," said -the manageress of our hotel at Poitiers, and -she assured us they were only now to be found -far away in the country. However, we discovered -a few examples at market time in the -city. Some of the caps fit close to the head, and -have a frill round the face. The opportunity -for a little individuality in pattern occurs at -the back, where is the fullness and body of -the cap. Some again consist only of a plain -fold of linen, and boast two long streamers at -the back; while others have the added dignity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -of a high peak (as given in picture,) which -always confers a certain air upon its wearer, -"an air of distinguishment" which impresses -itself always upon the beholder.</p> - -<p>The long, striped, navy-blue blouses which -the men affect here, reach to below the knees, -and are loose and open at the neck. Over -them they wear, in bad weather, the invariable -loose black cape with pointed hood drawn over -the head. I saw one or two blouses of soft -lilac silk, fastened at the neck with quaintly -shaped little silver buckles.</p> - -<p>A French market is the purgatory of the -innocent.</p> - -<p>This was ruthlessly shewn forth on market -day at Poitiers. The squealing, the clucking, -the squawking are unceasing and insistent -everywhere. No one can fail to hear them. -But it requires the quiet, observant, sympathetic -eye to see the other, less evident, -forms of distress. By means of this last, however, -one sees the mute suffering in the eyes -of the turkeys, for instance. Sometimes a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -turkey would be blinking hard with one eye, -while the lid of the other rose miserably every -now and again. While I was standing by, -some passing boy, with fiendish cruelty, set -his dog at a pair of turkeys lying close at his -feet, helpless and terrified, their feet tied -tightly together. At a little distance off I -could see one of these unhappy creatures -hanging head downwards, its poor limp wing -being brushed roughly and jerked carelessly -by all who passed that way.</p> - -<p>Then there were the rabbits. What words -could describe the excruciating panic to which -they are subjected, when one remembers their -timidity and nervousness in a wild state. No -worse misery could be devised for them than -the prodding and punching and tossing up and -down which they receive on all hands as they -await, amidst the babel of noise around them, -their last fate. The only members of the -dumb creation who seemed fairly indifferent -to their surroundings, and indeed to regard -them with a certain grim humour, were the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -ducks. Everyone is aware that there exists -in France the equivalent of our Society for -Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, but my -experience convinced me that it is not <em>nearly</em> -so energetic as is our own society.</p> - -<p>Many of the men were shouting their -loudest at the stalls over which they presided. -One, I noticed, who offered for sale a -curious little collection of odds and ends was -proclaiming their value thus:—</p> - -<p>"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Voila! toute la service—Toute la Séminée! -Tous les articles! Tous les articles!</i>"</p> - -<p>Another was crying out, "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Toute la soir!</i>" as -he lifted on high a bundle of coloured measures.</p> - -<p>The "coloured end" of the market was -undeniably the fruit and vegetable stalls. -There, side by side, everywhere one's eye -roamed, lay long sticks of celery, cooked -brown pears, little flat straw baskets full of -neat little, bright green broccoli; the soft olive -green of the heart shaped leaves of the fig -throwing into vivid contrast the delicate peach -and tawny brown of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déneufles</i> (medlars).<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -Here, the deep flaring orange of the sliced -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">citronne</i> would jostle the cool white, veined, -and unobtrusive green of a neighbouring leek, -its long, trailing roots lying on the counter like -unravelled string. There, would be the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">céleri -rave</i> with its round, bulgy, cream-coloured -stumps exchanging contrasts with the deep -myrtle tint of the crinkled leaves, puckered -and rugged, of a certain species of broccoli.</p> - -<p>All around reigned a pandemonium of -sound. Upon a cart close to the grey old -church of Notre Dame, stood a woman singing -"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Des Chants Républicans</i>," to the accompaniment -of a concertina. Her audience was -mixed, and somewhat inattentive. It consisted -of soldiers, market women, children, all jabbering, -jostling, laughing, and singing little -catchy bits of the song. Overhead was a -gigantic, brilliant red umbrella. The whole -scene was fenced by market carts of all sizes -and shapes whose coverings presented to the -eye every variety of green linen.</p> - -<p>The Church of Notre Dame has three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -magnificent doorways, full of the most exquisite -design and moulding, in perfect preservation. -Indeed the whole outward presentment -of the church is exceedingly fine, so -that one is sensible of keen disappointment, -when, on going inside, one is confronted with -painted pillars and tawdry, artificial flowers -flaunting everywhere. The singing here is very -inferior to that which we heard in the churches -of Bordeaux; and in neither Notre Dame, -nor the cathedral, was the great organ used -at High Mass, nor at Vespers.</p> - -<p>During the service of Vespers at which I -was present, one of the priests played the -harmonium, surrounded by a number of choir -boys. Whenever it seemed to him that some -boy was not attending, he would strike a note, -reiteratingly, until he managed to catch that -boy's eye, when he frowned in reproof. It was -a case of the many suffering because of the -misdoings of the one! One of the oldest of -the smaller churches at Poitiers is that of St. -Parchaise. This church, I found, is kept open<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -all night, and a stove kept burning during the -winter months, for the sake of the aged and -infirm poor, who have no other refuge.</p> - -<p>When I went in at five in the afternoon, it -was already growing dark, and a priest was -just lighting the lamps; the stove had already -comfortably warmed the building, and I -could see sitting about in obscure corners, -old peasant women. Others were standing -quietly before some pictures, or kneeling before -a side altar.</p> - -<p>By far the most interesting building to -the antiquary in Poitiers, is the curious old -Baptistery de St. Jean, dating back to the -fourth century. It is filled with old stone -tombs of the seventh or eighth century, and -some as early as the sixth. Upon one of the -latter is the inscription: "<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ferro cinetus filius -launone</i>." On another was: "<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Aeternalis et -servilla vivatisiendo</i>." I noticed a curious -double tomb for a man and a woman: in -length about five feet. Père Camille de la -Croix discovered this baptistery, and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -instrumental in having it preserved, and the -tombs carefully examined.</p> - -<p>Père Camille himself is one of those striking -personalities at whose presence the great -dead past lights its torch, and once more -stands, a living power, before the eyes of the -present. Such a personality breathes upon -the dry bones beside our path to-day, and -they rise from silent oblivion and lay their -arresting hands upon our sleeves.</p> - -<p>He is a splendid-looking old man, with -long white beard and eyes that are living -fires of energy and enthusiasm. When I first -met him, he was sitting cataloguing MSS at -a side table, in the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">musée</i>, in a very minute, -neat handwriting, sombrero on head. I -stayed talking to him for some little time, and -amongst other things, he said rather bitterly, -"The monuments and baptistery belonged -to France; if they had belonged to Poitiers -they'd have been destroyed long ago." -I had made a few little rough sketches of -the tombs, and as he turned over the leaves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -of my sketch-book to tell me the probable -dates of each, he gave vent to a resounding -"<em>Hurr—!</em>" and pursed his lips together. -When I mentioned that I had been told by -someone that he spoke three languages, he -said decisively and emphatically, "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Il dit faux</i>."</p> - -<p>He lives in a curious, high, narrow house -by the river, with small windows and iron -gates; and the greater part of his time is -given up to the deciphering of old manuscripts, -and writing records of them; records -which will be an invaluable gift to posterity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h2> - -<p>Poitiers abounds in antiquities of one kind -or another; and there is a great variety and -originality in its old buildings. Old stone -doorways and steep conical roofs are to be -seen, specially in Pilory Square. Hemming -them in were purple-tinted trees, which made -a fringe of delicate embroidery against the -cold slate of the houses. Under one of the -houses in Rue Cloche Perse were magnificent -cellars, or caves, with massive round arches, -and the ceiling of rough masonry blackened -with age. The men who showed me the -place declared the "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">caillouc</i>" was known to be -Roman work, and the door above to be -thirteenth century, or earlier. Some of the -old houses are tiled all down their frontage, -and the effect on the eye is a soft violet of -diagonal pattern. Some are square, some -pointed. The house to which St. Jeanne d'Arc<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -came in 1428 is one of the latter. Over the door -is the inscription: "Ne hope, ne fear, Safe in -mid-stream;" and these words placed there by -<cite lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">La Société des Antiquaires de l'Ouest, Mars, 1892</cite>.</p> - -<p class="center"> -<cite lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ici était<br /> -l'hôtellerie de la Rose,<br /> -Jeanne d'Arc y logea<br /> -en Mars, 1429 (sic)<br /> -Elle en partit, pour alier délivrer<br /> -Orléans<br /> -Assiégé par les Anglais.</cite> -</p> - -<p>It is evident that formerly there was some -crest affixed to the frontage. Inside the old -black fireplace in one of the front rooms -had been a statue in days gone by. The -house of Diane de Poitiers is roofed in greyish -lilac slates, alternating with red tiles.</p> - -<p>One cannot come to Poitiers without being insistently -aware of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">charbonnier</i>—the minstrel -of the street. The shrill characteristic "Root-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-TOO—!" -of his little brass trumpet every three -minutes during most parts of the day, some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>times <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">crescendo</i>, sometimes <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">diminuendo</i> according -to its distance are special features -of the streets of Poitiers. He is accompanied -by his little covered cart, with its -flapping green curtains, in which sit Madame, -and his stock of charcoal.</p> - -<p>Most of the street cries here are in the -minor key—are in fact exactly like the first -part of a Gregorian chant, and sound very -melodiously on one's ear when heard at a -little distance. I met a woman pushing a -barrow once, containing a little of everything: -fish, endive, apples, sweets, and little odds -and ends, so to speak, waifs and strays of food. -She was singing to a little melody of her own, -"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Des pe ... tites choses! des pe ... tites choses!</i>"</p> - -<p>Round about Poitiers are many charming -old <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">châteaux</i>, each one so distinctly French -in character and individuality, that they -could, by no possibility, have their nationality -mistaken. At Neuville-de-Poitou are -some curious old monumental stones: "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Dolmen -de la Pierre-Levée</i>."</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img112" id="img112"><img src="images/img112.jpg" width="367" height="600" alt="Vienne" /></a> - <p class="center">CASTLE AVANTON, VIENNE.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 112.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> - -<p>In our hotel, every evening, regularly at -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table d'hôte</i>, appeared a genuine old specimen -of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">haute-noblesse</i>. He was all one had -ever dreamed of as an old marquis of an -extinct <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">régime</i>! A sour, disappointed expression, -(which he fed by drinking quantities of -lemon-juice,) dominated his face, though -through this could be seen an air of faded -dignity which set him apart from the common -herd who sat to right and left of him. Somehow -or other, he conveyed to that noisy <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">salle-à-manger</i> -the subtle atmosphere of some old -castle in other days. One saw the splendid -old panelled room in which he might have -sat among the family portraits of many -generations around him. Surrounding him -many signs and tokens of ancient nobility, -and that great army of unseen retainers that -fenced him about wherever he went-his traditions. -It was true he had to sit cheek by -jowl with the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">commis voyageur</i>, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bourgeois</i>, -the Cook's tourist, and <em>seemed</em> to be of them, -but in reality he lived in another atmosphere.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -And as all the world knows, nothing separates -one man from another so completely, so finally, -as a certain essence of spiritual atmosphere.</p> - -<p>Along the line from Poitiers to Rouen were -trees of flaming tawny and russet tints. The -effect of the snow which had fallen over the -fields the previous night, was that of beaten -white of egg having settled itself flat, and -having been forked over in a regular pattern. -The cabbages looked pinched and shrunken -with the curl all out of their plumage. The -whole landscape was backed by a deep lilac -flush over the rising woodlands on the horizon. -There is something in the straight, unswerving -upward growth of the poplar which relieves -the plains from their otherwise dead level monotony. -This is the secret of all life. It must -have contrast. It is not like to like which -saves in the crucial moment of crisis, it is rather -the power of the sudden, startling contrast.</p> - -<p>After passing Orléans we came upon trees -only partly despoiled of their leaves, which -looked gorgeous in their new livery of white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -and gold, for the snow had fallen only upon the -bare boughs. As the afternoon grew darker, -the cold white glare of the fields shone more -and more vividly, broken only by the whirl of -the succeeding furrows, and the little copses of -violet brown brushwood as the train raced along. -Then, later, came a long sombre belt of pines, -the light shewing dimly between the trunks. -Anon, a chalk cutting, now a winking flare from -the lights of some passing wayside station.</p> - -<p>As we neared Rouen, we could see the -Seine flowing close below the line of rail. It -was moonlight, and the trees which lined its -banks shone reflected clear and delicately -outlined in the swirling water below. Every -now and then a ripple caught the dazzling, -steely glitter, and blazed up, as if the facets -of a diamond had flashed them back, as the -waves rose and fell. To the right, in the -middle distance, long lines of undulating hills -lay gloomy and sombre. Then—the train -slowed into the vast city of innumerable -traditions, and mediæval romance—Rouen.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h2> - -<p>To me Rouen is like no other city. The -effect it makes on one is immediate, indescribable, -bewildering. It speaks to one out of its -vast antiquity. It has a thousand mediæval -voices sounding solemnly in the ears of those -who can recognise them; it has stories of -adventure and daring; of bloodshed and -tragedy; of calm stoicism and undeterred -resolve; of plagues and burnings; that would -fill many and many a thick volume. And it -has its modern side, which flares blatantly -and noisily across the other. The effect, for -instance, of the modern electric tram in the -midst of a city like Rouen is nothing less than -extraordinary.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img117" id="img117"><img src="images/img117.jpg" width="397" height="600" alt="LA GROSSE HORLOGE" /></a> - <p class="center">LA GROSSE HORLOGE, 1902</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 117.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>We took "our ease at" an "inn," which -faced one of the chief streets appropriated by -this blustering modern mode of progression, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>and I shall never forget the effect it had on -me. The persistent, reiterated strumming, -as it were, with one finger on its one high -note, as it came tearing along up the street -every three minutes, hurriedly, fussily, with -loose disjointed jolt, humming always with a -deep whirr in its voice, (often the octave of -its much-used high note), or anon singing -up the scale, with a burr on every note, was -the most absolute contrast to the Other Side -of Rouen; the "other side" of the deep, quiet, -wonderful past. The tram was like some -enormous bee flying restlessly, tiresomely, out -of one's reach with incessant buzz: a buzz -which seemed, after a time, to have got -literally inside one's head.</p> - -<p>I defy anyone to find a more complete -contrast in noise anywhere than could be -found between the great, deep, ponderous -boom of the many-a-decade-year-old bell of -the Cathedral de Notre Dame and the fussy, -flurried, treble ping-ping of the electric tram. -It was a perfect representation of "Dignity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -and Impudence," as illustrated in sound.</p> - -<p>The next evening I was reminded of this -again while standing in the square facing -the cathedral of Our Lady. A group of -students strode cheerfully and briskly up -the street under its shadow, which lay like -a great, dark mass lined off by the moonlight, -shining white on the cobbles. As -they walked along, one of them struck into -a song, which had, at the end of each stanza, -a peculiarly inspiriting refrain, which was -taken up in turns by students across the street, -crossing it, and far ahead. When all this had -died away, a passing <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fiacre</i>, rolling over the -stones, broke the silence again, and then the -clocks began to strike the hour.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img118" id="img118"><img src="images/img118.jpg" width="434" height="600" alt="Rouen" /></a> - <p>[<i>From Collection of Mr Gustavus A. Sieveking.</i></p> - <p class="center">CATHEDRAL NOTRE DAME.<br />ROUEN, 1842.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 118.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>As the sweet, mellow, solemn bell of the -cathedral sounded, and before it had struck -three notes, a blatant tin kettle of a clock, -from a hotel near by, raspingly announced its -own rendering of the time. Then here, then -there, from all quarters, came shrill, discordant -editions of the same fact, and the great thrilling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> arresting reminder of the dignified past -was silenced. So have I sometimes seen a -modern, fashionable woman, decked out in all -the tinsel fripperies of Paris, outshine some -quiet, delicate, other-world beauty in a -crowded room, so that the latter was, to all -intents and purposes, completely shelved, so -to speak. She needed her own environment, -her own quiet background before her personal -note could be heard; before she could shine -in people's eyes, as she should have shone.</p> - -<p>What is it that makes foreign churches a -living centre of daily concern? That they -are so, can hardly be disputed. Why they -should be so is another matter, and reasons -are bandied about. But whether they have a -reasonable basis, is questionable. The reason -chiefly given, of course, is the influence of the -priest, and the background he can produce at -will to the home life picture, if his suggestion -in daily life are not carried out. But it remains -to be proved if this reason can carry the weight -that is laid upon its back by its supporters.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> - -<p>One afternoon about two o'clock I waited -in the square opposite the cathedral for -forty minutes, in order to see what manner -of men and women were constrained to go -through the little swinging door underneath -one of those splendid archways. Every other -moment, for the whole of that forty minutes, -some one passed in and out: well-dressed -women; countrywomen in white frilled cap, -apron and sabots; hatless peasants; beggars; -"sisters;" infirm people, healthy people; -old people, young people, children. Some -would come out slowly, stiffly; some with -mackintosh flying behind; some accompanied, -some unaccompanied.</p> - -<p>There was no service; (for I went inside -myself, to see, and found a quiet church—no -one about but those who had come for a -quiet "think," or a quiet prayer); it was -evidently done simply to satisfy a need—a -need that affected equally all sorts and conditions -of men and women. Just as someone, -during a sudden pause in the middle of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -day's business, takes a quiet quarter of an -hour aside for a chat with some chosen -comrade; just as a mother, perhaps, during -the "noisy years" of her children's lives, -steals a quiet ten minutes of solitude to -restore the balance of her thoughts, which -have been unsettled by the quarrels and disputes -of baby tongues. It is the time when -the soul puts off the official robe of pressing -business for a few short minutes and takes -a deep drink at "the things that endure;" -the time when the soul can stretch its tired, -cramped spiritual limbs, and take a long -breath; the hour when the burden that -each of us carries is slipped for a time, and -shrinks in stature. To bring the spiritual -and the material to speaking terms has -always been a crucial point of difficulty. -England, to-day, belongs pre-eminently to a -materialistic age, and it is full of people -who are trying—some of them fairly successfully—to -persuade themselves—knowing how -difficult a matter it is to combine the spiritual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -element and the material,—that it is safest -and happiest to divorce them as completely -as possible. Where in this country does one -see the compelling necessity at work with all -classes on a week day, to go aside into some -quiet, empty church, and draw from spiritual -stores? One may safely affirm that this -occurs somewhat rarely, out of London.</p> - -<p>There was a good deal of garden drapery -at our hotel, (a good deal of drapery too, as -to prices, but this we did not find out until -the last day of our stay!) Every night white -tablecloths were spread over the beds of -heather and chrysanthemums in the front -garden. Every morning a very curious effect -was caused by the snow, which had fallen -during the night, having made deep folds in -their sides and middles, so that at first sight -it looked as if some enormous hats had been -deposited there in the night. One evening, -between eight and nine o'clock, while sitting -quietly at the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table d'hôte</i>, which was -presided over by a youthful master of cere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>monies, who walked up and down in goloshes, -(his invariable, though unexplainable, custom) -there came the distant but rousing sound of -bugles. Instantly chairs were pushed back, -diners rose hastily, and presently the whole -room emptied, and a shifting population -tumultuously made its way across the hall, -and through into the garden where the table-clothed -flowers slept in their night wrappers,—and -away to the gates. As we reached them -the dark street was raggedly lit up by the -flickering jerk of the red glare from moving -torches: there was a sudden stir of music in -the air: the bugles came nearer, accompanied -by the quick tramp past of many feet: the -rattle of the drums worked up the tune to its -climax: then the call of the bugle again, -exciting, questioning, hurrying: a moment -later, the music dancing and edging off by -rapid paces, till all the awakened emotion -and excitement, stirred to vivid life of the -passing, trenchant movement, sank—as it -seemed, finally—quite suddenly, to a flicker<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -in the socket, and ceased. The street in front -of us grew emptier; and, the requirement -of the inner man and inner woman again -beginning to re-assert themselves, the garden -witnessed the return to the deserted <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table -d'hôte</i>, of most of the crowd, who had, some -minutes earlier, started up to follow the drum.</p> - -<p>But I still waited on at the gate. -The whole scene, but just enacted, had put -me back many, many years, to a night long -ago in very early childhood; when the torches -and tar-barrels of a certain fifth of November -celebration at St. Leonards, had flashed -as startlingly, as brilliantly, an arrestingly -on the panes of our sitting-room; and I, -a little child playing quietly by myself on -the floor, had been roused suddenly to -instant attention by the glare and fantastic -dancing reflections on the wall as the procession -of shouting torch bearers came striding -up the street to the stirring sound of the -bugle. The whole incident had made an ineffaceable -impression on my mind, and I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -often recalled to myself the dark window, -the sudden flickering glare, the roar of the -flaming tar-barrels, the whole scene swaying -ruddily up the street outside, the excited -sense of something strange and new happening; -but never till this evening, had I been -taken right back, and my feet, as it were, -planted once again on the same spot of the -old sensation, from which the push of so -many passing years had displaced the "me" -of those days when the spring of life's year -was but just beginning.</p> - -<p>In the Rue des Ours there is a little humble -restaurant to which I went again and again. -It stands in a narrow, cobbled street, with old -black timbered houses opposite it and beside -it. It is itself of no mean age. Most of the -more well-to-do restaurants in Rouen have -indeed <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cartes</i> fixed up in prominent places -outside, but they are <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cartes</i> without the -horse of "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Prix fixe</i>" harnessed to them.</p> - -<p>But if you once know your restaurant, then -the thing to do is, in this case not to "find out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -men's wants and meet them there," but to -"find out" what particular dish it is really good -at cooking and "meet it there" by coming -regularly for that very dish, not venturing -out into the unknown, and often greasy, -waters of a stew, a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">hors d'œuvre</i>, or <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">entremet</i>. -This is knowledge acquired by experience, for -I have, in the craving that sometimes beseiges -one for variety, gone much farther and—fared -much worse, so now I am content to stay -where I fare fairly well, if plainly, at moderate -expenditure. One can pass a very happy -hour at the little restaurant in the Rue des -Ours; they can fry kippers to a turn, and one -or two other simple things. Some people I -know wouldn't care to come in and have kippers -for <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">second déjeuner</i>: all I can say is, then they -can stay out—go somewhere else and make -greater demands on their trouser pockets.</p> - -<p>But for those who can appreciate plain -fare, the little restaurant in the Rue des Ours -will answer well their midday needs. There -are few things more difficult to get than plain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -things done to perfection at a restaurant -which thinks great guns—I mean great <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">entrées</i>—of -itself. The most appetising breakfast -dish I have ever had in my life—even now -my lips long to make a certain appreciative -sound in memory of it!—consisted of certain -slices of bacon cooked at a little fire on an -island, during a camping-out excursion on -the river near Marlow some years ago. I -may as well add that I had no share in the -cooking of it, only in the eating of it.</p> - -<p>Everybody sits at the little, narrow, long -tables which are set at intervals over the little -room with its sanded floor, at my restaurant, -with the exception of those who sit at marble -ones, which are there also, only in less -numbers. I remember one special day when a -paper had provided great food for excitement -for two men who sat smoking in a corner and -discussing matters of state over two cups of -black coffee, which had been aided and -abetted by two liqueurs. The woman, who -was the middle-woman between the cook—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>or manufacturer—and the consumer, went to -and fro rapidly, shouting from time to time, -"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Plats!</i>" with the names of those required, -with an added and imperative "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Vite! Vite!</i>"</p> - -<p>From time to time a burning match from -the pipes of the two conspirators fell as softly -on the sanded floor as, on a November night, -a shooting star sinks, and is extinguished on -the dark sky. Presently, a bustling little man -in a wide-awake entered with a huge pile of -pink and yellow advertisement leaflets, it recommended -some <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">horloges</i>, which had but -recently swum "into the ken" of the inhabitants -who live on the outskirts of Rue des Ours.</p> - -<p>Immediately on entering, he saluted with -confident and easy grace, and handed round -with characteristic aplomb and dignity, the -leaflets with which he identified himself for the -time, though having no connection with the -business with which they were concerned, -save that of a purely temporary one. No -Englishman could deliver leaflets like that. -He would never take the trouble to attempt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -unfamiliar "airs and graces" to push someone -else's concern. He would deliver simply and -baldly, and would consider that good measure -for his pay.</p> - -<p>But the Frenchman's is "good measure -running over," and his manner in doing it -is half the battle, though the Englishman -cannot understand how this can be so. I -remember in this connection, an Englishwoman, -who had lived much in France, saying -to me the other day, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à propos</i> of Frenchwomen:</p> - -<p>"They make charming speeches and -compliments which one likes exceedingly -to hear, until you find suddenly in some -practical matter, some emergency, that they -really mean nothing at all by them,—well -then, when I recognised that, I just felt as if -I'd no ground to go on at all, and I didn't -care any longer for any of their professions.</p> - -<p>"There is no real courtesy in the streets -of Paris. Men jostle women right and left, -it being at the passenger's own risk that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -the crossing of the street is performed.</p> - -<p>"I never felt that I was a woman till I -came to Paris: and there it is forced on one -daily. The Parisian's view of a woman is -not an ideal one."</p> - -<p>To the diner, whose purse is light and -whose needs are heavy and not satisfied by -the fare of the restaurant in Rue des Ours, -I would suggest the restaurant which is -cheek by jowl with "Grosse Horloge." -There, simplicity is more fully mated to -variety, for you can depend upon three <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">plats</i>, -and, unless one is a slave to luxury, these -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">plats</i>, well cooked even if plain, are amply -sufficient to satisfy the cravings which begin -below the belt, and end—in a good square meal. -By the way, many waiters in these restaurants -go upon some co-operative system, and all the -"tips" that they receive at restaurants are -put into a common box, which is placed on -the desk of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chargé d'affaires</i>. As each -table empties, the waiter, in passing, drops his -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">douceur</i> through the narrow slit. My conviction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -is, that the workmen who are given <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pourboires</i> -do the same thing in the way of co-operation.</p> - -<p>Over the little restaurant of which I have -been speaking is the old gateway and tower -of La Grosse Horloge. The bell here, called -"Rouvel," dating back more than six centuries, -has not been rung now for eight -months, owing to its having become cracked. -It weighs 1,500 kilogrammes. We went once -into the belfry where the poor old bell, in -its dotage, still hangs. Here in the draughty -shuttered twilight, which is its constant -environment, sounds unceasingly through -each day and night, its mechanical heart-beats -of "Teck-took"—"Teck-took"—"Teck—took," -solemnly, slowly, unmelodiously.</p> - -<p>Here in the half-lights, with stray gusts of -wind blowing in through the interstices of the -shutters which shut in the belfry, it has rung -for ages on end, the warning <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">couvre feu</i>, the -solemn message of the passing hours. The -only sounds which came filtering in to one's -ears from the world far below are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -distant shriek of the engine, and the rattle of -the carriages. Below is a chamber where -the weight of the clock rising and falling is -the only object between a wilderness of dark -timbers and the planks of the stairs.</p> - -<p>Here, at the first news of fire in the city, is -sounded the fire-alarm. If the fire is at a -great distance the alarm is prolonged.</p> - -<p>Right at the top of the tower is a grand -view of the hills standing round about the -city;—(when I was there)—brown, befogged, -misty,—the broad river lying clear cut and -silvery in the middle distance; while nearer -in, one could see old decrepit, black-timbered -houses which abutted on to the flagged courts -below them, on whose surface the hail dripped -whitely, and leapt merrily. Two hundred -steps lead up to the top of the tower through -a winding, twisting stone stairway.</p> - -<p>The gateway below, in the street, is the -same age as the tower: but the age of the -outer gilt clock, which faces the street, is not -more than the sixteenth century.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h2> - -<p>In a straight line from the Rue Grosse-Horloge, -it is not five minutes to the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vieux -marché</i> where St. Jeanne d'Arc was martyred.</p> - -<p>There is nothing to mark the spot but a -tablet let in on the path, and the words:</p> - -<p class="center"> -Jeanne d'Arc<br /> -30 Mai<br /> -1431. -</p> - -<p>Nothing else.</p> - -<p>Beside it on one of the huge market halls -hang many dirty, artificial wreaths, and under -them a marble tablet, with these words -inscribed on it:—</p> - -<p>"<cite lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Sur cette place s'éléva le bûcher de Jeanne -d'Arc.</cite></p> - -<p>"<cite lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Les cendres de la glorieuse victoire furent -jetées à la Seine.</cite>"</p> - -<p>And below it is a map of old Rouen (1431)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -shewing that the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">piloi</i> was close to the spot -where Joan of Arc was burnt, as was also the -Church of St. Saviour (which has completely -disappeared). The square now is surrounded -almost entirely by modern buildings and -hotels, and the two large iron market halls -take up nearly all the space.</p> - -<p>I cannot imagine a greater demand on -one's powers of imagination than is required -of one who stands, under these modern conditions, -and tries to conceive the scene that -took place there six centuries ago.</p> - -<p>The woman who dared much, ventured -much, and suffered much, for the sake of that -which is "not seen, only believed," standing -there in the midst of the fire, her eyes on that -Other Figure which, under the form of the -uplifted crucifix, was present with her, unseen -by the rabble; the English bishops who only -wanted to get to their dinner; the coarse -crowd who came to gloat over her sufferings; -the whole brutal scene which was to be the -last which should meet her eyes before the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -door into the spirit-world should open.</p> - -<p>Conditions of life, points of view, are so -completely, so absolutely changed, that one -cannot realise the tragedy which was acted -out to its grim finish on that spot. And one -looks again at the dirty, begrimed tablet at -one's feet:</p> - -<p class="center"> -Jeanne d'Arc,<br /> -30 Mai<br /> -1431,<br /> -</p> - -<p style="text-indent: 0;">and yet one <em>cannot</em> realise it all, cannot -mentally see it happening.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless it did take place, and it remains -for ever a stained page in the volume of the -deeds of England: a stained page of blackest -ingratitude in the annals of France.</p> - -<p>I stood by that stone a long time. For -there, on that very spot, is sacred ground. -There, six hundred years ago, a human soul -dared death in its most terrible aspect, for—the -sake of an Idea. There are very few to-day, -men or women, who would dare so much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -for the sake of an idea: even when that -idea is backed by faith, as hers was. -And yet there is nothing greater, nothing -more powerful, if one could see it in its true -light, than an idea of the kind that was hers.</p> - -<p>A little side street leading out of the Place -de Vieux Marché brings one into the quiet -little Place de la Pucelle. Here, there is a -statue (not in the least inspiring, however) to -St. Jeanne d'Arc, hung round with the inevitable -artificial wreaths, so dear to the French, in -honour of her memory. The statue itself is -blackened and covered with a soft mantle of -green from much wreath-bearing. There is -also a Latin inscription. The square itself is -diamond-shaped, and only one black-timbered -house remains to it of all that graced it in -Joan's days. There is, it is true, standing -back in its own courtyard, that wonderful -Hotel Bourgtheroulde, (which was begun in -the sixteenth century,) but this is not easily -seen if you enter the square from the further -end.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="img137" id="img137"><img src="images/img137.jpg" width="379" height="600" alt="Rouen" /></a> - <p class="center">FONTAINE DE ST. CROIX, ROUEN.</p> - <p class="right">[<i>Page 137.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>I saw it at dusk. The quiet figure rising -dark against the twilight sky; some white-capped -peasants crossing the street quietly; -the distant cries and laughter of children -playing about the fountain in the midst; -the windows of the houses gleaming redly -against the cobbled pavement; steep roofs -rising all round, standing out in the half light -distinct and sharp, made an impression on -one's memory not easily to be wiped out.</p> - -<p>Rouen is the happy hunting-ground of the -antiquary: the old houses are almost inexhaustible. -Streets upon streets of them, untouched -in all their splendid picturesqueness. -One strikes up some narrow, cobbled passage -between timbered houses, rising high on -either side, a narrow strip of blue sky shewing -far above, and one comes suddenly upon -lovely old corbels, exquisite bits of old sculpture, -by some corner across which strikes the -soft shine from the blue lilac slate of some -steep roof immediately above it. At one's -foot is the inevitable little border to almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -every old street—the trickling stream gleaming -where the sun slants down on it.</p> - -<p>The only sound that breaks on one's ear -in these old streets is the clatter of sabots, -and the sedate, slow-paced <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">carillon</i> from the -cathedral bells close by. Sometimes in one's -wanderings one comes upon one or other of -the numerous old carved stone fountains -which stand here and there at street corners -in Rouen—sculptured, but generally much -discoloured and defaced.</p> - -<p>Quite unexpectedly, again, one chances on -flagged courtyards, the houses round having -magnificent, old black oak staircases giving -on to them. One street was especially full -of characteristic corners. I remember once -passing down it when the whole place seemed -asleep: and the only sounds that struck on -one's ear were the plaintive, soft lament of an -unseen dove, and the distant wail of a violin -from some projecting upper story of a gabled -house.</p> - -<p>Beside a panelled door, hanging loosely on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -its hinges, hopped a tame rook, rather out at -elbows as touching its wing plumage, pecking -at the rain-water which had dripped into an -old silver plate of quaint design which lay -tilted against the kerb stone. Further -up was a house with a bulging front, -as of someone who has lived too well -and attained thereby his corporation. In -some streets the houses are slated down the -entire frontage, and only the ground floor -timbered. Many of the houses are labelled -"<cite lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ancienne Maison</cite>," and the name beneath, -and some—but only some, alas!—have the -date over the door. There are some exceedingly -quaint dedications over one or two of -the shops in Rouen. One, which specially -arrested our attention, was over a shop in the -Rue Grosse-Horloge, and ran thus:—"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Au -pauvre diable et à St. Herbland réunis!</i>" -Another was to "Father Adam"; another to -"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Petit St. Herbland</i>,"; another to "<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">St. Antoine -de Padue</i>:" this last was a very favourite -dedication, and one came across it in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -parts of the city. Though, when one saw -how often he was the patron saint of "Robes -and Modes," I must say one wondered what -the connection was between the saint and -a milliner's shop. Was it a reminder of -that one of his temptations in which three -beautiful maidens, scantily attired, appeared -and danced before him? Only, if so, -surely the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">double entendre</i> suggested by -the dedication would act as a deterrent, -if it acted at all, on those who were tempted -by the chiffons, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">draperies et soieries</i>, displayed -in the shop window, to go within. -One could see that there was a singular -fitness in "Father Adam" being the patron -of an eating shop, as was the case in one -street.</p> - -<p>At midday the street leading into the -cathedral square is a scene of multitudinous -interests. A little boys' school, marshalled -solemnly by a master—spectacled and sticked—the -boys all stiff-capped and starched looking; -a square, closed-in cart, with neatly packed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -rows of those appetising long loaves lying -cosily side by side; a huge cart, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">messageries -Parisiennes</i>, drawn by splendid cart-horses, -five bells on each side of their splendid -collars—collars edged with brass nails, and -brass facings with pink background—the -peasant conducting it, wearing the high-crowned -black hat and loose, navy-blue -blouse reaching to knee, and opening wide at -collar; a barrow of some sweet-smelling stuff -pushed over the cobbles by a costermonger -who, as he passed, stretched out a -disengaged hand to re-arrange his truck of -oranges to make the vacant places of those -gone before seem less deserted and more -enticing to a possible customer. The stream -beside the way was swinging merrily along in -a succession of weirs, forming itself into -different patterns as it went along, owing to -its course being over rough, uneven cobbles. -Here, as it turned a corner, the sun shone -full on it, and from being a stream of doubtful -reputation—being in most instances the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -receptacle of the castaway Flotsam and -Jetsam of many a household—it straightway -became a river of pure molten steel.</p> - -<p>Then, down another street as I accompanied -it, its tide turned—the tide which is -swelled by many pailfuls from the doors that -lie beside its route—and like the bottle imp, -it dwindled into a tiny thing, and flowed -along weakly—creased and lined.</p> - -<p>The Guide-book urges one on from Rouen, -to Caudebec-en-Caux. But I found so much -to see in the way of old streets and old -buildings in Rouen itself, that I postponed -our day's journey to Caudebec till just before -we were leaving. Then our choice fell on -a day when the powers of the weather fought -against us in our courses, and it rained -almost continuously for the whole day long. -But there are special beauties which are -abroad in these times, which those who have -seen them once, recognise at their true value, -and would not forego.</p> - -<p>In this case there was a driving white scud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -of rain slanting across the meadows. It -swept over steep slopes redly orange with -fallen leaves lying thick in layers everywhere. -The tree trunks stood, yellow in contrast, -over streams in which the rain made spear -pricks, which swiftly became pin-point centres -of ever widening circles. Cows moving lazily -on, in their grazing, stepped in the squelching -gravel of the deeply-rutted roads, -shining up dully, in dark slate colour. -Here and there, but not often, black-timbered -barns came into sight, sparsely -covered with vivid green moss.</p> - -<p>Then would come a field with mangy -patches of colourless grass, the trees standing -sharply outlined in all shades of vivid emerald -green: an orchard of gnarled branches of the -very palest green imaginable—a sort of -etherealized mildew, backed by a fine old -slated farm-house. Close beside it a farmyard, -the ground literally dotted all over with -black hens, busy over remunerative pickings. -A little further on was another orchard, this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -time filled with whitened skeletons of trees, -their bark all being stripped from off the -trunks. The hedgerows were crowned with -quick successions of briary—the grey hair of the -dying year—and at the end of one of them was -an avenue of gnarled dwarf willows bordered -by a winding stream; their rounded heads -shewing soft purple against the green meadow.</p> - -<p>At Duclair it was evidently market-day. -The train was ushered in by a clatter and -jabber of voices, shrill and hoarse mixed: all -shouting at the top of their voices. The -platform was littered with various coloured -sacks, well filled out; market baskets in -all positions, and little wooden barred -cages for the poor cramped domestic fowl. -Beyond Duclair the trees look like brooms -the wrong way up: as if grown on the -principle of the received tradition in London -markets as to the correct complexion of -asparagus—long bare trunks and only at the -latter end a little bit of spread green to shew -that it was the business end.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> - -<p>These trees were presently merged in a -dark belt of forest, standing clear against -a soft grey lilac horizon of distant land -shouldering the sky. Deep-roofed cottages, -velveted with moss and lichen; an old <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">château</i> -with steep slate gables; alternate green and -red brown meadow, picked out in places with -sombrely dark brushwood, with delicate, -incisive, clear cut edge against the softer -foliaged trees. Then a broad band of glittering -steel encircling the hills which rose -abruptly behind it.</p> - -<p>Most of the cottages here have a sort of -hem of arabesque ornamentation from the -flowers which grow freely all along the tops of -the roofs. The Seine, like the Jordan of old, -overflowed its banks pretty considerably this -autumn, to judge by the look of the land in -this district. Just before the train slowed -into the little primitive terminus of Caudebec, -the rain, which had held up for half an hour -or so, came on again, whipping the river's -surface into long weals.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> - -<p>Caudebec itself is on the banks of the -river, with rising ground almost surrounding -it. Were it not for the modern element which -has, as usual, played ducks and drakes with -the picturesque element, Caudebec would be -unique.</p> - -<p>Indeed, not so very long ago it evidently -did possess an individuality in ancient buildings, -which set it quite apart by itself. But -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">nous avons changé tout cela</i>; and now, though -it has three charming old streets with black-timbered -houses and a mill stream racing -beneath them, and a little bridge, its features -are considerably altered. Here again, -as everywhere else where I went, with the -exception of Gujan-Mestras, the same absence -of costumes was a keen disappointment. -They are not forgotten, it is true; the -numerous photographs of them prevent that, -but they themselves are an unknown quantity.</p> - -<p>Coming away from Caudebec, there was a -temporary cessation from showers, and a -brilliant, narrow strip of sunshine fell across<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -the hillocky, spattered surface of the river, -which a freshening wind was driving before it. -It shone fitfully through the straight, close-clipped -line of poplars which lined the river -bank on the farther side. A few moments -later and the sun was setting in a flare of -yellow light, and a flood of misty radiance lay -full on the dancing ripples.</p> - -<p>At Rouen the pavement was all a medley -of colour: red, soft green, yellow, and dull -grey, so that the flags beneath one's feet -shone like a tesselated flow of many colours. -Overhead the blue, lurid flashes of lightning -from the electric wires shot up and died away -every now and then. The light from the -arc lights made the wet asphalt shine -like a crinkled sea under the moonlight. -We went to bed that night with the soft -pattering of the rain upon our window panes: -now hesitating, now hurried, now in triplets, -that suggested to one's mind gentle strumming -on an old spinet.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h2> - -<p>As I said, I think, before, the country between -Rouen and Dieppe is not striking. -But yet it is, in its way, full of picturesqueness; -of beautiful little miniatures; of -delicate etchings, exquisite as to colour and -form; and all this is visible even to the -traveller passing rapidly through by train.</p> - -<p>There broods over the quiet meadows, over -the stiff lines of poplars, over the cool soft-toned -colours in blouse, skirt, or apron, the -true spiritual atmosphere of the heart of the -land, if one may so call it,—its deep simplicity, -its own interpretation of life. The -peasants seem to belong to the land upon -which their hard-working days are spent, and, -in working, to drink in, in effect, the divine -secret of the earth, which only men possessed -of true inner perceptions, like Jean François -Millet, R. L. Stevenson and others like them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -in mental calibre, can apprehend.</p> - -<p>Nearer Dieppe we came upon numerous -farm-houses, many of which are built upon -trestles, and all of which are covered with the -usual soft green embroidery of moss and -nestling cosily in the midst of beautiful -orchards, or clustering vineyards.</p> - -<p>In Normandy the street cries seem to be -all in the major key. I noticed this especially -at Rouen, and here again at Dieppe; the -minor key is absent in them. They are, too, -a distinctly musical sentence in themselves. -A sweet little melody was being sung up -one street in Dieppe along which I was passing, -by two fish-women carrying a basket of -fish between them. One man who came along -playing bagpipes, from time to time, to notify -the approach of his wares, paused to cry out -in a loud tone what sounded like: "I have not -got it to-day, but I shall have it to-morrow!"</p> - -<p>Dieppe has the same sort of blank-Casino-stare-of-sightless -eyes, as had Arcachon; only -the former place, being a town on its own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -foundation, as it were, and not brought into -prominence by the parasitical growth in its -midst, of the Casino, is not so dominated by -it. The two venerable round towers, with their -conical, red-tiled peaks stand alone, unaffected -by the modern hotels and buildings on the -front, which surround them. Somehow, -though, I could never understand exactly why -they should so insistently suggest Tweedledum -and Tweedledee, yet they did again and again -bring those worthies into my mind whenever I -looked at them. They stand at some little distance -from the grand old castle which has seen -the things that they have also seen in those -far-away bygone ages. The castle, stands greyly -aloof and apart, high on its hill, banked up by -serrated chalk cliffs and grey expanse of wall.</p> - -<p>The hotel at which we put up in the town -was a charming old panelled house, dating -two or three hundred years back; perhaps -longer even than that. The ceilings slanted, -and the walls contained those delightful deep -cupboards which are such a joy to those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -possess them. Also there were the little steps -up and down leading from one room into another; -steps which project the unwary into the -future, sometimes too soon for their comfort.</p> - -<p>Opening out of the first floor was an outside -promenade, with balcony which led one -out among a perfect wilderness of roofs; steep -roofs of ancient, well-worn red tiles, whereon -the soft velvet feet of the moss climb down -step by step to the edge of sudden precipitous -gables, crowned with white pinnacles, all -backed by a venerable-looking red brick wall -which had lost a tooth here and there of its -first row, and never had others to fill the holes. -Then, further along, through a gap in the wall, -one caught sight of the splendid, deep, wavy red -brick roof of the house opposite, with three little -holes pierced above, two tiny dormer windows, -and, below these, two larger ones. Below -them, again, the soft yellow-cream cob wall.</p> - -<p>It was quite an ideal spot in which to dream -on a hot summer's day; but though to admire, -yet not to linger in during a November one.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> - -<p>The town crier here is a wonderful personage. -He is dressed in official black cape and -square cap, and he beats an imperative tattoo, -as a summons to the citizens, on a big drum -which is slung round his neck. But when that -was performed and when, presumably, he had -gained their attention, he only mumbled a few -indistinct words and then hurried on, or rather -more correctly, shambled on into the next street.</p> - -<p>The market at Dieppe is one of the most -picturesque affairs I have ever seen in France, -barring that at Poitiers, which was quite -unsurpassable in its varied pageantry of -colour. The peasants at the Dieppe market -all stand on the pathway of the principal street, -their baskets in front of them on the curb. -The unfortunate animals for sale, as usual, I -saw over and over again taken up, with no -regard to their feelings, or as to which side up -they were in the habit of living, and dangled, -or swung, head downwards <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ad lib</i>. Then -bounced—literally bounced—up and down by -intending purchasers (who dumped them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -down to test their weight), and by doubtful -purchasers also. One woman held a number -of fowls in one hand—their legs all tied -together—as unconcernedly as if they were -some parcel out of a milliner's shop. It is not -an inspiring sight. People's stomachs pitted -against their hearts, and winning by an easy -length in each case. In one instance it was -not a case of the lion lying down with the -lamb, but of the hen being forced to lie down -with the duck, who, profiting by her propinquity -to the other, curled her long neck and -pillowed it on the hen's shoulder.</p> - -<p>In the afternoons the merry-go-round was in -full swing just in front of the church, but instead -of our predominant and wearisome fog-horn -effect, it was soft, and with a hint of brass instruments -in the distance, and the tinkling "rat-tat-tat," -of the drum was distinctly realistic.</p> - -<p>One of the prettiest little incidents that I -have seen for a long while occurred when I -was passing through one part of the market -here. An old shrivelled, but apple-cheeked,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -market woman came by, and as she turned -the corner of a stall she found herself face -to face with a Sister. The latter, instantly -recognising her, gave her the most courteous -bow and smile I have ever seen, and I shall -never forget the pleased, elated expression on -the old woman's face as she passed on, after -receiving the salutation. Once before, I saw -courtesy and respect shewn as unmistakeably, -and that was in England.</p> - -<p>I was on the top of a city omnibus, and as -another omnibus was just passing us, our -driver—an old, red-faced, weather-beaten man—lifted -his hat and swept it low, with such a -profound air of reverence—such an unusual -thing to see now-a-days—that I turned hastily -to see who was the recipient of this obeisance. -It was a hospital nurse; and I caught sight of -the pleasant smile with which she greeted, as -I supposed, one of her former patients. A -minute or two later my conjecture was confirmed, -and I heard our driver relating to his -left-hand neighbour the story of how splendidly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -she had nursed him through a serious illness.</p> - -<p>On Sunday afternoon we went to the catechising -in church, and were treated to a long -dissertation, of quite an hour's duration, on -the early divisions and heresies of the church. -Through all this recital, the "world" outside was -infinitely distracting. Bursts of "Carmen," -or some popular waltz, came in alluringly from -the windows in gusts of melody, enough to interfere -very seriously with the thread of so dry and -stiff an argument as was M. le Curé's, even had -his congregation been composed of grown-up -people; much more so in the case of children.</p> - -<p>But these children, one and all, were -irreproachable in their behaviour. Not a -movement, not a fidget, not a sound broke the -perfect quietude with which they faced him. -There were but three or four Sisters in charge -of them and these sat facing their respective -classes. Perhaps one of the secrets of their -absorbed attention and utter alienation from -the distracting sounds from without, may have -been that each child—even the little tinies—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>had a notebook and pencil and was busily -engaged, from the beginning of the disquisition -to the very end of it, in taking down -word for word the preacher's lecture (for after -meditation?) Yes, even to the jaw-breaking -names of some of the heretics, which were -spelt over carefully and slowly once or twice, -as they occurred, by M. le Curé.</p> - -<p>And when at last the long discourse was -ended, there was no music, no singing of -hymns to assist in lifting up their hearts after -the past depressing hour! Each class filed -out of church, sedately, quietly, composedly; -first the girls, and then the boys. These last -had a mind to start a little before their time -for filing out had arrived, but their idea was -promptly sat upon, and squashed, by one -short severe word from the figure in the -pulpit, which stood solemn and upright until -the last boy had left the church.</p> - -<p>It struck me, in connection with this service, -that we English might possibly find one -of the plans in this catechising at the church<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -in Dieppe, useful in our own children's services. -Everyone who knows anything at all -of children knows well how keenly most of -them enjoy the simple fact of writing down -notes in a notebook. Why should not we -use that aid to attention in our services? -Something to do with their fingers is a -wonderful preservative of attention for children, -and even if the notes are not of very -much use afterwards, (as might very possibly -be the case with the younger children!), still -it would be an interest to all. For the very -handling of pencil and book, would certainly -take away a very remunerative employment -from someone who is reputed to be always -ready with graduated mischief suitable for -small hands that are folded aimlessly on the lap.</p> - -<p>Later on in the day we met a Sister escorting -out a battalion of boys who, tired of going -tramp-tramp regularly and in order along the -road, had broken step and were careering all -over the place after their hats, which a gust -of wind had just whisked off. I saw, a minute<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -later, that the joy of each boy was to lay the -hat when rescued from the gutter, or -wherever it had chanced to light, very lightly -and gingerly on his head, to court the gusts -in the hope—not altogether vain—that the -gusts would catch—the hats, and thus inaugurate -of course, a fresh chase along the -road. This went on until the poor Sister -was almost distracted, and at her wits' -end; for the facts were equally undeniable, -that the hats must be recovered, and that the -gusts of wind could not be prevented. After -vainly endeavouring to collect the forces at her -command—which consisted, I am sorry to say, -of only three or four of the steadier boys—she -changed her tactics, and instead of pursuing -her way up the street, she sounded a recall -and retraced her steps down a less gusty street, -followed, after some delay, by the rest of the boys.</p> - -<p>On the beach, after some rough gales, -we found crowds of men and women picking -up huge black stones, and putting them all -together in the large chip baskets which the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -peasants carry. These baskets are pointed at -the bottom and, when filled, are slung over their -shoulders, being strapped under the arm. Before -they filled them we could see the men placing -them about at intervals on the beach, each -on a sort of easel. I found out that the town -authorities give about twenty-five centimes for -each basket of these stones—<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">galées</i> as Madame -at our hotel informed me they were called.</p> - -<p>Talking about Madame reminds me that I -have never mentioned how small was the -size of the very diminutive water jug which -we were given in our bedroom here. When -I first saw it, it brought vividly back the -story of an old friend's experience in an -out-of-the-way town in Germany of many -years ago, when, finding in the bedrooms water -jugs the size of a fair sized tea-cup, inquired -if a bath was procurable and was met -with amazed and blank countenances. They -had never even heard of such a thing. -Tea cups had always amply satisfied their own -requirements. Dirt did not settle so readily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -upon them as it apparently did on the skin of -Englishmen. But they could perhaps have it -made at the expense of the Englishman, and so -a drawing was given of the sized bath required, -and eventually, after many searchings of heart, -this implement of water warfare was constructed.</p> - -<p>Our water jug, it is true, was larger than a -tea cup, but it stood not so very much higher -than my sponge.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>The last glimpse of France that one carries -away with one, when the land grows ever dimmer -and dimmer from one's standpoint on -board ship, as one leans over the taffrail, -are three landmarks—the domed spire of -St. Jacques, the castellated tower of St. Remy, -and, further to the north, the old castle, -standing apart and grey, towering above its -ramparts. Finally, even these fade away -into a soft mystery of grey-blue haze, and one -regretfully realises that one is severed from -the land of sunshine and fair vineyards.</p> - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - -<p class="center bt" style="max-width: 15em; margin-top: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><small>The Anchor Press, Ltd., Tiptree, Essex.</small></i></p> - -<div class="transnote space-above"> -<p class="center"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></p> -<p>Obvious typographical and punctuation errors repaired.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Autumn Impressions of the Gironde, by -Isabel Giberne Sieveking - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTUMN IMPRESSIONS OF THE GIRONDE *** - -***** This file should be named 44076-h.htm or 44076-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/0/7/44076/ - -Produced by Marc-André Seekamp, Ann Jury and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -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. 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